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Nothing. Just the sounds of the night, the muted rush of the air conditioner, a faraway car passing on the highway. I waited and listened, counting silently to fifty before reaching out slowly and pulling the drawer open. My disquiet eased tremendously as soon as my hand curled around the rough butt of the gun, and I flicked on the bedside light with one hand while pointing the gun at the foot of the bed.
Rhyzkahl stood at the foot of my bed, still as carved marble and emanating the power and strength that I remembered so vividly from that night a week ago. The ivory fall of his hair rippled in an unfelt wind, and his beautiful eyes bored into mine. He wore robes of pale silk, and a sensuous smile curved his lips.
I stared at him in shock as a frisson of sudden terror coursed through me. He’s here. How is he here? My thoughts careened wildly as I kept the gun pointed at him. It’s not even a full moon. How the fuck can he be here?
He finally spoke.
“You have not called me.”
I blinked, disoriented for a heartbeat as I remembered vague snatches from the dream I’d had at my desk. “Wh-what? Call you? What are you talking about?”
He moved for the first time, shifting with inhuman grace to sit on the bed beside me. “You have not called me.” His smile turned dazzling.
I looked at the gun in my hand, then slowly lowered it. It wouldn’t do me any good against a Demonic Lord anyway. Shit. I have a Demonic Lord in my bedroom! “You said that already.” I swept a glance throughout the room in a vain hope that I would see something that could explain his presence here. “How can you be here? What the fuck is going on?”
He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “I wished to see you,” he said. “You interest me.”
“So, what—you just popped over to this sphere to look me up?” My voice was a bit shriller than I would have liked, but I figured I was entitled to a small amount of freak-out after waking up to a Demonic Lord in my bedroom.
He laughed, a sound like crystal in water. It delighted me and at the same time sent shivers through me. “Not so simple as that.” His fingers lingered on my chin, brushing my lips ever so lightly. “I am not truly here. I am merely touching your dreams.”
“My … dreams.” I couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or not.
“It is not an easy feat, even for one such as myself.”
I regarded him with narrowed eyes, initial shock and terror giving way to confusion and distrust. “So why are you doing it?”
He tilted his head, a smile playing on his angelic face. “You are not pleased to see me again? You did not enjoy our … tryst?”
I had to privately admit that there was a small portion of me that was pleased to see him again. Even knowing what he was now, I couldn’t deny that he was awfully damn good to look at, and I sure as shit couldn’t deny that our “tryst” had been awfully damn nice. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said instead.
He gave a slight nod. “As I said: You interest me. I have not encountered another like you in centuries. And the brief time we had together was … enjoyable.” Without warning, he slid his hand to the back of my neck and leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t stiffen or resist—I was too surprised to do either, and by the time it occurred to me that I should make some sort of reaction, he had deepened it into a sensuous kiss that promised pleasure and heat and pulse-throbbing passion. After a moment, he released me and pulled back, regarding me with a smile.
“Well, damn,” I breathed shakily. It was sorely tempting to grab him and pull him back for more, but the memory of Tessa’s warning about his nature stayed me. Why is he doing this? There’s just no way he’s this smitten with me. “I, uh … am flattered to know I have that sort of effect on you.” I took a steadying breath. “But please don’t do that again.”
He lifted a silky eyebrow. “You have regrets?”
“I … don’t know,” I said honestly, relaxing a bit now that I knew he wasn’t really in the room with me. I grimaced and pushed my hair back from my face. “The thing is, I don’t usually do that sort of thing. I mean, the casual-sex thing.” I met his eyes. “And if not for the fact that you gave me your word, I’d be worrying that you had somehow compelled me.”
His expression hardened ever so briefly. “I did not break my word. The choice you made was your own.”
I nodded. “I know, and I’m glad that you let me make that choice.”
He stood and folded his arms across his chest, looking down at me. “I wish for you to trust me.”
“I don’t even know you,” I said with a touch of asperity. “And you’re a Demonic Lord. Why do you care if I trust you?”
“Why do you deliberately avoid and evade companionship?” he countered. “We shared a potent pleasure, you and I. I gave you my word that I would not harm you or compel you. You ache for something that I would gladly give you. Why do you deny yourself?”
He was getting way too close to psychoanalysis territory for my liking. I scowled. “It’s not just about the sex, y’know.”
“You desire a partner—one with whom you can share your hopes, dreams, desires, and fears. Someone with whom you can face the trials of existence and make plans for the future.”
I stared at him in surprise. Wow. He got it.
“I cannot be that person for you,” he continued before I could speak. “But would you deny yourself the single course placed before you simply because you cannot have the entire banquet?”
He sure did know how to present a convincing argument. But doubt still nagged at me. “Okay, well … I’m gonna run with your metaphor here and say that if I have nothing but dessert I’m going to be too sick to enjoy a banquet if it ever comes my way.”
