Ciel wasn't sure whose bright idea this impromptu, after-dinner party had been, but the eruptions of raucous laughter did nothing to soothe his jangled nerves. He heard the traded jokes, the humorous anecdotes, but they didn't register, and his head ached beneath the task of forcing mirth on cue. Although barely past twilight and still too early for bed, Ciel rose from his chair at the dining room table and stated his intent to retire for the evening.

"Bullocks! Come on, Yer Lordship!" Bard protested around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He slapped the table and sent ash peppering down over his white shirt. "It's tradition, this! One last night with the blokes. Hell, I ain't even broke out the whiskey, yet!"

Ciel glanced around the table where Bard, Soma, Finnian, and Snake all looked up at him with hopeful expressions and forced an apologetic smile. "It's Lizzie's big day tomorrow, and she's not apt to be forgiving should she find me red-eyed and reeking of stale liquor. Save the whiskey for after the wedding, Bard. I'll need it."

"I'll be carrying a flask, Master Ciel," Bard winked, and then chuckled. "It's not too late to run, you know. You're a free man, right up until you say 'I do.'"

"Bardroy!" Finny squeaked.

"Don't listen to him, Ciel," Soma commanded with an air of superiority. "Wives are no trouble. I have three, and they've not altered my life in any way."

"That's 'cause they're all in India," Bard scoffed. "Lady Elizabeth will be livin' at the manor. A pint says she'll have the whole place turned out in pink by the end of the first week. Any takers?"

"Goodnight," Ciel groaned, turning away from the table.

"Should I fetch Sebastian?" Finny asked, jumping to his feet. "I think he's with Tanaka and Agni in the kitchen."

At the mention of his butler's name, Ciel's stomach flipped, his lungs constricted and the feeling of unease he'd been carrying since Aunt Francis set a wedding date intensified. "No. Tell him I've seen to myself when he comes to inquire." He flashed the table another smile he didn't feel, and said, "Big day tomorrow. Don't stay up too late, any of you. That's an order."

He waved at their calls of "goodnight," and Soma's "You're not the boss of me," as he exited the dining room.

The tightness in his chest loosened some as he climbed the stairs and made his way down the quiet hallway to his room, but the air still felt too thick, the walls too close. He yearned for the wide passageways and general vastness of the manor, where it could conceivably take days for anyone other than Sebastian to find him should he decide he wanted to hide. The townhouse was too small, the quarters too close, especially with the whole of his household along with Soma and Agni in residence.

It could be worse, he supposed. Lizzie had wanted him to stay at the Midford estate, where their wedding would be held tomorrow afternoon. If it hadn't been for Sebastian's reminder that it was deemed bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding and therefore safer for Ciel to spend the night elsewhere, he would no doubt be sitting in the Midford's front parlor at this very moment, holding Lizzie's hand and listening to Aunt Francis lecture him once more on her expectations for his perfect appearance and etiquette while his cousin Edward glared daggers at him from across the room.

Yes, it could be much worse. Even so, he needed more space. Room to breathe. Privacy to think and rationalize his quiet panic before it became an audible wheeze rattling against the walls. He needed . . .

"You're suffering from a simple case of 'cold feet,' Young Master. It's a perfectly normal sense of anxiety experienced by both men and women alike as their nuptials quickly approach, I assure you . . .It happens even to those who consider themselves deeply in love."

"I know nothing of being 'in love,' Sebastian."

"Don't you?"

Ciel shivered as he stripped off his waistcoat and shimmied out of his trousers, the recalled conversation prickling his skin. The exchange had occurred during elevenses exactly a week ago, right after he'd told Sebastian he intended to call the wedding off. Even now, he heard the smirk underlying his butler's cryptic reply to his confession of ignorance.

"'Don't you?' What in the Hell is that supposed to mean, Sebastian?"

"Sometimes, not too often, but occasionally, I believe you underestimate the depths of your knowledge, My Lord . . . specifically that pertaining to your emotions. In any case, it matters not if you feel any intensity of passion for Lady Elizabeth. She is of your blood and well aware of the darkness which cloaks your title and responsibilities to the throne. Even if you were madly in love with another, Lady Elizabeth is the only woman who has been groomed to function capably as your wife."

"I wonder how capable she'd feel if she knew my 'perfect' butler, whom she so enjoys gushing over, is actually a demon who intends to devour my soul?"

