Her heart raced faster, adrenaline surging. For some reason she wanted to believe him, but he’d trapped her in her own kitchen. If there was one thing she hated, it was being trapped. She balled her hands into fists, overcome by the need to fight.
She pulled back her arm for a punch, but with a lightning-fast motion, he clamped his hand on her wrist, fingers piercing her flesh. Not fingers, she realized with growing terror. Claws. He has claws. What the fuck?
Her blood roared in her ears, and she could feel fire run through her, hot and molten. With her free arm, she grasped his shoulder. Her palm glowed. Somehow, her body knew what it was doing—knew how to burn him—and she waited to hear him cry out in pain.
Instead, he stared deep into her eyes. No longer a bright green, his irises now blazed a deep, smoldering red. Terror ripped her mind apart. What the hell is going on?
His gaze trailed over her body. “Ursula, my dear. There’s no need for fighting. Emerazel’s power won’t burn me,” he purred in a velvety tone. But underneath the softness, there was an edge to his voice—a sharp command. Kester was used to getting what he wanted. “The goddess’s fire runs in my veins just as it does in yours. You can’t fight me.”
His voice was husky, a lethal lullaby. His beautiful gaze hypnotized her, rooting her in place.
A part of her felt tempted to do whatever he wanted just to make him happy. “What do you need me to do?” She rasped, half hating herself as she said it. What was happening to her?
“I’m not here to hurt you.” He leaned in closer and whispered, his breath caressing her ear. “Sign,” he commanded.
He seemed so sure of himself. Her hand relaxed on his shoulder, and she stared into his fiery eyes. She should be terrified of those preternatural flames, but something about his masculine scent and his beautiful lips was intoxicating. But the strange fire in his eyes… Is that magic? Do I care?
His claws retracting, Kester reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a fountain pen the color of bone. Her gaze landed on a tiny symbol carved into the pen—an encircled triangle, just like her scar.
Holding her gaze, Kester popped off the cap, revealing a razor-sharp nib, and gripped her palm. “This will only hurt for a moment,” he said, his voice seducing her, sliding over her skin.
As she stared into his beautiful eyes, he pressed the pen into her hand. A sharp pain pulled her attention down, and she watched as the point depressed her skin. Something in the back of her mind rebelled at this imposition. He pushed the nib further, into her flesh, and she snapped out of the spell he’d woven. What was I thinking, mooning over this posh twat?
“Ow!” She yanked her arm backward, gripping the cut. Blood dripped between her fingers.
“Apologies for that, Ursula.” A seductive smile played over his lips, but she wasn’t falling for his act anymore.
He produced a small, yellowed piece of parchment from his other pocket, pushing it toward her along with the blood-inked pen. “Please. I need you to sign.”
Her hand throbbed, and she shook it, trying to focus her thoughts. Everything about this man was alluring, but right now only one angry thought burned in her mind: This entitled wanker thinks he can get whatever he wants. Just like Rufus.
She blinked, trying to clear her mind. Of course she shouldn’t trust the psycho who’d stalked her into her kitchen. And did he want her soul? She wasn’t signing that away. She had no idea what a soul was for, or even if it was real, but she didn’t want to find out what happened when you gave one away.
She glanced down at the parchment, at the faded beige writing. Only a few words were legible in the candlelight, and though the language wasn’t English, the looping letters looked strangely familiar. She almost had the sense that if she concentrated hard enough, she could read it. In fact, she could translate a few of the words: soul, contract, eternal. The longer she looked at it, the clearer the words became.
“What’s this language?”
“Angelic.”
“What?” She glared up at the towering stranger. “What happens if I sign it?”
“You’ve really never been told this?” He seemed genuinely curious. “How did you come to carve yourself in the first place if you don’t know who Emerazel is?”
“I have no idea.” She nodded at the parchment. “It says something about an eternal contract.”
His brow shot up. “You can read this?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me how. Is this some sort of pact with the devil?”
