I’m not even sure what comes over me. I’m usually good with insults—especially Stasha’s—yet something about Gemma and Laylen and her accusations makes me lose control of my anger. Something snaps inside me, and before I can shut it down, I’m charging toward her outstretched hands of death.

“I’d watch it if I were you,” she warns, waggling her fingers, the movement just enough to cause me to freeze just inches away from them.

Composing myself, I back away from her, telling myself to settle down because I’m not going to get anywhere with any of this if I’m dead. “Either you can put the gloves back on or leave,” I tell her calmly.

She rolls her eyes, but starts to put her gloves back on. “What’s gotten into you?” She gets her fingers snuggly into one glove and then moves to the other hand. “You used to be so much stronger and had it together more than this while we were dating. “ Once she gets the gloves on, she lowers her arms to her sides. “But you’re acting so erratic.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right; although I’m not going to tell her that. Just like I’ve never admitted anything to her during the four years I dated her.

Our relationship was built solely on one thing—sex. I got bored and went to her to fill up my time, and she was a cold enough person that she didn’t mind.

In fact, sometimes I think she’s as dead inside as me, but that might be because she actually has death in her.

“We haven’t dated in a couple of years,” I say blankly. “Things change.”

She eyes me over with disgust. “And not for the better. Jesus, look at you.” She crosses her arms, her face pinched. “All worked up over some girl.”

“How do you know about Gemma?” I wonder. “Is it just from Laylen or has word been traveling?”

Her mouth turns up to a grin as she struts up to me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She places a finger on my chest and traces a line all the way up to my chin. “You know, I could easily tell you if you gave me something in return.” She bites her lip as her finger slides under my chin.

I lean out of her touch. “Get out,” I say coldly. “I don’t have time for your shit, and trust me, whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get.”

She scowls. “Fuck you. You don’t have to be such a douche.”

“I thought you liked the douche,” I challenge, arching my brow.

Her face reddens with anger and I wait for her to unleash her wrath, maybe even pull off the gloves, but instead she simmers down and steps back. “Fine. Be that way.” She walks toward the back of the room and something occurs to me.

“Wait, how did you get back here?” I ask, inching into the room toward her.

She flips her hair off her shoulders as she squares them. “Oh, Alex, you really have gone downhill, haven’t you? Forgetting that anything’s possible.” Then with a smile, she picks up Aislin’s spell book. “Besides, I never even came here for you.” She raises the book. “Only this.”

“Shit.” I run toward her, but I hit an invisible force field in the center of the room that flings me back through the air. I land on my back, the impact so intense it knocks the wind out of me. After I recover, I jump to my feet, but by the time I get up, she’s gone, and I have no clue where she went or how she even got here in the first place.

This is bad. Very bad. At least from my point of view. The only way to find out for sure is for Aislin to get here and tell me what Stasha could possibly want with her spell book. I mean, she’s only a Keeper with the gift of death, which she inherited from her mother who had a slight bit of Plant Nymph blood inside her.

My first instinct is to go check on Gemma, so I hurry across the house and am both relieved and frustrated when I enter the room because she’s there, but she’s awake.

“Don’t look so disappointed to see me,” she says, wiggling her arms which are still tied to the bedposts. She’s trying to sit up; her head lifted so she can look at me, her hair’s tangled around her face and her shirt’s riding up so that her bare stomach is revealed. So sexy except for that stupid smirk on her face. “I’m not that bad to be around, am I?”

“It depends,” I reply, entering the room on guard. The arrival of Stasha has reminded me that at any moment anything could happen. Besides, if Gemma’s here like this, then whoever possessed her in the first place might show up here, too. “Who am I talking to?”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re talking to me. Gemma Lucas. The girl I’ve always been. The girl that both annoys you and enthralls you. The girl you love to fuck.”

“Yeah, the Gemma I know wouldn’t say that,” I say, walking up to the bed. “And if she did say it, her cheeks would turn pink with her embarrassment.” I sit down on the bed beside her and lightly stroke her cheek with my finger. “This isn’t the Gemma I know.”

Her amusement rapidly shifts to anger. Turning her head, she tries to bite my finger and manages to knick the skin. “That Gemma was weak,” she snaps. “This one is so much better.” She shuts her eyes and breathes in deeply, like she’s ravishing the taste of the air. “God, I feel so alive at the moment… like I could do anything.”

It kills me to see her like this, my chest aching in a way I didn’t think was possible. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to bring her back.”

Her eyes shoot open and I’m startled by the amount of anger blazing in them, smoldering lavender. She looks as enraged as my father would get whenever Aislin or I would do something wrong. “I already told you who I am. Gemma Lucas. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Who did this to you, then?” I ask, reaching out to touch her, yet when she scowls at me, I draw my hand away. “Who put that mark on your arm?”

She tips her chin down to look at the mark branded on her skin. “Does it really matter?” she asks. “You and I both know that regardless of how it got on there, it’s on there, which means I have evil in my blood.”

“No, there has to be a different reason,” I insist. “Like maybe the star allowed it on you.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Don’t be stupid. It’s on me because I have evil blood inside me. Because I’ve been evil all along and this,” she jerks her marked arm upward, “just allowed me to let it out.”

I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to yell, but she’s pissing me off. “I’ve known you since we were kids and trust me, there’s not a single damn drop of evil inside you, whether you think so or not.”

“That’s not what your father told me,” she says, watching my reaction with hunger as the desire to break me lurks within her eyes.

My fists clench tighter while my jaw goes taut; my anger begins simmering, ready to boil over the surface. “Is that who did this to you?” I ask, and although she doesn’t respond, I can see it in her eyes.

I’ve been angry before, but this… I’m not sure I can handle the heat of emotions flaring inside me. I want to punch my father. Throttle him. Maybe even kill him. I want to hurt him so badly at the moment that it’s tearing me up inside.

Getting to my feet, I storm over to the wall and hammer my fist repeatedly through it, trying to let out the anger the safest way I can think of. While the wall doesn’t make it out so great, a large hole in it, no one gets hurt and the pressure inside me is alleviated just a bit.

“Feeling better?” Gemma asks as I make my way back to the bed, stretching out my fingers.

Shaking my head, I climb on the bed and align my body over her. I don’t know why. It’s not like I usually get this close to my enemies; yet, she’s not my enemy. She’s my... soul mate? Other half? I have no clue. All I know is that I need to be close to her. “Tell me what my father wants,” I demand, leaning over her, trying to picture her as someone else to make this easier.

She elevates her head, getting as close to me as she can. “He wants you dead, which I will do,” she hisses. “So just untie me and lets get this over with.