Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance

My first season began quite uneventfully.

Mama, my sister Olivia and I have been in London for almost a month now.

Between my introduction at court, securing vouchers at Almack’s and gaining the approval of all the influential ton matriarchs, I’ve barely found the time to breathe.

It didn’t help that my mother took it upon herself to offer me an introductory course into the ways of the coven, with my sister assisting her.

If before I would have had doubts about my mother’s intentions, now they have tripled.

Olivia seems to be aware about everything regarding the coven, and when I’d asked her how she knew so much, she’d told me she’s had years to study all the books and materials.

I would be lying if I didn’t feel a modicum of jealousy considering I was the last to find out.

But since my last stunt, I’ve decided that nothing can be solved by acting out—all it does is hurt myself, and ultimately that is not the goal.

As such, I’ve gone along with my mother and Olivia, putting on my best behavior and becoming a veritable debutante. All in the hopes that soon Amon would contact me and I will be able to get the information directly from him.

I may have a myriad of questions, but because I am not convinced by either side. I want to hear his truth too. I’m not going to crucify him before offering him a fair trial.

The only unfortunate thing is that his letters have become sparser. The last one I’d received had been two weeks ago, and he’d only written one thing.

Wait for me, Lizzie mine.

The letter had been delivered at our London house, in the same manner as the others. The window would suddenly open, and the letter would float in.

That suggests he knows I am in London, and he knows where I live.

I cannot comprehend why he would not come see me since I know he could do it if he wanted to.

Then the only alternative is that he…doesn’t want to.

No, that cannot be true. I am sure he is just biding his time. Maybe he has some ongoing issues that need to be addressed first. Or, maybe, he is trying to find a way to bypass my mother.

In Haversham, my mother had confessed that she’d placed magical runes all over the property to impede any unwelcome visitor from crossing our threshold.

I am not sure if she’s done the same with the London house, but there are plenty of other places where he could find me.

If he wanted to…

Releasing a hopeless breath, I allow Mary to help me with my dress and style my hair.

Since the beginning of the season, I’ve acquired a plethora of new gowns—all in pastel colors as befitting of any respectable debutante.

From the beginning, my mother has insisted I put an effort in my appearance.

Though she hasn’t directly told me so, I know she is trying to orchestrate a match for me. An eavesdropped conversation between my mother and my sister had confirmed as much.

Fiona fears Amon will not be the only one to come for me, and the best recourse for that is to marry me off and use my future husband’s aura to cloak my presence. Though I’d been found before I’d heard more details about that particular process, that had been enough to put me on my guard at every event we’ve been to, looking around and wondering who else could be part of their society.

‘You look stunning, My Lady,’ Mary praises as she steps back, letting me examine my hairstyle.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur appreciatively, rising from my chair and getting ready to depart.

My mother, Olivia and her husband are already downstairs waiting for me.

‘There you are, Elizabeth,’ my mother announces. ‘That pale pink suits you wonderfully. I’m so glad we picked it for you.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Olivia agrees, while I merely nod, giving them a small smile.

‘I hope today you won’t make another silly excuse not to dance,’ my mother tells me when we are in the carriage and on the way to Lady Worcester’s ball. ‘Your friend, Emma, always has her card full. You should learn something from her.’

I school my features so my distaste towards dancing doesn’t show. Not when the only memory I want of dancing is with Amon. Regardless of whether I try or not, I know no one will measure up to him. As such, for every ball or soiree we’ve been to so far I’ve pretended to be ill, or have a headache. I might have even broken my heel—accidentally, of course. All in an effort to avoid dancing with anyone other than him—my Amon.

‘Even Emma doesn’t dance all the sets,’ I answer with a smile.

‘She’s already engaged, Elizabeth,’ she adds pointedly, the reproach clear. If I were engaged, too, I would be given more leeway.

With how many times my mother uses Emma as an example, I would have been jealous if not for the fact that the girl is an absolute sweetheart.

We’d met when we’d both had our presentation at court, and we’d quickly become chums. She’s lively, artless, and a joy to be around.

From the moment we’d found each other, we’d stuck together, always finding a topic to chat about. I’ve never had a close friend before, so Emma’s arrival in my life had been rather fortuitous—especially at a time when I needed someone to lean on the most.

Emma is the daughter of Viscount Berkley—the title currently being held by her brother—and she’d been lucky enough to attract the attention of the Earl of Foley from the first ball she’d attended. Most importantly, though, it is a love match—something that I’m extremely happy for her.

As we reach the Worcester residence, the orchestra has already started playing and a quadrille is in full swing.

As soon as we are announced, we greet the hosts, after which Olivia and her husband are off to speak to some acquaintances, leaving me alone with my mother.

A smile pulls at my mother’s lips as she regards the dance floor before she gives me a look that all but tells me I need to dance tonight, or else.

Sighing, I gaze around the room, spotting Emma, her mother, the Dowager Viscountess Berkley and her brother, Lord Berkley by the refreshments table.

My mother, seeing that Lady Berkley is also present, urges me to join them while she greets some of her friends on the other side of the ballroom.

‘You don’t look too thrilled to be here,’ Emma whispers in my hair as I reach her side.

I give her a pained nod.

‘Mama is pestering me to dance today and I fear I’m running out of excuses,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve already used my entire arsenal and she knows I’m doing it on purpose.’

‘You poor thing,’ she coos in jest. ‘You will expire on the spot if you dance with someone, will you not?’

A giggle escapes me.

‘And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?’

