to do battle against.
His fingers and hands curved around firm, feminine flesh that was of a supernatural texture. She felt like the petals of a flower, but so much silkier, so very much more vital. She exceeded the simplistic adjective “soft” in hundreds of ways. Yet there was no mistaking the strength beneath her silken skin. What would she do, he wondered, to make herself so strong? What would she look like when his sensual and emotional war on her forced the inevitable surrender?
He craved answers to all of this as he heard her breath, close and frustrated, rolling thick and slow over his nerves and skin like a mist-laden Louisiana breeze in high summer. He felt her hair, a heavy mass of whitewater silk that poured haphazardly over his too-hot skin in such a way that he felt bound by the tangle of it.
Hard as he tried, powerful as he could be, he could not see her face. He tried to ask her name, but was speechless. The paralysis of his vocal cords extended at times to every extremity. He could feel, but not touch. Then he could touch, but only hear her response. He could look and not truly see. There was nothing but the gleaming white blond of that endless hair. He gritted his teeth with unfathomable frustration, fighting the mystical binding that held his dominant will a prisoner.
All he wanted in the world was to see her face.
Noah woke with a jerk and a staggering intake of breath.
He sat up with the sudden violence of the freedom of reality, his long, strong fingers entwining around covers that were already tangled around his bare hips and legs. As he tried to feed himself with sharp intakes of oxygen, sweat skied down the aristocratic slope of his nose, beading and dripping off it, accompanying those skimming nearly every other surface on his skin. His dark hair was drenched. The pattering sound of the droplets coming off slightly curled ends and dropping onto stiff sheets was identical to that of rain on a rooftop.
As he gathered his bearings, the Demon King brought the sheet up to his face to swipe at the moisture that nearly blinded him. That was when he realized the fabric was scorched stiff, as if someone had left an iron on it for too long.
And that, in spite of its burnt state, it still carried the scent of sweetly spun sugar.
Chapter 2
Corrine looked up when she heard the polite knock on the front door of the home she shared with her husband, Kane. Her russet brows drew together and she tilted her head. She put aside the book she had been reading, uncrossed her long, slim legs, and stood up slowly.
It was unusual for the people she associated with to bother with such a commonplace courtesy as knocking. The Demon society her husband came from didn’t have the same sense of privacy that humans did. Considering that her husband’s friends and family were just about the only people she associated with nowadays, the knock was more than just perplexing.
It was worrisome.
There was danger that came under such guises. Things that seemed terribly ordinary, yet were out of the ordinary, sometimes heralded equally unique hazards.
The Demons were currently, as they had been upon occasion in the past, at odds with a sect of misguided humans who hunted them using deadly force and black magics. These humans had taken it upon themselves to rid the world of all the Nightwalker races. Vampire, Lycanthrope, Demon, and Shadowdweller…they would probably even hunt down the gentle, delicate Mistrals as well if they only knew about them. All that seemed to matter to these types was that these races had power that they did not.
They feared.
And fear always led to prejudiced actions. Being formerly human herself, Corrine understood very well the cruel, brutal things human beings tended to do when faced with things of great differences that they didn’t understand. To make the situation far worse, about two years ago a very powerful Demon female named Ruth had taken leave of her morals and senses and had joined ranks with these self-appointed butchers. She had provided them with information that had led to the increased vulnerability of the Demon race. Ruth had held nothing back, especially since the death of her beloved daughter, which she blamed on Noah and those highest in power.
Corrine shuddered with the chill that crossed her soul as she recalled the attack on her own sister Isabella, which had almost killed her and the unborn child she had carried at the time. Corrine herself had fallen victim to these forces once already, snatched from under her very own roof. Coupled with some of the gruesome reports Kane had discussed with her, it was clear that no one would be truly safe until Ruth and her companions were all neutralized.
Ruth’s revenges had too often begun with a simple knock on the door. Kane was constantly warning her to think carefully before she moved anywhere outside the circle of his protection. Now, though he was always close to her in spirit and could always use his power as a Mind Demon to teleport to her side in a heartbeat should she need him, she still felt enormous trepidation when she realized she was pretty much alone and facing the unknown.
“Corrine?”
The faint call sent a wash of relief through her, forcing an involuntary sigh to escape her. She moved hurriedly toward the door after hearing the familiarity in the voice coming from the other side. She yanked open the portal, smiling when the promise of the voice was fulfilled with the handsome visage of the Demon King. Her welcoming expression warred with the urge to scold him for giving her such a clear case of the heebie-jeebies.
Noah smiled at the slender redhead, noting that, as usual, she was mostly composed of a riot of abundant coils of hair. She was taller than her sister Isabella, more willowy and leggier than his little Enforcer’s decidedly compact and curvaceous figure. In fact, if it were not for their attitudes and Bronx accents, Noah felt there would be nothing to suggest they were at all related.
Noah did take note of the relief on her face, however, and felt the kinetic energy of her residual fear like a tepid breeze. It was then that he realized he had given her a scare, and he kicked himself for not giving his actions more thought.
“I am sorry,” he said softly to her, reaching for the hand that gripped the door frame, taking it warmly between both of his after prying it free. “Did I frighten you?”
“Scared the daylights out of me, is more like it,” she declared, her Bronx enunciation heavier than usual due to her ruffled calm. “Since when do Demons knock?”
“Since Druids who are part human with very human foibles started joining our ranks,” he rejoined, chuckling under his breath as he placed a soothing, chivalrous kiss on the back of the hand he cradled. “I am trying to set an appropriate example.”
“Your efforts are appreciated,” Corrine commended him, blowing a coil of her hair off her face with exasperation, “but next time, warn me before you make attempts at non-Demon behaviors. I had visions of pissed-off magic-users about to bounce me into the ground. Or worse.”
She finally relinquished her fear, stepping into his offer of peaceful affection, hugging him with warm, familiar welcome. He put soothing energy and tenderness into the embrace, pushing it into her until he sensed her heartbeat slowing down from its frightened flutter. He had come to seek solace, to free himself of a torture that had gone on too long already. He hadn’t come to thoughtlessly frighten her to death.
“You are looking well,” he said, almost at the same time she was thinking that he wasn’t looking quite like himself.
Even under the worst duress and circumstances, Noah would always look as powerful as he was. As a Demon of Fire, his energy resources were virtually unlimited. He
