Page 18 of Demon Touched

That makes me laugh so hard that Rowan has to tell me to get a hold of myself.

Later that day, Captain Hasteed runs weapons drills with us, and I get a chance to try the imbuing Rowan was talking about before. Of course, every other fledgling can already do it, so it’s hard not to feel self-conscious when I keep getting separated off and told to practice more. At least Filippa helps me pick a bow from the academy armory ahead of class. Having the familiar weapon in my hands makes me feel like I’m on firmer ground.

Maybe that confidence is what I need, because it only takes a few stern corrections from Hasteed before I manage to get my lightning to wrap itself around the arrows. Then with a little more practice, I can get it to stay fizzing through the arrows long enough for me to nock and release them, sending power radiating out in a furious crackle of energy when they hit the target.

“You’re a quick learner, Fledgling Illidore,” Captain Hasteed says, though she somehow manages to make it sound more like an accusation than praise. “Perhaps it’s to your advantage, mastering your magic with a bit more maturity under your belt. How old are you, anyway?”

“Um…twenty-four, Captain,” I say quietly—but not quietly enough. A few of the other fledglings overhear it, earning me a fit of snickers and whispers.

Something shines in the captain’s eyes that might also be amusement. “You’ve aged like a human. Most ephilium your age are still in diapers.”

More snickers from my peers, but I simply straighten up, meeting Hasteed’s gaze. “I’ve managed to pack quite a bit into those twenty-four years, Captain.”

“Well, you’ve proven that you know your way around a bow, so I’m inclined to agree. And you’ll find your aging likely starts to slow now that your powers have developed. I had a great-aunt who was nephilim.”

A jolt of surprise runs through me at the news. I hadn’t even considered that aspect of coming into my power, but I also don’t have the luxury to dwell on it. I might not have the chance to age at all if I’m not ready when the trials come. I can only hope being in Aradis—surrounded by ephilium and their power—is the push my body needs to develop more ephilium traits and abilities.

I’m exhausted by the time I fall into my bed that evening, but not so tired that I’m not conscious of how empty it feels. When I was in Infernum, Syrus’s huge hellcat Triya would sleep next to my legs most nights. The rest I spent in Syrus’s bed drifting off, safe and sated beside his large, warm body. I wish I had someone to talk to about all of this, but even more, I wish I could simply be wrapped up in the solid protection of his arms—the kind of embrace that would stop me worrying about what would come tomorrow.

Remembering that spurs more memories…painful, intimate ones I can’t let go of. His strong hands bandaging my side, his thumb brushing across my freckles as he murmurs beautiful things to me…

It’s dangerous, thinking about Syrus at this time of day, because as soon as I fall asleep, I dream of him.

A pair of crimson eyes gleams at me from the shadows, leathery wings unfurling around me. I’m laid out in front of him, an offering on an altar—naked and begging for him. Not caring that he’ll devour me, that I’ll lose myself to him if I give in.

His voice whispers in my mind, low and enticing. “Let me in, Leah. You know you want to.”

And I do want to. I’m desperate to have him inside me again, to fill me up, mind and body, until there’s no distance left between us.

“Syrus, please,” I whimper, unsure if I’m asking him to leave forever or come closer. I just know that I ache with a deep, wracking need only he can satisfy.

His lips claim mine, commanding and insistent, all but compelling me to open up to him—showing me how good it will be if I do. And my body responds, nerves coming alive beneath his touch. My skin dimples, a shiver running over my exposed flesh even as heat tightens at my core. He’s there, hovering at the edges of my mind and body, and he begins to tease me into a frenzy. Hands come to rest on my hips as he captures my lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it as he tugs my body against him.

The thick, hard length of him comes to rest along my thigh, and I spread my knees a little wider, inviting him in. Maybe this is okay. Maybe it’s safe to have this—for us to be joined in the way we’re meant to be. We’ve been separated for too long, and this feels so right.

“So eager for me,” he murmurs before ghosting his mouth along my jaw then diving down to suck at the skin on my neck, just above my pulse. It flutters frantically beneath his tongue, like prey quivering in the jaws of a wolf, and I gasp—eager, yes, and excited, and so terrified of what that means.

How can I ever escape his grip when I don’t even know if I want to? When I’m arching helplessly into his touch, moaning at his hands roaming across my body? His fingers dance across my ribs before they slide up, pinching my nipple into a hardened peak that makes me hiss and writhe underneath him.

“Syrus, I can take it,” I whimper. What I should say is that I can’t survive this—can’t survive him. Instead, I’m begging for more, afraid if he doesn’t give me what I need soon, I might combust. “I need you. Everywhere. Please.”

“That’s it, little lamb,” he purrs, and something snags. He hasn’t used that name for me since the night I was almost carved open on this altar. That’s not how he sees me now, is it? “Asking so nicely for me to ruin you. I will give you what you need.”

Then he takes me, thrusting into me as his magic overwhelms my body too, filling my mind, invading me. I’m gasping at the rush of feeling so full again—but it isn’t long before it’s too much, too overwhelming as it overpowers everything in me. There’s pleasure—so much pleasure—but there’s no control. Not on my end, anyway.

“You’re mine, Leah,” the voice growls into my mind. “All mine.”

The way he says it sounds dangerous, possessive in a way that sends a chill down my spine. It’s ownership rather than partnership. A cage rather than protection. This is what I must give in return for this gift—bending to every command, ultimate submission.

And if I accept that, it will eventually kill me. I know it.

“I can’t,” I cry, pushing him away—banishing him from every corner of myself. Instantly, I feel his anger surge, twisting into an inferno that will consume everything in its way. He roars and tries to dig his claws in deeper, grabbing hold hard enough to drag me back down into the darkness with him.

I wake with a start, sheets drenched in sweat, breathing like I’ve run for miles.

A dream. It was just a dream. I know that. Syrus’s voice never sounded like that, he never spoke like that—like he thought he owned me. It’s a phantom conjured up by my worst fears of what he could be if I’d stayed. Still, I find myself checking my mental walls, making sure they’re still intact.

And when I find them holding firm, untouched by any demon presence, I hate that a small part of me feels disappointed.