"I doubt the knowledge would give her much pause, My Lord. She is as headstrong as her cousin. If you do decide to tell her, please be sure she understands our contract was mutually desired as it will be mutually beneficial, lest I plummet from her high regard. Now, drink your tea before it gets cold."

"Cheeky bastard," Ciel muttered, slipping into his nightshirt. "I should have ordered him to muck out the stables with a spoon."

He pulled back the bed linens and slid in beneath them, heat skittering down his spine as he remembered how Sebastian had stripped off his white gloves, smiling down at Ciel's glare. His cheeks flushed recalling the stroke of Sebastian's bare fingers through his hair as his butler stepped around behind Ciel's chair, where he then employed both hands to gently rub Ciel's temples.

Before Ciel could admonish such uninvited familiarity, he'd heard himself moan in appreciation. Sebastian had crooned his approval and massaged his way around Ciel's crown to the nape of his neck, before he'd gently drawn Ciel's head back to rest against his chest and dropped those talented hands to either of Ciel's shoulders.

"That's it, Young Master. Relax. Release your tension. What have you to fear, after all, when you've already collared the devil?"

Ciel had chuckled, and looked up to lock his gaze with the self-satisfied cherrywood eyes of his demon. "If I marry Lizzie, you'll find yourself playing masseuse much more often, I hope you realize."

"Hmm. After you marry Elizabeth, I'll be sure to work your daily massage into my schedule."

"If you're trying to coerce me into believing this marriage is a good idea, you're going to have to do better than that, Sebastian."

"I do believe you're attempting to rid yourself of me, Lord Phantomhive. I very nearly choked while swallowing back an entire host of much more enticing suggestions, just now."

"Lecher. Mmm. Harder, Sebastian."

"Um . . .Yes, My Lord. Your attempts to murder me, aside, I should think you would be quite pleased to marry Elizabeth, as it plays directly into your ultimate desire for vengeance."

"How badly did you strangle on your witless perversions? Do demon brains require oxygen? Because I fear yours is addled."

"In all seriousness, Young Master, your marriage will deal quite a stinging blow to the face of your enemies. It punctuates how you've persevered and flourished despite their best attempts to destroy you, and states your intention to extend the Phantomhive line to the next generation—a line they'd strived to annihilate. Perhaps it's not quite as satisfying as seeing them encaged, tortured and starved, but it is a form of vengeance all the same, wouldn't you agree?"

Pulling the covers up to his chin, Ciel snuggled down beneath them. The lamp atop his bedside table still burned and he turned his face toward the light, craving it as he considered Sebastian's words for the hundredth time since he'd spoken them. He saw Sebastian's logic clearly, hence the reason he was curled up in bed like a terrified toddler trying to steel his nerves for a wedding he didn't cancel, but he wasn't at all certain he agreed. If it was indeed a form of vengeance he'd deliver tomorrow, why should he feel so very much like he was being shoved back into a cage?

"It's not too late to run, you know."

Ciel groaned and rolled onto his back. Bard's flippant words sent a spike of adrenaline through his limbs. He itched to leap from the bed and run as far and fast as his tightened lungs would allow. But it was much too late to bolt, wasn't it? Had he broken off the engagement a week ago, that would have been bad enough, but to cancel the wedding now . . .

He couldn't run. Lizzie would be devastated, and he simply couldn't leave her at the altar even if he would, ultimately, be acting in her best interests. Despite her tendencies for self-indulgence (she probably would redecorate the manor to suit her tastes, regardless of his preferences, and no doubt he'd be forced to host a pretentious and inconvenient ball at least once a season), Lizzie possessed a purity of heart and an intensity of devotion to rival no other. If anyone deserved to live a life of light and love, it was Elizabeth Midford. She certainly deserved better than to be chained to the earl of corruption and shadow, he who was damned of soul and possessed of demons both figurative and one quite literal.

Yes, marrying Lizzie tomorrow would be the epitome of selfishness, but, if he was honest with himself, selfishness was merely an excuse that played not at all into the real reasons for his trepidation. In truth, he wasn't fazed by the idea of Lizzie claiming Phantomhive Manor and making it her own. Also, Sebastian was right . . .Lizzie was strong, capable and intelligent, and the only woman upon which he could ever hope to bestow the title of Lady Phantomhive. Add in his fondness for his cousin and his genuine enjoyment of her company, and he knew he should consider himself most fortunate she'd agreed to be his wife.

Even so . . .

