Despite the shouted warnings in my mind, I turn, breath ragged, heart thumping against my ribs, and shuffle toward him. Fists tight and jaw clenched, I refuse to look up from the ground, but I can’t stop myself from walking forward.

I glance left and right, hoping to find someone close to grab me and pin my backside to the ground. There’s no one. The soldiers are locked in battle. No Flanagan or Mason close by.

Once I leave the band of untouched space around the car, I fall to my knees, driven to the concrete by an inner demand too strong to ignore.

Master. The word wants to tumble from my lips.

I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t know what this disturbing influence is the creature has over me. Some vampire voodoo shit. But no fucking way am I ever going to call it master.

I kneel and hang my head and wait. I have to. I want to. There’s an elation in my chest, as though I’m about to meet a secret beloved I’m only now remembering. My attention draws upward, compelled to the stunning creature. I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it, but I avoid meeting his dark gaze.

With unearthly grace, the vampire saunters toward me, his eyes riveted to my face. The closer he comes, the more the battle slips into the background. It could be only the two of us here in the steelworks. Weapons fly around him—bolts and swords whistle through the air, heading for his chest, but stop midflight before they can meet their target and clatter to the concrete. He doesn’t spare them a glance.

The nearer he stalks, the harder my heart pounds. My breath comes in shallow puffs. Cold sweat soaks my T-shirt. My nails puncture the soft flesh of my palms. I feel defenseless.

And I realize who this is. Certainty grips my chest as surely as his presence. This vampire creature is my shadow. The one who has tailed me for the last three months.

The prince now stands in front of me, close enough to touch, a towering demigod, his immense wings creating a shadowed cavern.

I force my eyes down, fixing them on a patch of crimson blood painted across the concrete. I resist a baffling urge to lean and rest my head against his hip.

Strong, elegant fingers cup my chin to lift my face. I tense, my stomach twisting with panic. I’m certain that once I meet those black eyes, it’s over. His fingers burn hot against my chin. The touch tingles my skin like champagne. I melt into his hand and look up, finding two pools of darkest night. My resistance vanishes.

Master. The word hangs in my mind.

The prince’s beauty rocks me. The sight of his exquisite face sucks the air from my lungs. Pale, almost ethereal, as though a sculptor stole moonlight and chiseled it into the perfect form. A strong face, masculine, but high cheekbones and full lips give it a delicate, almost feminine quality. And his ears rise to a definite point. Do all vampires have pointed ears?