Not now,he told himself. And his Mark.Not yet. After I get what I need. After she does what I need.
Then he would take.
Ignoring the pain, driving it away, he lunged for the softness of the nameless woman, buried himself, his senses, his mind, in the moment as he had done so many times before.
Later,sometime much later, he woke, naked, amid twisted sheets stained with blood. He remembered, vaguely, the dark-haired woman. And the blonde after her and the other brunette. The desperate need, the thirst he’d tried to quench. Over and over.
Then…dark dreams he’d tried to avoid, the face of Brickbank. His impaled body. Even the wisp of his soul, spiraling away in the darkness. Horrifying.
Of Angelica, with her dusky rose skin and thick, sweet-smelling hair. Dark-eyed, tempting, begging.
And Lucifer.
Lucifer had been in his dreams.
Voss sat up, his head pounding as if he’d drunk a full bottle of blood whisky.
Bloody damned hell.
Lucifer had only visited him in his dreams once before. The night he’d come to offer his unholy bargain, the temptation of a lifetime.
Slender and dark of hair, bright blue of eyes, pointed of chin and jaw and angular of body, Lucifer wasn’t unpleasant to look at. But nor was looking upon him easy or comfortable. There was too much darkness behind those shocking, unworldly blue eyes.
Sunlight seeped from behind the heavy shutters and curtains in his room and Voss stared at the shape it cast. The last time he’d touched sunlight had been the morning after Lucifer’s nocturnal visit.
He hadn’t realized what it would do to him. He hadn’t realized the dream, the covenant, had been real.
He hadn’t been touched by a sunbeam since.
A cold chill settled over him. Why had Luce appeared in his dream tonight? To remind him of the unholy bargain they’d made?
He could remember nothing but the demon’s presence, his spectral face. Smiling that easy, smug smile that said he knew a man’s every desire. And that he could fulfill it in every way.
Voss’s legs felt weak, and when he moved to haul himself out of bed, the skin and muscle beneath his right shoulder protested with pain. As he turned, he saw his Mark in a mirror and paused…trapped by the sight.
Not like Dimitri’s, whose Mark was black and so thick and raised it seemed to visibly throb. But Voss’s was certainly more prominent than he’d ever seen it.
The ache was bearable, but insistent and penetrating. He moved his arm gingerly, then reached behind to touch the marks. Normally he felt no difference between the black, rootlike insignia and his flesh, but now there was a slight swelling and a bit of warmth there.
Voss turned from the reflection and rang for a bath. He wouldn’t go to Angelica sweaty and dirty from his night of blind pleasure.
But nor did he feel remorse for taking what he needed and craved. It was his right, his compulsion.
This was his compensation from Lucifer: never-ending, unrepentant self-indulgence.
He wouldn’t hurt Angelica; he wasn’t like Cezar Moldavi, who caused pain simply for the sake of it, as a revenge for all of the pain inflicted on him during his mortal years.
No, he wouldn’t hurt Angelica. But he would have her.
And he wouldn’t wait much longer.
Dimitri was tired and annoyed.Not particularly in that order. Definitely not in that order.
In fact, annoyed wasn’t a strong enough word for how he was feeling. Livid. That was it.
He glared down at the figure standing between him and his only chance for a scrap of relief.
No. He didn’t feel annoyed. Or even livid.
