Contract With A Monster: The Heiress's Revenge

The sound came again. A guttural groan, wet and heavy, coming from the direction of the bathroom.

Eve held her breath until her lungs burned. She pushed herself up from the floor, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. She needed to leave. Serena was dangerous, but the presence in this room felt primal.

She reached for the lock she had just engaged.

A hand shot out of the darkness.

It was large, scorching hot, and iron-hard. It clamped around her wrist with bruising force.

Eve opened her mouth to scream, but before the sound could leave her throat, she was yanked forward. The force was overwhelming. She stumbled, flying through the blackness until she collided with a wall of solid muscle.

"Who sent you?" a voice growled. It was deep, rough like gravel, and laced with a terrifying instability.

Eve was pinned against the wall. The man's body was a furnace. He radiated heat that soaked through her thin dress. The scent of him filled her nose-expensive cedar, scotch, and the metallic tang of blood.

"Let me go!" she gasped, clawing at the hand pinning her shoulder.

"Did they pay you?" he snarled. His head dropped, his face burying into the curve of her neck. He wasn't kissing her. He was inhaling her, like a starving man trying to remember what food smelled like. The faint, clean scent of vanilla and jasmine from her perfume seemed to drive him mad.

"Please," Eve whimpered. "I just... I hid here. I didn't know."

He didn't seem to hear her. The drugs in his system were rewriting his reality. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. Then, he bit down.

It wasn't a love bite. It was a claim. A warning. Sharp pain radiated down her spine.

"Stop!" Eve screamed.

Survival instinct overrode fear. She brought her knee up, driving it hard into his groin.

The man grunted, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second.

It was the opening she needed.

"Get out," he roared, shoving her away from him. The violence of the push sent her reeling. "Get out before I kill you."

Eve stumbled backward, her hip checking a decorative console table. A vase wobbled.

She didn't wait for a second invitation. She scrambled toward the sliver of light under the door. Her hands shook so badly she could barely work the lock.

As she yanked the door open, the movement snagged her diamond butterfly earring on the doorframe. She felt a sharp tug, a pinch at her earlobe, but the adrenaline masked the pain.

The earring fell silently onto the thick carpet.

Eve burst into the hallway and ran. She didn't stop until she was in her own room, the heavy dresser pushed against the door.

Back in the suite, the lights flickered on.

Marcus stood in the doorway, a syringe of antidote in his hand. He took in the scene instantly. The overturned chair. The lingering, delicate scent of a woman's perfume in the air.

Delos French sat on the edge of the sofa, his head in his hands. Sweat soaked his dress shirt, making the fabric cling to his trembling frame. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide.

"Sir?" Marcus asked, stepping forward.

Delos took the syringe and jammed it into his thigh without flinching. He breathed through the rush of clarity that followed the pain. The wave of nausea was followed by a deeper, more chilling sensation: the fury of being made vulnerable. Of losing control.

His gaze dropped to the floor. Something sparkled in the carpet fibers.

He reached down. His fingers, usually steady enough to sign billion-dollar mergers, shook slightly as he picked it up.

A diamond butterfly. The post was stained with a tiny smear of fresh blood.

Delos closed his fist around it. The sharp edges dug into his palm. He could still feel the phantom sensation of her skin under his hands, the taste of her fear on his tongue. And that scent. He had to find that scent.

"Find her," Delos whispered. The command was absolute. "Find the woman who owns this."