As his presence settles into my mind, a wild idea seizes hold of me. I have my back to the mirror, but without a word, I turn to look over my shoulder at my reflection. I feel him move behind my eyes, staring out of them so that I know I’m holdinghisgaze as I watch myself.
Without thinking too hard about what I’m about to do, I slowly lift my hands to the nape of my neck and begin to undo the lacing of my dress.
I feel him go still, a hint of uncertainty to the way he freezes in my mind. Then he touches along the base of my neck, the usual prickle of warning to tell me he’s there. He wants to make sure I know, that I haven’t somehow missed his presence.
But that’s why I’m doing this, staring resolutely into the mirror as I pull loose the first couple of fastenings, exposing a few inches of my bare skin. I don’t quite know what’s come over me; I just know that I need to do something to take a little power back for myself—to show him that if he keeps turning up like this, I’m not just going to stand passively by. This is a challenge, and I want to see how he’ll respond.
He says nothing as I untie the next few laces, pulling the fabric loose so my shoulder blades are exposed, the dusting of freckles over them standing out against my pale skin. I spin fully around so I’m facing the mirror. For a moment, I watch myself—watchhimwatching me out of my eyes—wondering if he’ll say something or leave.
He does neither, a hint of crimson flashing in my eyes as I stand there. So I continue, pulling the top of my dress down, shimmying the sleeves off my arms. Before I lose my nerve, I slide it down over my hips and step out of it, so I’m in nothing but my thin cotton shift.
Inside my head, there’s a sensation like fingertips tightening against flesh, gently digging into my mind.
I swallow, never dropping my gaze as I drag my own fingertips across the hem of my shift. It’s short, and it doesn’t take much movement for me to slide it up my thighs so there’s just a glimpse of my silk underwear.
The presence in my head tenses. A creature waiting to pounce.
A smirk forms on my lips as I drop the hem, sliding my hands instead up and over my stomach, to the fabric stretched over my breasts.
I feel a pressure against my consciousness, like Syrus is leaning forward, straining against a leash.
My nipples are peaked, the slight shadow of them visible through the light fabric. I trail my fingers across them, and the presence in my head makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl.
The sound rolls through me, traveling straight between my legs, and I squeeze them together, trying to contain the heat building there, just as a gasp emerges from my parted lips.
It’s overwhelming, having him inside me like this. There’s nowhere to escape to. No place to hide from the intensity, and no way to release it either. He’s like an itch beneath my skin I can’t scratch. It’s driving me crazy.
Maybe it’s that craziness that has me reaching for the straps of my shift, slipping them down across my shoulders. Slowly, so slowly—to the point where the presence inside me twists with frustration, like an animal gnawing on its restraints. Eventually, I let the fabric drop, exposing my naked body—the flushed skin of my breasts, the way my stomach moves with each fevered inhale and exhale, and the just-visible damp patch on my underwear between my thighs.
I don’t bother trying to disguise the evidence of my arousal. There’s no doubt he can feel how turned on I am—my whole body aches to be touched. I mostly hope he blames it on the bond, simply a reaction to the intensity of the magic between us. Except I have to admit to myself that’s notallthis is. It can’t be. A very real part of me wants him.A part that’sexhilarated by having him watch me as my imagination supplies all thedelicious, devastating things he could do to me and how much I’d enjoy them.
But that doesn’t matter. What I want right now is for him to understand that I’m not some pet that only exists to respond to his beck and call. If he’s going to keep pushing his way into my head unannounced, then I get a say in what he’s confronted with when he gets here. And even if he likes what he sees—which he does, if the sound of him groaning in my mind is any clue—for onceI’mthe one who caughthimoff guard. I’m the one who’s stunned him into ravenous silence.
For a brief moment, I get to show him I’m the one in control.
I let my fingers slide across the band of my underwear and almost laugh with delight when the presence inside me folds like he’s been brought to his knees. I can see my own smug grin as I shake my head, then turn away from the mirror, ripping that image of my naked body away from his sight.
I walk to the wardrobe, keeping my eyes firmly on the wooden door and the plain white nightdress I pull from it. My message is clear: that’s all he’s getting of me. I had him mute and frozen and unable to take his eyes off me. For the last ten minutes, I’ve played him like a fiddle. Now I wait, seeing if he’ll acknowledge any of it. Maybe there’s even a small part of me—the part controlled by that hunger at my core—that hopes he’ll beg for more.
Would I give it to him, if he did?
It’s a dangerous question. So dangerous I’m relieved when I feel him slip from my mind without another word.
Chapter 21
Leah
The Lord of Malice isn’t at breakfast the next morning. Instead, I stare at his empty seat and drink the juice left for me with a new awareness. I try to taste the blood in it, maybe catch a trace of silver in the liquid, but the bright color and sweet fruit taste overwhelm everything else. Either way, I can’t afford to be squeamish about what’s in it. Not when I know it’s keeping me alive.
As usual, Viz is juggling eating breakfast with reading through a huge stack of paperwork. More than once, Aster has had to sharply call his name so he doesn’t accidentally butter one of his books instead of his toast.
“I heard you crashed the lords’ party yesterday,” Asterim says with a yawn. “Was our night out not enough socializing for you?”
“Don’t worry, Aster,” I offer a jokey grimace, rubbing the spot on my arm where the demon’s blood got on me. The rash has mostly died down, but it’s still a little irritated. “I had much more fun with you.”
She bites into a pastry covered in icing sugar. “Of course you did, darling. I had so much fun too. It almost wasn’t the same, going out last night without you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do it every night.”