Turning to Lady Berkley and her son, I greet both, giving them a polite smile before Emma steers me into conversation again, telling me about her latest outing with Lord Foley and how much she likes him.

I let her gush over her beau, a little jealous that she’s experiencing all these wonderful moments with her beloved while mine is…missing. Or, maybe, he will never be recovered at all.

In the two weeks since Amon’s last letter, I’ve been beside myself with worry as I’ve built up all sorts of scenarios in my head as to why he wouldn’t write to me anymore—some more worrisome than others.

At first I’d despaired that he’d been caught and harmed by the coven, until I’d started thinking that maybe he doesn’t want me anymore. That, maybe he’d found out that my mother had sealed my powers and as such I was no longer useful to him.

‘Lady Elizabeth, you look extraordinary tonight,’ Lord Berkley offers me a compliment.

I give him a tight smile.

‘Thank you, Lord Berkley,’ I incline my head.

‘Terrence, you should dance with her,’ Emma suddenly quips.

Her brother’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

‘Emma,’ I hiss at her, unable to believe she’d said that.

‘Your mother wants you to dance. This is your best chance to show her you’re behaving without having to withstand some boor’s attentions. At least you know Terry,’ she explains.

Her brother doesn’t seem put off by the suggestion, and as I give it some thought, I nod thoughtfully, realizing it could help.

Seeing me consider the request, Lord Berkley turns to me.

‘Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Lady Elizabeth?’ He asks as he extends his hand towards me.

For a moment, I falter.

My heart thrums in my chest as I remember Amon and the masquerade. Yet Emma is right. My mother will continue to pester me to dance and be active until she will undoubtedly force me to dance with someone of her choosing. This way, at least, it’s someone I relatively know.

‘I would love to,’ I answer, placing my gloved hand in his.

Right at that moment, the quadrille ends, the orchestra switching to a minuet.

The dance doesn’t require much touching or too close proximity, and I’m grateful for that small mercy. But though I try to immerse myself in the moment, especially as I see everyone around me flushed and energized from the music, I fear I cannot do so. Not when the only thing I want to remember is Amon’s light smile as he’d twirled me on the dance floor, disregarding everyone and every convention as he’d molded my body to his.

‘You seem to have a lot on your mind,’ Lord Berkley notes.

‘Forgive me,’ I blush as I realize I’d been caught red-handed fantasizing about someone who is most assuredly not my dance partner. ‘Just woolgathering, I suppose. I’m not very fond of dancing,’ I lie.

Yes, I am. I love dancing. But only with one man…

‘I dare contradict you, My Lady. You haven’t missed a step so far even though your mind is far away,’ he says, an eyebrow raised.

I force a smile.

‘Thank you. You’re an exceptionally good dancer yourself. I’m just following your lead.’

He seems satisfied with my words, and as the dance continues, he attempts to draw me into conversation by telling me about his country seat in Berkley and his passion for horses.

I keep a pleasant smile on myself despite the fact that I’m neither knowledgeable in horses, nor do they interest me particularly.

‘He must be a worthy horse, indeed, My Lord,’ I murmur after he tells me the exorbitant sum he paid for an Arabian purebred.

‘I have a new mare, too. We named her Moonlight for her dark colors mixed with light. I reckon you’d like her. Maybe Emma can convince you to come visit us in Berkeley during the summer,’ he continues, describing his stables in great detail and telling me how much I would enjoy riding Moonlight.

For the first time, I look him straight in the eye, his words dawning on me.

Is Viscount Berkley showing an interest in me?

He gazes at me appreciatively, his eyes roving over my form and settling right…on my chest.

My eyes widen just as my cheeks redden from his blatant perusal.

I clear my throat in an attempt to steer him away from my cleavage, but he doesn’t react. He only raises his eyes a moment later, meeting mine and giving me a wide grin.

Immediately, I regret having accepted his invitation to the dance. More than anything, I regret not being more attentive to the conversations around me. So busy I’d been with my own problems that I hadn’t realized his words now, or in the past, could have been construed as interest.

The dance draws to an end, and just as I hurry back to Emma’s side, who is now joined by my mother, Viscount Berkley proposes a turn around the room.

I am about to refuse, but my mother, sensing the situation, gives me another pointed look, leaving me with no choice but to accept his offer.

He places my arm on top of his as he continues to tell me more about his horses. I tune out most of his conversation, merely nodding along with a fake smile on my lips.

Yet just as he’s returning me to my mother’s side, he asks me the dreaded question.

‘May I call upon you tomorrow?’

I bite my lip, ready to tell him no.

But before I can do so, my mother, who is within hearing distance, interjects on my behalf.

‘Of course, Lord Berkley. She would love that.’

‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ Emma rushes to my side, her tone enthusiastic.

Though I do my best to maintain my smile, the only thing I want to do is leave everyone behind and retire to my own room.

One dance because I’d tried to get my mother off my back, and it suddenly turned into the beginning of a courtship?

The conversation flows animatedly as my mother proceeds to ask various questions of Viscount Berkley and his mother. Emma, the sweetheart that she is, tries to apologize for pushing me to dance with her brother.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mentions when she notices that I look worse than someone waiting their turn at the gallows.

‘You couldn’t have known,’ I give her a tight smile.

‘I didn’t know he fancied you. But maybe you could give him a chance? I know he’s my brother, but he’s such a wonderful gentleman.’

‘I will,’ I tell her, the lie exclusively for the sake of our friendship.

As soon as Lord Berkley calls on me tomorrow I will make it known that I am not interested in anything more and that he should not waste his time on me.

Pleased with my reasoning, I wait for the evening to draw to an end.