Beyond his closed door he heard Finny clomp up the stairs as he called out enthusiastic goodnights. Somewhere below, Soma bellowed for Agni, which meant he, too, intended to retire. It felt like he left the dining room only minutes ago, but the night was fleeing from him. At this rate, he'd see dawn before his harried mind processed the passage of an hour.

Ciel curled back onto his side and tilted his face away from the lamplight he couldn't quite bring himself to extinguish. He didn't want to think about the real reason for his dread of tomorrow, anymore. In all actuality, Lizzie's constant presence in the manor might prove to be a most beneficial distraction from sordid ideas best left unconsidered and unpursued, lest he damn himself even more so than he already had.

"Just go to sleep," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Just shut up and go to sleep, already."

". . .it matters not if you feel any intensity of passion for Lady Elizabeth . . ."

Cursing beneath his breath, Ciel stretched onto his back, stared up at the ceiling, and resigned himself to delve into the crux of the matter—he knew he must, if he had any hope of finding sleep.

Although he loved her, Ciel felt no passion for Lizzie. That she was a beautiful, vibrant woman by any standard was inarguable, so far as Ciel was concerned, and as someone who appreciated beauty in all forms he quite enjoyed gazing upon her. Her skin was soft and smooth and pleasing to touch. Ever affectionate, she was forever offering her hand to hold or her lips to kiss, and he indulged her without suffering the least bit of unpleasantness. Her mouth always tasted faintly of vanilla and strawberries, which he found curious, but nice all the same.

Being with her was pleasant, but her touch didn't stir his blood, didn't send fingers of electric heat tingling over his skin. He wished to Hell, and often, he was ignorant of the knowledge that a simple touch could awaken all his nerves at once while setting his blood to pulse fast and hot. He wished he was blissfully unaware that sharing a casual glance, or hearing a few ordinary words murmured in just the right tone, or, sometimes, simply watching someone walk into the room could make him burn with desire.

He wished he didn't know, but he did. If he was ignorant, he had no doubt he'd be perfectly content with 'pleasant.' Instead, he was cursed to face his pleasant future with a sense of consummate dread and grief for the loss of something he'd never allowed himself to fully acknowledge, much less explore.

"Ridiculous, perverse flights of fancy," he sneered at himself with well-practiced disgust. "There is nothing to explore."

Normally, such self-chastisement sufficed to harden his resolve and restore calm logic to his rational mind, but now his words rang hollow and powerless, and Ciel swallowed hard against the panicked flutter of his heart in his throat.

"What in the Hell is wrong with me?" he rasped.

Nothing. Nothing I haven't had a handle on for years. I'm still in control. I'm fine. Tomorrow I'm going to marry Lizzie, and once it's said and done this madness will pass. A week from now, I'll have forgotten I'd even suffered from this lapse of sanity. Life will go on as it always has, with the addition of yet another role to play, and I shall play it convincingly, just has I have been. I'll just have to do so more regularly, is all. . .

He closed his eyes and recalled the night of his eighteenth birthday. Lizzie had insisted on marking the milestone, of course, and a ball in his honor had been held at the Midford Estate. They had danced and refreshed themselves with champagne and brandy and Irish whiskey from the flask Bard had slipped within the inside breast pocket of Ciel's coat. Their stolen kisses deepened and lengthened as the night drew on, the last of which had left Lizzie flushed and breathless, her green eyes smoldering.

No sooner had Sebastian left after seeing him to bed that night, than he'd heard his guestroom door snick open. Lizzie padded barefoot to the side of his bed by the light of a single candle, which she set shakily on the bedside table before she pulled loose the tie on the neck of her nightdress. The garment slipped down over her shoulders and bared her lovely form as it puddled at her feet.

"Love me," she'd whispered, pulling back his bedclothes. She tugged at his nightshirt even as she pushed him back onto the mattress and climbed astride him. "It will be another two years before mother allows us to marry, and I simply cannot wait any longer."

Wits dulled by the late hour and too much alcohol, his protests had been weak and his rational arguments obliterated by his piqued physical interest. A beautiful, naked woman who loved him was begging him to make love to her, and the way her fingers trembled over his awakening cock felt very nice, indeed. And so he had taken her—that night, and several times more in the two and a half years since.

It was nice. Sex with Lizzie was always pleasant, right up until after he'd brought her to climax and was expected to achieve it himself. It wasn't that he couldn't, of course, but far too often he was forced to summon his completion from those fantasies he kept vaulted within the deepest recesses of his mind and heart—fantasies in which Lizzie was absent. Fantasies that forced him to bite down on his lower lip as he came, lest he cry out, exposing his depravity and summoning his butler in one humiliating, bare-assed show.

