Page 31 of Demon’s Temptation

Excitement rippled through the place, another delicious hit that sent tingles down his spine.

Rein it the hell in, Silva.

The music was deep, bassy, instrumental, and ebbed and flowed around them, its seductive notes no doubt selected to heighten the erotic atmosphere.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and quickly read it.

James: It’s Chaya.

Brent stared at it, trying to understand what he was reading. What was Chaya?

His phone buzzed again.

James: The demon she’s with is named Victor. Don’t get involved unless she’s in distress.

The fuck?

Chaya was working with them? She was here, with a motherfucking demon. He spun around, like he’d somehow see her through the darkened room and flashing lights. Panic gripped him behind the ribs, and he was on the verge of roaring her name to find her.

But then emotion hit him, so acute it smashed past his barriers and had him grabbing for the nearest wall as it battered him from all sides. The pain hammering into him was not edged with pleasure—no, it was bound by fear. Shit, it turned his stomach.

This pain he knew all too well. This was the kind of terror he had never wanted to taste again. But even stronger than that was anger, outrage.

Whoever it came from was afraid but also pissed the hell off. He knew who it was instantly.

He rushed forward, colliding with people in the darkness, shoving them out of the way. His feet carried him forward to the very back of the club. A female’s cries, sharp and desperate, broke over the loud music.

He rounded a partition.

Through the flashing lights, he saw a female facing away, bound to a St. Andrew’s cross.

Oh fuck.

The music changed and the incessant flashing stopped with it. The lights came up.

Chaya.

She was bare to the waist, and the smooth expanse of her golden skin was streaked with pink from just above the flare of her hips to her shoulder blades.

Her physical pain appeared to be minimal, but this sure as fuck wasn’t where she wanted to be. It was her emotional pain that had cut him to the quick, had reached out to him. Everything about this felt wrong to her.

“Stop, goddammit. Now,” she gasped.

Moving without thought, completely on instinct, he snatched the crop from the male wielding it and threw it aside. “Chaya? Jesus Christ.”

The male who had terrified her, hurt her, stepped forward. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my scene.” His face was a mask of outrage, but as Brent tried to push past his barriers, to learn more, he was locked out. The guy’s shields were rock solid, giving away nothing.

Brent didn’t try to hide what he was feeling, which was damn near homicidal, and let it wash over the other male. The guy wisely took a startled step back. “Chaya belongs to me. She is mine. Is that a good enough reason for you?” He heard Chaya’s sharp indrawn breath but was too far gone at that point to filter what came out of his mouth.

The guy stared at him for several seconds then bowed his head. “I apologize for stepping on anyone’s toes. I didn’t know.”

“You do now,” Brent growled.

The guy nodded, turned, and walked away.

Brent went straight to her. She jumped when he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, it’s me.” He reached up and quickly undid the knots at her wrists. She slumped back, trembling in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

He turned her around and she went to him without resistance, pressing in close, seeking comfort. He took slow, measured breaths, trying to calm down, to stop himself from going after that irresponsible asshole. The damage he could have done. He pulled back and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, wild.