Depravity. Evil. How did she channel what was clearly in front of her? How did she draw on Darkyn's power when he was cut off from her? She had never thought to seek the bad out in anyone, but the large death dealer looming over her made her want to give it a go.
"I'm unarmed," she whispered, holding up her hands. "I … know how this went last time. I just want it not to hurt."
The death dealer considered her then sheathed the sword. "No promises."
"Better your hands than a sword, right?"
He snatched her arm hard enough to hurt. Deidre grimaced, fighting away the frantic urge to curl up in a ball and sob. She rested a hand against his chest to steady herself and focused hard on feeling the parts of him that would attract her mate.
I am the Dark One's mate. If there is evil here, it will obey me. Closing her eyes, she chanted the words over and over, trying not to notice that the death dealer was ripping her dress to get to her skin with the haste of a man not fully under his own control. He grabbed one breast and squeezed too hard, shoving her into the wall behind her and rubbing his erection against her hips.
This ends now.
The scent of blood was in the air, thick, rich and compelling. Deidre's mouth watered, the demon side of her responding to its food source.
A whisper reached her, something dark and cold, emanating from deep within her attacker and tingling through the hand she held over his heart. The cool energy went up her arm, tickling her from the inside, and she redirected it, willing it to do to his heart what she never thought herself capable of before.
The dealer hesitated and started to pull away.
Keeping her hand rooted to his chest, Deidre focused harder, tears on her cheeks.
"Stop," she whispered to his heart. "Now."
The dealer dropped.
Gasping, Deidre's eyes flew open, and she stared down at the body at her feet. She had no time to dwell over her first kill but was confronted by a second dealer. This one paused, glancing at the dead man, before he stepped over him and took her arm.
"Claws!" Karma shouted with a grunt from across the room.
A quiet, quick death was one thing, but Deidre wanted nothing to do with blood. It was drowning her senses already, pulling at a part of her she didn't want to acknowledge existed. One that lusted to gorge itself on the coppery rivers of blood pulsing through the body of the man before her.