“I’m going to have a hell of a time assassinating an oracle now that she’ll be clocking my every move. And she made it sound like she’d already been watching yours.”
“I guess.” Jo’s cloudy brain couldn’t recall the things Nïx said, only the ass-kicking she’d delivered.
He reached for Jo’s hand, smoothing the edge of a linen bandage. Without looking up, he said, “The male you two were fighting over. Thaddeus. You thought I was aiming at him that night.”
She nodded, then grimaced at the deep pop in her neck. Waves of dizziness washed over her. The urge to throw up grew.
“You attacked me with all your might to protect him. You must really care for him.”
Confusion. “Of course I do.”
Rune shot to his feet, starting to pace. “Who is he? What is he?”
She tried to follow his movements, but the effort was grueling. What is Thad? She didn’t know. Was he like Jo?
Thad was good. “He’s the best man I know.” Her voice sounded more and more distant.
“In our wager, you were able to resist me because you wanted to get back to him.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Won’t tell me his species? Then what is he to you?”
Everything. “I’d die for him.” Her words were slurring.
Black forked out over Rune’s eyes. “You love him?”
“Whaa?” Silly question. “More than anything.”
Rune sank down on the side of the bed again. Just as abruptly, he rose. He dipped his hand into his pocket, rolling something there over and over. The trinket? “You love him so much you drank from me? Then you gave me your body for a night? How would he feel to know you can’t get enough of my forbidden blood?”
What did that have to do with anything? “You wouldn’t understand.”
As she slipped back into sleep, he muttered, “I understand the demon in me demands his due. I’m off to service a harem of nymphs.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rune’s head pounded, his ears ringing.
Josephine had used him, sighing his name and coming on his tongue. She’d given him his first real kiss. But her reactions had been feigned so she could return to the one she loved.
Loved. She’d given her heart away. Lore females didn’t do that lightly. And I’d actually been worried about her getting attached to me?
The night she’d fouled his shot, she’d been dressed like a man-eater—because she’d known she was going to see Thad. The body Rune had lost himself in belonged to someone else.
He pinched his temples. He’d planned to go to the tree nymphs’ covey, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. His headache worsened, and an unfamiliar, churning aggression filled him. Damn it, that night with her had meant something to him.
Shared breaths, discovery, barriers broken. It’d been different; it’d been more. How much had been real for her?
He did the using. Artifice was his specialty. He gritted his fangs, pacing the room. He craved angry sex, a good hate fuck. He wanted to hurt Josephine. Needed to.
He could return to New Orleans and take down her male. From his ever-present quiver, Rune pulled a gray arrow. The eraser, they called it. A shot to the chest with this one, and there’d be too many pieces to find.
The demon in him whispered, Do it. Then piss on his grave marker.
The fey in him said, She’s too young to know what love is. She’s too young for you! Just think about this and calm yourself.
She might have a man, but Rune would keep her from him. He couldn’t allow a security risk like her to be freed—
One of the symbols on his arm began to glow and tingle. An alert. Someone had tripped his perimeter wards. A trespasser in my sanctuary.
He pictured Josephine—small and helpless in his bed. The demon in him commanded protect. Fangs bared, he unslung his bow, then traced to the observatory. His scowl deepened. He had a guest.
Sian was drinking from a flask, gazing down at an orgy, his customary war ax sheathed at his side.
By way of greeting, Rune said, “How did you find this place? And trace past my ward?” He shouldered his bow once more.
Sian cleared his throat. “You concealed your knowledge of this location, but when I read your mind, I uncovered enough.” The demon’s striking face was stamped with fatigue, his intense green eyes bloodshot.
How long did he have before his appearance started changing? With his twin’s death, Sian had become the King of Pandemonia and all Hells—which meant he would transform from one of the most physically faultless males in the worlds into his own most monstrous state.
Sian offered his flask. “Brew?” The favored libation of demons.
Rune found the taste harsh, but as a lad, he’d drunk it just to have more in common with demons. The habit had stuck. From his pocket, he retrieved his own flask.
He raised it and took a generous swig. “What are you doing here?” Would Sian scent Josephine on him? How would Rune explain that he smelled of only one female? “You could have contacted me.” His wrist tattoo was dark. “Now is not a good time.”
“You must have a thousand nymphs in need.”
Rune corrected him: “A thousand and one.” Soon. He’d gone two nights without release, holding vigil for a female who didn’t want him. Two nights abstaining! That was why he was conflicted. Rune wasn’t the only one. “You look like hell, demon.”
“Soon to be literally,” Sian said in a bitter tone. “I’m now the king of it and must fit the part.”