The fact that the house is far too overcrowded is all the warning I should need to call a taxi and head back to my room. If not that, the overplayed techno music and sweaty men who wandered over to me shortly after I arrived should have done it.

What am I doing here?

Oh, that's right. I am trying to live and see if I can control my rage and enjoy the numbness.

Maybe I don't have to be on the verge of murder at all times. Maybe I can just... be.

"I know I said slutty, but, damn E, you really outdid yourself this time," Jeremiah comments.

His eyes glided over me, examining everything from the chunky black heels I am wearing to the deep red miniskirt, the almost sheer black top covering my chest, my dark makeup, and my loosely curled hair.

I had taken my time getting ready, determined to make something out of this shit day, but now that he was staring at me like he might offer me money to sleep with him, I regret the effort.

"Eat me." I snatch the red cup from his hands and bring it to my lips. Room-temperature beer slides down my throat, and I try not to cringe.

I am not sure who is in charge of the booze here, but should I stumble across them, I am going to give them the ass-kicking they deserve. Not only has all the hard liquor been served, but the beer went flat over an hour ago.

Fuck it; free booze is free booze, and it is just what I have been needing. They might have stripped me of every positive emotion, but my ability to catch a buzz remains intact.

Jeremiah laughs off my insult, tipping his freshly acquired cup towards me before sauntering off to the group of giggling women waving him over.

There is no angry Fae female in sight, meaning he must not have brought Breya. I wonder what lie he told her before he left.

At least I won't have to worry about her causing a scene or trying to hit me again. I don't think this party could handle me during a full-blown rage attack.

The music pounds in the air as I exit the kitchen and make my way into the center of the alcohol-fueled dancers. I am full of energy that needs to be burned off, and, seeing as Jeremiah is not a valid option, dancing seems like the most peaceful way of ridding myself of it.

I move my hips to the slow, robotic beat and close my eyes, allowing the rhythm to take hold of me. It has been forever since I've been able to unwind like this, and now that I am, I regret not doing it sooner. I regret thinking there was no other way to relax other than violence.

A hand slides around my waist, and because its shade is much darker than the porcelain I was expecting, I know it isn't my overly handsy ex.

The stranger pulls me back until I am pressed against his chest, and I allow my head to fall back against it as well. He moves his body at a speed that matches my own, and I grind my ass into him, still enjoying the lack of violence flowing through me.

I could stay like this all night, pressed against someone I will never see again, while the flow of the beat takes my mind off everything.

"Press that perfect ass of yours any harder against me, and I will take you right here in front of everyone," a velvet voice growls into my ears. "Unless you're into that, and then, by all means, carry on."

I stop moving, and recognition hits me instantly. Even if I had doubts about who was behind me, they would have vanished the second he did, and I am left with nothing but the faint smell of sulfur with a hint of something citrusy.

My eyes scan the crowd, and I spot him, the hood of his leather jacket pulled up as he weaves through the crowd and into the hall.

Manners abandon me and I shove my way past the people in front of me, ignoring their curses as I knock their cups from their hands and soak into the already dirtied carpet.

"Hey," I shout, reaching out to grab the stranger by the arm.

He reacts quicker than I can blink. He grabs me, spinning me into a nearby room. My back hits the door, slamming it closed, and he takes a step back from me as he removes his jacket.

Before being unjustly imprisoned, I spent much time surrounded by men who looked as good or even better than Jeremiah and Peter. I spent years working around males with perfect bodies that would put athletes and models to shame.

Now, with that being said, I have never been as floored by someone as I am by the man standing before me.

He is tall, standing at least six foot five, and is a full foot taller than me. Dark brown and blonde hair waves around his face, hanging messily in front of a pair of golden eyes that peer out from lashes so thick it should be illegal.

His face is the perfect combination of sharp angles, light stubble, and full lips.

Mystery demon looks beyond words, devastatingly decadent in his low-hung black jeans and olive green shirt. Tattoos peek out from between his sleeves and collar, running the length of both arms and up his next to right below the jaw.

