Claimed

Prologue

The Devil’s Claim

Gianni yanked me closer his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me against his hard, muscular body.

The blood from his hands smeared my skin, marking me further.

Claiming me as his.

Telling my body that he had killed for me.

For us.

And he would do it again and again.

And again.

My breath hitched as his mouth descended on my neck, and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

Oh God.

I gasped, but the sound was swallowed by the low, animalistic growl that rumbled from his chest.

“You’re mine. Do you know that?” He hissed against my skin.

“Y-yes.” I shivered with desire.

“You belong to me now. Every of you, every cell, every strand of hair, every drop of blood, every breath you take—mine. All fucking mine.”

“Y-yes.”

The possessiveness in his voice.

It was so wrong, yet so right.

The dark thrill of it.

The intense heat in every syllable.

Good God, it made my legs weak.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against my ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Without any hesitation, I whispered, “I’m yours, Gianni.”

Another low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, and he nipped at my neck, drowning me in ecstasy.

The coppery scent of blood rose in the air, mixing with his intoxicating aroma.

He had me on the bed so fast.

I couldn’t even tell you how long it had taken.

Five seconds.

Four.

No.

Three seconds at the most.

His bloody hands—warm and slick—roamed over me.

Possessively.

Roughly.

Leaving traces of crimson against my dark brown skin.

Each touch ignited a storm inside me.

Fear threaded through my veins, but so did an exhilarating thrill.

Was this madness or fate?

They called him the Devil of Shadows, and I believed them, because he explored me, sinfully, as if he couldn't get enough of feeling me beneath his fingers, as if he wanted to tear my flesh apart just to touch my insides—the very core of my being.

And God help me. . .I would let him.

I would let the Devil unravel me.

I would let him cut me up and caress every vein, every organ.

Touch my heart.

My soul.

As if he heard those twisted thoughts, he groaned, “Say my name, Princess.”

“Gianni.”

“Good girl.”

But would he be the death of me?