Darkyn's Mate

Darkyn's amusement at the deal made her shudder. She had to figure out what she was missing fast and how permanent it was to be an Immortal mate.

Deidre turned off the shower, some semblance of a plan comforting her. She dressed then went through the motions of brushing her teeth and dressing without the aid of a mirror, irritated that the only mirror in the bedroom was in the inside door of the wardrobe. She wiped the last of the toothpaste from her mouth and glanced down. Blood bubbled from the cut on her index finger. She stuck it in her mouth and cut it again. The wounds healed almost instantly.

Puzzled, she studied her finger, not understanding what was cutting it. She had no old wounds she was reopening. She ran her tongue across her gums again and froze.

Deidre whipped the door open, ignoring the sting of her wet hair against her shoulders. The dress shifted around her as she hurried to the wardrobe. She pushed open the door with the mirror and stared. Petite, white, pointed fangs extended from her upper gums to rest on her plump lower lip.

"No, no, no," she whispered and pushed at the teeth with a finger. They were real. She bared her teeth. Her two canines were larger than before and gave her the appearance of a vampire.

Or demon. The Dark One was going to turn her Immortal. Had he made her a demon?

She controlled her breathing to keep her frantic emotions from consuming her.

Her eyes went to the mantle where the hourglass remained. Deidre strode to the hearth and picked up the time marker that was no larger than her pinkie. She tilted it. The sand only moved one way, even when upside down.

She found herself poking the new teeth with her tongue to confirm they really were there.

Maybe they were temporary. When the sand ran out, she'd have no Darkyn tattoo, no demon fangs, no Past-Death standing between her and Gabriel.

How certain are you? Darkyn had baited her.

She wasn't. At all. What if she won but stayed a demon? What if she lost and stayed a demon? Whose bright idea was it to turn her into a demon anyway? What if she lost the bet entirely?

She swallowed hard to keep tears from forming.

There had to be a way out of this. Fate said to do what Darkyn said. Fate wanted Past-Death dead. Thus far, he'd been the most helpful of the Immortals. He wasn't going to abandon her, too, was he?

Deidre went back to the mirror and gazed at herself. She wore the Grecian style gown of Hell: secured around her neck by a loose band, it draped over her curves and pooled at her feet, leaving her arms, shoulders and back bare to the hips. She wore the metal collar that marked her as Darkyn's food source. The scars the Dark One created when he turned her Immortal were more faded today than yesterday.