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“A puppy is a dog, yes? Plus, every time I see his face, I remember his horror when he rescued me, which makes me remember what was done to me, which makes me hate myself.”
“Then no Aeron.” His touch feather-light, Galen caressed her jawline. He did it so swiftly she had no time to process his intention, only experienced the lovely result. “If ever you hate yourself, tell me. I will like you enough for both of us.”
The things this darling man said…the things he did… the gifts he gave.
Wait. Darling? Galen? What’s happening to me? Speaking of the gifts he gave. “I never thanked you properly for the demon heads. I loved them, and I promise I’ll never ever re-gift.”
He gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Now, all of the immortal world knows. Hurt Leila, and die extra bad.”
Sweetest. Words. Ever. “Last time I saw you, you were living with the Lords. You were almost on friendly terms.”
“We aren’t the best of friends, but we aren’t the worst of enemies, either. I value their lives.” Pause. “I value yours more.”
He really did. He valued her. Her! He had every reason to hate her, but he continued to woo her. The effort he’d already taken with her, with no promise of a reward… He was trying, doing everything in his power to become what she needed. With his every action, he proved his words and his intent a little more.
In that moment, something infinitely tender came over Legion. She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m happy I met you, Galen, and I’m even happier you survived meeting me.”
Chapter Seven
Hardcore courting rocked.
For the first time in his life, Galen forgot the rest of the world. War in the underworld—who cared? World domination—maybe later.
Pleasure—never-ending.
As Leila watched, he swirled two fingers in the tin of paint, blending colors. She moaned, and he had to hide a smile.
“Are you pained, my sweet?” he asked, playing the innocent. A role he’d perfected.
“No. Just thinking.” She licked her lips. “You should paint the demons without clothes, and snare their genitals in claw-traps. You know, to give the mural a little spice.”
Wiping his fingers on his bare chest to draw her gaze there, he stepped closer to her. Damn if she didn’t steal his breath, as usual. Today she wore a pretty pink sundress, sparkling jewelry, and ballet slippers. A thick, dark blonde braid hung over one shoulder, and a robo-bird perched on the other.
“Have you been thinking about genitals this whole time?” he teased.
“No!” she bellowed, and he fought a grin. “I mean, I was, but only for the purposes of torture.”
“Then I’m doing something wrong.” Though he’d never been in a serious relationship—pretend or otherwise—he liked having a live-in girlfriend. Especially this girlfriend. Her mix of naïveté and street smarts charmed him, and her very presence drove him to the brink of sexual madness.
Patience. Be what she needs, and be rewarded.
Her gaze slid down his torso before lingering on the obvious erection behind his fly. She began to pant—with excitement.
They’d been courting for three days. That she’d stopped jumping away from him when he displayed sexual desire… sweet progress!
“Like what you see?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, the rosy blush in her cheeks deepening. “I, uh, baked you something. My first gift to you.” She whispered something to the robo-bird, and the mechanical marvel flew off…only to return a few minutes later with a silver fork. “I asked Fox about your favorite dessert, and she said you love humble pie. I’d never heard of it, but thankfully Olivia found a recipe.”
That damned Fox. “Olivia—Aeron’s woman? I thought you weren’t interested in reaching out to the Lords and Ladies.”
“Olivia reached out to me. As a former SO Messenger, she can speak into people’s minds, even from a great distance. Anyway. I’d never heard of a few ingredients, either, but Fox found them for me. Minced haggis, cricket flour, and lutefisk.”
That was what Leila made him? For the second time since meeting her, his palate wept.
“This was my first attempt at baking, but I’m pretty sure I nailed it,” she continued merrily, offering the pie and the fork. “Go ahead. Take a bite. Tell me your opinion.”
Hide your grimace now. Kill Fox and Olivia later. He accepted the fork, pressed the tines into the dish, and took a tentative bite of what looked like literal shit.
Do not gag. He chewed the foul offering, then forced himself to swallow. What he wouldn’t give to return to the good ol’ days, and chilidogs.
“Well?” she asked.
