She crossed her arms. “Look, I have a little memory problem. I don’t know anything about the first fifteen years of my life. You may have heard of me; it was all over the news after I turned up in a burning church in London. The tabloids called me the Mystery Girl.” Wherever the scar had come from, that was a secret only Former Ursula could unravel. Not the clueless, unemployed girl trying to eat bread and butter for dinner.

“Mystery Girl? Never heard of you.” He studied her carefully, the candlelight flickering over his smooth, golden skin. “I can tell you this. Emerazel is not the devil. Some mortals call her that, but she is a goddess. Her domain is the volcanic magma in the center of the earth and, when angered, she destroys cities. She is neither good nor evil. She is love, power, rage, and light. You cannot fight her. You cannot win this.” All signs of softness left his face, and his gaze grew fierce, almost feral. “Do not fight her, and do not fight me. You will not win.”

The hair rose on the back of her neck. “Right. According to the crazy bloke who followed me home and broke into my house, I owe my soul to an all-powerful goddess of rage and power.” She clamped her hands on her hips, trying to ignore the chill running up her spine. “I’m not signing your stupid paper.”

“That’s really a shame.” Kester tilted his head, almost apologetic. “Then I must reap your soul for Emerazel now.”

Ursula forced a smile onto her face. “Whatever that means, it’s not happening either.” She grabbed the tea candles from the counter, flicking the hot wax in his face.

Kester hardly flinched.

Her panic rising, she grabbed the cast-iron skillet and swung for his head. He reached up to block it, and it slammed against his arm with a crunch. He emitted a low, inhuman growl that rumbled through her gut. As he glared at her, eyes blazing bright green, his forearm swung down at an awkward angle, a mangled mess that should have had him screaming in agony.

She steadied her breath. “I’m not signing your devil’s pact tonight. I don’t care if you work for Satan, or Emerazel, or if you’ve escaped from a psychiatric hospital. I’m not giving up my soul. Whoever you are, you need to leave now before I shatter your skull.”

Kester’s eyes slid to his arm, and he whispered softly—words at once strange and familiar. A chill licked up Ursula’s spine.

She stared as Kester’s arm straightened with a cracking sound. With the arm fully repaired, he raised his hand again, wiggling his fingers.

Her heart skipped a beat, and the word demon rang in her head again.

“That really hurt.” His eyes, now the color of blood, met hers.

Her mind screamed, Not human!