She took a small step towards him, and then another, and another, and then she was crossing the street, and coming near. He saw nothing except her face.
Her magic brushed him. She dropped her bag. Her hands went up to his shoulders. Her brown eyes smiled at him.
She kissed him.
Once a Demon
Dina James
Kyle tried to suppress a derisive smile at the monument that had been erected next to the one he was visiting. It was a large, weeping angel, prostrate over a fat marble block. A bouquet of faded flowers rested at the base. It hadn’t been there the last time.
It almost matched the fountain monument on the opposite side in size. Truly, a working fountain. Who chose a fountain as a monument? Perhaps the departed had been fond of gardens. Even in death there was competition.
Let them compete with one another, Kyle thought as he laid his single, perfect, long-stemmed rose upon the ground below the monument that overwhelmed both the plot it sat upon and the markers on either side. It was a hulking stone dog with wings — a gargoyle most called it -with a bowed head. It was chained to the pedestal it sat upon with a thick, heavy chain attached to its metal spiked collar.
It was no average gargoyle. It was the Guardian of Hopes and Dreams, and when Kyle had seen it he knew exactly where it belonged and had it installed. Seven feet tall from the base to the tips of the wings, the monument dwarfed any other in the graveyard. Unless someone built a mausoleum, it would remain the most prominent.
Kyle kissed his fingertips and touched them gently to the petals of the rose before disappearing.
A reflection that had been shimmering in the water of the adjacent fountain smiled and disappeared also.
Red liquid swirled gently around the crystal wine glass held between his middle and fourth fingers.
Elegant.
That was the word for it.
Of course, the gesture was as purposeful as it was elegant, as were all of his gestures. It kept the liquid from congealing so that it was drinkable.
Cold, but drinkable.
If he could be bothered to drink it, that is.
His pale sea-green eyes were focused on the flames in the hearth, though his mind was elsewhere. Watching a fire flickering in the dark always brought him a modicum of comfort and helped him arrange his thoughts. It afforded him perspective.
Most of the time.
He smiled wryly as he sensed a presence, and though he didn’t bother to lift his eyes to acknowledge it, he did greet it.
“Rude as ever, Destrati.”
“Did you expect otherwise?” Nikolai countered as he all but swaggered to the mantelpiece to lean against it indolently. “T
he day you consider me polite is the day I cut that ridiculously long hair of yours, whether or not it would grow immediately back.”
Kyle arched an eyebrow and his wry smile grew a bit wider as he reached to smooth his chestnut ponytail mockingly. Held in place by a strip of leather, it fell down his back to rest neatly between the blades of his shoulders. Long, perhaps, but well kept. Such had been the style back then.
“And what brings the Destrati Sovereign to breach the solace of my home and my dinner hour?” Kyle asked, eyeing Nikolai pointedly.
“I have a standing invitation,” Nikolai defended with a smirk. “Or so it could be interpreted, no? I believe you said I could return anytime I wished, though I’m sure you meant in order to check on Trina while she was here. I merely took ‘anytime’ in the broader sense.”
Kyle rolled his pale eyes. A human gesture, to be certain, but appropriate.
“You have learned much more than how to master your power,” Kyle said dryly. “I didn’t teach you to find loopholes.”
“I was always good at interpreting things to my advantage,” Nikolai said. “Besides, I knew you’d never invite me here. Invitations are an annoying necessity for everyone, even for a Sovereign. Besides, Trina wants to see you, and I said I would ask. You’re welcome in our home, you know. Not that you would ever impose. Though, truly, it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
Kyle didn’t reply as he contemplated his glass and the deep red liquid within.