Addiction to frost, of course. That was a soul-smudge if I’d ever heard of one.

“And like every predator, Ms. Campbell drinks from the fount of life. Even if she were virginal and blushing, you can’t just buff off a soul that survives by skimming from others.”

But I couldn’t think past Nash and Sabine, and the block they’d both been around….

“Virginity? That’s what makes a soul pure?” Oh, the irony stung. My fingers found the last drawer and I pulled it open behind me, relieved when it rolled silently.

Beck shrugged. “It’s among the qualifiers, as is a selfless desire to do what’s right, despite the personal consequences. Ironic, isn’t it, considering your soul will soon belong to a perfect little predator.”

“A virgin sacrifice? I’m your virgin sacrifice? Seriously?” I couldn’t get my hand into the drawer from my current angle. Not without him seeing.

“Oh, I’m quite serious. And grateful for how tightly you’ve clung to antiquated virtue. That couldn’t have been easy, in today’s world.”

“Stay away from me!” I stepped to the side and grabbed the butcher knife from the open drawer, surprised by how steady my two-handed grip felt. I’d said I could kill in self-defense, but I hadn’t really believed it until that moment. Until the thought of facing death with no soul scared me far beyond the loss of my own life.

“Most donors don’t provide their own sacrificial weapon, so I hope you don’t mind, but…I brought my own.” Beck reached back and pulled a small, double-bladed wavy dagger, presumably from a sheath at his back.

My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

Think, Kaylee! My dad wasn’t home, Tod was gone, Nash was messed up, Sabine was taking care of Nash, and Emma and Sophie were unconscious, being drained as we spoke. I was truly on my own, for the first time ever.

Beck came closer, and I couldn’t take my gaze off the double-bladed knife. My kitchen lights gleamed on old metal, still visibly sharp and etched with words I couldn’t read, in some language I didn’t know. Even if the shape alone hadn’t told me, the writing would have: this was no ordinary blade. It meant something.

It meant my death, and the theft of my soul.

“Shouldn’t the soul harvest wait until you have an actual baby to put it in?” I said, still clutching my own knife.

Beck shrugged, an oddly casual gesture, considering what he held and what he planned to do. “I’m willing to wait another eight or nine months. Those Marshall girls are quite a fertile brood.”

Nooo. “Traci?” I fought nausea at the thought. “How is that even possible?” He’d only met her a few hours ago, at most.

“A little luck, fortunate timing and some very eager swimmers.”

Ew, ew, ew…!

“Of course, it’s too early to tell about gender—that’ll take a few weeks atbest—but it’s never too early to start planning.”

“Yes it is! It’s way too early to start planning. Won’t my soul, like, go stale or something between now and then?”

“Well, fresh is best, of course, but that’s not always possible. Which is where this comes in.” He turned the dagger over, and it reflected bright spots of light all over the room. “Handy little gadget I just acquired from one of the local hellions. Cost me an arm and leg—neither of them mine, of course—but well worth it. If I’ve learned anything from losing Lydia’s soul, it’s that a father can never be too prepared.”

“What is that?” I whispered, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

“Hellion-forged steel. So long as this is in your flesh when your heart stops beating, it’ll collect your soul and hold it for up to a year. Like supernatural Tupperware.”

Fighting encroaching panic, adrenaline burning in my veins, I edged to the right, along the counter, desperately wishing I hadn’t blocked myself into the kitchen.

He reached for me, and I lunged to the left. But there was nowhere else to go—I was cornered by the cabinet and the fridge.

Beck grabbed my left arm and jerked me forward. I screamed and shoved my knife into his side, as hard as I could.

For one moment, neither of us moved. Each ragged breath seemed to burn my throat, all the way into my lungs. Something warm and sticky flowed over my hand, and I looked down to find blood pouring from his shirt and trailing down his pants.

I gasped and let go of the knife, scrambling backward until I hit the fridge. Blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor, and even when I closed my eyes, the pattern they formed remained on the insides of my eyelids.

Then Beck laughed, and my eyes flew open again. I stared in shock as he pulled the butcher knife from his stomach and tossed it into the sink, where it clattered into the popcorn bowl. Through the hole in his shirt, I could see the two-inch gash seal itself, like it was never even there. And if not for all the blood, I would have thought I’d imagined the whole thing.

“Stainless steel isn’t much of a problem for me, either.” In the next second, he was there, pinning me to the fridge, one hand around my wrist, the other pressing the dual dagger tips into my chest, just below my rib cage. “I think we’re done with this now…” He slid one finger beneath the braided dissimulatus bracelet, tugging my arm toward the top dagger blade.

Every breath I took, every panicked beat of my adrenaline-flooded heart demanded action. Resistance. Struggle, at least. But I’d never fought anyone in my life. The closest I’d ever come was slapping Sabine, and if I was in over my head against Nash’s nightmare of an ex-girlfriend, I didn’t stand a chance against an incubus who healed his own wounds. Especially not with his knife poised to slide beneath my ribs, taking my life and my soul in one vicious stroke.