Prologue

Insidious temptation infects the senses, seeping into the blood until it rots the mind and threatens the heart, setting up a craving that must be sated… or eliminated. Just the sight of Iris Michaels—eighteen-year-old fuck trophy to a diner waitress—wearing that hideous burnt orange monstrosity some sadistic fashionista forced her into, sears into my retinas until every detail appears when I close my eyes. My demons purr at the sound of her laughter. Actually. Fucking. Purr. They only quit their screaming when either blood gets spilled or classical music plays. The fucking traitors.

Wrapped in shadows, screened by guests indulging in jocular inebriation, I track her progress. From ceremony to posed moments captured for eternity with smiles, flowers, and all the fucking trimmings, to now, as she flits through the crowd of guests, offering genuine smiles at the few welcomes she receives and sarcastic comebacks for the many who comment on her gown. That little smirk curling her lips is challenge incarnate. My dick hardens to the point of pain with just a glimpse. Fingers itch to tame the brat.

Then it’s showtime. Heart pounding, I watch, cool detachment on my face as I balance my chair on its back legs. Alabaster skin and gentle curves rising from the neckline of that satin tent offer mouthwatering seduction. A raw, unpolished opal amid this sea of glittering diamonds. Trash to most here, yet Iris defies the conventional concepts of beauty and shakes the world around her. Dangerous. Irresistible. All the more mesmerizing for her singularity.

Her light citrus scent seeps into my pores. My arms close around her like they’re shaped just for that purpose. Her warmth permeates layers of our clothing, imprinting her shape, the feel of her, on my soul. My mind drowns in the mysteries shadowing her pine-green eyes. Desire sparks between us. Mine. She can’t hide her awareness, and I make no attempt to screen my claim. The urge rises to mark her. All that pristine skin. Her heart and soul. 

Pain flares in my jaw as my teeth grind, earning a single lifted brow from this beautiful pestilence in my arms. Instincts scream to resist. To cut out the infection and cauterize any wounds with hellfire.

A quick glance. The signal comes. Wariness deepens those green pools as my lips curl into a smirk she’s smart enough to fear. I spin her out, force my hand to let her go…

She trips. Caroms backward, arms pinwheeling, and lands in the multi-tiered cake. My fists clench as I watch my best friend shove a royal icing rose into her open mouth, aborting her enraged shriek. Her eyes flash emerald fire, electric rage arcs between us, striking my chest when that glare cuts to me. The growl erupting from her throat makes my dick ache. Lust floods my veins as I watch buttercream frosting and clumps of vanilla cake drip from her body.

Then he moves in. Crimson violence clouds my vision as Emerson fuckingLeister helps her to her feet. Her grateful smile, directed at someone other than me, rouses my demons. The flames of vengeance explode into a conflagration, searing my lungs when she takes his hand and follows him out of the room.

She. Belongs. To. Me.

Deaf to all but the demons roaring in my ears, I stalk away from my co-conspirators. It’s either that or rip them apart. Plans change. My claim still marks her soul, but now… lips curl as my smirk returns. I’ll enjoy breaking my little infestation, body, mind, and heart.