He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as though marshaling an extreme amount of patience. “No. There is no devil.” He gazed up again, a charming smile playing about his lips. “I understand this must be confusing for you. I will leave you as soon as you do what I ask.”
She crossed her arms. “Look, I have a little memory problem. I don’t know anything about the first fifteen years of my life. You may have heard of me; it was all over the news after I turned up in a burning church in London. The tabloids called me the Mystery Girl.” Wherever the scar had come from, that was a secret only Former Ursula could unravel. Not the clueless, unemployed girl trying to eat bread and butter for dinner.
“Mystery Girl? Never heard of you.” He studied her carefully, the candlelight flickering over his smooth, golden skin. “I can tell you this. Emerazel is not the devil. Some mortals call her that, but she is a goddess. Her domain is the volcanic magma in the center of the earth and, when angered, she destroys cities. She is neither good nor evil. She is love, power, rage, and light. You cannot fight her. You cannot win this.” All signs of softness left his face, and his gaze grew fierce, almost feral. “Do not fight her, and do not fight me. You will not win.”
The hair rose on the back of her neck. “Right. According to the crazy bloke who followed me home and broke into my house, I owe my soul to an all-powerful goddess of rage and power.” She clamped her hands on her hips, trying to ignore the chill running up her spine. “I’m not signing your stupid paper.”
“That’s really a shame.” Kester tilted his head, almost apologetic. “Then I must reap your soul for Emerazel now.”
Ursula forced a smile onto her face. “Whatever that means, it’s not happening either.” She grabbed the tea candles from the counter, flicking the hot wax in his face.
Kester hardly flinched.
Her panic rising, she grabbed the cast-iron skillet and swung for his head. He reached up to block it, and it slammed against his arm with a crunch. He emitted a low, inhuman growl that rumbled through her gut. As he glared at her, eyes blazing bright green, his forearm swung down at an awkward angle, a mangled mess that should have had him screaming in agony.
She steadied her breath. “I’m not signing your devil’s pact tonight. I don’t care if you work for Satan, or Emerazel, or if you’ve escaped from a psychiatric hospital. I’m not giving up my soul. Whoever you are, you need to leave now before I shatter your skull.”
Kester’s eyes slid to his arm, and he whispered softly—words at once strange and familiar. A chill licked up Ursula’s spine.
She stared as Kester’s arm straightened with a cracking sound. With the arm fully repaired, he raised his hand again, wiggling his fingers.
Her heart skipped a beat, and the word demon rang in her head again.
“That really hurt.” His eyes, now the color of blood, met hers.
Her mind screamed, Not human!
He unleashed a low growl that trembled over her skin, and she became keenly aware of each of her breaths.
He lunged for her. Instantly, she brought her knee up and into his chest, redirecting his momentum into the cabinets next to the kitchen counter. Wood splintered with the impact.
He started to stand, but she kicked him in the head. Her boot shattered his nose, spraying blood on the kitchen tile. He fell back holding his face.
“Ursula,” he purred, slowly getting to his feet. His eyes wild, he unleashed a wicked set of claws from his fingertips, and Ursula’
s mind screamed with panic. He pressed the end of the pen, and a thin blade protruded from one end. “You should have signed.”
He moved so fast she didn’t have time to react before he’d pinned her against the wall, gripping her wrists in one hand. The tips of his claws tore her skin, and a low growl escaped his throat, rumbling through her core.
His teeth—his fangs—lengthened, and he pressed in closer, leaving no room for her to kick him. Cold fear stole her breath as she struggled to free her wrists, but this freak was terrifyingly strong. What is he?
He leaned in closer, his breath warming her skin. His eyes roamed down her body, and candlelight flickered off his pen’s sharp blade. “It’s a shame you’re going to make me do this. There’s something about you I like.”
She tried to yank her wrists free. “You don’t have to do anything. You can just leave me alone.” She could hardly breathe. This was it—the last few moments of her life. What do I say about a sad life like mine? She was nothing—a complete loser. No family, no job, no money, no future. Her whole life was just a name, a date, and a piece of paper…
A trial.
