She closed her eyes, and the pounding rain lulled her into sleep. Her mind offered up an image of Bileth, stalking through Salem’s winding streets on a pale, white horse, hooves clopping against the pavement. As he approached, a drumbeat sounded, slow and deep, rumbling through her gut.

Rosalind stood with Caine, holding his hand in the cool moonlight, while Bileth walked closer, his eyes burning red. When he grinned, Rosalind felt horns grow from her head, her teeth lengthen. A knife appeared in her hand. Bileth howled, and forced Rosalind to jam the knife into Caine’s neck, plunging in and out until blood soaked her body.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped, her heart pounding. Caine had warned her about dwelling on her worst fears before sleep.

What if Caine knew the incubus she’d hurt? Her pulse raced. She’d have to tell him. A part of her wanted to tear through the hallway and confess everything, but she was terrified of what he’d say.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes again. This time, she imagined Caine’s strong arms around her, his aura caressing her skin, soothing her muscles. His bed smelled like him—the heady scent of fresh earth after a rainstorm. She shouldn’t let herself think of him like that, but she was too exhausted to fight it. The sensation of his presence was so vivid that it almost seemed real, like his perfect body was pressing against hers in a warm embrace, and she melted into the illusion.

She drifted off to the sound of the rain battering the windows and steep-peaked roof. She dreamt of a hawthorn grove, with a ground blanketed by falling petals.

Chapter 25

A banging noise jolted her from her sleep, and she sat up.

“Rosalind.” Caine shouted through the dark, his voice urgent.

She threw the covers off, suddenly alert, and jumped out of bed. “What’s going on? What time is it?”

He sparked the candles, and for a moment, his eyes trailed over her bare legs. “Bileth is near, and you need to leave before he finds you.”

Her pulse raced. “Where is he?”

“He’s a few streets away. The house is invisible to him, but he’s scented us somehow.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten at night. You slept for fourteen hours.” He was dressed for battle—sleek, black clothes, dark armor over his chest, and a sword slung over his back. Smaller blades glinted from holsters strapped to his legs and arms.

She crossed to the window, pulling aside the curtain. Moonlight glinted off the harbor.

“Can he get in here?” she asked.

“No, but if he figures out where the house is, he can draw us out with fire. I’m going out to speak to him, but I want you to get out of here with the other girls.”

Something about his phrasing irked her. Get out of here with the girls. “I’m a trained fighter, you know. I don’t need to run away from demons.”