She fought against the cramps stinging near her navel. The tip of his tongue ran over the points of his teeth as he tilted his head to the side. He scratched at the week-old scruff running down his neck, taking his time before he spoke.
“I am not a monster,” he said, his accent thicker than before.
Somehow, she doubted that.
He killed without mercy. Took without remorse.
“If lying helps you sleep at night, so be it. You slaughtered innocent people in my village. You killed my brother!”
He hadn’t killed him, but she needed to blame someone.
A growl rumbled low in his chest, his narrowed gaze a challenge, one she planned to meet. Dark black rings pulsed around the edges of his eyes. A viscous feeling coated her tongue, and she tried to ignore it.
Maybe she should throw up on him next time.
He said he wasn’t a monster.
Monsters were mindless, trapped by their instincts, devoid of choice.
Maybe he wasn’t a monster.
He was an intelligent leader, if ruthless. No. He was something far worse than a monster. Something sinful luring her into temptation. Something bound to be her ruin.
“A demonthen.”
The lines around his eyes crinkled, and she couldn’t tell if it was mirth or frustration causing it. Boards creaked under his leather boots as he closed the little space between them, crowding her.
“What is a demon?” he asked.
You.
An unfortunately attractive one.
“Evil spirits that do the Devil’s bidding.” His eyes narrowed, and she continued. “The Devil oversees Hell. A torturous afterlife.”
Her words hung in the air, the din of movement in the background fading. Moments dragged on, his face contorted into something unreadable. One side of his mouth lifted, followed by the other, a predatory smile exposing his canines.
He spread his arms wide, palms facing up as he bowed his head to murmur in her ear like a lover’s promise.
Or a devil’s whisper.
“Let me be your demon. Blood will stain my hands so yours never have to. Let me sin for you, little flame.”
Air froze in her lungs, hardening like ice crystals until it hurt to breathe. The terrifying weight of his offer left her mind moving too fast for her to keep up.
Beneath the hate—the fear she tried to hide—heat coiled, deliciously licking up her spine.
She didn’t know how long she’d be able to fight the pull of this Dane, but she’d fight against it as long as she could.
Her eyes thinned into slits, her chin raised as she glared up at his haunting, discolored gaze.
“You’re not myanything. Demon or otherwise.”
The declaration lost some of its potency as she retched again, bile staining the wood between them with nothing left in her stomach to give. A troubled sound rattled in his throat. He rested a hand in the middle of her back, gently steering her away from the mess.
“Here. It is a tonic. My mother makes them. She is a healer in our clan.”
A small leather flask sat in his hand. Elara stared at it as if it were a serpent that might strike. The idea of this man having a mother, a healer no less, seemed to go against her beliefs about who this demon was.
