Daughter of Satan

They call me the Daughter of Satan, not because of the blood in my veins, but because of the wreckage I leave behind. Beauty is a weapon, and mine is honed to a lethal edge. With hair like cooling embers and eyes of molten gold, I am a masterpiece of misdirection. I play the part of the gracious heir, the kind socialite with a smile that promises heaven, while my heart remains a fortress of ice.

Take Luca, for instance. He looks at me with a desperate, puppylike devotion, convinced he's the one to finally tame the flame. He doesn't realize he's just a momentary distraction-a mouse I'm batting between my claws before the inevitable kill. I can feel his heartbeat accelerating, his soul laid bare, and soon, I'll shatter him simply because I can.

But tonight, the air feels different. A heavy, predatory weight presses against my skin, far more dangerous than Luca's clumsy longing. Somewhere in the shadows, a real monster is watching. I don't know his name yet, but I can feel his obsession-a dark, territorial heat that matches my own. He doesn't want to love me; he wants to claim me.

And for the first time, I might actually let him try.