Page 69 of Demon Food

I’d asked the same thing of his possession last night. Why? Why?

Saying the truth was more difficult than I thought it’d be, because it was opening a door that could not be shut. It was inviting him inside these murky gray waters with me where nothing could be fully seen, and the boundaries were too easily blurred.

But the truth was also the truth. Nothing else could compare to when it was spoken.

“Because I don’t believe you deserve to suffer.”

His molten copper eyes warmed brilliantly, a stark contrast with how sick he looked. How sick he was. “How can you be so sure, Snow Fox? Am I not still the demon of your nightmares?”

You wouldn’t trust the darkness of a nightmare, and you shouldn’t trust me.

“You are,” I said. “But I think you might be something else, too, Alek. Something more dangerous.”

“Oh?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as his voice dripped in intrigue. “And what’s that?”

I took a breath. “A reason to hope.”

20

ALEK

Iblinked, and the morning transitioned into day, only to convert into night too quickly. I hadn’t even had a chance to come up with a plan. It was like my mind was being consumed with four words on repeat:

A reason to hope.

To hope. To fucking hope. That was what he’d said to me.

I’d expected to get kneed in the ribs. That was no surprise. And I’d expected to get reprimanded for possessing him—for being possessive of him, but I hadn’t expected whatever that was. I hadn’t expected…hope.

I wished I could say it hadn’t shaken me. Hadn’t punctured the surface of my skin like a long needle. But it penetrated so deeply that I had nothing to say in return to his hope. And when he followed up with, “So, it’s settled. We’ll do it tonight,” I still said nothing.

I simply stood there, nodding in agreement, struggling not to have a theatrical mental episode while waiting for further instruction. Like a damn puppy.

The time had come, and my whole body was a kindling blowing too close to a fire, itchy with anticipation as I busied myself with shuffling a deck of cards. It gave me an excuse to pretend like I wasn’t keenly aware of Feloré’s every movement as he lit various candles around the room, folded back the covers of my bed, and placed a basin filled with water onto my nightstand.

Now he was standing idly, unbuttoning the cuffs of one of his sleeves. Well, one of my sleeves. He was wearing my favorite shirt, and the dark blue color looked stunning on him. So stunning. I hated that for me.

“Take your shirt off,” he said. “Lie on the bed.”

I blinked hard as my stomach muscles tightened at the casual command.

I’d been smoking extra in anticipation, but no amount of drug-induced mental fog could fool me into thinking this was a good idea. It was a terrible, terrible idea, and I was a reckless idiot for allowing it.

But I rose from the desk and unfastened the ties on my tunic. He wasn’t even watching me. He was fluffing a pillow, but his heartbeat quickened when I peeled off my shirt, like he was acutely aware of my every movement, too.

“Tell me, human,” I said, tossing my shirt over a chair. “Is this really going to work? Or is this all just some elaborate plan to get me shirtless?”

He flashed me a look, careful not to let his gaze dip down my body.

I grinned. “Because you could’ve just asked.”

A hint of fiery heat danced in his eyes. “Why would I need an elaborate plan to get you shirtless, Prince? When you respond so handsomely to being bossed around.”

I licked my lips to hide my budding smile as I slipped the cigarette from behind my ear between my teeth. “You think so?”

“You don’t realize that about yourself? Fascinating. Must be a royal ego thing.”

Beautiful, wicked little person.