She'll never know. Neither of them will ever . . .

A soft knock at the door snapped Ciel out of his thoughts, and his heart jumped at the sound of white-gloved knuckles gently rapping on wood so as not to wake a sleeping occupant, yet announcing presence and intent.

Somewhere in the back of his addled mind he knew Sebastian would check on him whether Finny delivered his message or not. He always did on those nights Ciel acted as his own valet for one reason or another. Sebastian would wait for a moment, listening for Ciel to bid him entrance, before he let himself into the room regardless.

Ciel couldn't see him, couldn't speak with Sebastian, couldn't look into those too clever cherrywood eyes which would surely flare to crimson the moment they met Ciel's and spied his current crisis of soul.

He only had a moment to calm his racing heart. A daunting task, but he managed to roll quietly onto his side and slow his respiration to a reasonable facsimile of sleep, closing his eyes just as the door opened.

The moment Sebastian strode into the room Ciel felt his presence. The seal of their covenant emblazoned upon his right iris tingled minutely, as did the air. He fought the urge to open his eyes, instead forcing himself to relax and reminding himself to breathe slowly and deeply.

If Sebastian knew he was feigning sleep, he didn't call Ciel's bluff. Ciel listened to his butler move swiftly about the room, closing the draperies and setting out toiletries Ciel might find necessary during the night, and then he heard Sebastian approach the bedside.

"Ten years, and he still leaves his clothes lay where they drop," Sebastian chided softly to himself. Ciel heard him sweep the discarded garments up from the floor. "Perhaps his wife can break him of such slovenly behavior. I've certainly had no success."

Biting back a small smile, Ciel listened to Sebastian deposit his dirty laundry in the basket beside his wardrobe, and then reminded himself to breathe as his butler approached the bedside once more.

"And he falls asleep with the lamp burning," Sebastian chuckled as the room plunged into darkness. "I know he has his reservations about this marriage, but tempting fate to set the house ablaze is rather extreme."

It was all he could do to not scowl at that remark, but even though he sensed the room was black as pitch, he knew Sebastian could still see perfectly well. Ciel would allow himself to make all the faces he wanted while muttering a few choice insults as soon as the bastard left.

Go away, Sebastian.

He listened closely for the turn of Sebastian's heel against the hardwood floor. Instead, the electricity in the air heightened and vibrated gently against his exposed skin as the mattress dipped at the side of the bed. The familiar spiced-autumn scent of Sebastian wafted over Ciel, cooling the burn in his lungs even as it heated his blood.

You're a demon from Hell. Why do you smell so damned good? You ought to smell like sulfur, not pumpkin pie. And why in the Hell are you sitting on my bed? Why tonight, of all nights?

It wasn't the first time Sebastian perched on the side of his bed uninvited. Over the decade they'd shared, their relationship had evolved from one of suspicion and polite hostility to one of trust and camaraderie. Time and circumstance and constant close proximity had served to thaw Ciel and humanize his demon to the point casual familiarity was normal rather than taboo. They bantered, they conversed, they conspired, and sometimes an exchange which began while Sebastian turned down the bed linens would conclude with Ciel curled up beneath them, Sebastian sitting at his side.

Of course, Ciel had always been awake whenever Sebastian deigned to make himself comfortable. And so far as he could remember, Sebastian had never gently stroked the hair from Ciel's brow while sitting upon his bedside, as he was doing now.

"I'd hoped we might have a quiet moment alone before you fell asleep," Sebastian murmured. "Even in this relaxed state, I feel your distress, and it bothers me more than I care to admit. Certainly much more than it should. Sometimes, believe it or not, I forget what I am, Ciel. I'd sincerely hoped you might afford me an opportunity to smooth the tension from your brow."

Sebastian's voice melted over Ciel like warm caramel, rich and smooth and sweet and so damned tempting his mouth watered. He stifled a moan and kept his eyes closed, because if he 'woke up' now, he'd be lost, helpless to do anything other than taste what he so desperately desired.

"You're going to be fine," Sebastian whispered, leaning closer, his fingers stroking slowly through Ciel's hair. "You will be as fine a husband and father as you are a master and a nobleman. And I will be, as ever, at your side, protecting you and yours with all that I am, until the very end. You needn't fear for Elizabeth's safety, or for the safety of any children you sire . . . I swear so by my very soul."

Ciel's breath caught at the feel of warm, velvet lips pressing against his brow. "Sleep well, Young Master. I shall see you in the morning."

