A stone bridge extended before them, lit by torches and flanked with railings. More symbols had been carved into various stones.

He unlocked the cuff around his wrist and reached for hers. He was just going to undo it? For real?

He stashed the restraints in his pocket, then seemed to be awaiting her escape. Nice knowing you, sucker. She began to trace back to the Quarter. She’d gotten a good start—when she hit some kind of boundary and bounced right back.

Rune laughed at her. He dug that trinket from his pocket—another point he’d scored against her. With a smirk, he tossed it in the air, caught it in his big palm, then pocketed it again.

“You’re such a dick.” She couldn’t believe she’d been infatuated with him.

“I have wards surrounding this entire residence. I’m the only one who can travel past them. Things inside my lair stay inside, including the sound of your screams—in case you thought to call for help. Even if someone heard you, they couldn’t enter, because anything outside remains outside.”

Say she got lucky and took Rune out; without help—or the ability to escape—she’d be trapped here.

“Ah, and there went your ridiculous plan to kill me.” He dragged her along. “I see you working out all the angles.”

Not yet all the angles. Could she ghost inside the boundaries? If so, maybe she could ghost inside him? He could never shake her. And eventually he’d have to leave this place.

Her heels were loud as they crossed the bridge. She gazed over the railing, seeing only darkness—as dark as a black hole.

She refused to let Rune know how freaked out she was. “Where is Tortua? The South Pacific or something? Didn’t they film Survivor here? Fire represents life.”

“Oh, you are a long, long way from Earth, dove. But you’ll like it here—it’s perpetual night.”

Not on Earth. She’d just have to . . . she’d have to think about that later.

He touched his flattened palm to an elaborate symbol on a pillar, and a second portal opened into a huge bedroom suite.

The inviting space had been decorated in earth tones—probably not called that here—and was a thousand times better than her own “home.” Still, she said, “Not bad, I guess. Though the suite looks like it belongs in a blueblood’s hunting lodge, not a blackblood’s brothel penthouse.”

He tilted his head, as if mystified by her. “I hold your life in my hands. My grip on it lessens with each insult.”

Then I’ll float away. She shook herself.

In the adjoining sitting area, a fire crackled in a large brick hearth. More symbols embellished the stone there. At various places on the walls, similar markings were spaced the way light switches might be.

An enormous bedstand dominated the room. Thick posters supported heavy drapes. The fabric was tied back, revealing tangled sheets. “That’s your bed?” She could only imagine what activities had taken place there. Moments ago, he’d cupped her between her thighs in that basement, trying to kiss her, yet he’d most likely enjoyed an orgy here today.

“What of it?”

“I would’ve thought it’d be bigger,” she said. “I doubt you can fit more than five or six nymphs in there.”

“Depends on how cozy with them I want to get.”

“You don’t expect me to sleep there, do you?”

“And if I did?”

She tapped the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I forgot my black light and hazmat suit. But you’ve gotta have body condoms around here somewhere.”

He inched even closer to her. “Condoms? I’m half demon.” He leaned down to say, “Even if I needed to wear one, sizing would be an issue. As you well remember.”

With a roll of her eyes, she backed away from him. When he got close, she got weak. How could she still desire a manwhore like him? Especially after he’d threatened to kill her?

Because of his blood. Only his blood.

He crossed to the wall beside the bedstand, pushing a symbol. One second the bed was unmade, the next it was remade, then freshly turned down.

Don’t wig out, Jo. “Handy.”

He raised his brows. “Any more commentary?”

“Not at present.” She sauntered to the fire to warm herself. Her dress was still wet, and most of her damp skin was uncovered. Plus, thirst always made her chilled.

She turned her attention to a comfortable lounge chair situated in front of the fire. Beside it was a container of feathers and arrow shafts.

He made his arrows there. Alone. “Your sitting area only has one chair?” Was he a loner like her? Not that she cared.

Whatever he saw in her expression made his tighten. “A nymph friend decorated this place for me. The styling choices indicate nothing about myself.” He unbuckled the quiver around his leg, setting it against the wall.

“Uh-huh.” The styling choices must indicate a lot about him.

He unhooked his bow and hung it on a spike above the hearth. “There’s a ward over my bow here. Reach for it, and you’ll be blown back on your ass. If you’d still like to try, inform me so I can watch.”

Dickwad!

“In any case, this is a secondary residence.”

“Ruin’s whorehouse weekender.”

With an irritated look, he pressed another symbol, and a wide doorway opened to reveal a huge library. The shelves had to be three stories high. All those books were like safes full of never-ending treasure, and everyone but her seemed to have the keys.