"I wish to bargain," I managed to say, thankful that my voice sounded stronger—surer than I felt.

"Bargain?" he repeated. Not like he didn't understand the word, but like he didn't understand what place it had here. Which was crazy because bargains were the only way that a summoning could even work. Not that one ever had.

"For freedom," I said, a plan developing in my mind. "And . . ."

"And?" the demon prompted, taking a step closer. A chilled brush of something ran up my spine, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

"I want you to kill them," I said. My words were met by a cry of protest from the witches around the circle. While they were not in it, they were also bound to it. If even a single one ran, the circle would break, and with it, any hold they had in keeping us there. I half hoped they would. It would make it that much easier. "That one lives." I pointed to the man that ruined my life without looking at him.

The demon's lips lifted slightly, but it wasn't a kind expression. It was amused, if not a little cruel. "Is that all?" he asked, stepping forward once more.

"Yes," I said.

I was making a deal with a devil. Quite literally.

If I didn't make a deal, though . . . the consequences would be worse. I couldn't die. Not yet. Not before I fixed her.

The demon took another step forward, coming to stand directly before me.

"Very well," he said, softly. "I will bargain with you." I wished I could say that I was relieved, but had I known the warlock I was hunting would be here, I never would have let them summon a demon. For what demons gave, they asked so much more.

And this demon? I had a feeling he'd demand more than any of them.

"What is the price?" I asked him.

He smiled, and it was tragically alluring. Beautiful and awful at once.

My heart skipped as he
leaned forward, our faces only inches apart.

The silver in his eyes was anything but human. It swirled around the dark pupils like mercury. Unnatural and deadly.

I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach what he would ask in return. That didn't make it any easier to hear.

"You."

I’m hired to stop a demon summoning. The last thing I expect is to end up bonded to one instead.

Being a supernatural bounty hunter isn’t exactly a popular job. But after the magic wars, there aren’t many things a human can do that will put food on the table.

Thankfully anything my right hook can’t handle, my guns can.

Or so I thought.

When a demon summoning runs awry, the immortal being that comes into this world changes everything.

I’m not sure if he’s a monster or a god, but one look into his flame filled eyes and I know–Ronan will never let me go.

Me? I'm not sold on that idea or planning to stick around.

If the demon wants to keep me, he'll have to catch me first.

A deafening crack rang, and shadows gathered beneath his skin. Fear. The very thing that called to her.

She licked the copper taste from her lips and swung again and again and again.

The leathery end pummeling his face into a bruised and broken pulp. The blood vessels in his eyes burst, turning them a grotesque shade of pink. The skin over his cheekbones split, and when he spat, a wad of crimson and mucus came out, two of his teeth landing in the puddle of fluid.

Even still, Quinn didn’t stop.

Not when his breathing grew shallow or the stench of piss ran in the streets.

Not when the thick end of the whip coiled around his neck, choking the life from him.

Not when she ripped the dagger free, only to raise it—

“Stop.”

Quinn blinked.

The roaring quieted.

All at once, the bubble of silence around her popped and she heard it: the screaming, the sobbing, the shouting, the chaos. The cracks of the whip had lulled her into a state where there was only rage … only pain.

And the sound of a man’s voice dark as a shadow, deep as the ocean, powerful enough it reverberated through every bone in her body was what pulled her out.

Warm fingers stilled the hand where she clutched the dagger.

Quinn paused and raised her eyes, taking in the man that had stopped her.

Backlit by the sun and sky, a creature of savageness and sensuality stared down at her. His eyes, they were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Smoldering coals they were, burning from within, without a speck of color in sight. Her lips parted and her breath caught, but only for a moment.

Those eyes were so … fierce. There was a wildness to him that Quinn had not found in others. Ever. She took a step back and he paused, waiting, before he released his hold on her wrist.

She composed herself, a mask of indifference falling over her as she allowed her eyes to travel the length of him. Long dark hair—the color of black skies—hung in thick strands surrounding a face that had seen more than its fair share of fights. His skin was tanned, but an off-white scar spanned from his left eyebrow to his cheek. Other smaller flecks of old healed wounds dotted his face, making it all the more striking.

Quinn found it a strange sort of beautiful.

He wore the fine fabrics of a nobleman that was worth his weight in gold, and two rings adorned his left hand. None graced his right, Quinn noted as she took a step away, slowly coming back to her full senses.

“Who are you?” he asked her. The shouts grew louder as a crowd began to form around them. Quinn didn’t spare the slave master a look. She’d never killed before, though she’d come close. Despite her slipups with that cold impassioned madness that sometimes took hold, the honor of her first kill was reserved for someone who owed her restitution, and therefore she didn’t want or care to know if he was dead or alive.

Quinn took a step away, slowly lowering the dagger to her side. She didn’t put it away. Not yet.

“No one,” came her reply as she moved back towards the crowd. There was a ringing in the square, and the occupants of the market scattered in confusion and fear.

The bells meant only one thing.

Soldiers. City guards, to be exact. She froze.

“No,” the man said. He didn’t move. Neither of them did, even as the people in the streets scattered like rats around them. “You’re someone.” She began to shake her head, and he stopped her with a calculated look. “You’re someone like me.”

“You,” she spat. Her voice gravely and dry. She lifted her head as her nausea finally settled.

“I told you it wasn’t over, Quinn,” he said. There was a hard edge to his voice that spoke of control. Restraint. “Did you really think I’d let you go after your little threat?”

Quinn remained silent as she stared at him through the bars of her cell. The guards behind him watched her with an anxiousness she had expected. She couldn’t quite remember how dried blood had gotten on her hands, but she clearly wasn’t getting out of here any time soon.

“If you wanted me dead, then why bother trying to talk when they’ll hang me all the same?” Quinn asked with a rasping cough.

“Who said I wanted you dead?” the man replied.

Quinn blinked, confused.

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t want you dead.” He paused for a brief second, giving her a moment for thought. “I want you to work for me.”

Quinn drew a stuttered breath. “To —work for you?” she asked, not entirely sure what that meant … Work for him doing what? He simply nodded. “Why?” she asked, eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her.

“You have gifts I’m interested in.”

Understanding sparked in her eyes as she said, “Ah, I see.”

“You’re a fear twister,” he said quietly, stepping up to the bars.

Quinn stilled for a moment, sinking into deep thoughts. Silence descended as the last vestiges of his words echoed in the nearly empty imprisonment block.

Fear twister.