The valkyrie seemed to be thinking the same thing. As she approached Caine, cheeks flushed, her finger trailed down her chest. She licked her lips.

That was when Rosalind understood: Caine was using his incubus magic, and she’d been caught in the crossfire. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to run her hands all over his bare skin.

Mist stepped closer, a low moan escaping her lips—until her gaze landed on Rosalind again. A look of confusion crossed the valkyrie’s beautiful face, and she clamped her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don’t use your magic on me, incubus.” Her voice was a low growl, and when she opened her eyes again, savage rage contorted her features.

She ripped Rosalind from Caine’s embrace before raising her clawed hands, transfixing the pair in place.

A pale blue light flowed from her hands, freezing Rosalind’s body.

“Let’s see which of your lovers is stronger,” the demoness said.

As the light hit Rosalind’s body, the valkyrie’s aura slammed into her like a hurricane wind. A cold, deadly battle fury coursed through Rosalind, so powerful that her limbs trembled. Anger blinded her like a white light, and she clenched her fists, fingernails piercing her palms. She wanted to break through bone and gristle, to slice through necks with a sword.

I need to kill.

Her vision cleared, and before her stood the one person that she’d been waiting for. Pale gray eyes, tousled brown hair—his whole existence was a lie, a grotesque monster wrapped in a veneer of beauty. A devil sent to test her faith.

His gaze bored a hole in her. “I should have known how you’d turn out. You’ve always believed you were born better than others.”

“I am better than beasts like you.” Underneath it all, he was just like the other demons—a beast of prey, waiting for the right moment to rip her to shreds.

Her eyes lingered over his perfect form, stoking her anger further. All beautiful things must die. She wanted to crush his stunning body like a rose in her fist. She pulled the dust from her cleavage, ready to burn him.

When his eyes darkened to a deep black, and a ghost of wings rose behind him, dread whispered through her—but her fear only ignited her rage. Dark shadows curled around his muscled body.

Rosalind stared into the face of wrath itself, ancient and venomous—the face of floods and storms, trembling earth and mountains of fire. Something in the primal part of her brain shrieked at her to run, but her body would no longer obey. She needed to kill.

She was no longer Rosalind. She was a great queen of war.

With a lightning-fast gesture, she uncorked the dust, flinging it at the incubus. Primordial ferocity coiled through her, ready to strike its prey. She belonged to Rage now.

Caine growled—a deep animal sound that rumbled through her gut, chilling her blood. But she wasn’t running away until she’d stopped his heart.

She’d snuffed out his magic in the most painful way possible.