Who was Miss Camilla Antonius?

He was damn well going to find out.

No more waiting, no more games. If he had to be ruthless, so be it.

Envy took a step toward her, impressed she didn’t retreat. Males twice her size would cower before a Prince of Hell.

“My spies have unearthed lots of curious information on your father.”

Camilla froze.

“You spied on us?”

She’d spit the question out like it tasted foul.

He inclined his head. Envy didn’t like sparking emotions tied to his brother’s sin, but the angrier Camilla got, the less likely she was to hold on to all her secrets.

“What are you, Camilla? Immortal? Halfling? Or just a deviously talented human liar?”

Fury laced her tone.

“What other absurd theories would you like to add, Your Highness? A lioness? An eagle? I know,” she mocked, “maybe I’m a dire wolf.”

“Why do you intrigue so many dark beings, Camilla, if that’s even your true name? What do they sense that my brothers and I cannot? Why are you a necessary piece to the game? Lennox chose you. Why?”

Her expression shuttered completely.

And something inside him went feral.

He stalked closer, needing to know what she was hiding, needing to know her.

This little game had reached an end.

His sin lashed out. There was a wall between him and her will and he barreled into it, driving his power at it over and over, envisioning it like a wall of ice.

Nearly impenetrable until he made a tiny crack.

A tiny fissure was all he needed for his sin to finally burst through.

Camilla responded to envy, he’d seen it before. Envy projected images into her mind, both to fuel his power while he drained himself and to entice her true emotions to surface.

He pictured the Goddess of Death, when she’d fucked his second in front of him. Her ancient lavender eyes had locked on Envy, attempting in vain to stoke his sin.

At once, both he and Camilla were in that memory together, reliving his thoughts beat by beat as Camilla watched, confused, through his mind.

His focus traveled over her gown, obviously chosen with this tableau in mind. Vittoria always was the theatrical twin; it was a wonder she and Emilia had ever convinced his brothers—and the whole realm—that they were one entity all those years ago.

Vittoria’s dress was nothing more than two swaths of lavender material that covered her breasts, then gathered at the middle before pooling to the floor. Long sections of bronze skin flashed with each of her movements.

Envy kept his emotions from that night away from Camilla, only showing her the goddess as Vittoria watched him, her desire for him bleeding through his memories, funneling straight into Camilla.

He neglected to reveal that he hadn’t been aroused and never would be by Vittoria.

He recalled more of that encounter, how his second’s hands had roamed the goddess’s body, how her low moans had started; he stoked Camilla’s jealousy until he was nearly drunk on it. He could sense her pushing back at his mental grip, shoving and trying to force her way out, but it was working. Camilla was wild with envy.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said to Vittoria in the memory. “Quite literally.”

“And I do so love the burn.” Vittoria spun in Alexei’s arms, pressing her backside against his groin, and slowly gyrated. From this new position, she could watch Envy while she worked the vampire into a lust-fueled frenzy. A task she’d already completed if Alexei’s curses and moans were any indication.

“If you’re trying to stoke my sin,” Envy drawled, “you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Oh, Envy. If I wished to stroke your sin, I would.” Vittoria’s hand slipped inside the vampire’s trousers, her fist pumping in a steady rhythm as he groaned. “You’re welcome to watch. Or join…”

Camilla was nearly feral in his mind, clawing the memory to shreds.

Her jealousy was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, it was a deep chasm inside her, seemingly endless. She’d been keeping her emotions locked away inside.

And he’d only just begun to discover how deep that well went.

One moment he had her in his mind; then suddenly, without any warning, Camilla pushed a memory into him. She’d chosen her return fire well.

Envy watched as Camilla braced her hands on the male’s thighs—the material of his trousers pulled taut against the breadth of them—then leaned forward, tongue darting out to wet her full lips.

With nimble fingers, Camilla unlaced his trousers, slowly pulling his erection out. Envy strained to see the male’s face, wanting to mark it for future notice, but could only see what Camilla permitted from this memory.

And Camilla’s focus was entirely on the rock-hard cock twitching in her face.

Envy strained to release himself from this scene, but Camilla latched on, fed him more.

In the memory, she repositioned herself, then tentatively closed her mouth around the head, her cheeks hollowing out as the man instructed her to suck.

Envy wanted to put his fist through a wall.

The other male’s long fingers plunged into Camilla’s silver hair, threading it until he guided her into the motion he preferred. In the memory, Camilla nearly choked as the male pumped into her mouth. His grip in her hair tightened, his thrusts hitting the wall of her throat. Memory Camilla felt like she was choking—it thrilled and scared her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, as the bastard fucked her mouth so hard and fast she couldn’t breathe.

Envy shouted in the memory, needing to be out. He didn’t care that she’d been with someone else, but seeing it… It drove him mad. And the bastard—whoever he was—hadn’t been gentle. He’d unleashed himself, uncaring of the woman’s comfort.

He didn’t realize she’d stopped provoking him—had somehow managed to tear them both free of the memory and backed him against a tree—until she pulled the dagger Envy had given her from her bodice and held it to his throat, her silver eyes flashing just as menacingly in the night.

They were both breathing hard, their eyes twin flames of envy.

Envy thought she would slit his throat right then and there. And he’d deserve it. Maybe he wanted her to—after that memory, he needed to be put out of his misery. The image of her on her knees, pleasuring someone else, was too much.

“Go on, pet. Hurt me.” His chest heaved with his heavy breath.

Instead, she tossed the blade to the ground and dragged his face to hers, their mouths crashing together.

Hunger overtook them. Or madness.

He knew it wasn’t madness but pure, unadulterated jealousy.

She didn’t ask about Vittoria, and he didn’t ask about the male in her memory.

They both needed to forget that other lovers had come into their lives, needed to imprint each other in their newest memories. Their game had taken a turn.

Camilla’s tongue was suddenly in his mouth and his fist was in her hair and the kiss was unlike any other he’d ever had. She drew back, raking her gaze over him, possessive and filled with raw need, then ripped his shirt open, kissing up the stubbled column of his neck.

She stopped again when she reached his jaw, long enough to run her hands along the front of his body, tracing his tattoos, the ridge of each muscle along his abdomen. The dark hunter-green ink placed just below his belt line was a Latin phrase he admired. But it was only one of his tattoos. Non ducor, duco. I am not led, I lead.

“Beautiful.” Her painter’s hands followed the lines as they dipped lower. “Powerful.”

The groan that escaped him was all demon.

“Camilla.”

He pulled her against him, roughly caressing her breasts as she nipped at his throat.

“Kiss me,” she whispered against his mouth, “like I’m the only thing you think about.”