"What in the world?" I almost fell off the bed, instantly awake, my mouth hanging open at the inconceivable sight before me. Just a foot away lay a man with the most perfect face I've ever seen, the dark silk sheets barely covering his equally perfect bo—

I gasped, my face heating up like a furnace as my foot instinctively came up and shoved the man from my bed, only to be met by hard, muscled flesh.

Scarcely budging an inch, he groaned in his sleep, his arm suddenly wrapping around my back and pulling me to him.

"Ack—for the love of—!" I struggled anew. Does he think I'm a pillow?

"Lena, don't go—" his low, husky voice breathed against my hair.

I froze in place. Lena?

The only Lena I know is the character in my half-finished novel.

Oh, I must have fallen asleep, that's it.

I'm definitely dreaming right now, as I sometimes do after writing for the better part of the day and half the night, my subconscious mind continuing where I left off.

Wake up, Bree! I shut my eyes tightly and pinched my arm, hard enough to make me yelp, and opened them again, but the hunk before me didn't turn into a puff of smoke as I had hoped.

So—so close! I swear my heart's going to leap out of my chest. The more I squirmed, the tighter his arms seemed to hold me in place. I sighed, laying perfectly still. Any time now, I'll wake up from this wild— whatever this is. I might as well appreciate the—er—view.

With jet-black hair so dark it shone with hints of sapphire, and thick, dark lashes brushing sun-bronzed skin, I can fully vouch the eyes behind those lids were midnight blue. He was the exact likeness of Lucxivarxicoatl, the demon prince Lena, a hedge witch, called in her ignorance and haste to save her from the witch hunters.

I know, I'm a sucker for long, weird-sounding names, not to mention a complete pantser. I pride myself with not knowing exactly where my story is going, until I sit down to write it.

As I mulled over the scene after Lena summons Lucky—yes, that's Lucxivar's nickname, but only in my head— his eyes fluttered open.

With a squeak, I managed to pry myself out of his embrace, scooting backwards so fast that I teetered on the edge of the bed.

"Lena!" Lucky's swift reflexes caught my arm, stopping my fall.

Those midnight eyes narrowed in concern. I could get lost in them if I'm not careful.

"Let go—!" Damn it! Why can't I wake up?

Surprise and hurt flashed in his eyes as he quickly let go of my arm. "You're finally here, after all this time. Why are you pushing me away?"

I scrambled to my feet, putting a good distance between myself and the impossibly beautiful man on the wide, four-poster bed. 

Wait a minute...four-poster? Didn't I crash on a double bed? That was when I noticed the large, elegant room, its garnet and gold tones a far cry from the country B&B I had rented for my writing getaway.

"You— you're not real." I gulped, waving my finger at the demon. "You're a character from my book who doesn't even show up until a third of the way into the story. My protagonist, Lena, summoned you from Hell, and then I— I fell asleep." I glanced down at my panda-print pajamas, somehow profoundly relieved.

Lucxivar's brows drew down. He got up from the bed, the sheets slipping from his tall, naked frame.

"Oh for the love of..." I snatched the throw blanket draped on the elaborately carved chair nearby and flung it at him. "Cover yourself!"

He caught the blanket deftly, staring at me for a second like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. A smile crossed his lips as he saw my crimson-colored cheeks. Before I could blink, he was properly clothed in a black, silver-embroidered tunic, black trousers, and a silver-lined cloak. "You never used to bat an eyelash whether or not I walk around without a stitch." That same sadness—or was it longing? — flickered in his eyes.

"I was the one who summoned you, not only once but a hundred, no, a thousand times. And each time, you never answered my call, until now. Perhaps, our fates have a funny way of coming back full-circle: you summoning me from this tale you claim is a figment of your imagination."

Languidly, he made his way toward me, like a dangerous, predatory cat. "Or perhaps, you had enough of spinning your tales, even creating a world where you lived and died as one of them"—he grimaced in distaste— "as if you could actually live as a mere human."

He stood so close that his breath brushed at my ear. "You've completely forgotten who you are... Hellena."

I gasped and took a step back, the room suddenly swimming before my eyes. That name—!

"No, my name is Breanna Walters, and I'm a freelance writer," I started to say, but even as I repeated my name, I knew it was a lie. I have gone by countless names, living many lives, not just for a thousand years, but for millennia. The room kept spinning with me as the center, memories so ancient from when the universe itself was young, all coming to the surface—all within the blink of an eye.

I clutched at Lucxivar as he steadied me, lending me his strength. A standing mirror framed in black marble stood a few feet away, the woman reflected in its surface staring back at me with flame-colored eyes. Her crimson tresses flowing down to her slender waist and pale, alabaster-white skin contrasted sharply with the long dress she wore, woven of black lace and shadows. She was breathtaking.

Hellena Belladonna, the queen of the Underworld.

Shoot me now. I'd never imagined I could ever be more cursed to be the bearer of that face, let alone compete with Lucky's ethereal beauty.

I had summoned him inadvertently through the guise of my character, Lena, and he was able to find me, to finally break free from my self-inflicted spell and the treachery of my consort—

Zaetanicxeitl.

Anger surged in me at the memory of that pompous fop. What did I ever see in him?

I had grown weary of my endless existence, and wished to live once as a mortal. Zaetan, the prince consort, took advantage of my momentary weakness, weaving a binding spell on top of mine— a spell that resets, for eternity.

My eyes burned with rage, and I felt Lucxivar stiffen, the crimson fire reflected in his midnight eyes. He quickly masked his fear, and my face softened, letting go of my anger.

I reached up to touch his face, committing each line to memory. "Lucky, my beloved prince," I breathed. For a moment he looked confused, but then his lips turned up in a lopsided smile. I guess the nickname is staying.

"I will live this life to the very end, the last of my mortal lives. Fifty years to this day, in this same place and time, I'll be with you again when you call my name. If Zaetan has half a brain left, he'd use this time to disappear from my sight."

Fifty years is but a second's passing, when you live forever.  

"Miss Walters, are you sure this is the room you'd like to stay for the night?" the young man behind the desk of the Old Country B&B eyed me as if I had gone bonkers. "This room has never been rented out for over forty years! They say it's haunted, and no one can sleep a wink on that bed. It—er, changes appearance on occasion from a double to a king bed. It's hideous. If—if you know what I mean," he trailed lamely, and I stifled a laugh.

Leaning on the counter for emphasis, he added in a low voice, "They say that very bed is a portal to Hell."

"Boy, I'm too old and too tired for that nonsense." I tapped my cane impatiently. "Are you charging my card or not?"

"Y-yes ma'am."

After insisting that I sign a waiver just in case I never see the light of day again, I finally made it to my room with a sigh. I sat on the comfortable lounge chair by the window for a while, gazing at the rose-colored sky as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

"This place has the loveliest of sunsets," I whispered.

"Indeed, it does," a husky voice said softly behind me.

"Took your time long enough," I grumbled, looking up at Lucxivar.

Lucky's lips quirked up in a smile. That perfect face is an absolute abomination.