“Not afraid of rape, sweet?” it said, sounding pleased. “You’re one tough little bitch.”

It grasped my shoulder, and I fought back, helpless against the long red fingers that pulled me stumbling up. My eyes flicked to Nick and the sound of heavy blows. He was hammering at the locked wooden cabinet with a leg from the table. His blood was everywhere. Jenks was on his shoulder, his wings red in fear.

The air blurred before me, and I staggered as I realized the thing had changed again. The hand now gripping my shoulder was smoothed. Panting, I looked up to see it had become a tall, sophisticated young man dressed in a formal frock and coat. A pair of smoked glasses was perched on its narrow nose. I was sure I had hit it, but what I could see of its eyes looked undamaged. Was it a vamp? A really old vampire?

“Perhaps you’re afraid of pain?” the vision of an elegant man said, its accent now proper enough for even Professor Henry Higgins.

I jerked away, stumbling into a book rack. Grinning, it reached after me. It picked me up and threw me across the room at Nick, who was still hammering at the cabinet.

My back hit it with enough force to knock the air from me. The clatter of my knife on the floor was loud as my fingers lost their grip. Struggling to breathe, I slid down the broken cabinet, ending up half sitting on the shelves behind the shattered doors. I was helpless as the thing lifted me by my dress front.

“What are you?” I rasped.

“Whatever scares you.” It smiled to show flat teeth. “What scares you, Rachel Mariana Morgan?” it asked. “It isn’t pain. It isn’t rape. It doesn’t seem to be monsters.”

“Nothing,” I panted, spitting at it.

My saliva sizzled as it hit its face. Reminded of Ivy’s saliva on my neck, I shuddered.

Its eyes went wide in pleasure. “You’re afraid of the soulless shadows,” it whispered in delight. “You’re afraid of dying in the loving embrace of a soulless shadow. Your death is going to be a pleasure for both of us, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Such a twisted way to die—in pleasure. It might have been better for your soul had you been afraid of dogs.”

I lashed out, striking its face to leave four scratch marks. It didn’t flinch. Blood oozed out, too thick and red. It twisted both my arms behind me, gripping my wrists with one hand. Nausea doubled me over as it pulled on my arm and shoulder. It pushed me up against the wall, crushing me. I got my good hand free and swung.

It caught my wrist before I could reach it. I met its gaze and felt my knees go weak. The gentleman’s frock had shrunk to a leather jacket and black pants. Blond hair and a lightly stubbled face replaced its ruddy complexion. Twin earrings caught the light. Kisten smiled at me, a red tongue beckoning. “You have a taste for vamps, little witch?” it whispered.