And to not give my mother further reason to agree to other meetings on my behalf, I accept other invitations to dance—albeit only from married gentlemen.

Late in the night, as we make our way back home, my mother praises me for finally seeing reason.

My cheeks hurt from too much smiling, my feet from too much dancing, and my head from putting on an act for so long. Yet it seems everyone bought it—one small win.

It’s only when we get back home and I excuse myself to my room that I can breathe relieved. I only let Mary undo some of my fastenings—the ones I cannot reach myself—before urging her to seek her bed.

After too much socializing, the only thing I want is to be on my own.

Once I’ve put on my nightgown, I let my hair loose and prepare for bed. Yet, before that, I can’t help myself as I open the window, looking outside in case Amon left me something.

Disappointment fills me when I don’t see anything, and as the room becomes chilly, I close the window.

Quickly checking on the fire, I finally retire to my bed.

Yet before I can draw the covers to slide inside, all the hairs on my body stand up.

My spine stiffens, my entire body freezing on the spot.

Only someone could trigger that type of awareness within me.

Swiveling, I come face to face with him.

Amon.

My beloved who is neither dead, nor injured, nor does he appear to be any worse for the wear.

‘Did you miss me, Lizzie mine?’ he murmurs, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he sets them on me.

‘Amon?’ I blink, taken aback by his sudden presence. ‘What are you doing here? What…’

I don’t get to say anything else as I find myself flat against the wall, his body molded to mine, his big hand splayed over my jaw as he keeps me in place—making sure I’m looking at him directly in the eye.

‘You. Danced. With. Them,’ he says through gritted teeth, tension radiating from him. ‘You let other men touch you,’ he rasps. ‘Dance with you… You’re killing me, Lizzie mine.’

‘You weren’t there,’ I whisper. ‘How could you reproach me about this when you haven’t shown your face in months?’

His face contorts in pain, almost as if my words physically hurt him.

‘I couldn’t,’ he breathes, his warm air fanning my face. ‘I couldn’t come to you. Not yet…’

‘But you could write?’ I raise my brows. ‘You could leave those damn letters on my windowsill? And for what? To give me hope where there’s none?’

He shakes his head.

‘You have it all wrong. Those letters were to show my commitment to you.’

‘Commitment?’ I choke on the word. ‘How come I haven’t seen any evidence of that?’ I ask him pointedly.

‘You dare question my loyalty towards you?’ he raises his voice, the question seemingly getting a rise out of him. ‘You have no idea the things I’ve done for you,’ he hisses. ‘Everything I’ve ever done has been for you.’

‘For me, or for the mark I carry?’ I demand suddenly.

He blinks in confusion, and with my free hand, I wrench down the neckline of my nightgown to show him my birthmark.

‘I know who you are. Or, I should say, what you are,’ I tell him squarely, waiting to see his reaction.

How many times have I envisioned this confrontation? How many times did I imagine he would tell me this is all a misunderstanding. That he isn’t the man in the illustration. That he isn’t…a demon.

But one look at him and I know everything is true.

He is not…human.

And yet, why does that not scare me more? Why am I not more terrified of him and of everything he symbolizes?

Why is it that for me, demon or not, evil or not, he is just…Amon.

My Amon. The owner of my heart.

‘What do you think you know?’ he takes a step back, giving me some space, yet he doesn’t remove his touch. His hands are still on my body, one arm snaked around my waist, the other on my jaw, slowly stroking my flesh. Despite my determination to see this conversation through, my body reacts to his nearness, a raging inferno developing in my chest—quite fitting considering his ilk.

‘That you’re a demon?’ I tilt my head to the side, studying him and his lack of reaction. ‘That you’re after what I can do for you, not truly for myself?’

He regards me for a moment before he chuckles.

‘I see your mother told you about me. What exactly did she tell you? That I’m a monster?’

I nod.

‘That I’m evil personified and I need to be eradicated at all costs?’

Again, I nod.

‘And of course, that I’m only after you because of this,’ he says as he brings his hand to my chest, on top of my gown.

Before I can answer, though, he rips the material in two, leaving me bare and gasping.

‘What…’

‘I’m only after you for this, am I not?’ he asks again, moving closer.

Instinctively, I take a step back as I seek to cover myself.

He doesn’t let me, though.

Catching my hand, he moves it aside as he lays his palm on top of my breast, covering my birthmark. His heat transfers to my body, his touch as intoxicating as it is forbidden.

‘What are you doing?’ I whisper, realizing I’m seeing a different side of Amon tonight.

No longer the sweet gentleman from before—my savior—now there’s an intensity to him that scares me. Yet paradoxically, I’m not afraid.

My heart beats faster in my chest as he applies more pressure on top of my skin, and I know he can sense exactly what his nearness is doing to me.

His gaze holds me captive as he lets me witness the play of emotions on his face.

Anger. Passion. Lust.

Love?

‘Is that what she told you, Lizzie mine? That I’m only after this cursed mark?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, unable to break eye contact.

‘And what do you think? Do you agree with her?’ he murmurs softly, nuzzling his cheek against mine.

‘I don’t know,’ I answer honestly. ‘She bound my abilities. That means the mark is inactive for now. But you could always…’

‘It’s irreversible, Lizzie. The binding spell your mother put on you is irreversible. Your mark will never be active.’

I swallow uncomfortably.

My mother had never told me that. She’d implied that there was still a chance it could be useful, and that it would still attract attention.

But how could he have known? As soon as the question crosses my mind, though, I roll my eyes. Of course he would have known it. If he’s such a powerful demon, he would have known it from the beginning.