He looks like he was brought to life just to torment me.

"Funny running into you here," he laughs, the sound like a melody, as he takes a step back to leave against the bottom of the frame surrounding the bed in the room he has pulled me into. "Those were some nice moves out there. You look pensive, love. Is something wrong? Or are you considering arresting me again? I don't think that would be the best idea because it didn't work out the last time, but if that's what you need to do, I can't stop you."

"I'm not on duty. And, as you just pointed out, it didn't go so well last time. Thanks to your little disappearing act, my whole case got thrown out. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome."

"Why are you here? Better yet, why did you track me down in Salt Lake City to warn me that the DSA was coming for me? How did you find me anyway?"

"I could find you anywhere, but even if I couldn't, I am well known for my ability to locate things that others can't," he answers vaguely. "I wasn't there to warn you about the DSA, but that doesn't matter because, regardless of who I came to warn you about, you didn't listen and ended up back here anyways. "

I know I should focus on getting clearer answers from him, or at least paying to the answers I am getting, but I cannot stop staring at him. I can only focus on the fullness of his lips and how they move as he talks.

He cocks his head to the side when he catches me staring. "Like what you see?"

"Not one bit. Did you follow me here?"

"Yes, I came here to talk to you." He begins to unbutton his shirt, and my jaw hits the floor. Every button he undoes reveals more perfectly tanned skin and the color tattoos that cover it. "I can't for the life of me remember why now."

The thin fabric slides down his toned arms and body, revealing the indents on his hips.

Christ on a crouton, this man is rocking the body to end all bodies.

"You can't remember why you've been stalking me?"

"There is more than one reason why I am stalking you." Those liquid sunlight eyes of his glide over me in a way that makes me feel like I might burst into flames. "I know what I needed to say was important, but having you here in front of me looking like you do, I can't focus on anything else. "

I can't look away from him or the way his muscles flex with each breath he takes. "What? Huh? Why did you take your shirt off? What the hell are you doing here?"

He bites gently at his lower lip. "I'm not sure what I was doing earlier, but what I am doing now should be obvious. Instead of doing what I came here to do, I am giving in to what I want. I am showing you mine in the very real hopes that you will show me yours because, love, I haven't stopped thinking about you since I saw you. I haven't stopped thinking about what that body might look like since you rubbed it against me. I am doing what most people do in these situations: drink, dance, and hope that you end up in one of these rooms with someone who looks the way you do."

He closes in on me, his hands brushing over the exposed skin at the low collar of my top. He trails his fingers down the center of my chest, a feeling of desire sparking to life as his thumb brushes over my pebbled nipple, and I stifle back a groan.

What the actual fuck is happening?

"There is something wrong with you." I place my hand against his firm stomach with the intent of pushing him away, but I don't. As soon as my skin touches him, electricity shoots through my veins, and heat pools in my stomach and spreads down my thighs. "First, you say you followed me here to tell me something important, but now you say you can't remember? What is your problem? Other than the fact that you have issues respecting other people's personal space?"

He takes another step toward me, and I realize that, by angling his body and getting me to back up a step every time he moves, he has been steering me away from the door and towards the bed.

I have been too distracted by the fact that I am feeling things I haven't felt in years—things I shouldn't be feeling now, things that make no sense.

"I find it impossible to believe that this is the first time someone has tried to seduce you before. The entire point is to convince you to let me get all up in your personal space, which I intend to do."

Something shifts in the air, a heaviness that slams right into me, and when he takes another step, I don't back up.

I don't want to move. In fact, I want to get closer.

This is ridiculous. A freakishly attractive demon just followed me to a party, pulled me into a random bedroom, and then told me his urge to sleep with me has overridden his ability to think clearly. Still, instead of turning and running, I can only think about how turned on I am right now.

All I can think of is the things he is making me feel that I shouldn't be able to feel.

