Page 122 of Demon Touched

Pressed together, gasping, the atmosphere between us changes. Heat spreads low across my belly. I wriggle a little beneath him and watch his eyes darken as our bodies connect, grinding together.

He drops his face to my neck, dragging his teeth across the skin above my collar bone, and I release a little keening noise, his cock starting to harden against me in response. My pulse quickens, and I arch up against him, hands rising to grip his muscled arms.

And then, out of nowhere, my stupid brain remembers our conversation out in the city.

Return to Aradis, if that’s what you want.

My thudding heart slows, and suddenly I need air. There’s too much of Syrus around me, crowding me, filling my senses so I can’t think clearly.

I brace a hand against his shoulder and shuffle out from under him. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what I’m doing, a line appearing between his brows as he watches me climb to my feet and dust myself off.

“I think that’s enough training for today,” I say, swallowing down my breathlessness.

“Leah,” he says, rolling onto his back and sitting up. It’s half question, half request. But I can’t give him the answers or responses he wants. Not yet.

“Thanks for the lesson,” I say.

Like a coward, I don’t look at his face as I sheathe my sword and slip out of the room.

Chapter 33

Leah

Ican’t be with Syrus right now. This day has been too full of ups and downs. From waking up in his arms and our lovely morning in the city to our not-quite-fight and sniping at each other during training until…that.

But I also can’t go back to our room, because eventually Syrus will turn up there too, and I need a little distance from him right now. Distance to try to work out how we can stay together—the irony doesn’t escape me. Instead, I let my feet carry me through the residence. It’s a big house, and I’m sure I haven’t even seen half of it, so exploring should provide some welcome distraction. For example, finding out what Thadeus Strickland reads in his spare time could be entertaining. Surely, there must be a library here somewhere.

The fact the house is part of the Assembly building means it’s old too, with portraits lining the walls of all Pax’s leaders that came before, sitting beside old maps that show Strata pre- and post-unification. I study one that includes Syrus’s kingdom, Fenlire, and make a mental note to show him later. I think he’d enjoy that.

That particular map sits at the end of a corridor near a set of dark wooden stairs. There’s more to see on this floor, but the housekeeping staff seem busy cleaning at one end, and I don’t want to get in their way. I’m about to move on, but as I linger at the top of the stairs, I feel it.

It seems like nothing at first. A touch of dizziness after training so hard, maybe. But when it doesn’t pass, I’m forced to study it a bit closer. It’s an odd sensation. Not quite a prickle up the spine or a buzzing in my veins, but something in between. It’s a little like stepping into Aradis, feeling my ephilium side properly waking up inside me and stretching its wings—like I’m suddenly noticing something that’s been there a long time, but which I didn’t have the ability to register before.

I stare down the flight of stairs, which curve around before ending in another hallway. An instinct’s pushing me toward the top step, drawing me downward, urging me to follow.

I descend one set of stairs only to find another almost immediately below. A part of me desperately wants to keep going, which is ridiculous, because while Strickland’s not said anything about restricting our access to only the main living areas of the house, the unadorned walls and dim lamplight here tell me this isn’t a part of the house typically open to guests. In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t passed any wardens on my way down here, given they tend to patrol the residence to keep an eye on us and ensure Strickland’s safety.

The stairs creak as I pad down them, that alert, tingling sensation intensifying.

“…you’re not in any position to pretend otherwise.”

“How dare you! You think you’re the only one with friends in this city?”

I pause, eyes darting to a door on the floor I’ve just left. I’m still getting used to my far-sharper nephilim hearing. I sneak back up a few steps. I’ll leave in a moment, but it might be interesting to get some household gossip while I’m here.

But when the first voice speaks again, I recognize it as Strickland’s.

“…coming to this residence under false pretenses. Cornering me to make unreasonable demands. I’d like to say I thought better of you, McLieve, but your reputation precedes you,” Strickland hisses.

“My reputation?” splutters the other man. “I told people not to panic when you were elected. That you wouldn’t turn your back on Pax’s businessmen just because of your background. Now you’re rifling through our pockets like a beggar looking for money to buy his next drink.”

“Insult me all you want,” Strickland says, and his tone has me picturing a deadly calm expression. “My answer is no.”

“Cancel the fines, or you’ll find every one of my partners and their partners’ partners will have something to say about it come next election,” McLieve counters.

Strickland laughs. It’s not a cold sound, but it’s so confident that it must feel like an insult. “I’m not sure you’re as popular as you think you are, McLieve. Or certainly, you won’t be for much longer if your partners ever discover you’re the one rifling through their pockets.”

McLieve makes an outraged gasp. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”