Grey grabbed his shirt off the back of the chaise and headed for the door. He jerked the black shirt over his head and struggled to tug it down around his chest and stomach with one hand while grabbing the doorknob with the other.

          The door was half open when he froze.

          Wearing a pale-blue silk dress that slid over her curves like a second skin, Tashara waited in the hall. The succubus’ hip was cocked to the side. One hand, pale and delicate, rested at her waist. She was stunning, perfect in an uncanny way that was nearly off putting.

          Nearly.

          His cheeks heated, and he couldn’t decide where to look.

          “No, no, no.” She tsked. “Grey, you’re blushing. We talked about this. Try again.” Tashara reached out, took the handle, and pulled the door shut between them.

          Grey groaned and dropped his head against the door. He’d gone to Tashara for help after they’d returned from the hunt, asking for assistance in becoming someone other than who he was before he managed to get himself killed. It had been an impulsive, desperate move—one he regretted.

          He was so damn exhausted with pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Prior to crossing through that portal, he’d honestly thought it couldn’t get much worse. Irritation at the miscalculation poked its head up, looking to lash out. He shoved it away.

          Tashara knocked again. The vibrations tickled his forehead. He’d have ignored her if he’d thought for a second it’d work. Grey growled, straightened, and jerked the door open.

          The succubus had reset her stance and adjusted her dress—the slit was now open to the top of the thigh. He swallowed.

          “Grey!” Tashara put a hand on his chest and pushed him to the side. She slid past him, a wave of floral aroma trailing behind. “During yesterday’s lesson, you almost had control. What happened?”

          Grey pushed the door shut, stammering. “I . . . You . . .” He pointed, gesturing first down and then up, and finished with a wave that was supposed to indicate that all of it was what had happened.

          She scoffed. “I look no different than last we met. In fact”—she smoothed her hands down her sides, trailing the well-defined curves—“I’m more demurely dressed.”

          Grey cocked an eyebrow.

         “It’s true. The only difference between now and then is that you haven’t had time to desensitize yourself.”

          He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, just—give me a second.”

          “You don’t get the luxury of time. Your initial reaction is what will be scrutinized. Both with the council and others. It’s imperative you appear distant and disinterested, no matter your emotional or physical reaction. It’s one of the few advantages you can truly own.”

          The information was not new. She’d hammered it home yesterday. And it was valid, but the lessons had left him feeling frustrated and completely overwhelmed. He’d been careful not to let her see it at the time, but right now, he was beyond exhausted, and pent-up frustration hammered at the back of his lips.

          “What?” Tashara slid one hand beneath her waterfall of blonde hair and pushed it over her shoulder. “There’s something you want to say.”

          “No. Nothing.”

          “Don’t lie to me.”

          “I’m not lying.” Grey ducked his head out of habit. “It’s just not important.”

          Tashara leveled on him a sultry gaze. She put one foot in front of the other, stalking forward. “You think you can brush me off so easily? You’re adorable, Grey, but incredibly naive.”