Her heart raced faster, adrenaline surging. For some reason she wanted to believe him, but he’d trapped her in her own kitchen. If there was one thing she hated, it was being trapped. She balled her hands into fists, overcome by the need to fight.

She pulled back her arm for a punch, but with a lightning-fast motion, he clamped his hand on her wrist, fingers piercing her flesh. Not fingers, she realized with growing terror. Claws. He has claws. What the fuck?

Her blood roared in her ears, and she could feel fire run through her, hot and molten. With her free arm, she grasped his shoulder. Her palm glowed. Somehow, her body knew what it was doing—knew how to burn him—and she waited to hear him cry out in pain.

Instead, he stared deep into her eyes. No longer a bright green, his irises now blazed a deep, smoldering red. Terror ripped her mind apart. What the hell is going on?

His gaze trailed over her body. “Ursula, my dear. There’s no need for fighting. Emerazel’s power won’t burn me,” he purred in a velvety tone. But underneath the softness, there was an edge to his voice—a sharp command. Kester was used to getting what he wanted. “The goddess’s fire runs in my veins just as it does in yours. You can’t fight me.”

His voice was husky, a lethal lullaby. His beautiful gaze hypnotized her, rooting her in place.

A part of her felt tempted to do whatever he wanted just to make him happy. “What do you need me to do?” She rasped, half hating herself as she said it. What was happening to her?

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He leaned in closer and whispered, his breath caressing her ear. “Sign,” he commanded.

He seemed so sure of himself. Her hand relaxed on his shoulder, and she stared into his fiery eyes. She should be terrified of those preternatural flames, but something about his masculine scent and his beautiful lips was intoxicating. But the strange fire in his eyes… Is that magic? Do I care?

His claws retracting, Kester reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a fountain pen the color of bone. Her gaze landed on a tiny symbol carved into the pen—an encircled triangle, just like her scar.

Holding her gaze, Kester popped off the cap, revealing a razor-sharp nib, and gripped her palm. “This will only hurt for a moment,” he said, his voice seducing her, sliding over her skin.