Page 63 of To Dwell in Shadows
“Yes, our destinies are intertwined,” Sam said evenly. Vanthee’s eyes lit up—until he kicked the cleaning bucket toward her with a clatter. “We were meant to clean this room together.”
The anticipation on her face shifted into irritation. Then hardened into resolve.
“Fine,” she said, smoothing her dress. “I’m not afraid of hard work. Allow me to demonstrate just how agile and flexible I can be.”
“If you can lift that stain on the floor in the corner, I will be impressed,” he joked.
His jest made Vanthee’s cheeks flame. Careful of her tight dress, she lowered herself to the floor. She dunked the sponge into the soapy water and began scrubbing.
Though they worked in silence, the room was thick with tension. Sam could easily walk out of the Sanctum to escape her, but he knew Borias would chastise him for leaving a room only half-cleaned. If Vanthee was angling for some private time with him, he needed to make it clear that this was all she was going to get.
“Do you like seeing me on my knees, great prince?” she said, leering up at him.
Sam didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on knocking down a stubborn cobweb clinging to the corner of the ceiling. The scent of cleaning solution was beginning to drown out her perfume and for that, he was grateful.
“Be sure to really scrub hard when you get to the skirting board,” he instructed.
Vanthee glared at him then said, “Yes, sir.”
After several minutes, she sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“Growing weary, are you?” Sam asked. “Perhaps it’s time you went home.”
“I’m not as strong as you, that’s true,” she replied, her voice edged with challenge. “But I’m tough. Tell me, great prince, do you ever worry about breaking your little human when you’re pushing inside her?”
A red haze swept across Sam’s vision. Her crude question ignited a raw urge to lash out—to snarl, to rage, to terrify her so thoroughly she’d never dare approach him again. But he held himself back. He knew exactly what Vanthee was doing: prodding, provoking, trying to prove that he belonged with a demoness, not some fragile human.
Usually, when he was unsure of how to act, he asked himself what Eldridge would do. But this time, his thoughts strayed to Brunie. He remembered how impossible she was to rattle, how effortlessly she defused barbed remarks with raw honesty. What seemed like innocence had a way of shaming her challengers, leaving her the quiet victor.
“No,” he said lightly. “Selene is able to accommodate me.”
Vanthee’s mouth opened in surprise at his composed reply. She tucked a strand of hair behind one horn then asked, “But surely you must crave someone to match your power.”
“Not at all. We’ve figured out what works and what doesn’t.”
Vanthee pressed her lips together. Her attempt to shock and provoke him was unraveling, yet she wasn’t relenting. “Most demons prefer a lover they don’t have to treat like she’s made of glass.”
Sam stopped sweeping and leveled a look at her. “For the last time, Selene is my mate. I don’t want anyone else. Whatever you’re trying here, it’s pointless. Surely you have plenty of suitors more worthy of your time.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Vanthee snapped. “I don’t have a lot of suitors. My father won’t allow it.”
A flicker of pain crossed her face, and for a moment, Sam almost pitied her.
“Interesting,” he said. “Mammon never struck me as the protective type.”
“He’s not. I’m just an asset to him.” She scrubbed harder at the floor. “I was betrothed to Drath to settle one of Father’s debts but thankfully, Drath called it off.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “Because you tried to split his head open?”
“Something like that,” Vanthee muttered.
Slowly, the pieces fell into place, and Sam began to understand the logic behind her obsession with him. To Mammon, aligning with Sam held more promise than a pact with any other demon, and Vanthee was the perfect pawn to make it happen. Mentioning her father seemed to unlock something in Vanthee. The seductive facade slipped away, replaced by something rawer, more real. Sam watched her attack the floor with renewed aggression.
“Are there any demons you would choose to marry, if it were truly your choice?” Sam asked.
Vanthee let out a dry laugh. “There’s no such thing as choice for me.”
“Why?”
