: Chapter 1

Poppy Dyer muttered as a demon approached her, framed in the glow of lightning bolts.

Rök Kours, her nemesis. The mercenary she mused about far too often.

What was he doing at this castle? And how could she get rid of him before the moon rose?

He narrowed his smoky-blue eyes, their color vivid against his tanned skin.

When he climbed the castle’s steps to join her at the entry, she held her ground, yet her gaze couldn’t help but sweep over his chiseled features with appreciation—his wide jaw, strong chin, and aquiline nose.

She got lost for a moment when she met those heavy-lidded eyes before she dragged her focus upward. His thick black hair was long enough to tie back in a queue, but tonight he wore it loose to cover most of his silvery horns. Over the years she’d seen them flared with aggression—and once with passion.

His demon-may-care attitude matched his appearance. A frayed, navy T-shirt highlighted his muscular chest and arms, and his worn jeans clung to his narrow hips. Scuffed boots and a sword belted around his waist rounded out the ensemble.

He looked tired though, as if he’d just rolled out of bed from his latest conquest. Likely.

Finding her voice, she said, “I wish I could say this was a pleasure, but it never is with you.” She was proud of how calm she sounded when unwelcome chemistry simmered between them like a bubbling potion.

It temporarily overrode her nerves about tonight’s mission: breach this castle at moonrise, find her prize, then get out during the brief window at moonset.

“

a pleasure?” Rök’s rumble of a voice pricked her senses. “You know that’s a lie.” His lips curved into a slow, mind-scrambling smile that showed off white teeth with a hint of his demon fangs. “You liked my kiss well enough.”

Their sole kiss on their sole date.

Two years ago, when he’d slanted his mouth over hers in the rain, she’d moaned with abandon and dug her nails into his back, her body desperate for his.

Her body was a fucking idiot. “Will you never stop bringing that up?” Would she never stop replaying the feel of those lips?

Rain-wetted, demon-hot.

His talented tongue was pointed⁠—

“As soon as you stop staring at my mouth like you fancy another one.”

She darted her gaze away. “I don’t have time for your games tonight. Some of us are on the clock.” And much was on the line.

She glanced past him to survey the two-hundred-room castle. Lightning flashed behind its gravity-defying towers. Thunder clapped:

. A nearby pond gave up sulfurous fumes. Dead spruces circled it, limned in silver flickers.

To complete the property’s ill-omened look, a cemetery lined one side of the overgrown drive. The tombstones were all askew, like a witch’s hat after a bender. A couple of ghouls skulked amidst the weathered stones.

This castle was the most foreboding place she’d ever beheld, and that was something for a witch to say. The wizard who’d built it had been a Lore philanthropist and a gifted scientist, until his family had died under mysterious circumstances a century ago.

No one had ever spied him outside these walls again, but her coven hadn’t sensed his death until a few decades later. So what had he been up to in the intervening years? Some whispered that he’d gone rogue, turning balls-out evil.

.

She felt the thunder in her stomach, along with clenching nerves. Steeling herself, she adjusted her cross-body satchel with her few spell pouches inside. She’d had scant time to prepare for tonight and hadn’t been able to ask her sisters for help.

They’d never suspected she would set off by herself for this particular mission, but by now, they would know she’d given them the slip.

Drawing her from that unsettling thought, Rök said, “You assume I’m not on the clock as well?” After letting his gaze roam over her from her boots to her bright-red hair, he leaned against the entry wall and crossed his brawny arms over his chest. A lesser witch would have gawked. His sculpted seven-foot-tall body was as seductive as the most gripping enchantment. “Who hired you to come here?”

“Spill info on my client?” When she gave him an indulgent smile, his attention clocked her curving lips, making her cheeks heat. “What kind of merc would I be?” In truth, no one had hired her. She was here to risk her life, on this, the most problematic of nights, to break a curse.

So who had hired Rök? Did his presence mean other mercs would show?

“You up for pooling intel on this place?” His accent was British-adjacent, peppered with American slang. When they’d talked for hours on their date, she’d learned he’d been raised in Rothkalina, the rage demon kingdom, but his parents had bounced around until Rök’s first Accession when they’d both died in battle.

“Not a chance. I know everything I need to know.” Her research indicated that a pressurized boundary spell surrounded the structure. When the veil between worlds was thinnest—during a full moon on Halloween night—the castle door would swing open once the moon rose.

Getting out would prove more precarious. After all, none of the explorers had returned from the last expedition into the interior. . . .

The Halloween timing was unfortunate since her own curse burgeoned out of control on this night. Any moment now, the monsters she unwillingly created once a year would wake.

The idea of this demon seeing them made her cheeks heat again. “In fact, you should leave and spare yourself a defeat. Tell me, Rök, what will it take to get you gone?” His lids went heavy as they always did whenever she said his name.

Had she once fallen for his charm?

“Half of my bounty?”

“We’re in a may-the-best-demon-win situation here, and I intend to claim everything that’s coming to me,” he said, a hint of warning in his tone.

“I’ve always held my own with you whenever the two of us have faced off. I can handle whatever you bring into the mix.”

Her words seemed to please him. “True. You give as good as you get.”

Why did she feel as if he was speaking about something else entirely? “What’s going on here? You’re being weird.”

He shrugged. “Strange day.”

Rain began to fall. He glanced out over the grounds, then back at her, his irises changing color—often a sign of high emotion in immortals. When his blue eyes turned gray like spotlit smoke, she almost convinced herself he was replaying their kiss. But a male like him, who went through so many paramours, probably didn’t remember it.

Drops swelled into a deluge. Water poured along the edge of the nearby overhang, creating a lightning-lit curtain. On this covered portico, she and Rök might as well have been alone together in a cocoon. Their breaths sounded loud, their heartbeats syncing. . . .