'What the hell is happening? Is the ritual fading or glitching?' I ask myself. 'No, that can't happen. Calm down, Eden. It is one thing to enjoy having some of your feelings return, but it is another thing to be considering sleeping with a stranger because of this. Then again, isn't that why you came here? To try and find some normality? Maybe stop questioning it and start enjoying it. Does he have an eightpack? Fuck, he does.'

I shake my head. "You don't have to do this. I am not going to let the DSA know you were in that room or that you tipped me off about them coming."

"I've already told you twice that I wasn't warning you about the DSA. I also don't give two shits what you tell them about me or anything I've done."

"Then what do you want?"

"I have been more than clear about what I want." He wraps a hand around my back, pulling me forward until our chests are flush. Heat races across my skin as he rakes his fingers up the base of my scalp, pulling the hair back at the base so that I am looking up at him and sending painfully pleasant twinges down my back. "But let me break it down for you, love. I want you to put those pretty little hands of yours on more than just my stomach. I want them all over me until there isn't an inch of me you haven't touched. I want to feel them wrapped around my cock so that you can feel just how hard you make me. I want to throw you down on that bed, turn that outfit you wear so well into nothing but scraps of fabric, and do deliciously wicked things to you. I want to bury myself so deeply between your thighs that I am the only thing you can feel. I want to possess every inch of you. I want to fuck you so hard you forget how to speak. And don't try lying to me and saying you don't want that. I can smell the lust all over you, and it's fucking intoxicating."

He doesn't wait for me to respond. He dips his head and closes the distance between us in an otherworldly kiss. His mouth moves against mine, the touch demanding and possessive.

Want consumes me.

No one has ever kissed me this way. No one has ever made me feel this way with just a kiss.

I deepen the kiss as his tongue claims every inch of my mouth, and I rake my nails down his back, feeling the thickly corded muscles under my fingers.

He groans into my mouth, gripping my hair tighter, and my heart is racing so loudly in my chest that I am sure the whole house can hear it.

His hands leave my hair, traveling down my back so that he can cup my ass and lift me off the floor to move us to the bed. He eases himself down gently, a hand still pressed against my lower back as I straddle him. My mind is a flurry of sensations that won't stop, not even when he breaks the kiss to remove my shirt.

This is insane. I know this is insane. I know that I have no business being in here with this random guy and allowing him to undress me, but no one has touched me this way in so long, and the last time they did, my body sure as fuck didn't react this way.

He nips at my lower lip, bites and sucks his way down my neck, and grips tightly at my thigh. My back arches with each touch, and it isn't long before I am a panting mess.

I grind against him, moving against the thick length trapped under his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans, his hands gripping my hips so hard that I know there will be bruises in the morning. "You feel so good against me."

My hands slip down to his jeans to unbutton them and pull them down onto his hips. His hard length springs free, and Christ on a cathedral, the man is more than well endowed. I wrap my fingers around his cock, my fingers unable to close around it and begin to stroke him.

He flattens his palms on the bed and leans back, watching my hand as it works him.

Every moan he makes, every time his eyes meet mine and I see that flash of carnal want in them, the wetness between my thighs increases.

I begin to shift his boxer briefs down his waist, desperate to touch more of him, when the sight of black ink catches my eye.

The tattoo is small, maybe the size of a quarter, but the sight of it sends my mind reeling, and I realize just how much I've fucked up.

I shove myself away from him, scurrying off the bed to find my top and slide it back over my head.

A look of pure confusion is etched across his face. "This isn't how this usually works. You are supposed to be taking more clothes off, not putting more on."

I motion to his hip, sure to focus on the tattoo instead of the rock-hard cock next to it. "What the hell is that?"

"Shit," he mumbles, tucking himself back into his briefs before buttoning his jeans. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that."

"You were hoping I wouldn't the Demonc brand on you? I'm a fucking DSA agent, you moron! Not only do I notice it, but I also know what it means. I figured you were some kind of demon, but not one with an actual connection to the Demonic Realm. What are you? A solider? A servant? A newly indebted? Fuck, please don't tell me I almost slept with an indebted."

"None."