The weight lifted from his bed, Sebastian's scent with it, and before Ciel could remind himself to breathe he heard the snick of his door opening, followed almost instantaneously by the soft click of its closure.

Heart hammering, Ciel's frozen lungs unlocked and he gasped, drinking in long draughts of air as his mind raced and his fingers traced over the lingering heat of Sebastian's kiss.

Only one other time had Sebastian bestowed upon Ciel a kiss not representative of servitude, and on the exact same spot, no less. His heart pounded as his mind shoved the memory to the fore . . .

Two months after his eighteenth birthday, Her Majesty had unleashed Ciel on the cooling trail of a criminal ring. They were armed robbers of all mundane things, yet after several months of successful and bloody heists, Scotland Yard had made no headway toward their capture and the Queen had run out of patience.

After only a day on the case, Ciel had tracked their scent to an old warehouse district deep within the bowels of London. The buildings were dilapidated and abandoned, the area a dead eyesore, yet merchants keeping shop on the edge of the decay reported unusual comings and goings which increased in correlation with the nights the murderous thieves had struck.

Upon reporting his intentions to The Yard, Ciel had set out with Sebastian at his side and with Mey-Rin, Bard, and Finny in tow—all heavily armed. If his suspicions were correct, this wasn't merely a small crew of vicious thugs he aimed to incapacitate, but a rather large and organized conglomerate, and he would need the extra firepower as he had no intention of taxing Sebastian unduly. Demon though he was, he wasn't infallible. Twice already he'd nursed Sebastian back from the edge of annihilation, and he'd be damned should he ever allow him to suffer such grievous injuries again.

They'd arrived just after sunset and walked straight into the enemy's ready and waiting arms. Not only had he underestimated their number, Ciel knew as soon as the first shot rang out it had been a mistake to alert The Yard. He had just enough time to wonder if it was that bastard Randall himself in league with the miscreants before he found himself pressed up against a cinder-block wall, Sebastian's face an inch from his own, eyes blazing crimson.

"Stay," Sebastian had hissed. "Don't make me tell you twice."

"Need I remind you that I am your master?" Ciel muttered to the suddenly empty air in front of him, wincing at the tremor in his voice. Sebastian's complete lack of his usual decorum did more to strike home the severity of their situation than the continuous report of gunfire.

Perhaps, Ciel decided, it would be best to do as Sebastian so elegantly requested, just this once.

From behind the safety of the wall, he watched his servants engage a small army in battle. Mey-Rin, shed of her glasses, a pistol blazing in each hand, dropped bodies like rain while Finnian ignored his weapons in favor of crushing skulls with his bare hands. Bard took carefully aimed shots while calling out the coordinates of imminent threats, and Sebastian . . .

Sebastian danced. He spun like a dervish, the tails of his black coat trailing out behind him and floating like ribbons on the air, long legs kicking out to strike heads and chests while white-gloved hands darted to catch bullets mid-flight and redirect their course with deadly accuracy.

Sebastian was breathtaking, the very embodiment of power and fluid grace, and Ciel was so riveted by his dance he nearly ignored the flash of movement caught by the corner of his exposed eye. Yet some instinct tore his attention from his butler and directed it to the rooftop of the crumbling warehouse at his left, where a sniper took aim at Sebastian's head.

Ciel aimed his own pistol, confident he could incapacitate the sniper and alert his household to the rooftops at the same time without compromising the safety of his position, but then he caught more motion in his peripheral vision. He spun his head to see armed men flocking to the edges of the rooftops like crows, all taking aim at his butler.

Seeing only an image of Sebastian shredded beyond any hope of repair, Ciel had bolted out from behind the wall and into the fray, bellowing Sebastian's name as he charged toward him. From somewhere far away, he heard Bard yell, "rooftops! Duck and cover!" He heard Mey-rin curse and scream for Finny to run. He heard the air hum and buzz all around him, and felt something sting against his cheek as Sebastian froze mid-spin and stared at him with widening eyes.

And then the vision his mind had just showed him realized amid a cacophony of deafening screams and simultaneous gun blasts. Sebastian's butler's livery shredded before Ciel's eyes as Sebastian flew toward him, but instead of blood and viscera, a pair of expansive, black wings erupted from his body.

The sight of Sebastian morphing into what looked like an irate, avenging angel, eyes blazing with hellfire as black claws shredded through his white gloves and bullets ricocheted off his expanding ebony wings, staggered Ciel. His suddenly boneless legs tangled on themselves and he went sprawling toward the broken cobblestone.

