kind of magic than the alchemists. At least, once they were at full strength again.
Demian was beautiful, as before. But it was a dangerous beauty. The sort of beauty that you could cut yourself on if you weren’t careful. He stood with his shoulders back, in the black suit that matched his glittering eyes. His skin was very pale, his features all sharp planes beneath the shadows cast by the silver hair sweeping back from his face.
The Demon King smiled as she watched him. Somehow, his smile was more terrifying than any other expression he might have chosen to wear on his wicked face.
“What are you doing here?” Donna managed to say.
“Am I not free to visit my subjects when it pleases me?”
Subjects? Donna clenched her jaw and gave him the most scary look she could. “You are beyond arrogant.”
His eyes flashed. “And you are beyond discourteous.”
Her stomach dropped to somewhere down near her knees, but she stood her ground. “We got your invitation, if that’s what you’re here to check up on.”
He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture she was already familiar with from their previous meetings. “Indeed. I have received a reply from your Archmaster and the Order of the Dragon, as well as from the alchemists here.”
“Oh. Right.” Donna wondered how the alchemists man-
aged to RSVP when there hadn’t been a return address included with the invite. “I’m going back inside,” she added. “So you might as well leave.”
“Won’t you stay and talk for a few moments?”
“It’s cold.”
The air around her instantly heated. For some reason, that made her shiver even more. Demian was powerful—exactly how powerful was anybody’s guess. Two hundred years of incarceration didn’t seem to have slowed him down too much.
“Better?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.
Donna glared at him. “Please, just leave me alone.”
She felt for the elusive shard of first matter—alchemical prima materia—that lived within her, just in case. Catching the very edge of the unpredictable power she had yet to fully understand, she prepared to tug on it, to use it if the Demon King attacked. Her own personal brand of magic was her only defense against him. Donna wasn’t sure what she could really do with it, but at the very least she might be able to escape. The enhanced physical strength of her arms would be pretty much useless against a demon.
“I’ll leave you alone,” Demian said, “when I get what I want.”
Donna crossed her arms. “Which is?”
His lips widened in a sensual smile. “You, Donna Underwood. I will have you for my own. You … interest me.”
Her legs went weak, but she managed to remain upright. What was he talking about? “I’m not a belonging,” she ground out. “I am not your pet. You can’t talk about human beings like that.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, “I’ll make you mine and you will thank me for it.”
Donna dug her nails into her palms. “What do you mean, ‘have’ me? In what way?”
“In every way.” His eyes glinted.
Crap. She had to stop baiting him. Up until now, he’d seemed civil enough, but that could change at any moment. He was a demon, after all. What was to stop him from just taking her into the Underworld by force, Persephone-style?
Demian bowed. “I look forward to seeing you at the masquerade.”
“I’m not going,” Donna said. The treacherous words were out before she could drag them back and lock them away.
“You will attend.”
“I’m busy tomorrow night.”
He showed her the edge of his teeth. “Change your plans, or I’ll be forced to change them for you. This ball is more than a social event. It is not a trifle. Negotiations will take place there.”
“At a masquerade ball? Really? Is that how demons do business these days?”
He moved so quickly, she didn’t even realize it until he was almost on top of her. She felt the heat radiating from his body. “Demons always mix business with pleasure. Haven’t your little books told you that?”
Donna tried to hide the shudder that ran through her at just having him so close. It was a strange and sickening mixture of disgust and desire. She knew the pleasure wasn’t real; Maker and Quentin had told her it came from Demian’s natural pheromones and that all she could do was fight against it. So she tried to focus on a thread of fear instead, her pure terror that she was nothing more than prey.
His head tilted to one side as he examined her. “You are … afraid.”
She didn’t have the energy to