Galen had no problem lying to people. Actually, he preferred to lie. The less anyone knew about him, the better. But here, now, he refused to disrespect Leila with an untruth. So, he kept eating. As long as his mouth was full, he didn’t have to speak.
When he finished, she smiled. A brilliant, radiant smile.
Nausea—worth it!
“Thank you,” he told her, but the nausea worsened, his stomach churning hard enough to make butter. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his upper lip. “Hey, quick question. Was arsenic included in the list of ingredients?”
Her smile vanished, and she paled. “No. Was it supposed to be?”
“Excuse me for a moment.” He sprinted to his private bathroom, and vomited in the toilet.
Leila followed, sniffling and saying, “I’m so sorry.”
In a haze of vomiting and pain, he lacked the wherewithal to comfort her.
“Let me help you,” she pleaded, cleaning him up with a cool, damp rag. “I’ll never bake again, I swear. You’re going to get better. You have to get better.”
His final thought before he drifted to sleep—If this is what happens when I’m sick, I’ll be requesting another humble pie just as soon as I grow a new stomach.
* * * *
By morning, Galen had healed. He should have rejoiced. Instead, he pouted—in a super manly way. At some point during the night, Leila had muttered, “I’m going to make up for this.” Then she’d left him alone in the bathroom.
Now, he scrubbed his mouth a couple dozen times, showered, and dressed.
Ready to hunt her down, he emerged—and drew up short. Leila must have worked all night. She’d filled the entire chamber with gifts. A framed collage of selfies, dueling pistols, a sword with a bejeweled hilt, and an X-rated snow globe. Best of all, she’d created a defense plan, complete with measures and counter-measures in case of a demon invasion.
My smart, vicious beauty.
He smiled. The traps she suggested were truly diabolical. Dimensions for genital traps she’d wanted him to paint. Salt and sugar mines to melt the flesh from a demon’s bones. How to create invisible doorways that led to a Candyland-esque type realm, where magic made torturing others impossible.
Damn if he didn’t want her at his side for every battle and war. Their enemies wouldn’t stand a chance. But most of all, h
e wanted her in his bed. His craving for her continued to grow, consuming him bit by bit.
Galen had to up his game.
And he did.
For the rest of their test drive month, he knocked on her door at least three times a day, a new gift in hand. The skulls of the demons he’d slain in her honor. Unique pieces of jewelry he’d acquired throughout the centuries. Romance novels featuring villainous heroes who saved the day and won the girl. A bouquet of different fried meats on sticks.
Under his care, she bloomed. By the end of the month, she brightened any time he entered a room. When he touched her, she practically purred. She smiled more than she frowned.
The same changes happened to Galen. Leila quieted his demons, seeming to know every time the two acted up. As False Hope spewed poison, she spoke truth. As Jealousy darkened his mood, she shined a light in his heart with a simple smile.
This morning, Galen had a new gift for her—an offer she (hopefully) couldn’t refuse. As he stood at the closed door adjoining their room, a tide of foreboding washed over him. Something very, very bad was about to happen.
Had someone invaded the realm?
Fury boiled Galen’s blood as he weaponed up. Daggers. Rings with spikes. Wrist cuffs with garrote wire.
He texted Fox. I’m scouting for invaders. Remain on alert.
He considered texting Leila, too, then discarded the idea, opting not to frighten her with the possibility of invasion.
Determined to eliminate any threat, he strode onto his rail-less balcony. A cool, crisp breeze scented with salt, sandalwood, and honeysuckle wafted around him. Familiar. Nothing foreign. Waves crashed in the distance, and birds called. But he hesitated. Leave Leila, even for an hour or two? His chest clenched. A warrior does what he must to protect his treasures.
Galen dove from the ledge and flared his wings. Wind lifted him up, up, combing his hair and ruffling his feathers. He loved the freedom he found in the skies. Loved the feeling of both freefalling and soaring.
Thankfully, he found no signs of invasion. None of his traps had been triggered. Sinkholes, trip wires, and landmines.