‘It will never be active. Yet I’m still here, aren’t I?’ he asks softly.

He curls his hand around my nape, bringing me closer to him until his lips hover on top of mine. All the while, his other hand is still atop of my breast, slowly caressing my skin as he brushes his thumb lightly across my nipple.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare into his eyes—into the turmoil I witness there.

‘Tell me the truth, Amon. What am I to you?’ I whisper, my voice almost breaking with emotion. ‘Are you playing with me? Is this just a game? A way to get back to the coven and my kind?’

‘What if I said no?’ he inquires lazily. ‘What if I told you that you’re my entire reason for being? That you’re why I wake up in the morning. Every goddamn day from the dawn of time until now. What if I told you that you belong to me in a way no woman ever belonged to a man? That I might be evil personified, but you’re the only one I’ll ever be good to,’ he murmurs huskily, his voice coated with the most potent ambrosia.

His pupils are dilated, his eyes almost black as he regards me with unfulfilled lust.

My lips part as I find it harder and harder to breathe, my chest constricting, my entire body seemingly turning against me.

‘Ah, my darling girl, I know you feel it, too. You might not know why, but you will always feel this magnetic pull towards me.’

I swallow hard, unable to find an adequate reply because he is right.

There are so many questions I need to ask him—so many things I still need clarified. Yet he only needs to look at me like that—like I’m the only one in the world for him—and I no longer care about anything else. Not that he is a wanted demon, nor that I am a born witch and we are on opposite sides.

I don’t care about anything but this moment when he is only a man, and I am a woman.

‘You are the only one in the world for me,’ he confesses thickly and my eyes widen in realization.

He’s reading my mind—has been doing so from the very beginning.

‘And I swear to you Lizzie mine. On my never-ending life, and on my damned soul. I swear to you that my desire for you is not conditional on the mark you bear. The only condition is you. Past, present, future. Always you,’ he drawls before his lips cover mine in a bruising kiss.

My hands go to his shoulders to push him off, yet instead, my fingers get tangled in his thick hair, pressing my lips tighter against his.

‘Let me in, Lizzie,’ he rasps against my mouth. ‘Let me taste home again, my love,’ he says as he nibbles at my lips, slowly and expertly coaxing them open.

His words barely register. I’m too lost to sensation—to the feel of his mouth opening on top of mine, urging me to do the same. My lips slowly part, enough for him to swipe his tongue against the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance.

I don’t question it. I don’t wonder what is this madness that has taken over me as I open deeper, letting him in just as I meet his tongue with mine.

A loud moan escapes me as my back hits the wall once more. His knee is between my legs, rubbing me intimately just as he continues to stroke my naked breast, his thumb circling my nipple before pinching it.

‘Fuck,’ he curses as he angles my head so he can taste me deeper, probe more intimately, feel me closer to his body just as I feel him to mine.

‘Amon,’ I gasp, the word wrenched from my lips. ‘My Amon,’ I murmur incoherently as our mouths fuse to one another.

‘That’s it, Lizzie mine,’ he groans, sharp teeth pricking at my lower lip and drawing blood.

The pain is but a light pulsation compared to the pleasure of his embrace.

The kiss becomes increasingly heated. One hand continues to knead my breast while his other massages my nape, seducing me into surrendering to him.

It’s a maddening dichotomy how he plunders what is freely given.

Yet just as I think I’m going to die if I don’t feel his naked skin on mine, he’s off me and at the other end of the room.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes harshly. ‘I thought I could control myself,’ he swallows hard, his eyes glowing a deep red in the dimly lit room. ‘But you’re not ready for me.’

I’m slow to react, the fog of desire still clouding my mind.

‘What if I am?’ I bite my lip as I lower my torn gown to my waist in a daring gesture. His heated gaze dips to my naked breasts, pure hunger radiating from him.

‘I fuck hard, sweetheart,’ he says darkly, his eyes never once leaving my chest. ‘You’re not ready for me,’ a pause. ‘Yet.’

And with that he’s gone—disappearing into thin air.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the spot he just vacated, and a deep flush envelops my body.

I fuck hard, sweetheart.

Why do his vulgar words only whet my appetite for…more?

Lord Berkley doesn’t come the following day, to my mother’s great chagrin.

And though I’m happy about it, I can’t help but think that Amon might have had something to do with it.

He hadn’t been pleased to find out I’d danced with Viscount Berkley. I can’t imagine how he would have reacted to us spending more time together.

Though I hadn’t asked Amon any of the pending questions I have, I feel eerily calm about what happened last night.

Calm and…embarrassed.

My cheeks burn once more—for the thousandth time today—when I think about his kiss. The taste of him and how his mouth had fitted on top of mine.

It had been…pure wonder. So much so that I don’t understand why he’d stopped when he had. He must have known he could have taken me right then and there and I wouldn’t have protested. It might have been wrong of me to do so, but when I’m in his vicinity, all rational thoughts flee me until he’s all I can think about.

Amon. My Amon.

I spend the rest of the day with a perpetual smile on my face waiting for night to come—for my Amon to visit me again.

Except, when midnight strikes, he is nowhere to be found.

There’s only one small note.

Wait for me, Lizzie mine. I will soon have all the answers you seek.

Yours Eternally,

Amon

How dare he…

I blink as I read it again. And again. I read it until all the anger and frustration I’d held at bay simply explodes inside me. Crumpling the sheet of paper, I throw it into the fireplace.

My breathing is labored as I watch the flames envelop it. So much so that I can barely calm myself down.

