He knew that she’d realized—months ago—that he could see past the reinforced glass.

She stood less than a foot behind the mirror, her eyes up and clear—and on his.

“Too many years,” he said softly as he headed toward the glass and to her.

“I remember you,” she told him. “When I was a kid . . .”

She was little more than a kid. Nineteen, twenty?

“When you do get out, please don’t ever come back. Just run and run.”

His lips tightened. “What makes you think they’ll ever let me out?” He was their prized specimen. They tortured him, they killed him, but they weren’t letting him go.

She smiled, and the sight stopped his breath for a moment. “I know you’ll get out . . . because I’ll help you.”

Her hand lifted. Touched the glass.

His hand lifted too, as if pulled by her.

But then the guards came in . . .

And Cassie left him.

Dante climbed from the bed as the moonlight streamed through the old blinds. So many memories were in his head, fighting to get to the surface and break free.

He hated some of the memories.

Treasured others.

Her hand, rising against the glass.

He never would have thought to find a glimpse of gold in that hell, but he had.

His gaze fell back on the bed. On Cassie. He’d known just what she was the first minute he’d seen her. When she’d only been eight, the promise had been there.

He could have broken out of Genesis sooner, but he’d needed to wait. He’d had to see for sure if she would become—

“Dante!” She screamed his name as she jerked up in bed. He crossed to her instantly. “I’m here.”

A shudder shook her slender frame and then her hands were around him, holding tight. “I was afraid it was a dream . . . that I was back there. They were going to keep hurting me.”

I should have gone back and finished them.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said as he shoved down his fury.

“You’re safe.”

Her mouth pressed over his shoulder. Her lips were soft and silken. Her breath blew lightly over his skin.

Then she pulled away. Looked up at him. Her gaze searched his and her green eyes widened. “Dante.”

She seemed to finally be seeing him.

No, she wasn’t seeing him, but rather seeing in to him.

“You remember, don’t you? You remember me?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to track you if I hadn’t.” His voice had roughened because . . . she wasn’t hurt any longer. No scratches or bruises on her skin. Completely healed.

She was in bed. Alone with him.

He’d wanted her for so long.

He’d been close to having what he wanted.

He would have what he wanted.

“What all do you remember?” Her voice was husky. Hopeful?

His fingers lifted and brushed back her hair. “Every damn thing.”

I was going to marry her.

Dante’s jaw locked.

Once, she’d been a virgin. She’d come to him, sneaking past the security, offering him heaven.

He’d been a fool to refuse.

I knew what she was. I should have held on tight.

Her lips lifted into a smile. “You know me?”

He didn’t return her smile. “I’m going to devour you.” Fair warning.

Her smile dimmed. “Dante?”

He pushed her back onto the bed. The control he’d held so effortlessly while she slept—cradled in his arms—was shredding with each passing second. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t trapped in a nightmare.

Cassie was in his arms, and he meant to have her. “Are you afraid?” Dante asked her.

“The fire . . . what if . . . ?”

He knew what the idiots at Genesis had said—in moments of extreme passion, his fire would rage out of control. That he would hurt—kill—a lover.

That wouldn’t happen with her.

Couldn’t.

Because the phoenix wasn’t allowed to hurt her.

I knew what she was . . .

“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised her.

His lips pressed to hers. He had to kiss her. He wanted her to forget the man she’d shot and any other bastard out there. The others would no longer have a place in her mind or heart.

There would only be room for him.

Her mouth opened beneath his . . . eager and sweet. He thrust his tongue past her lips and savored her.

So good. She’d always tasted of innocence and sin, a combination that had made him crazy so many times.