She stepped back, and I rolled my shoulders, getting to my feet.

Linetta handed me the dress and I stepped into it, allowing her to zip me up. I curled my lip as she held out the torture devices she considered shoes.

I could walk in heels. In my late teens, I went through a stage where I was determined to be like normal women. I knew how to kill a man in a hundred different ways, but I’d wanted one piece of normality in my life.

I’d practiced walking in them until I was able to master the small steps and slow roll of my hips. When my trainer— Edward Sutton— had caught me wearing them, he’d given me a slow smile that I knew meant I was in deep shit.

The next day, he’d made me train in heels. And the next. He’d explained that if I was going to do something as foolish as wear ankle-breaking devices, then I was going to learn to swing a sword, throw a knife, and most importantly— engage in hand-to-hand while wearing them.

He’d taken something I’d been convinced would make me like other women and ruined it. I’d barely worn heels since.

I slid them on and Linetta held out a velvet box. I shook my head. “That’s a nope. The makeup wasn’t included in my deal with the demon and I let you guys paint my face. There’s no way I’m wearing his sparkly stones.”

Both women stared at me. I ignored them and turned to the full-length mirror in Samael’s bedroom. Even I could admit I looked good.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

A deep voice made me jolt. “Now that’s the attitude.”

I didn’t know where Samael had gotten ready, since we were currently standing in his bedroom, but I almost swallowed my tongue as I looked at him.

A tux should soften a man up a little. It should hide his rough edges and fool the eye into believing the man is tamed, if not harmless.

The tux wasn’t doing its job. Samael oozed danger. His silver eyes scanned me, and while his expression didn’t change, I practically choked on the satisfaction wafting from him.

My dress was a purple so dark it was almost black. It shimmered in the light, falling over my skin like water. While the dress fit like a glove, Samael had obviously memorized where I liked to keep my weapons. The fabric draped over my right thigh, allowing me easy access to my Mark II, which I’d switched from my spine sheath.