How dare he?

He comes into my life when it’s convenient for him to do so, and he easily leaves me when it’s not.

How can he ask me to wait for him when all I’ve done so far has been waiting? Waiting and with nothing to show for it.

I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt against my own family’s words.

I mourned him when I thought he was lost to me—I was ready to lose myself too.

And what does he do?

He just asks me to wait.

But how can I when it seems he’s playing with my emotions? When he treats me like a mere stop instead of a destination?

‘Damn you, Amon,’ I rage out loud, hoping his supernatural senses pick up on it so he will realize I’m not his plaything.

That night, in a moment of pure anger, I take out one of my mother’s books and I draw protective runes all over my walls and on the windowsill, ensuring that if Amon wants to come in, he will not be able to.

Maybe this will teach him a lesson.

Days pass, and though my anger at him continues, it slowly loses momentum. It’s especially hard to keep it going when it morphs into longing.

Why do I have to be so simplistic? Why does Amon have to inspire only l-type of emotions in me?

Longing. Lust. Love…

Even knowing he’s a demon—that he’s the definition of evil—my soul cannot stop yearning for him.

In an attempt to forget my situation with Amon, I dedicate more time to my friendship with Emma. We go out shopping for books together, and we spend the afternoon alternately at each other’s house.

My mother is pleased about our connection, but she is still a little put off about my lack of suitors, which has been even more pronounced lately.

Though in the beginning I would receive some invitations to dance, or for a ride in Hyde Park, now there’s absolutely nothing.

Before, I was the one refusing all invites. Now, they just never come.

‘You must have done something,’ my mother snaps at me one morning. ‘But I can’t imagine what. You have a pleasant face and figure, and I’ve bought you the best gowns and jewelry money could buy. By all intents and purposes you should have been declared the Incomparable of the season—a diamond of the first water. But instead of that, everyone avoids you. No gentleman would look twice at you. For God’s sake, your dowry alone should have those fools running.’

I shrug.

‘Maybe I’m just not a great conversationalist, mama. I tried to talk with Lord Berkley about his horses but I fear he saw right through me. I’m sorry I can’t pretend,’ I give her a false apology.

Her lips flatten into a disapproving line.

‘Why couldn’t you be more like your sister?’ she huffs in a low tone.

I frown at the veiled insult.

‘What is that supposed to mean? How should I be more like Olivia?’

‘Never mind,’ Fiona waves her hand dismissively, but I’m not about to let it go.

Not when seemingly my entire life I’ve been somehow less than Olivia.

‘No, please do tell me, mother. How should I be more like Olivia? Is it because she married when she was supposed to? That she was the perfect child and she never made any problems for you? Or,’ I pause, raising a brow, ‘is it because she’s your successor where I lack the power to do anything but the most basic spell?’

Her eyes widen and as she opens her mouth to speak, no words come out.

‘Do I come across like that?’ she asks softly a moment later.

I blink in surprise at the shift.

‘Yes, you do.’

She purses her lips.

‘It wasn’t my intention,’ she releases a deep sigh. ‘I’ve never been as protective of Olivia as I am of you. Because I know how special you are, I need to know you are safe. And if that means finding you a husband, then I’m going to find you a husband even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.’

‘But why do you need to go to that extreme? Why would a husband help me in any way?’

‘Because,’ she starts, looking around to make sure there’s no one in our vicinity. ‘That mark of yours emits pulsations—just like a beacon. Since I bound your powers when you were born, the pulsations became so faint, most wouldn’t be able to detect them. But a powerful enough demon could. So the only way for you to be safe—truly safe—is to eliminate the last traces of your mark.’

‘How?’

Her cheeks redden slightly.

‘You’ll need to marry,’ she starts. ‘And you’ll need to consummate the marriage,’ she clears her throat. ‘Once you take your husband’s seed, the last echoes of the pulsations should slowly ebb until they disappear.’

‘I see,’ I murmur as I direct my gaze to my food. ‘Why didn’t you want me to marry Lord Clifford? It could have solved your issues.’

‘How do you know about Lord Clifford?’ She frowns. ‘Never mind. It must be that habit of yours to listen to closed doors. Lord Clifford was a bad man, Elizabeth. I don’t want you to marry just anyone. I do want you to be happy. Though we must hurry the process a little now,’ she gives me a tight smile.

I nod, forcing myself to return her smile.

Yet all the while, Amon’s words are echoing in my mind.

It’s irreversible.

Even if the mark still emitted pulsations, why would my mother go to such lengths if she knew the binding spell she’d put on me was irreversible? That I could never tap into the powers offered by that mark?

The only alternative is that she wants to keep me safe—that there is still the possibility that I could be killed if one of those hungry demons got their hands on me.

Yet why do I feel like there’s more to this?

Why do I feel like neither Amon nor my mother are telling me the entire story?

Just as she gets up from the table, I remember to ask her something.

‘May I spend the weekend at Emma’s house? She was here last time and now she invited me over. I’d love to spend more time with her.’

‘Of course you may. I had tea with her mother the other day and she asked me for permission, which I’ve already granted. I’m sad nothing came of you and Lord Berkley, but they are wonderful people.’

Thanking her, I head upstairs to prepare while Mary packs me a small bag.

Though my mother had been put off in the beginning because Lord Berkley hadn’t called on us, she’d quickly gotten over it when she’d heard he’d taken ill.

By the time he’d recovered, he’d been called to his country seat and nothing more had come out of that promise.