Ursula, you idiot.
“I request a trial,” she breathed into his neck.
Surprise flickered across his beautiful features, and his fangs retracted. “What did you say?”
“A trial,” she said more firmly.
Still pinning her to the wall, he clenched his jaw. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His eyes returned to their emerald green color, and he began muttering in that strange language again. His words transfixed her, soothing her racing heart. A strange sense of calm flooded her body, until her world began to dim.
Chapter 4
A humming noise woke Ursula, and she cracked open her eyes. The sound grew louder as she pulled herself out of the dense fog of sleep. Her head throbbed, dulling her senses, but there was movement around her—flashes of blue and white in the darkness. For a moment, she wondered if this was the road to the afterlife, but the shooting pain behind her eyes suggested she hadn’t yet shuffled off this mortal coil.
When her pupils focused, she saw Kester sitting next to her, his face now clear of blood and his nose unbroken. His hands gripped a steering wheel. Shit shit shit.
The only possible explanation for his rapid healing was that… she hesitated to even think it. Could it be that the words he’d whispered had repaired his arm, fixed his broken nose? Could it have been magic?
If that were the case—if he could cast spells—she didn’t even want to think about what else he could do. She clamped her eyes shut again, trying to regain control. No. Magic isn’t real. She’d had a fever tonight, and a psycho had kidnapped her.
Unfortunately, that thought wasn’t reassuring either.
Kester focused on the road ahead. The radio blared pop music, and the sound rattled through her throbbing skull. Blue road signs flashed by on the shoulder. The M4.
On the plus side, she was alive. On the down side, she’d been kidnapped by a man who’d tried to claim her soul. She didn’t know what that meant, but there was a strong chance it involved murder.
“Where are we going?” she managed.
Lazily, his gaze flicked to hers. “You requested a trial, though I have no idea how you knew to ask for that, since you know literally nothing else.”
“It was on a note I’d written to myself.” She glanced at her right hand, handcuffed to the passenger door handle. “Where does the trial happen? And what is it, exactly?”
“Outside of London.”
“Thanks for narrowing it down.” Okay, so he’s not going to be helpful with details. Why would he be, if he’s about to murder me? “My flatmate, Katie, is going to be worried about me. She’s going to call the police.”
“We’ll sort that out later.”
She glanced at the handcuff again. It wasn’t an ordinary manacle. It almost looked like a golden circle of light trapping her wrist. It almost looked like… magic. The thought curdled her stomach.
Kester’s glowing eyes, her own fire powers, the mysterious attacks, the healing spell, the handcuffs made of light… It was getting a little harder to convince herself that magic wasn’t real, and yet she really didn’t want to be a part of this madness. She could barely cope with her normal life. Please let me get back to my poverty and unemployment.
Even though the handcuff didn’t burn her, the circle of light held her wrist in a sort of force field. The unnatural sight of it tightened her chest, filling her with a sense of dread. If things like this existed—along with glowing eyes and flaming hands—what else didn’t she know about the world? She swallowed hard, still trying to free her wrist. “What the hell is this?”
“I can’t have you jumping out the door while I’m driving. You’re unpredictable, as you so helpfully informed me earlier.”
She felt the now-familiar heat and rage begin to simmer insider her, as if her body knew what it was doing. She wanted to burn this thing off of her.
“You won’t be able to melt it.” Kester continued, his voice bland. “It’s immune to hellfire.”
If she had to be manacled to get her to this trial, maybe it wasn’t something she really wanted after all. Now that she thought about it, trials weren’t generally fun events. The phrase “trial by fire” popped into her mind, and she felt a sudden desperation to rip herself free from the car, to tumble into the road and sprint through the dark fields. Suddenly, the impending homelessness she’d been fretting about earlier no longer seemed as daunting as this nightmare.