Strong arms encircled his waist, pulling him out of his fall just before he hit the ground and pressing him against a hot, hard body in the same moment the world went black.

Before he could so much as blink or gasp for air, he was flipped around and he found himself staring into his demon's burning eyes. "What in the Hell were you thinking? Were you trying to protect me? Arrogant, mortal fool." Sebastian's tone was guttural, his words barked from a mouth filled with glistening fangs. "Are you hurt?"

"Uh . . ."

Sebastian's hands flew over him, tilting his head this way and that, smoothing over his neck and torso and limbs, searching for injuries while Ciel straddled his lap and stared at him with opened-mouthed awe. He was enclosed with his butler in a dome of iridescent black feathers which shimmered in the ethereal light emanating from Sebastian's smooth, alabaster skin.

Wings. Sebastian has wings . . .

"A graze across your right cheek, and another across the back of your left calf. You have the luck of the devil." Sebastian grasped his face in one hand and ripped away his eye-patch with the other. Elliptical pupils bore into his, and Ciel felt hypnotized by the swirl of the violet seas boiling around them. "Don't you ever, ever, do anything so idiotic ever again. I will have your soul when I am satisfied the terms of our contract are complete, and not a moment before. Do you understand?"

In that moment, Ciel understood only that, rather than the hideous creature his mind had conjured from glimpses he'd caught upon their first meeting, Sebastian, shed of his human guise, was indescribably beautiful. Quite of its own accord, Ciel saw his hand rise to the high ridge of a white marble cheek and he marveled at the soft heat yielding beneath his fingers.

"Are you addled?" Sebastian growled, reaching up and snatching Ciel's hand away from his face. "Say something, Ciel."

"Angel . . ." Ciel breathed. "Bloody Hell, Sebastian . . ."

"I save his life and he insults me," Sebastian chuckled, and pressed his lips to the very center of Ciel's forehead. "Suggest something so heinous again, and I'll subject you to Bardroy's cooking for all of eternity."

Sebastian's lips had been black, Ciel remembered. Black lips, hot and softer than the finest silk, which bestowed a kiss so gentle it seared straight through to Ciel's soul. That simple kiss had caused him weeks of torment, Sebastian always on the forefront of his mind. He'd suffered a month's worth of sleepless nights during which he alternated between fighting the urge to summon Sebastian into his bed and imaging ways he might endanger himself sufficiently enough to look once more upon his fallen angel. Even Mey-Rin managed to recover her wits in a timelier manner, taking only four days to train her nose not to gush blood whenever in Sebastian's presence.

Now, a second kiss having reiterated the first, Ciel felt the rage of too many years' worth of pent-up desire boil through his blood, demanding he do something, anything, to sate the all-consuming ache of longing which refused to be placated with the promise of a lifetime of nice and pleasant.

Are you really this pathetic? Are you really so utterly depraved? The bastard already owns your soul. Must you give him everything?

Ciel flipped onto his back, his stare roving the darkness for some bright solution to his misery. He ran his fingers over the still tingling remnants of his butler's kiss and wondered if the center of his brow would be exactly where Sebastian placed his final kiss, the one with which he imagined the demon would extract his soul.

"I don't care," he whispered. "It belongs to him. I gave it willingly. Let him take it however he sees fit."

". . . it matters not if you feel any intensity of passion for Lady Elizabeth . . ."

"And what of my passion for you?" Ciel muttered. "You know, don't you. Of course you do, you bastard. You know I'm completely smitten. I believe 'madly' is the term you used. How very astute. I'm mad as a Hatter."

He's manipulated you, crafted your feelings and desires to further marinate his meal . . .he's a monster, a demon, death, damnation . . .

"I want him. I want him so badly I'd sell him the soul of my firstborn to feel him come beneath me just once."

He will fuck you, if you order him to, but you will never be anything more than a meal to him. He'll never desire anything from you, other than your soul.

"Perhaps, but fool that I am, I can't help but wonder," Ciel sneered, kicking off the bedclothes. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor. "It's long past time I found out."

Idiot! This madness will pass. It always does. Get back into bed.

The familiar self-command, which had always been so difficult to follow, would now be much too easy to obey. A new trepidation fell over him, a much weightier sense of dread than the one he'd borne this past half-year. Strangely enough, he had no qualms about marrying Lizzie, anymore. Lizzie had never been the problem . . .

Ciel knew exactly what he needed to do.