I know all the tricks. Don’t bother with the polite, shy bit. It’s not what most birds go for—though I have had to put on the witty, good-guy act to win over a few. I’m willing to play whatever role will put them in their comfort zone—their ease leads to their nakedness. And nakedness is my comfort zone. It is what I seek.

Something soft brushes against my arm, and I look down to see the brunette from the other room sliding purposely against me as she edges through the crowd toward the drink counter. Our eyes meet and I give her a smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances down before looking back up at me.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m just . . .” She points to the drinks on the other side of me.

“May I get you something?” I ask.

She stares for a moment, as if my voice and accent were unexpected. Her chest is pressed against my upper abs, and the crowd jostles us together. A cloud of red surrounds her, and I open my senses to let in the peachy scent of her pheromones.

Right. That’ll do. I’m ready to shag her. Thankfully I’m a pro at this next bit. Getting someone into bed is an art. A dance. It’s crucial not to misread her.

Without asking, I whisk her cup from her hand and turn to make a fresh drink. In moments I hand her a full glass, ice clinking.

“I hope rum and Coke is all right?” I already know it is because I smelled the remnants of her drink with my supernatural senses.

Her eyes go wide. “That’s what I was drinking!” Her smile is huge, as if this is a sign that I am her Mr. Right.

“Brilliant. What’s your name, then?”

“Brittany. And you’re Kayden, right?”

I smile. Nobody can seem to spell or pronounce my name. I’m used to this. “Close, luv. It’s Kaidan.”

“Oh, sorry.” She tries my name out the right way, Ky-den.

“Sounds lovely when you say it.” Taking her by the elbow, I gently lead her away from the crowded kitchen. “Were you at the show?” She was. I saw her.

“Yes. Ohmigawd, it was so good. You guys rock.”

“Ah, thanks. Mind if we go out back? It’s hard to hear you.” I’m already opening the back door and she gladly exits. Her aura pushes outward when I touch her waist and lead her away from the smokers outside. We find a wooden bench swing to sit on. It’s dark out, and the light from the back porch is now dim.

We glide back and forth. Her aura is jittery and I need to relax her.

“Are you in school?” I ask, though I don’t care.

“Yeah. It’s my first year at Georgia Tech. You?”

I shake my head. “No college for me.” I’m going to be what they call a senior in high school, but she doesn’t need to know that bit.

“Not to be rude, but you’re nicer than I thought you’d be,” she says. “Most good-looking guys are . . .”

“Pricks?” I supply.

She nods and takes another drink. Her aura is a nervous gray as she asks, “Do you . . . um . . . have a girlfriend?”

Bingo.

“No,” I say sadly. “I’m not the settling-down type.”

This shouldn’t make her happy, but it does. I see it in the way she bites her lip against a smile. Her aura is excited. “I think everyone’s the settling-down type eventually. You just have to find the right person.”

Gotta love delusional romantics.

“I’ll never settle down, Brittany.” It’s the truth, but I say it like an unfortunate mantra.

“You never know,” she whispers, angling toward me.

She wants to be the one who settles me. They all do. I’ve been honest with her, just as I am with all of them. I can’t help it if she wants to fool herself.

I turn my head, catching a glint of the night’s stars in her eyes.

“What do you want from life, Kaidan?” she asks.

I want to stay alive.

I take the drink from her hand and set it down. “All I want right now, Brittany, is you.”

Today is my birthday, and I’m prepared to use that fact as a wild card, but it’s not necessary. She is mush. Her aura is on spin cycle. I slide one hand around her waist and pull her hip to mine. I ignore her guardian angel, who has gone frantic above her. She lets out a whimpering breath and I kiss her. She molds to me, ripe to my touch. Things escalate more quickly than I expected—I thought I’d have to be the initiator, but her hands are all over me. She is clearly ignoring her guardian angel’s whispers to run, run, as fast as she can. Most people aren’t in tune with their angels, and that works to my advantage. Her hands are everywhere.

“God, Brittany, I need you.”

Her chest heaves as she takes in air. “Where can we go?”

Hell yes.

I look up to the house and focus my hearing on the upstairs bedrooms. All occupied. Shite. Then I catch a conversation in the dining room. . . .

“I can’t find her. Derek says he saw her go off with the drummer. He said that guy’s bad news.”

“Oh, freaking great. Just what we need. She finally breaks up with Douchebag and now she’s gonna get her heart broken by Mr. One-Night Stand.”

Fantastic. The vigilante friend patrol. And they know their little Brittany well. They’ll be out here any moment.

“I know it’s not ideal, but we can go to my car if you’d like.”

She nods. I take her hand and we walk quickly around the side of the house. I’ve parked my SUV away from everyone else—you never know when you’ll need a bit of privacy.

I click the button to unlock the doors, help her into the massive backseat, and step in behind her. We pick right up where we left off. Soon we are both in our comfort zones, naked. She suddenly hesitates.

This is where most blokes bung it up. Many girls experience a moment of moral hesitancy when their blasted angel’s whispers faintly break through, causing them to face the reality that they just met me and this might not be the best idea.

“I’ve only been with one guy,” she tells me, breathing hard. “We were together a long time. I don’t usually . . . you know . . . this is not like me.”

Most fellows push, pressure, guilt, whatever. But this is where I’m golden. I nod as if I respect what she’s divulged.

“We don’t have to, Brittany,” I say as I begin nuzzling against her, giving her a preview of my strong hips, my ability to move them. “We can stop.” I begin to pull away.

“No!” She nearly panics, clutching me close. “Don’t stop. I just . . . I need you to know.”

“I understand,” I whisper against her lips. “You’re a good girl.”

She kisses me with renewed passion, as if I have seen into her soul and understand her like no one else.

And so I keep going, and I make it worth her while. I give her plenty to tell her friends tomorrow, though it’ll likely be followed up days later with tears when she realizes I’m never going to call—that I won’t acknowledge her when she shows at my next gig. Because she’s not “the one.” I tried to warn her.

“The one” does not exist for Kaidan Rowe.

Only the right now. Only feeding the urges. Only my survival matters.

I’m surprised to see a limo in the driveway when I return home—I had thought Father was staying in New York for work. Being the vice president of Pristine Publications means nonstop parties with models, actors, and various supporters of the rich and famous porn industry. I wonder for the millionth time why he chose to live in Atlanta rather than New York City, and then with a twist of my gut I’m reminded.

Madame Marissa.

I hear her nauseating, lazy laughter when I push my hearing into the house. I want to turn my car around, but I know Father has heard me by now. He’s always listening. He’s the one who taught me to be constantly on the lookout. He’s the one who taught me everything I know.

He’s the Duke of Lust. Known to demons as Pharzuph. Known to humans as Richard Rowe. And he chose to make his home near the most sinister human bitch that ever lived—leader of the largest sex trafficking ring in the Southern states. The two of them go way back, having met in the U.K. Father even brought her and several of her older girls over to help with my carnal training when I first turned eleven.