Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

His thumb stroked my cheek. “By giving you what you will not find elsewhere. Comfort without secrets, without hiding. Release from the fear that has locked you away from seeking out companionship. You have been hurt, but you are safe with me, Kara Gillian,” he said, potent voice oddly gentle. “I give you my word that I will not hurt you or compel you.”

For a brief instant I wanted to laugh. How crazy was it that the “safest” way for me to get laid would be with an insanely powerful arcane creature that I’d summoned by mistake? But he’s offering me more than just “getting laid.” He understands. Where else am I ever going to find that?

I slid my hand into his grasp. He pulled me close and I went without resisting, feeling somehow relieved.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he bent to kiss me again.

Who does he think he’s kidding? The thought flashed through my mind with a distant ache, and I almost pulled away. Dark memory flared again—the horrible month after my father’s death, no longer suppressed beneath the compulsion of this arcane creature. I shivered in his arms, suddenly gripped in the hideous recall of the times I’d been pushed against the wall by the seventeen-year-old son of my foster parents. The whimpering horror as he’d thrust his hands beneath my shirt and into my pants, groping roughly and stealing from me the idea that a man’s touch could bring comfort and pleasure.

The clumsy and awkward attentions of my boyfriends had done little to dispel that. But this … this was different. His hands were warm and strong on my back, and the kiss was gentle and deep and hot all at the same time. His touch eased me, silently coaxing me to calm and granting me enticing glimpses of what an attentive and skilled lover could give. I relaxed into him, feeling the warm rush of pleasure once again as I moaned softly into the kiss. It was real this time and a thousand times better.

He broke the kiss, pulling away only far enough to slip his shirt off and cast it aside. He looked down at me, and after a brief hesitation I unbuttoned my own shirt and let it slide from my shoulders. He smiled, gaze traveling over my body as an oddly shy gratification swirled through me. His hand came up to my breast, fingers lightly encircling my nipple, and I shivered as I felt it harden against his touch. He slowly slipped his hand down to the waist of my silk pants, a line of gooseflesh springing up on my skin, following the trail of his fingers. His mouth found mine again and I leaned into the kiss with a low groan, unresisting.

He pulled me down to the thick carpet in front of the fireplace, still kissing me. His hair tumbled over me and I twined a hand in the silken mass, silently relishing the exquisite texture of it. His arms encircled me, holding me close as he shifted his hips into mine. I shuddered and threw my head back, grinding against him. I’d never felt anything like this—never had anyone shown this much passion, this much desire for me. He was showing me a world I’d given up on, giving me back what had been stolen from me.

He shifted, placing me on my back, gently parting my knees and moving between them. He kissed me deeply, his mouth strong and sensuous, then his lips moved down to kiss my throat. His tongue caressed gently over my neck, gliding further down to eventually circle my erect nipple.

I made a sound of pleasure as he caught the nipple between his lips, then between his teeth. He bit lightly and teasingly and I twined both hands into his hair, arching up into his mouth. His hand came up to fondle my other nipple, then he slowly kissed his way down my belly, fingers still lightly squeezing the captured nipple.

I sucked my breath through my teeth, shivering at the wealth of sensations. His lips traveled over the laces of my pants, tugging, then he went lower and pressed his mouth against me, biting lightly as he rolled my nipple between his fingers. I cried out, gripping his head in my hands and pressing my hips upward.

He lifted his head to look at me, one hand toying with the laces of my pants. “Do you wish to leave these on?”

I smiled down at him, silently marveling at the smooth muscle, the perfection of his body. I didn’t know what he was, but at this point it didn’t matter. He’d dishonored me by his initial compulsion of me and was repaying that small debt of honor by giving me the solace and release that an attentive partner could give. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the end result was awfully similar, but the crucial difference was that this way the choice was mine to make.

I laughed. “No, I do not.”

He tugged my pants down and off in one smooth motion, then pulled away from me just long enough to slide his own boots and breeches off, eyes flashing in what I almost thought was triumph. He returned to cover me, his deep eyes holding mine for just a moment. Then, with a sound that bordered on a growl, he slid into me. I threw my head back as he filled me, giving a shuddering moan as the heat rose between us. I rocked my hips up to his, meeting his steady thrusts.

He kissed me hungrily as he drove into me, groaning against my lips. I returned the kiss eagerly as I clung tightly to him, nails digging as my climax built. His muscles were like malleable iron beneath my hands, rippling with each driving thrust.

My climax exploded, shocking me with its depth and duration—stronger than anything I’d ever experienced before. I cried out and clutched at him as he let out a guttural snarl, emptying into me, grinding his hips into mine. I continued to lift my hips to his as he released. Finally he slowed, then stopped, his breathing deep and heavy.

He rolled to the side and wrapped his arms around me. I sighed and pillowed my head against him.

“I don’t even know who you are,” I said after a moment, looking up at him.

He stroked a finger down the line of my jaw, expression unreadable. “Your call was not for me.”

I shook my head. “No. I was trying to call a luhrek. Rysehl.”

A strange smile quirked his lips, then he kissed me lightly and stood. Baffled, I sat up and stared at him as he dressed.

“Wait,” I said, finding my voice. “Please. Who are you? I mean, I was trying to call Rysehl, but you obviously aren’t Rysehl, and I didn’t mean to call … whoever you are. So, what … er, who are you?” I realized I was babbling, and I clamped my mouth shut.

His eyes met mine, and once again the power in them took my breath away. “I am Rhyzkahl,” he said, giving me an enigmatic smile. “And, Kara Gillian, you may call me whenever you need me.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter 4

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was not a beautiful woman. I knew that. I was by no means unattractive and I did my best to keep my figure in shape, but I was usually referred to as “cute,” sometimes “pretty,” occasionally “quite appealing,” but almost never “beautiful,” unless it was someone who wanted something from me. I had boring-brown hair that refused to take any sort of curl, dark gray eyes that refused to be hazel or blue-gray or even sparkling, legs that were about three inches shorter than I would have liked for them to be, and an insistent little layer of pudge at the top of my jeans. Not beautiful.

So why had it happened? Why was I still alive? I was too realistic to think that my charm and beauty and sexuality had swayed a creature of that much power from rending me to shreds or keeping me for a plaything to be tormented at his leisure. And why seduce me?

Reality had crashed in on me seconds after he vanished from my basement summoning chamber, and I’d wallowed in a full-blown freak-out for nearly an hour, indulging in plenty of self-loathing and heaping servings of crippling doubt. I’d finally gone to bed, but sleep had been elusive.

Two enormous issues kept battling with each other in my head over which was worth stressing out about more. First was the matter of what the fuck went wrong? It had been a simple summoning. A fucking fourth-level summoning! And Rysehl was a demon that I’d summoned dozens of times before. After I’d calmed somewhat, I walked around the diagram, obsessively checking every sigil and rune that I’d sketched out, looking for any deviation, any smudge or change that could have altered the portal, and finding nothing to explain what had happened.