“When succubi feed from humans, it’s not quite as pleasurable as when incubi do it.”

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, moving closer again to press her hand against his neck. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I thought incubi were… evil.” She drank in his clean, earthy scent, her eyes lingering on the flawless skin near his collarbone before drifting up to his full lips. They looked soft, and she couldn't help but stare. If he ever wanted to feed from her, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to turn him down—assuming he was telling the truth about only choosing willing partners.

“You’ve been brainwashed. It’s not your fault.” He lowered her wrist. “There. It’s not always so bad when you get close to the monsters.”

Not bad at all—horrifyingly, disturbingly not bad. Obviously, the mage’s spirit inside was leading her into dark, animalistic places, drawing her to other corrupted souls.

Okay, fine. The truth was that Caine was just hot as hell.

As she stepped away from him, she steadied her breath. Keep your composure, Rosalind. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t a real monster—that she actually liked him— was more horrifying than anything else she could have learned about him. It raised questions she didn’t want to answer.

She followed him over the old wooden pier toward the bar, and the breeze lifted her hair. As much as she hated herself for it, his warmth had been delicious, and she could almost imagine what he’d look like without his—

Stop it. She clenched her jaw. She was on a Hunter mission, and couldn’t get distracted by his beauty. And more than that, she now had a duty to report back to the Brotherhood what she knew about incubi. Of course, people like Josiah would say that Caine was a liar, but his voice had the ring of truth in it—not to mention the fact that he hadn’t once tried to force himself on her, even though he could easily overpower her.

They reached the shoddy old door to the bar, and Caine yanked it open, revealing a room fit for vampire royalty. White stone swooped high above them, and candles blazed from ornate chandeliers. Vampires stood around, drinking blood from champagne flutes.

Or at least, they had been drinking moments before. Right now, they were all staring at Rosalind. In fact, it kind of seemed like the whole wrist on neck maneuver hadn’t worked.

A tall, thin man stood behind an oak bar, his hand paused mid-pour. His fangs glinted in the candlelight. “Caine. Did you bring a Hunter into my bar?”

Shit. Was it the smell of her blood? She scanned the room for weapons. A marble fireplace with burning logs and silver pokers. Chandeliers, and champagne flutes all over the place. I can work with this.

“Jorge.” Caine smiled. “Would I bring a Hunter into your bar?”

“She smells like a mage, but she’s wearing an iron ring. And by the frisky glint in her eye, it doesn’t look like she’s been hypnotized.”