Page 27 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Go on,” I say. My voice cracks, just a little. I let it.

He slowly lifts one hand and cups my cheek. His palm is enormous, warm as a heated coal, and it nearly swallows the whole side of my face. His thumb brushes below my cheekbone like he is memorizing the exact curve.

“It is my responsibility, too, Vesper.” His gaze holds mine. “Because if it is my responsibility, then there is no end to how far I will go to protect you and little beastie.”

Emotion hits me like a door opened in a gale. I do not buckle. I will absolutely not buckle.

But inside, something which braced itself for the hollow, sweet-nothing of “I’ll take care of you” evaporated the moment he spoke the meaningful words.

The strength inside me finds a safe space where it can fold itself very quietly into my heart. It plants a root there. Deeper than a tether.

Because Valefar cannot lie.

That’s not even what matters right now, standing here feeling his hand warm against my face. What matters is that nothing about him is hollow. I have watched him for barely more than a day, and I already know it the way I know north.

So, I exhale. And nod. “Yes. Your responsibility, too.” I pause for a breath. “I’ll reach out to my contacts at the shop. We put our heads together, find some protection stones, start testing what holds and what doesn’t.”

The corners of his mouth press into a smile. “I find I enjoy more than only our heads together, my Lady.”

Something warm moves under my skin. I bite my lower lip.

He tilts his head, and something in his expression shifts. “I do not understand,” he says, with great sincerity, “why they make it so difficult.”

“Who does?”

“The Friends.” He says it so gravely. “I have watched two episodes. Their conflicts. Miscommunication. Avoidance of saying what they truly feel.” He pauses. “It seems like their obstacles would have resolved much sooner if anyone had spoken.”

I laugh. I actually laugh, the soft, helpless kind, and the remaining tension in the room goes out like a light. “Miscommunication is a guaranteed key for conflict in storytelling,” I tell him. “Reliable. Low-effort.” I pause. “But tired. And lazy.” My chin lifts a little. “Some communication is more…subtle, anyway.”

But my body arching and chin lifting are anything but subtle.

Valefar’s gleaming awareness drops to my throat and returns to my face. “Does my Mistress wish for worship?”

Heat blooms up my chest. I smile, and I don’t try to hide it. “A kiss is all we have time for. But yes.”

A look flashes on his face—the devilishly adorable gleam which I love—right as his tail coils slowly up the back of my calf. Then, with great composure, all his concentration shifts to my chest. “My tail and your nipples,” he observes, “would seem to disagree, Vesper.”

I glance down at my white shirt. Oh. Then back up at him. “Okay, Vale,” I say, my blood already running warm, the goofy unstoppable smile already taking over my face, “I have to get dressed for work. So I’m going to introduce you to something called a quickie.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I am one hundred percent dressed and roughly forty percent reassembled.

I’m in front of the bathroom mirror; I consider my work outfit—black wide-leg trousers, the dark plum corset top lacing up the back, the long draped linen blazer which says I own this establishment without trying too hard. I blow a curl of hair out of my face and grin at my own reflection like an idiot.

Even my nose ring seems shinier, winking at me.

Valefar, it turns out, is a prodigy.

He took the word quickie as a personal challenge. He seized me by the hips, walked me backward into the wall with the confidence of a being who has never once doubted his own spatial reasoning, and proceeded to rattle my teeth with his kiss. Every star I have ever seen in my life had burst behind my eyes at once. I’m fairly certain he left a handprint on the plaster that I will need to paint over.

My body is properly, deliciously sore, which reminds me how good things exist in the world. That smolder. That very specific heat that means I got some, and it was a really good some.

I’m reaching for my lipstick when the doorbell rings. I freeze. Then smile.

Manny. Of course. Right on time.

I press the lipstick to my mouth, cap it, and study myself in the mirror one more second. The grin is absolutely still there.