Once more I find my thoughts drifting to Amon—as they usually do whenever I think about myself and a man in the same sentence. It’s almost like he’d laid siege to my thoughts.

Or, maybe he did.

If that demon can read my mind, then who knows what else he can do?

And yet the one thing he does not do is honor his promise with me.

My anger at him might have dwindled over the last few weeks, but that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook once he shows up. In fact, I’ve already compiled a list of questions I need answers to—list that seemingly grows every day.

Besides being curious about him and his origins, I also want to know why he’s so keen on me if not for the mark.

Despite my mother’s praises, I know I am not the best looking girl out there, nor am I the best-mannered, smartest, or possessing of an even temper. If I were to describe myself, I would say I am just above average. Not quite average, but a little bit over.

My mother was right in one regard, though.

With my dowry, everyone should have been vying for my hand.

Yet I have absolutely no suitors—not even fortune hunters.

It’s so strange that I am sure a certain demon must have had something to do with it.

Shaking my head as I try to thrust Amon out of my mind once more, I finish getting ready before boarding a carriage with my luggage and going to Emma’s house in Grosvenor Square.

‘I’m so happy you’re here! We’re going to have such a wonderful time together,’ Emma declares as I’m led to my room across from hers.

‘Me too. Soon, when you’ll be married it’s going to be much harder to see each other. I’m happy my mother allowed me to come.’

‘I think she can see how unhappy you are,’ she purses her lips.

Waiting for the footman to leave, I plot myself on the bed, releasing a loud, tired sigh.

‘Can she? I know she has my best interests at heart. It’s just…’ I trail off, not knowing how much I can share.

It is true that Emma and I have become the closest of friends—the likes I’d never had before. But how much could I share with her considering my family’s secretive background. For that reason, I hadn’t dared mention Amon—though she’d shrewdly intuited that I am mooning after a gentleman.

‘She wants you to make a good match,’ Emma takes a seat next to me, taking my hands in hers.

‘She wants me to make any match at this point. And I…’ I bite my lip. ‘I’m in love with someone already.’

‘What?’ She squeaks. ‘I cannot believe this. You must tell me everything,’ she says as she goes to the door, closing it and ensuring no one is around to eavesdrop.

‘There isn’t much to say,’ I shrug. ‘He’s not someone my mother would ever approve of, so I am bound to just love him from afar.’

‘Does he love you back?’ she asks excitedly, seemingly overlooking the fact that I told her it’s a forbidden match.

‘I’m not sure,’ I admit, my smile falling. ‘He’s never said so though his actions suggest he might have a tendre for me.’

Despite never saying it out loud, Amon had mentioned the word love in his letters. But considering I’m not sure about anything where he is concerned, I could never confidently say he loves me.

‘Dear God, Elizabeth. Tell me you haven’t done anything,’ she pauses, her voice dropping, ‘scandalous,’ she utters the word in a hushed tone.

A blush envelops my features as I think of our kiss and his heated touches. He’d made my body sing to life in a way I would have never imagined. He’d built me up to a crescendo, but he’d never quite fulfilled the promise of pleasure as he’d drawn back.

I fuck hard, sweetheart.

‘You have!’ Emma accuses lightly.

I wave my hands in front of me, too red and embarrassed to come up with a witty reply.

‘Only a kiss,’ I whisper when I’m finally able to speak.

Her brows shoot up, and her cheeks flush red too.

‘My God,’ I point at her. ‘You too. You and Lord Foley…’

Her reaction gives her away immediately as she looks away.

‘He kissed me,’ she murmurs. ‘And a little more,’ she says before she throws herself on the bed, burying her head in a pillow.

‘What more?’ I whisper, full of curiosity.

She burrows harder into the pillow, letting out a small squeal.

When she manages to calm down, she gives me a very brief description of what had happened between her and Lord Foley.

He’d been calling on her and her mother who had been chaperoning them had been suddenly called away. By that point he’d already kissed her, but this time he did something more with his fingers.

Emma doesn’t know exactly how to explain what happened, but she tells me his touch gave her great pleasure without taking her virtue.

I nod along, fascinated by what she’s telling me as I do my best to imagine Amon and I in the same circumstances. Everything he’d done to me had felt pleasurable—including his slight bite.

The rest of the day passes in a flurry as we entertain ourselves talking about our beaus, while at night we sneak to her room to read passages from a novel by Ann Radcliffe that Emma had managed to secretly procure. Since reading frivolities is frowned upon, neither her parents nor my mother would ever allow us to read such a novel.

But as we delve deeper into the story, we cannot help but root for the heroine to escape her fate and succeed in her quest for love.

By the time we turn the last page of the novel, it’s already late at night. Emma is snoring softly on the bed, and I know she’ll want to reread the ending again when she wakes up.

Unlike her, I’m not in the least sleepy.

The candles are still burning, and measuring how much time I have left, I decide to get another book from the library.

Slowly getting out of bed, I grab a shawl that I wrap around my shoulders since the hallways are a little chilly and I make my way out of the room. Since it’s Saturday night, Emma’s mother is away to a ball, and with the servants already asleep, the house is eerily quiet.

Holding onto a small candle, I creep my way down the stairs to the ground floor where the library is located.

Mayhap something boring would help me fall asleep. God knows since Amon’s last visit I haven’t been able to sleep properly. No matter how much I tried to put him out of my mind, my traitorous heart would not give up hope.

Reaching the library, I slowly turn the knob and I push the door open.

Immediately, light floods my eyes from the inside and it takes me a few moments to get used to it.

Blinking, I bring the back of my hand to my eyes, rubbing softly before opening them and coming face to face with Lord Berkley and three of his friends.