Poppy barely noticed when the wind picked up, dispersing the heavy downpour. She and the demon stood staring at each other, wordless, until a lightning bolt detonated nearby.

Inner shake. “Strange day, demon? Then you should go home now and enjoy the draw.”

He blinked, as if he’d lost the thread of their conversation. “Maybe I came here hoping to see you.”

“Uh-huh. I wish I could lie as easily as demons seem to,” she said, though she’d never sensed him lying to her, not once in all their interactions.

“Can you not tell I’m attracted to you?”

Yes, but . . . “You’re more attracted to the chase. I’m the only single female you haven’t been able to seduce, which makes me an anomaly in the Lore: the lay that got away.”

That sound rumbled from his broad chest, telling her nothing, sending her thoughts tripping about like a horror-movie damsel. He levered himself away from the wall and strode over beside her.

Sensation crackled along her skin from his mere nearness. His heady scent was a mix of mist and embers.

“So how do we handle tonight?”

Collecting herself, she said, “You can surrender now and salvage some of your pride. My streak is only going to continue.” That wasn’t true. The last time the two of them had gone head-to-head, she’d been hired to protect a warlord’s daughter from an unfitting suitor. That suitor had hired Rök to steal the female away.

One problem: the beautiful daughter had wanted to be stolen , had sneaked out from Poppy’s protection, straight into the demon’s arms.

Left fuming over her lost pay, Poppy had thought the two would hole up in some lair and make like rabbits. Instead, Rök had dropped off the woman with friends before returning to Poppy. All nonchalant, he’d asked, “You like fancy restaurants?” She’d agreed to a date partly out of sheer curiosity.

“Surrender?” he scoffed now. “Oh, Red, I’ve won against you as much as I’ve lost.”

“Oh, player, I’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll get summoned before we enter the castle, and the night will be mine.” Any woman who slept with a smoke demon could summon him at will. Over the centuries, he’d racked up an army of these swimbos—a play on She Who Must Be Obeyed—so he was prone to vanish.

During Poppy’s date with him, he’d been summoned by a lover and had never returned. Which was for the best.

He grinned. “Is there anything sexier than a jealous witch? If there is, I can’t think of it.”

“I am not jealous.”

“Look, if you leave now, I’ll walk on the next job.”

“Where’s the sport in that? Besides, I could just teleport you home and return here, snagging the prize for myself.”

Her hand darted inside her bag to snare one of her magic pouches. “Try it, demon. Oh, ”

He held up his palms in surrender. “Why would I beg off when I can see how much you want this gig?”

“Why do want it so bad?” Poppy and the demon must be after the same thing. When she’d been told the answer to her curse lay within these walls, she’d pictured a magical talisman, a cursebreaker, that would set her free.

Rök’s cagey look perked up her witchly acquisitiveness.

Tapping her chin, she said, “Are you in need of funds? Poor demon hasn’t been saving his coin?” The most hazardous merc jobs were the most lucrative, and she’d heard that he’d signed on for one lethal mission after another, almost as if he had a death wish—or a huge debt. “Taking all your girlfriends to eat at pricey restaurants must empty your pockets.”

“Hmm. Do I do that? In any case, I like to work. Keeps me young.” He looked no more than thirty, but he was thirteen centuries old. “Admit it: mercs have fun . . .” He trailed off, his gaze flicking in the direction of the glowing ghouls.

Despite the earlier rain, their number had grown to three, a larger one and two smaller ones. Rök rested a hand on his sword.

Poppy didn’t spook easily, but something about that trio filled her with disquiet. Keeping her tone light, she said, “Scared of a few ghouls?”

“Anybody with sense avoids them.”

A scratch or bite could turn even an immortal into the undead. “Then off you go.”

“Sticking around, if it’s all the same.”

Wasn’t all the same; never would be after he’d hurt her so badly.

Rök gestured to the front door. “What are you waiting for?”

“You don’t know?” His commitment to research usually rivaled hers.

“Checking to see if you do.” His lazy grin made her more suspicious.

“Whatever.” Spears of moonlight penetrated the clouds. It was time. Which meant she had no shot at losing him before the castle opened. Her muscles tensed with readiness, and she felt his attention like a touch.

A wave of mystical energy swelled from the building, swarming outward over them. The magic was dark, tasted bitter.

She stared at the door.

Maybe she should wait and prep more. Though everyone in her coven figured she was a conjurer (she had the most luck with those spell pouches), she’d demonstrated no innate caste power. And tonight, she had nothing except a handful of pouches and an activated curse.

So foolish. Yet the next opportunity to enter—during another Halloween full moon—wouldn’t be for nineteen years. Her curse would drive her insane by then.

When the door swung open with a hiss, she straightened her shoulders and started forward.

Rök muttered, “In over your head.”

“Only way to swim.” Inside she blinked against the gloom—she had no demonic night vision—until olden gas lights flickered on. Their dust-coated sconces painted the foyer in a harsh light.

“No one lives here, right?” Rök followed her in. “So who’s paying the gas bill?”

“Powered by residual magic.” Just like the boundary.

For such a sizable area, the air was stale. Cobwebs crisscrossed the floor and walls, but they looked old.

When Rök shadowed her steps, Poppy’s heart thumped. She didn’t want to spend a night trapped here with him, but she couldn’t prevent him from staying unless she was ready to sacrifice a pouch.

She’d just have to lose him inside. Poppy was mystically sensitive; he wasn’t. She would uncover the prize well before he could.

“Anybody home?” she called out into the echoing expanse. “Hellooo? Is anyone⁠—”

The door slammed shut behind them. She and Rök whirled around. The hissing sound of pressurization proved more ominous than the castle’s appearance.

Poppy had a feeling that this place promised hell, and she’d come to collect.