Her fingers clenched in his hair even as his mouth shifted, tracing a path of searing fire over her cheek and down the curve of her neck.

He felt as if he were drowning as he nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat and moved his hands down to brush over her slender curves. Abby shuddered in response before her fingers were suddenly cupping his face and her body arching upward.

"Dante?" she demanded in soft confusion.

Lost in his heated passions, Dante wanted to ignore her whisper. It would be so easy. Beneath his hands he could feel her shiver with a longing that matched his own. Why shouldn't he provide the sweet release that lurked so tantalizingly close?

It was the unwanted memory of his own words that made his head slowly lift.

Trust me, he had commanded as he had prepared her for her bath.

Damn. He had urged her to put aside her natural caution and place herself in his hands. Perhaps the most difficult thing for a woman such as Abby to do. Whatever his desire for her, he could not risk any belated sense of betrayal. Both their lives depended upon her faith in him.

Grimly lifting himself upright, Dante gathered Abby carefully in his arms and wrapped her in a warm towel. "Come, it's time you were safely tucked into bed."

For a moment she stiffened, as if embarrassed by her blatant reaction to his touch. Then with a rueful sigh she allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder.

"I'm so tired," she muttered.

"I know, my sweet. We will rest here today."

He dropped an absent kiss on the top of her head as he moved through the door that connected directly with the master bedroom. Despite the fact that morning had long ago arrived, not even a stray hint of light marred the perfect darkness. Still he had no difficulty in finding his way across the lush carpeting to the bed. Sweeping aside the blankets, he laid Abby onto the satin sheets and pulled the duvet over her.

About to pull away, he was caught off guard when she abruptly reached out to grasp his hand.

"Dante?"

"Yes?"

"We will be safe here?"

"Nothing will harm you here."

"And"—there was a pause as if she battled something within herself—"you will be near?"

A small smile touched his lips. He knew this woman would rather have a root canal, a bad perm, and cellulite rather than confess her vulnerability.

"I'll be right at your side, lover," he promised as he gracefully moved to lie on the bed and take her into his arms. Covering them both with the duvet, he allowed her warmth to cloak about him. "For all eternity."

The once-proud Victorian church with its stained-glass windows and walnut pews had long since fallen into ruin. With the closing of the paper mill, the small town that had been called to worship had abandoned hope and faith and at last migrated to richer pastures. Even the attached graveyard was now only a shell of tumbled crypts and tenacious weeds.

Beneath the remains of stone and forgotten corpses, however, the vast catacombs were kept with meticulous care.

Not a rat would dare enter the maze of tunnels or stone chambers that had been polished as smooth as marble over the ages. No spiderweb would disturb the stark simplicity.

Hardly what one might expect from a demon's dark temple. But then Rafael, the master of the cult, was not a usual demon.

In truth, he wasn't a demon at all.

A tall sparse man with gaunt features, he had once been as drearily mortal as any other. But he had given his humanity and soul to the Dark Prince centuries before.

In reward for his cold cruelty, and perchance for evil, he had quickly risen through the ranks into a position of power. A power that had become all but impotent since the arrival of the witches and their damnable Phoenix.

Pacing through his shadowed chamber, Rafael absently stroked his thin fingers over the heavy silver pendant that hung about his neck.

So much depended upon him.

Upon his actions tonight.

He could not fail.

Hearing the sound of the approaching footsteps that he had been awaiting, Rafael smoothed his features to a cold mask of invincibility. Now, more than ever, he needed to use the lethal reputation he had earned over the long years.

There was a tentative knock. Calling the visitor to enter, Rafael carefully surveyed the young apprentice.

He was standing as still and forbidding as granite as he watched the apprentice close the door and move toward the center of the room. The younger man did not yet have the shaved head of a convert. Such an honor would not be allowed unless he survived the trials. Many came to worship the Prince, but few survived.

