All rage demons knew tales of those among their kind who'd turned fully demonic, but never reverted. They lived like animals-a hellish idea for someone like Rydstrom. To forestall that rage, demons of his kind took release multiple times a day.

Sabine had denied him even that.

She'd asked him if he hated her. At the time, he hadn't, but the seed had been planted. It grew every day she left him in the bleak cell.

"You are angered by your treatment, and now you're sulking," she said airily as she entered and stood behind the bed. "But I plan to make it up to you."

More torment. More teasing. His growing hatred warred with need. He cursed his shaft when it rose in anticipation beneath the sheet.

Why in the hell had she remained away so long? He'd had no idea where she was or even if she would ever return.

"Not interested in what I have to offer?" She reached over the headboard. "Just as I warned, I've brought a stocked arsenal today, demon."

He felt cold metal against his skin and gazed down at her hands on his chest. She wore full-length gloves made of metal mesh that ended in silver-tipped claws, razor sharp and glinting.

Gauntlets? Unease built in him.

"I'm going to use all my unique talents to seduce you. Won't even look at your female?"

He'd have to crane his head around to see her. He refused to show her how curious he was.

Don't look . . . don't do anything she wants you to.

When she began to knead his muscles, he tensed, but she knew how to work those claws so she didn't pierce his skin.

"As I lay in the dark the other night, it occurred to me that just because you had denied yourself, I shouldn't have to."

Did she mean she'd taken another into her bed? Was that what she'd been doing all this time? His fangs grew in his mouth.

She leaned down to murmur at his ear, "So, I fanta­sized about you . . . while I pleasured myself."