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beautiful, calling something inside her that she couldn’t quite grasp.
    “Go find your keeper, demon. I offer you this one chance.”
    “My keeper is weak, and I am strong. Strong enough to stand separated from him by miles. Strong enough to feast on you, sorcerer.” The demon circled, watching his opponent.
    “Then you will join your Solitary this night.” Ciarran shifted the palm of his right hand up, sending a ripple through the shards of light. “But your meeting will be on the far side of the gate, demon. Enjoy your trip to hell.”
    Staring in frozen fascination, Clea felt her stomach turn a slow, sick roll as the deadly filaments sliced through cracked gray hide, spewing blood-drenched pieces of demon all over the walls, the floor, the ceiling. A bit landed on her cheek, and she slapped at it, panting now, flapping her hand at her skin as it sizzled and hissed. She could feel it burning. She looked around, her mouth opening and closing in soundless terror as the other bits crackled and fizzed and smoke curled up, the smell so bad that she gagged and gagged again.
    “Clea.” Soothing, so soothing, Ciarran’s voice was like the rich red wine. Two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle wine.
    She pressed her palms to her face, hiding her eyes as she pressed the backs of her thighs against the desk for support.
    “Clea Masters.” Okay. He was talking to her, though how he knew her name was a mystery.
    Slowly, she let her fingers move apart, peeking from between them. Ciarran loomed over her, staring down at her, and she blinked, searching for the razor-sharp strands that had haloed him earlier.
    But they were gone. All gone. And he was just a man. Who had shredded a demon like Parmesan cheese.
    He took a single step closer, and she made a low sound of protest, snared by his gaze, unable to look away. His eyes widened slightly as he studied her. Silver. Blue. Green. Gold. Beautiful eyes.
    “Are you hurt?” he asked.
    A memory tugged at her: the stink of fire and the crashing waves of pain, a smooth voice, and bright, warm light. The hazy recollection darted away.
    She shook her head as her hand strayed to her burned cheek. His gaze followed her movement to her cheek, then dropped to her mouth. The breath left her in a rush.
    Unable to resist, she touched him, a light caress of her outstretched fingers along his hard, leather-clad forearm, just to be certain he was real. Heat sizzled through her, and she dropped her hand with a sharp hiss.
    His features were an impossible blend of masculine perfection, strong jaw accented by a whisper of stubble, high cheekbones hollowed by dark shadows, straight nose with just the hint of a bump at the bridge. And his hair, sun-kissed and thick, hanging in loose waves to his shoulders. She was staring. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t make herself stop. The heat of him, the power, the luscious scent . . . everything hit her with the force of a physical blow.
    For the first time in her entire life, Clea understood—really understood—the meaning of the words animal attraction .
    “Oh. My. God.” She couldn’t breathe. Could barely think. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she had the desperate urge to press her palms to the firm jaw of the man who was before her, to touch her mouth to the decadent curve of his lips, to taste him and draw on him.
    It was beyond insanity. Everything was beyond insanity. She’d lost it. She’d lost her ever-loving mind.
    Ciarran. Even his name was sexy.
    All she could think about was chemistry . . . and not the kind she’d studied as an undergrad. No. This was another breed entirely. This was hot. Wet. A dull ache between her thighs. Sexual chemistry. Everyone talked about it. She’d never really believed it existed. Until now.
    She frowned, glanced down. There was a large chunk of . . . of . . . demon that was stuck to the floor, spitting and smoking as it slowly disintegrated, taking her control right along with it.
    Tearing her gaze