The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Poppy

From dangling above the fiery pits of Hell to heaven’s waiting room.

Well, maybe.

When the rhythmic beeping grows louder, I open my eyes. I’m in a bedroom. It’s light and breezy and white, with a window at the bottom of the bed that frames the sparkling sea. Boats, lazy and serene, float across it like they have no place they need to be.

I’m tempted to close my eyes and bask in the calm. But I’ve been here before. Not here, in this room, but in this situation. Waking up in an unknown bed, head groggy and heart-thumping faster than I can make sense of.

“You’re awake.”

I chase the voice to an armchair in the corner.

Lorcan.

He rises to his feet and crosses the cream carpet in half a second, sliding his cold hands into mine.

“You’re…” I croak.

Here. Alive.

Heartbreakinglyhandsome.

He silences me with a delicate kiss on my lips. “Shh,” he mutters, stroking my forehead. Those eyes—those goddamn eyes—they sparkle like citrine whirlpools as he studies me with the intensity that I’ve come to crave.

That I thought I’d never be the subject of again.

“Rest, my China Doll,” he murmurs, his warm mouth a beautiful contrast to his cool touch. “You’re safe now. Go back to sleep, everything is okay, I promise.”

The pillow is soft and so is his hand wrapped in mine.

Lorcan Quinn claimed me. Stole me. Betrayed me. Yet when he tells me everything is going to be okay, I melt faster than butter on a warm day.

And I let go.