She had to escape.
She remembered that look Faith had cast her. Okay, maybe she’d accept the pity if that was what it took to get away from here. One last try. She could ask Faith to talk to Asmodai. Ask him to release her, if only for a while. She could get her head straight and maybe learn to accept what she was and her role in life.
A freaking slave.
Was she bitter and twisted? Hell, yes.
Her boots clattered against the stone as she made her way down the spiral stairway from the tower and across the courtyard to the small salon where she knew Faith would be meeting with her friends.
The door was slightly ajar, and she hesitated. These three had always intimidated her, made her remember she was nothing but a slave, and that always made her act like a bitch.
She took a deep breath, but as she went to push open the door, Tara, Asmodai’s half-demon, half-fey daughter, spoke from inside, and Shera paused.
“What’s wrong?” Tara asked. “You seem a little…preoccupied.”
“I was thinking about Shera,” Faith replied softly.
Shera went instantly still, her hand dropping to her side.
“She wanted to talk to Ash just now, and we pretty much ignored her. We should be nicer to her—it must be hard being enslaved to a demon your whole life.”
“Well, she won’t be a problem much longer,” Tara replied. “Apparently my father is moving her someplace else. He thinks you don’t like her, would be happier with her gone. So of course, Shera has to go.”
A wave of heat washed over her. Shera had always thought Faith was nice, and while they weren’t friends, they’d got on okay. Well, as okay as she got on with anyone. To find out now that Faith wanted her gone was like a blade to her heart.
Her fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t listen anymore. She backed away from the door, whirled around, and ran across the courtyard, back into the tower, then down the steps that led into the catacombs below.
Once in the cool darkness, she sank to the floor, leaning her back against the smooth rock.
She was nothing more than a slave. Had no say in her life. Asmodai could do whatever he liked with her, hand her over to some other demon, kill her even, if that was his whim.
The feelings grew inside her, like wildfire ripping through bone-dry tinder, until her blood was red-hot lava bubbling in her veins, and she threw back her head and screamed.
No more.
She was getting out of here. Whatever the cost. And she had no doubt that it would be high. Maybe even her life.
She rubbed at the sigil on her arm. There was a rumor that if you escaped, then a month later the sigil would… Actually, she didn’t know what it would do, but it was designed to keep the household slaves from running, so probably nothing good.
But she knew what would happen if she stayed. She’d be passed on like a piece of unwanted furniture.
No, she was going to leave, have some fun, find some guy to kiss her, maybe more. Cross a few things off her bucket list. And afterward…well, she’d worry about the consequences when they couldn’t be avoided.
First, she needed funds. She knew enough of the world to realize that fun didn’t come cheap. As Asmodai’s housekeeper, she had access to everywhere in the castle. She knew where the gold was kept.
And he owed her.
Time he paid up.
Chapter Two
Follow the mayhem…
That’s what Asmodai, aka Ash, had told him when the demon had sent Carl after his errant housekeeper. At the time, Carl had wondered how much mayhem one little cat shifter could cause.
As it turned out—a hell of a lot.
Carl rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. With only two days until the full moon, his wolf was restless. The magic was building inside him, craving release. So he’d get this done, return Shera to her rightful home, and then head up to his place on Rannoch Moor, where he had the freedom to shift and run.
He’d seen Shera around once or twice when he’d been at Ash’s place—tall and slender, with long black hair that reached down to her ass, green eyes, a thing for lots of tight, black leather, and a manner of looking straight through him as though he didn’t exist. That look of disdainful disinterest always got him hot and hard.
Now, studying the woman who sat alone at the small table on the beach, smiling up at the waiter as she made her order, he hardly recognized her from the leather clad, super-bitch he’d seen before. She looked softer in the cotton dress, which showed off her bare shoulders, revealing the demon’s sigil wrapped around her upper arm. Her formerly pale skin was sun-kissed, she wore no makeup, and her hair had been cut off at the shoulders.
She looked beautiful and happy.
For the first time, a little niggle of guilt jabbed him in the gut. What right did he have to haul her back to slavery in the Abyss?