“Zeda, love, how are you doing?” Lucian asked when he approached Zeda.

His scent hit her like a wrecking ball, the woodsmoke stronger, probably because his demon was closer to the surface.

“I’m okay,” she replied, injecting coldness into her voice.

“How are your injuries?” he asked. He gently parted her hair to check the ugly red lines that Sloan’s magical ropes had left. His fingers brushed her neck, and a hot, burning desire ran through her; she felt instantly hot.

She ...