His shrewd gaze easily pierced the modest demeanor of the younger man, discerning the sharpness to the countenance and the cunning in the pale eyes.

Oh yes, he would do quite well, he decided with an inward smile.

Clearly unnerved by the relentless gaze, the apprentice nervously shifted. "You summoned me, Master Rafael?"

'Yes, Apprentice Amil. Please, have a seat." Rafael waited until the student had moved to perch upon the uncomfortable wooden chair, then he slowly moved to stand before his guest. 'Tfou are comfortable?"

Amil shifted with a faint frown. "Yes, thank you."

"Be at ease, my son," Rafael drawled, folding his hands within the arms of his robe. "Despite persistent rumors among the brothers, I do not usually eat acolytes for dinner. Not even those who have dared to practice the dark arts forbidden even to us."

There was a moment of shock before the young man was abruptly sliding out of the chair and landing upon his knees.

"Master, forgive me," he begged in unsteady tones. "It was mere curiosity. I did not intend harm."

Rafael grimaced as the fool threatened to wrinkle the hem of his robes. It had been more fortune than skill that had led him to discover the overly-ambitious apprentice slipping from the tower to recite the black spells. His first instinct had been to rip out his throat. Not only would it have been a fitting punishment, but it would have provided him a great deal of pleasure.

But in the end he had hesitated. A man in his powerful position was always in need of faithful servants. And no servant was more faithful than one who knew he was a breath away from death.

"Oh, do get up, worm."

Shakily the man forced himself to regain his seat, warily regarding Rafael.

"Am I to be killed?"

"That is the penalty."

"Of course, master," the man obediently agreed, although his sincerity was open to question.

"Dark magics are not a toy. They are dangerous to you and to those about you. You endangered us all with your stupidity and risked exposing our temple."

"Yes, master."

Rafael's thin lips hardened. "But you are ambitious, eh, Amil? You desire to wield the power that beckons just out of reach?"

The pale gaze covertly flicked toward Rafael's potent medallion, before recalling he was on the knife's edge of becoming dinner. Or worse.

"Only if the Prince wills it so."

"I sense your talent. It runs deep within you. A

pity it shall be wasted before it can ever bloom to its full potential."

"Please, master. I have learned my lesson. I shall not stray again."

Rafael slowly lifted his brows. "And you believe I should trust your empty promise? You who have already displayed an inbred treachery?"

Perhaps sensing a glimmer of hope, Amil leaned forward, his thin features flushed. "All I ask is a second opportunity. I'll do whatever you ask of me."

"Whatever? A rather rash promise."

"I don't care. Just tell me what I must do."

Rafael pretended to consider the plea. He had, of course, known that the pathetic apprentice would sell his soul. He had depended upon it. In some ways the youth reminded him of himself with his burning thirst for knowledge. But unlike this fool, he had possessed the wits to keep his secret studies well hidden. And the wisdom never to place himself in the power of another.

"Perhaps I could consider being lenient upon this one occasion," he slowly drawled. "With one condition."

"Bless you, master," Amil breathed. "Bless you."

"I do not believe you will be so grateful when you discover my condition."

"What do you desire of me?"

With measured steps, Rafael moved to take his seat behind the massive desk. He templed his fingers beneath his chin and regarded his guest with a piercing gaze. The next few moments would decide his fate.

If he was to be acclaimed as the savior of the Prince of Demons or as an arrogant failure. He could not afford a mistake.

"First I desire that you tell me what you know of the Phoenix."

Caught off guard, Amil blinked in surprise. "I… what all creatures of the dark know, I suppose. Nearly three hundred years ago, powerful witches gathered together to call for the spirit of the Phoenix and placed it within a human body. The presence of the vile beast has kept the Prince banished from this world and made his minions impotent."

"I am not impotent," Rafael snapped in annoyance.

"I do not understand." Amil regarded the older wizard with a wary frown. "Why do we speak of the Phoenix?"