“A tattoo,” he rasped. “To make things fairer.”

“Was that too progressive for a relic like you?”

Imaginings ran riot in his mind. Her baring her neck to receive his fangs . . . while he plunged his shaft inside her . . . on the brink of spilling for the first time . . .

The visual had made him hard as hell metal, his fangs now aching along with his cock. He scrubbed his palm over his mouth. Calliope dredged up hopes best left buried.

How had he gone from his plan to use and discard her to fantasizing about claiming her as his own?

What if she returns different?

He shook his head hard. What was more likely—that his mate would welcome a male’s bite or that she was weaving a web of deception even now?

Had she figured out she was his? He hadn’t exactly concealed his attraction, yet she’d never brought up the possibility. “If you have your own views on other species, what do you make of demons?”

“If I based my opinion on my experiences with you, I would assume all demons are violent and unnecessarily cruel. But I don’t believe in wholesale hate, attributing the deeds of one to many.”

Who was this creature? “Violent and cruel?” What had Uthyr said? There’s a difference between trickery and cruelty. “Guilty as charged. I come by both honestly; I am the king of hell.”

She sighed. “I used to think that way.”

“What way?”

“That we can only be as we’ve always been. Maybe in time your mind-set might expand.”

“And if I’m satisfied with how I am?”

“Then you’ll never grow.”

He drank, masking his reaction to her. Talking to her like this made his heart speed up. Being with her made the years fade away, until he felt . . . young.

But young meant trusting, which he would never be again. “You’re one to speak of growing,” he bit out. “You were the most intolerant female I’ve ever met.”

“How old was Karinna when she died?”

“Twenty-four. Your age,” he said, only to frown. Yet you plan to send her away, outside of your reach? That would also mean outside of his protection. At the thought of losing her, his wings tensed. He yearned to have his mate safeguarded within them.

“How do you know she wouldn’t have changed in her thirties? Her forties? Her hundreds? Karinna died before she ever had the chance to grow.”

His mind began to race. Could a young female like Calliope be shaped into the queen he wanted and deserved? Perhaps she’d been returned to him for just that purpose!

What if he could teach this adaptable fey? Bend her to his will? He swallowed. A future might still be possible. “On the surface you seem different in this life. Though this could be an act.” How could he shape what he couldn’t even get his arms around? “For all I know, you’ve remembered the past and are deceiving me right now. You were an exceedingly skilled liar.”

Temper erupting, Calliope shoved back from the table and shot to her feet. “I’m not that fucking princess!” Her eyes blazed teal.

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off: “Even if I share a soul with her, I’m not her. I don’t remember that life, don’t want to. And I’m sick of taking the blame for others’ actions.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” He wished she could pass some test to allay his suspicions. At that moment, he realized Uthyr was right. Sian did have a stranglehold on a lifeline of hate. For all these ages, it’d kept him sane.

So what will happen if I release my hold?

She strode to the hearth. As she paced in front of the fire, flames reflected off her golden gown. “I’m sorry you and others were hurt by Princess Karinna. But that’s your past, not mine. I don’t claim it. My name is Calliope. Lila to my friends.”

“Lila.” He liked the way her pet name felt on his tongue.

As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “Since I haven’t done anything, you don’t have the right to hold me here against my will.”

“Might makes right,” he said, because he had no credible counter to her words.

“Might won’t keep me imprisoned—because wits always win.”

He stood, staring her down. “Calliope, understand me: you will never escape this realm.”

She boldly held his gaze. “Abyssian, understand me: I will escape you, and when I do, I will leave rubble in my wake!” As she spoke, the fire flared behind her, twin spires above her head that resembled horns.

His breath left him. She looked like a queen.

A queen of hell.

TWENTY-THREE

Casting off blame felt amazing! Like a catharsis. So why was Abyssian staring at Lila as if he’d seen a ghost?

Dinner with him had been enlightening. Once she’d gotten used to his brusque tone, his crass crowing about his harem, and his whiplash moods, she’d been able to detect more of those tiny hints of vulnerability.

And more of his loneliness.

Abyssian had traveled to Sylvan at only sixteen, returning with all his dreams extinguished. Even after everything he’d done to her, she pitied the boy he’d been.

Suddenly his vivid green irises turned black. He advanced on her, forcing her to back up against the wall. He reached for her, covering her nape with his palm.

Stunned, she craned her head up.

He was gazing at her with a wild yearning, his stern brow furrowed. His features were harsh, even brutal, but she found his face starkly magnetic. Despite his fierce expression, he cupped her neck gently.

He grazed his knuckles over her cheekbone, treating her like she was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched. “I feel torn apart, Calliope, as if two souls war within me. Part of me believes it possible to forgive you. Part of me wants to hate you for another eternity.” A quake somewhere deep in the ground punctuated his statement.

This warrior king’s unexpectedly tender touch made her breaths shallow. Something about him called to her, drawing her in.

“You’re trembling.”

“Because every time you get this close to me, those claws of yours sink into my skin.” Which was only partly true.

“I won’t hurt you again.” He sounded so different when he wasn’t yelling or sneering. With his Demonish accent and deep pitch, his voice was . . . sexy.