Asher's annoyed sigh sliced through the tense silence just as he was about to taste Rachel's soft lips.
Rachel, jolted from her thoughts by the demoness' outburst, stepped back, a subtle flush coloring her cheeks, wondering why she just always seemed to freeze under his presence.
Asher turned, eyes locking onto Rebecca with a challenge that was both a taunt and a declaration, "Of course, she is my slave. How else do you think we waltzed into this building?" His words, sharp and mocking, were punctuated by a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "The difference is, her rank as a slave is higher than yours…much higher, I would say."
Rachel's gaze shifted, settling on the figure standing defiantly before her—Rebecca Drake, the demoness whose name was synonymous with bloodshed and despair, her legacy written in the ashes of cities and lives lost more than 60 years ago.
That such a creature now stood, shackled by Asher, was a reality too bizarre to grasp fully.
