THE PACT

ICAN HELP YOU, YOU KNOW,” LORCAN’S CROONING VOICE SLID THROUGH her worries. “Simple as it comes. No one will ever hurt you …”

“No,” Farideh said, though her thoughts felt slippery and loose. She covered her eyes and ducked her head. “No. Go away.” Stay, she thought. Tell me.

“It’s a simple thing,” he said again. Lorcan set his hand, hot as an iron, on the bare spot between her shoulder blades, his fingers sliding just under the edge of her collar. “Not like what they tell you. Just say you’re mine. That’s all it takes …”

“No,” she said, though her voice was growing fainter and her head was spinning. Why would she say no? She would be safe …

“Free. Free to do as you please. Free to find whatever life you want.” He pulled her close, very close … His breath burned against her skin. “You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes …”

“You want to be mine?”

“Yes,” she said, and with that her thoughts seemed to clear: He’s out of the circle.

Farideh looked up in horror at the cambion, whose arms held her like an iron band. “No!” she cried.

“Too late, darling.” He whispered in her ear, “It wouldn’t have held the imp either.”

Then everything caught fire.