‘Elizabeth?’ he calls me by my given name, making me realize the impropriety of this.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave you to it,’ I say as I turn to leave.

‘Wait!’ Viscount Berkley calls out. ‘You must have come here for a book. You should get one,’ he nods to the bookshelves behind him.

Swallowing hard, I look from him to his friends who are eyeing me suspiciously and I don’t know whether it’s worth the trouble.

‘Thank you, but I’ll just get one tomorrow. It’s already too late,’ I murmur.

‘Nonsense. Please don’t let our presence dissuade you from getting a book. I would feel like a bounder if I inconvenienced you in any way,’ he adds, giving me a sincere smile.

I falter.

‘I’ll just take one book and then I’ll be on my way,’ I nod at him, scurrying towards the back of the room.

I already know what I want since I’d perused the shelves quite thoroughly earlier in the day. Heading to the classics section, I pick Plato’s Republic, hugging it to my chest as I turn to leave.

I give them a small smile as I make my way to the door.

One of Lord Berkley’s friends is by the door, and he moves aside as I reach for the knob, only to realize it’s not budging.

The door is locked.

I whip my head back to Lord Berkley.

‘This isn’t amusing, my Lord. Please open the door,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘Why are you in such a hurry, Elizabeth? Spend some time with us,’ he adds mockingly.

Too late do I notice the dangerous glint in his eyes as he looks me up and down, his lips curling up. His other friends share the same look, a couple chuckling at my expense.

‘It’s not proper. Please open the door,’ I repeat, my hand still on the knob as I try to rattle the door open.

‘Is this what you want?’ Lord Berkley asks as his friend throws him the key.

Lifting it in his hand, he waves it at me.

‘Please open the door,’ I push my chin up.

‘I’ll give you the key in exchange for something,’ he continues, as if he doesn’t hear my repeated pleas.

Yet I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking in exchange for what. A hole develops in the pit of my stomach as I realize I stepped into danger due to my own stupidity.

The moment I saw four men, alone, at night, I should have just turned and left.

‘Please open the door,’ I maintain my stance, looking him in the eye so he can see he won’t be able to bully me.

‘Give me a kiss and I will,’ he drawls.

One of his friends starts whistling while the others crack some lewd jokes at my expense.

‘This isn’t proper, my Lord,’ I tell him again, yet this time I can’t imbue my words with the same firmness as fear starts to take shape within me.

‘One kiss, Elizabeth. At least that’s what I’m owed after what happened because of you.’

I frown.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

It’s at that moment that I realize he’s only been showing me half his face. Slowly, he turns, showing me the side bathed in the shadows.

A gasp escapes me as I see the mottled red flesh on half his cheek.

What…

Emma hadn’t said anything about her brother suffering such an injury. She’d just told me he’d taken ill and had decided to retire to his country seat to recuperate.

‘It disgusts you, doesn’t it?’ he snarls, coming closer.

With every step he takes, I can see that the injury is likely the result of a hot iron being embedded in his flesh. It’s a fairly recent wound, too, going by the angry red hue of the area.

‘I…I’m so sorry that happened to you, my Lord, but how could it have been my fault? I did not even know you were injured,’ I sputter in indignation.

How dare he blame me for his injury?

‘Not your fault?’ he releases a dry laugh before his features turn to granite. ‘Hold her,’ he nods to his friend.

Before I can move, strong arms take hold of me, dragging me from the door. He removes my candle from my grasp, throwing my book and shawl to the ground as he presents me to Lord Berkley.

‘Not your fault?’ he repeats as he comes in front of me, his hand curled around my throat.

The other man is holding my arms captive behind my back. No matter how much I try to struggle, I cannot move an inch.

‘Guess what the person who did this to me told me?’ he asks, his nostrils flaring in disgust as he peruses my face. ‘He told me to forget you ever existed. That this will be my mercy if I never come near you again.’

My eyes widen in shock.

Only one person could have done that.

Amon…

‘Let me go,’ I kick at the other man. ‘I had nothing to do with your injury, my Lord. Please let me go. This is improper,’ I level him with my stare.

His lips twitch.

‘Hold her tighter,’ he orders the other man just as he reaches for the hem of my dress.

‘What are you doing?’ I cry out as I kick with my legs, trying to get him away from me.

Yet all it does is enrage him.

Before I know what’s happening, he swipes the back of his hand across my cheek.

The unexpected pain makes me reel, momentarily stunning me to the spot.

He pulls at my nightgown, and it slowly dawns on me what he’s trying to do, just as pure terror envelops me.

Enough so that I utter only one word.

‘Amon,’ I whisper into the night, both a calling and a plea.

‘What? I didn’t hear you, Lizzy,’ Lord Berkley chuckles, turning his burned cheek towards me.

‘But I did,’ another voice rings out in the library.

Air whooshes around as Amon stretches to his full height in the room, the ceiling seemingly barely able to contain him.

The man holding me stumbles back in horror just as Lord Berkley turns.

‘Who the hell…’ his words are cut off as his eyes widen in recognition. ‘You,’ he points at Amon. ‘It was you.’

Amon doesn’t even blink at Lord Berkley’s incessant accusations.

Setting his eyes on me, his eyes scan me from head to toe before he gives me a brief nod.

At the same time, the man holding me is sent away flying, his back connecting with the wall behind.

‘What?’

‘What the hell?’

‘Terry what’s this?’

The others start moving around, panic and fear lacing their voices as a cacophony of sounds engulfs the library.