She glared at him, her pulse racing faster. “Can you at least tell me if I’ll get to keep my soul?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It depends how you do.”
Great. With her heart thrumming, she scanned the car’s interior, searching for weapons. It was upholstered in deep red leather, intermixed with chrome and instruments the color of gunmetal. The GPS was off, but Ursula could see that the speedometer read 160 kilometers per hour. They were flying down the M4. Even if she managed to free herself, her body would shatter when she flung herself from the car.
“Aren’t you going a bit fast?” she asked, her mouth dry.
“We’re in a hurry. Besides this is a Lotus. It’s not made for driving slow.”
Another pop song blared on the radio—Hugo Modes, warbling in a falsetto… The sound grated, the banality of the music such a sharp contrast to her rising fear. The band crooned on, and she could hardly think straight.
But maybe a sense of normalcy could save her right now. Maybe if she got Kester to see her as a person instead of just his victim, he’d empathize with her. Wasn’t that what they told the parents of children who’d been kidnapped? Show the human side, tug on the heart strings.
She had the strangest feeling that Kester didn’t have a human side, but it was worth a shot. She’d only just turned eighteen, and she wasn’t ready to die before she’d had the chance to do anything with her life. She took a steadying breath. “Hugo Modes. What’s his band called? The Four Points?” She nodded at the radio, trying to keep her voice steady. “I suppose you like boy bands.”
“I wouldn’t call them a boy band,” he snapped. “They play their own instruments.”
She tightened her fists so hard her nails pierced her flesh. This isn’t going to work. I can’t make small talk about boy bands when I’m about to be murdered. She seethed with hot anger. She didn’t give a shit about the Four Points. What she cared about was that she’d been kidnapped against her will, and she wanted to smash Kester’s stupid rich-boy face into the pavement. So maybe her life was pathetic, but she wasn’t ready to give up on it. “What the fuck am I doing here?” she shouted in desperation.
Kester let out a low whistle. “You’re not really a people person, are you?”
“I’m handcuffed to the door of a car,” she snapped. “Don’t expect me to be cheerful about it. You broke into my house in the middle of my dinner, attacked me, and abducted me.” She gave the manacle one last tu
g, but it wouldn’t budge.
“That was seriously your birthday dinner? Eating bread and butter in a hovel?” He arched a sympathetic eyebrow. “That’s just sad. Frankly, I’m doing you a favor. Assuming you survive.”
She clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself, and turned to look out the window. Don’t lose your head, Ursula.
The landscape flew by—a blur of grey branches and patches of snow. Her breath frosted against the window.
A part of her was terrified, but another part knew she’d make it out of this. Her will to survive was too strong. Less than three years had passed since the firefighters had discovered her in the church. That meant she had less than three years of memories—and the most vivid in her mind right now was Rufus, telling her she would never make anything of her life. She couldn’t die before she proved him wrong.
Chapter 5
After turning off the M4, they barreled down an empty one-lane road lined with hedgerows. At last, the car slowed, and they turned into a small driveway. A gate stood before them, flanked by stone columns. To the right, tufts of frozen vegetation dotted brown fields stretching out into the darkness.
Isolated, secluded, and alone with a complete nutter. Former Ursula—or F.U., as Ursula was now thinking of her prior self—had a lot to answer for.
She glanced out the driver’s window at a small hill with a flattened top. Bare trees protruded from it, like skeletal hands clawing out of graves. She stiffened. The look of this place turned her blood to ice.
Kester turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, walking around to the back. Ursula watched him, her pulse racing as he rummaged through the boot. Panic rising, she yanked on the manacle, but her hand remained stuck. He’s going to pull out a gun and blow my head off.
After yanking out a dark grey jacket, he crossed toward Ursula’s door, pulling it open. A blast of icy air flooded the cabin, and Ursula’s mouth went dry as she looked up at him. She swallowed hard, not yet willing to move. Whatever the trial was, her best chance of survival was probably to get the hell out of here.
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