The reality of this whole situation comes crashing down on me like a three-thousand-pound boulder.

I have the actual worst luck in the entire realm. "No. You're not. You can't be."

"I can't be what? A Son? Hate to break it to you, love, but I am."

"No, you can't be. I have to be hallucinating or something."

"You can pinch me if you think I'm not real, but I can guarantee I am. Not only am I real, but I am also a Son. Delaney, but I prefer Del. Heir to Dimitri and last in line to sit upon the Forged Throne."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A Son? Christ on a Cheezit, this can't be happening to me." I throw my hands up dramatically. "Wait, did you say Delaney?"

He nods proudly, and I burst into hysterical laughter, gripping at my sides as they grow sore.

"Can we not?" he grits through clenched teeth. "Always with the damned name. I could burst into flames and begin tearing civilians to shreds in front of someone, and they would still only hear the name."

"Oh, this is too much. Honestly, it is. I thought having a name like Eden was a burden, but Delaney is far worse. Delaney, future ruler of the Forged Throne. Delaney, king of the Demonic Realm. I can only imagine the indebted scurrying around the palace when they hear you're coming. They must be all, 'Hey guys, better cut the shit and do what we are told. Don't want to risk ensuing the wrath of Delaney!' I bet with a name like that, your enemies just go running."

He moves like lightning, crossing the distance between us in record time. His body crashes into mine, and before I have a chance to realize what is happening, my back is against the wall, and my hands are pinned by the wrist above my head.

"Trust me, it strikes fear when it needs to, and may I remind you that my name was of no concern to you when I had you panting all over me."

He uses one hand to keep my wrists in place, and the other drags up my thigh, his nails skimming across my skin. Emotions fire off within me so quickly that I can't tell which is which.

I bite my lip, giving myself away.

"Like that, do you? I wonder if you'd think my name sounded so ridiculous if you said it differently?" His lips kiss and bite their way down my neck until he reaches the sensitive spot at my collarbone. Every nerve ending I have fires off in the best of ways when his hand slips under the hem of my skirt. Strong fingers gave over the thin fabric of my underwear, a touch of a whisper over the softest part of me, and I gasp. "Would you think it still sounds ridiculous if you moaned while I made you come?"

He pushes the fabric to the side, sliding a finger through my slickness unit it is buried inside of me. "Mmmmm, so wet. So responsive."

He slips a second finger in, and I cry out, arching my back as his fingers move. He brings them in and out of me in slow, tortuous strokes.

"Is this what you've been needing? What you've been wanting?" Fingers still inside of me, he presses his thumb against my clit, and the pressure causes the tension inside of me to tighten. "Now, say my name."

I can feel his breath on my skin, cooling it as each stroke of his fingers threatens to send me bursting into flames. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me intently, watching as I come apart on his hand.

The look in his eyes is ravenous.

I try to lean forward to close the space between us and finish what we started, but his grip on my wrists tightens, and I can't move.

"I want to hear you say it," he repeats. "Give me what I want, and I will give you what you desperately crave. Refuse, and I will keep you on edge for hours, always close to slipping over the edge but never being allowed to. I want to hear you say my name."

Heat pulses between my thighs, each swipe of his thumb over my clit threatening to send me over the edge. "Del."

He shakes his head and withdraws his fingers from me, a whimper rushing past my lips as he does. "You know what I want, Eden. Say it."

"Delaney."

"Good girl." He plunges his fingers back into me, and I throw my head back, a cry of pleasure filling the room. "That's right, take what you want from me."

My wrists are released, and I do as he says, my hands gripping the front of his shirt as I ride his fingers. Tension rolls inside me, and as he hooks his finger to hit the spot I know all too well, release crashes down on me.

"Fuck," he groans as I continue to ride out my orgasm, his name spilling from my lips like it's the only word I know. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come apart for me. I knew it. I fucking knew it."

"He's a Son!" my brain screams. 'He is your ticket to getting your soul back!"

I shove him away, stuttering out half-sentences as I head for the door.

I need to find Jeremiah now.