Amon looks completely unbothered as he takes a step towards Lord Berkley.

‘What were you going to do to her?’ Amon asks, raising a bored brow as he regards the viscount.

‘I—I… Nothing,’ he gulps down, looking at his friends, his gaze pleading for help,

‘Hmm, you see, I think you’re lying,’ Amon makes a tsk sound, and as he brings one finger against the viscount’s temple, tapping his skin lightly, Lord Berkley opens his mouth and starts talking.

It doesn’t seem that he is in control of his words as he explains in great detail what a bitch I am and how he would have derived great pleasure from defiling me.

For the first time, a look of distaste crosses Amon’s face, and with a movement of his hand, the viscount stops talking.

‘What about the rest of you?’ he narrows his eyes at the other men.

Before they can even blink, Amon appears behind each of them, tapping their foreheads and forcing them to admit their most depraved thoughts.

One by one, they admit they would have taken turns with me once Berkley was done, and to hide the incident, they would have killed me and made it seem like an accident or a suicide.

My lower lip trembles in distraught as I realize how close I was to my death—and to something worse.

A twitch appears in Amon’s cheek as he regards the men with a murderous expression.

Yet his first target seems to be the viscount.

I’m frozen to the spot as I simply watch what’s happening around me. I don’t know if it’s shock or morbid curiosity, but even if I wanted to, I could not move.

Amon stops in front of Lord Berkley, and lifting his hand, he snaps his fingers in front of the viscount.

Immediately, the man’s head explodes.

I jump back as blood, bones and brain splatter everywhere, including on my white nightgown.

Amon doesn’t flinch as blood splashes on his face, slowly dripping down.

His eye color seemingly changes, but I can’t be sure it’s not a play of shadows or simply my erroneous perception.

The other men scream in terror as they try to run for the exit, but as Amon turns his attention to them, they stop, as if they are no longer in control of their actions.

With measured steps, Amon walks towards them, stopping in front of the first man.

I watch with trepidation as he extends his hand. Yet, just as I think he will make the man’s head explode as well, he doesn’t.

Under my very gaze, Amon’s hand changes shape, morphing into something sharp resembling a talon. One moment the blade glints in the dim lighting, the next it penetrates the man’s chest. Everything happens in the blink of an eye.

A moment his hand is inside the man’s chest cavity, the next he pulls it back, holding the man’s still beating heart.

One pump. Two. Blood gushes out.

Closing his fist, the heart explodes, more blood bursting out, staining the ceiling and walls of the library, but also turning Amon’s white hair red.

He looks terrifying. Like a true apparition.

Like a…demon.

I gasp just as he turns towards me, his lips pulling into a mocking smile. He gives me a knowing look, his eyes shifting from their normal light blue to blood red before they go pure black.

Flinging the man’s body aside with his finger, he turns to the next one.

Two men are now left, both trembling from head to toe.

Despite not being able to move, the first one pisses himself, the entire front of his light-colored trousers now wet.

Amon shakes his head in amusement as he seemingly ponders what he should do to them.

‘Lizzie mine,’ he murmurs, tilting his head to look at me. ‘They were going to rape and kill you. What punishment do you think is fit for them?

‘Me?’ I croak, my voice breaking as I speak—from shock or from screaming earlier, I do not know.

‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘Tell me, my love. What do you think they deserve?’

‘I…’ I wet my lips, my limbs shaky, my heart in my throat as I take in the slaughter around me.

I’m covered in human matter from head to toe, just like the entire room is stained red.

It’s a wonder I’m still on my feet—that I haven’t swooned from the horror of it all.

Yet, throughout everything, my awareness was sharp. I heard everything the men said—what they would do to me and how they would kill me.

And why?

All because of a Lord’s injured pride.

I have never asked Amon to act against Lord Berkley, so why should I pay for sins that are not mine?

‘As you see fit,’ I finally utter the words, lifting my chin up and looking Amon right in the eye.

His lips slowly curl up in pleasure as he tips his head at me.

Without any preliminaries, he turns his attention to the other two men, appearing like a flash by their side and whispering something in their ear.

Then, he simply appears by my side, threading his fingers through mine.

The man who’d pissed himself undoes the fastening of his pants while the other man falls to his knees in front of him.

Before I can see more, though, Amon whirls me around, turning me towards him and away from what is happening behind me.

‘What did you make them do?’ I whisper, slowly taking in his blood-streaked features and red hair. There’s a savageness that clings to him—one that should disgust me.

Instead, I only find myself more drawn to him and the pure violence that radiates from him.

‘Everything they meant to do to you, they will do to each other. With a small twist, of course,’ he smirks, his tone playful.

Blood trails down his cheek. Bringing my hand to his face, I wipe it away with my thumb.

But just as I’m about to move my hand, his fingers circle my wrist, keeping it in place.

Screams echo in the room, and from the corner of my eye I can see more blood splatter on the walls. It goes on for seconds on end before suddenly everything is quiet.

They are…dead.

‘They are,’ Amon confirms, taking hold of my finger and bringing my thumb to his mouth.

His lips part—slowly—as his tongue peeks out to lick the residue blood.

I’m too lost in the intensity of his eyes to move or say anything. They flicker again, the color changing to a myriad of different hues.

He killed them.

He killed four people. He slaughtered them.

And I watched…

‘How does it feel, Lizzie mine?’ he asks suavely, leaning forward until his lips are a mere breath away from mine. ‘How does it feel to see the true face of the devil?’ He blinks, and his eyes become black—wholly black.

Terrifying.

The true Amon is…absolutely terrifying.