Chapter 2

The cold night air struck my face as I walked out of the Grand Regent Hotel.

For fifteen years, every breath had felt like swallowing broken glass.

Now, cold, clean air flowed easily into my lungs. The crippling pain that had lived inside my spine was gone.

I followed the quiet side alley toward the street, my heels clicking sharply against the rain-dark pavement.

A black Maybach idled near the mouth of the alley. Four tall men in dark suits stood around it, their rigid faces betraying unmistakable fear.

On the wet ground, a man was down on one knee. His knuckles were split, and his fingers dug so deeply into the asphalt that the surface had begun to crack beneath them.

Jagged black veins pulsed beneath the skin of his neck and arms. They spread through his body like black lightning.

"Stay back, Mr. Moretti!" one of the bodyguards shouted, his voice shaking as he drew a suppressed handgun.

Rex Antonio Moretti.

Even I knew that name.

He was the merciless ruler of the city's criminal underworld, a man powerful enough to make politicians and mob bosses lower their voices when they spoke of him.

"Get away from me!" Rex snarled.

The sound was raw and blood-choked, barely human. A lethal crimson glow flickered in his eyes as he fought to hold on to his sanity.

The bodyguards froze. Not one of them dared take another step.

I kept walking.

The violent energy pouring from Rex should have frightened me. Instead, something inside my newly awakened body responded to the corruption in his blood. His poison called to my power the way oxygen called to a dying flame.

Before the guards could react, I moved closer and crouched in front of the suffering man.

I pressed my bare palm against the burning skin at the side of his neck.

The black markings beneath his skin convulsed. Then they broke apart into strands of dark smoke and rushed violently into my palm.

The agony twisting his body vanished in an instant.

Rex went completely still.

The bloodlust receded from his eyes, replaced by clear, stunned awareness. His chest rose and fell as he drew his first painless breath in ten years.

He lifted his head and caught the faint violet light burning deep within my irises.

Without warning, one large hand shot toward me.

But he did not attack.

His fingers closed around the hem of my coat with trembling force, like a drowning man seizing the only thing that could keep him above water. His grip was so strong that the fabric pulled taut between us.

"Who are you?" he asked.

His voice was rough and dark. His black eyes locked on mine, filled with a dangerous new fixation.

"Name your price," he said. "Because I'm not letting you out of my sight."