Gripping the dagger, she moved to the door. She could see no sign of the magical lock and she desperately hoped that meant it would open from the inside. She twisted the handle and relief washed over her when it turned in her grasp. A gentle push cracked the door open and she slipped out, shutting it behind her.

She crouched in the doorway of her bedroom, watching the door. Her eyes were beginning to water, but she didn’t blink. The dagger remained ready at her side.

Even though his chest didn’t rise and he had no pulse, the beautiful man had felt alive when she’d touched him. His warm skin had seemed to exude a powerful, shadowy magic. If he was alive, then she had to consider the possibility that she might have disturbed his slumber. What sort of a creature could lose that much blood and live? She’d actually been able to feel the intensity of his power. Hadn’t Kester said something like “there might be worse monsters than hellhounds?” She had a bad feeling that she might now know what he was talking about.

The stranger could burst through the door at any moment and rip her to shreds. In fact, maybe he was the monster who had slaughtered the last hellhound. Then again, if he was such a threat, Kester would have locked the door from the inside too. Her pulse began to slow. She was probably safe for now.

Ursula slid the dagger into her belt before she got up from her crouch and walked to the conservatory. Her hands were still shaking as she shut the window and collected her empty champagne flute. She couldn’t have Kester discovering her unsanctioned nocturnal activity, or he’d send her straight to Emerazel.

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, her mind flashed with an image of her body burning in hellfire, her skin blistering and blackening. She shuddered, shoving her fingers into her hair. I’m going to lose my mind.

Maybe Kester was right about her. Maybe she’d quickly shove her moral qualms aside to do what she needed to save herself. After all, she only had herself to rely on in this world.

She tightened her fists, sighing. Tomorrow, she would hunt down Hugo Modes at the opera, even if it meant she’d become a monster herself.

Chapter 20

Ursula poured herself a cup of coffee, her mind rejoicing in the rich aroma. An old rock song played on the radio—Iggy Pop, The Passenger. She loved this song, and even through the fog of exhaustion, part of her wanted to dance, just to feel human again. Clearly, she was running on some kind of insane adrenaline at this point, trying to drown out all thoughts of the man or demon upstairs.