She hesitated, measuring his reaction, but all he did was rub her back in soothing circles. Relaxing a little, she continued.

“One day, a man approached me. He was well dressed, spoke with a European accent, and he said he could take care of me. I was starving and desperate, and I went with him. Turned out he was a demon. A slaver. I never even knew what species he was—he was ter’taceo, so he never looked anything but human.” She resumed skimming her fingers over Con’s ribs, counting them idly. “He was nice at first, got me to trust him. And then he started using me. Once we learned the extent of my gift, and of my need for sex, I became his prize assassin.”

Again, she waited for a reaction, but none came.

“He dealt with a lot of demons, and I saved up enough money to pay one of them to do this.” She rubbed her hand over the tattoo on the back of her neck. “It’s enchanted. The demon imbued it with magic to ease my need for sex.”

Con trailed a finger over the pattern, and pleasant tingles followed its path. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

She frowned. “It did work. You should have seen me before.”

A mild curse came out on a long exhale, and Con’s touch grew more tender. “What happened next?”

“I was with him for thirty years, and then he sold me to someone else after I tried to escape one too many times. My new master was such a douche. He totally got off on locking me up and denying me sex.”

This time, Con’s curse was loud and nasty. “Why?”

Her stomach churned at the memories, at the helplessness and humiliation. “Punishment. Fun. I don’t know. He’d wait until I was writhing on the floor, begging for relief.” She laughed bitterly. “Thing was, I didn’t care if relief came in the form of sex or a bullet.”

But what that experience had taught her was that she would never again be at anyone’s mercy when it came to sex. Now that she was free, she would never be owned, especially not by someone who would be the sole provider of the very thing she needed to survive. No one would ever have that much control over her again.

“Where is he?” Frost could have formed on Con’s words. “I’ll tear out his spinal cord and strangle him with it.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” She snuggled up to him, something she’d never done with anyone, but now wasn’t the time to think too hard on that. “But having him offed was the first thing I did when I took over the assassin den.” She’d paid Lycus well for that job.

Slowly, the tension drained out of Con’s muscles, and he let out a long, shuddering breath. “How did you end up there?”

“The asshole sold me to Detharu—the assassin master I took over for after Idess killed him.”

“If Idess made the kill, why isn’t she in charge of the assassin den?”

Sin squirmed a little before she caught it and forced herself to stillness. “Idess wasn’t cut out for the job, so I volunteered.”

“But did you want it?”

She wiggled her fingers, feeling the weight of the ring. Felt heavier than usual. “It’s a great gig for someone like me.”

She really hadn’t answered the question, but Con didn’t call her on it. “So how did you meet up with Lore again?”

“He joined up with Deth twenty years later. And it was my fault.” She’d gotten herself into some serious trouble with Deth and had been desperate enough to seek Lore out. Bitterness had built up over the years, and in a lot of ways, she’d hoped he’d turn her down, just to give her another reason to hate him for leaving her.

But he’d been willing to do anything to make his abandonment up to her, and he’d agreed to help find a way out of her contract with Deth. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a way, and he’d signed on as an assassin in order to save her life.

“I’d lost my temper and killed one of Deth’s buddies. He was going to sell me to a blood gallery—”

“ A what?” Con snarled, and she swore she heard the slide of his fangs shooting out of his gums.

“You sound like you’re familiar with the galleries.”

“You could say that,” he muttered. “I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life.”

And frequenting a place where drugs were available to anyone who was willing to give up their blood—and bodies—to feeders like vamps, would be pretty stupid, in Sin’s opinion. She’d been to a few while hunting targets, and while most had standards and strict rules, like how you couldn’t kill the junkies, they were still little more than underground cesspools. And in the really bad ones, where the druggies weren’t exactly volunteers, the victims rarely survived more than a couple of days at the hands—and claws—of the vampires and demons who used them.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t get sold. Lore signed up with Deth to save me.”

“He must love you a lot to have done that.”

“He felt guilty for leaving me the way he had. And you know what’s so shitty about the whole thing?” She said that as if allof it hadn’t been one big, stinky pile of ghastbat guano. “At first, I was just happy that since he was tied to Deth, he couldn’t leave me again.” Shame welled up like acid in her throat, and she curled in on herself—as much as Con would let her, anyway. “They always leave, Con. Always.”

The damned Harrowgate wouldn’t open. Which meant a human was nearby and Lore would have to wait until the human—or humans—left the area. Great. He was going to be late for breakfast with Idess at her favorite Italian restaurant.

He tapped his boot on the stone floor. Stared at the walls, which were pulsing with crude neon outlines of the street map of Rome. There were three Harrowgates in the area, but this was not only the closest to the cafe, but it was also the only one that was aboveground. He might be forced to get out in one of the sewer Harrowgates and hoof it back in this direction.

Shit.

He was just about to tap one of the other Harrowgate symbols when the gate shimmered and opened into an alley. He stepped out quickly—the stupid things had been known to solidify and chop people’s limbs off. Or worse, slice people in half.

It was late morning in Italy’s capital, and as Lore emerged from between the buildings and onto the shop-lined sidewalk in the Trastevere district, the scent of coffee and baked goods tickled his nostrils and made his stomach growl. Every time he ate here with Idess, he felt like a damned king. Before they’d met, he’d been content with bologna sandwiches and cheap fast food. His angel had introduced him to the finer things in life, and he was rapidly becoming spoiled.

He strode up the walk, weaving among crowds of people… and then he stopped. His scalp tingled and his adrenaline kicked in, and something definitely wasn’t right. He’d spent thirty years as an assassin, and he had one hell of a sixth sense and self-preservation instinct, and his oh-fuck meter was spiking off the charts.

Casually, he eased into a recessed doorway, putting his back to the building. His hackles raised as he scanned the street, and his heart stopped when he saw Idess moving toward him, her normally sexy, rolling gait stiff and forced. A ter’taceo, a demon in a human suit named Marcel, walked beside her, one hand gripping her upper arm, the other in his pocket. Lore knew exactly what the assassin—one of Sin’s own—was concealing because Lore had worked with Marcel before: a pen that shot out a retractable six-inch bolt meant to go through the eye, through the back of the skull, or into the heart. It was a quick, relatively bloodless way to kill if used right, and Marcel never fucked up.

Slipping into stealth mode, which meant controlling his breathing, his thoughts, and even his heartbeat, Lore blended in with the crowd. He strolled past Idess, whose gaze never wavered from looking straight ahead, even though she was aware of Lore’s presence. He kept an eye out for anyone who might be working with Marcel, Lycus in particular. The warg and the Sensor demon had been doing a lot of tag-team killing over the years… some of it just for fun.