Page 2 of Infernal Bindings

I say the words slowly—just for practice—enunciating each letter the way I do when Mom works with me on reading. The red paint on the floor starts to bubble and black smoke rises, filling the room with a stinky, rotten egg scent. Nose running, I wipe my face with the back of my hand and repeat the spell again, louder this time, with more confidence.

The room turns so black I can’t see my own feet. I stumble through the smoke, and reach out my hands, feeling for the bronze bowl on the altar. The cool metal brushes my palms. I lift it up and bring it to my lips.

“I want a friend,” I whisper into the haze, and I pour every ounce of my magic into it, until my head feels fuzzy. Then, I drink. The liquid doesn’t taste like paint. Or raspberry jam. Or grown-up wine. No, the red inside it is coppery and thick. It reminds me of that time I fell and bit my tongue and it bled everywhere.

Blood.

I choke on it, dropping the bowl on the floor where it lands with a heavy thunk.

Light flashes.

A boy’s voice rings out. “Dad, I don’t want to pick up my toys. Can I—–”

And then the smoke clears.

In the center of the seven-sided star sits a boy around my age, with messy black hair and pale skin. He’s stacking small toy blocks, building them into a model castle that looks like it came straight out of a vampire book. The boy glances up at me, and his eyes are red. When he opens his mouth, two large and sharp canines flash.

“Who are you?” he asks, dropping his toys. “Did you know your nose is bleeding?”

Sniffling, I wipe my face again, and sure enough, blood stains my skin. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I step up to the star and kneel beside him anyway.

“I’m Annalise,” I tell him, extending my hand. “And you’re supposed to be my friend.”

He doesn’t take it. He looks around the room instead, staring at the book, then at the star, then at the altar. Realization makes his eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re a witch. Cool! I thought I wouldn’t get one until I was much older.”

“Excuse me?”

He waves me off. “I’m Daemon. And you’re right. I’m going to be your best friend.” The boy leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Kisses me. And I feel my cheeks burn. A second later, I feel something else. Something cold clamps around my wrist and when I glance down there’s a tattoo there. At first it looks like a thin black chain, but when I squint at it, I realize it’s actually letters, written in the same language as the spell I casted.

Behind me someone gasps, and when I turn my head, my mom’s standing there, a hand covering her mouth. “Annalise, what did you do?”

Daemon answers for me, grinning with those pointy teeth. “She tied her soul to mine. Now we’ll be together… forever.”

13 YEARS LATER…

2

MATE

In the back of an empty limo, I fumble with my pastel pink stilettos, cursing when I fail, yet again, to thread the straps into place. A moment later, the driver hits a bump in the road and knocks me into what should be a cold, hard window, but isn’t. The air shimmers, and warm hands grasp me by the shoulders, stabilizing me.

I know who it is without ever glancing up.

Daemon. My shadow. My best friend. And also the proud owner of my eternal soul.

Light brown curls tumble free of my updo as I blink up at him, my fingers wrapped around his waist, clinging unintentionally to his freshly pressed business suit. He doesn’t push or pull me away—I’m not sure if it’s because of our blood contract or because he genuinely doesn’t mind the touch, and I’m too afraid to ask.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him, breathless from fighting with my shoes. “Not tonight.”

“You wanted me,” Daemon whispers. His voice is oh-so-sweet, more like a purr than anything else, but I’ve known him long enough to know it’s not intentional. Daemon is half-incubus, a soulless immortal that feeds on desire. Everything about him is hardwired to make hunting easier. Still, it’s a beautiful lie.

“I could feel you tugging on our bond,” he adds, staring at my tattooed wrist. “You wanted help.”

Daemon gives me a long once-over before his red eyes settle on my feet. I barely feel it when he disentangles our bodies and slinks onto the floor, kneeling before me like I’m his master. And technically I am, although I’m sure I’ll suffer for it in the afterlife, when my contract comes due.

Warmth spreads from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, my cheeks flushing when he effortlessly secures the straps. He remains there for a moment longer, staring up at me, dark hair windswept—or maybe sex swept. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve accidentally summoned him mid-feed and it won’t be the last.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” he asks.