Page 20

“Careful, little bird.” Vesper’s voice growls down from the dark, dripping with a dark, sensual promise that makes my traitorous cock react. “You might just get what you beg for.”

I hold my ground, tilting my chin up against the mist, keeping the defiant, bratty smirk fixed on my face even as my pulse thunders wildly.

The shadows on the floor slowly retreat, melting back into the dark stone of the estate, opening the archway once more. As tempting as it is, I don’t move toward the east wing. I’ve pushed far enough for one morning.

I turn slowly, maintaining my composure, and head back toward the open terrace doors leading to my bedchamber. I saunter with my head held high, my heart racing, the lingering echo of his dark growl still thrumming in my veins.

Something has shifted, yet again. I’m still his captive, surrounded by dark magic, iron wards, and an ancient monster. But as I step back inside and let the door shut behind me, I realize the truth.

The demon is fucking mine… he just has no idea yet.

Chapter eight

Vesper

Icrouch high in the redwood canopy, fifty feet above the dark mountain road winding along the estate’s outer ward line. Below me, three black pickup trucks sit idling in the freezing rain. Hired thugs climb out, hunting scopes in hand, followed by several large search hounds that whimper nervously into the fog.

Fucking amateurs. Gregory’s desperation is mounting, but it raises an interesting question: why throw so much money into finding Bellamy? Is it unhinged obsession? The humiliation that Bellamy slipped through his fingers? Or is he trying to bury a loose thread? A man like Gregory Jones can’t afford to have someone out in the world who knows precisely how filthy his hands are.

Jake stands near the main vehicle, pointing a flashlight up toward the dense forest. “Keep your eyes open! Jones wants every square foot of this area swept by midnight!”

I lean against the wet tree bark, my crimson eyes flaring bright in the dark shade.

They’re getting closer. Gregory is throwing every dime of his corrupt campaign budget into this hunt. But as I watch Jake bark orders to his men, my mind strays from the hunt. It drifts back to the estate. Back to the small, fierce human sleeping beneath my roof.

I know the facts of his file, of course. I know Gregory kept him under constant surveillance, stripping away his independence until Bellamy was isolated in a gilded cage on the edge of town. But over the last week, I’ve learned the details no file could ever capture.

I know the delicate rhythm of his breathing when he sleeps. I know Bellamy loves hot drinks, especially in the morning. Or that he bites his lip when he’s nervous, and that he possesses a sharp, brilliant mind that refuses to be tamed, no matter how many locks I place on the doors. He’s resilient, smart, and proud. He looks at me not with the meek submission I first expected, but with a fiery defiance that makes my demon side ache with hunger.

There’s no way I’m falling for the damn creature, am I? Probably not, but I know there’s a level of respect hovering there. Not just as the human who caught the attention of an ancient cryptid, but as a man. Inside my chest, the Devil Dog paces frantically against my ribs, letting out a low, silent growl that vibrates through my chest.

Protect him, the beast snarls through our bond. They are too close. Go back. Protect him.

“Soon,” I whisper into the cold wind, letting my physical form dissolve into the redwood trunk, pulling the living shadows around me as I shoot back toward the manor.

I materialize in the grand conservatory, smoothing the front of my tailored suit coat.

Killian’s already there, lounging back in a plush armchair with his long legs crossed at the ankles, sipping amber whiskey. He looks up as I step out of the shadows, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “You smell like wet dog and criminals, Vesper,” Killian teases softly.

Before I can offer a dry retort, the oak doors to the conservatory creak open.

Bellamy steps into the room. He’s wearing the soft cream sweater and a pair of tight-as-sin jeans I bought him. He’s holding a small leather-bound book in his hand. Bellamy stops dead in his tracks, his green eyes widening in shock as his gaze lands on Killian.

For days, I’ve kept every member of my household away from him. I’ve hidden him away from the world. But as I look at Bellamy standing in the warm firelight, a sudden, conscious shift settles in my chest. I don’t want him to feel like a hidden prisoner. And I sure as fuck don’t want to treat him like his asshole ex. I want Bellamy to know this house is a safe haven. In other words, I want him to learn to trust me.

“Bellamy,” I say softly, my voice calm as I gesture toward the velvet armchairs. “Come in.”

Bellamy hesitates, his knuckles tightening slightly against the spine of his book, but his chin lifts with that familiar stubborn, brave edge. He steps into the warm room, his eyes darting between Killian and me. “I didn’t realize you had guests.”

Killian sets his glass down on the side table and stands up, offering a smooth, surprisingly respectful bow. “Killian. A long-time associate of your brooding host. It’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet the man who has turned this estate upside down.”

Bellamy glances at me, surprised by Killian’s polite demeanor, before turning back to Killian with a cautious, guarded look. “Bellamy. And I haven’t turned anything upside down. I’m just trying to not get eaten by a Devil Dog or a demon.”

Killian laughs out loud, a rich, genuine sound that echoes in the room. “Oh, I like him, Vesper. He has sharp teeth.”

“Do not encourage him,” I murmur dryly, though a subtle swell of possessive pride warms my chest.

Bellamy walks over to the small table near the hearth, setting his book down, his posture relaxing just a fraction as he senses no immediate threat. “So… uh, you two just hang out in fog-shrouded Gothic mansions sipping whiskey while local search parties tear up the woods?”