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I didn’t say anything to that. I was so angry I was shaking, and I could tell that I was about to cry. I hated that. I cried when I got angry or frustrated, and that had been happening way too much lately.
He stepped to me and crouched, then pulled me to my feet and enveloped me in his arms before I could think to protest. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “That was a churlish display, and you did not deserve it. I was…an asshole.”
I almost laughed at the admission but managed to hold it back. But I did surreptitiously wipe my sniffly nose on his jacket.
“Apology accepted,” I said. “It didn’t help that I was being a bitch.” My anger was gone now, thankfully. It bugged me that I’d lost control like that. He’s not human. He could have slapped me down a lot harder.
But he hadn’t. That had been a demonic lord version of shouting back at me. In fact he’d shown incredible restraint. I sighed inwardly. Someday I would figure out this fucked up dynamic between us.
I pulled back enough to look up at him. “I, um, find it interesting that you know how to use a computer,” I said, carefully not phrasing it as a question.
To my surprise he kissed me tenderly on the forehead. He’d been doing more of these oddly affectionate moves, which only managed to confuse the living fuck out of me. “Once summoned,” he said, “a demonic lord is able to bring another demon through to this sphere, though it is not simple and requires a great deal of effort. There is a luhrek who is gifted with matters of technology. She performed the work I required.”
He brought another demon through? Okay, that was a big ol’ whopping shocker, and I knew it showed on my face. Yet, again, there was nothing in the terms of our agreement that barred him from doing anything like that.
I could feel a simmer of anger at the edges of my mind, and I took a shaky breath. I had to keep control of it this time. I couldn’t count on him being all nice and understanding if I went mental on him again. I was safe with him only because of the oaths that bound us both. I could fool myself all I wanted about understanding the dynamic between us, but the truth was that I had no idea where I stood with him. Or where I wanted to stand with him. And what if I started seeing someone—like an actual boyfriend? If I ever decided I wanted to stop sleeping with Rhyzkahl, how would he react? Was being my lover part of a plan, or was there any spark at all of true desire to be with me? And if the latter were true…how did I feel about that?
“I want to know why you changed your look but I don’t want to waste a question on that,” I blurted. He lifted an eyebrow, but I bulled onward before he could speak. “I know this is going to seem stupid, but it’s kinda freaking me out because it makes me wonder what you’re up to. And even though I know I can’t really trust you beyond the oaths you’ve given me, I feel more comfortable around you than I feel around most humans, and in some ways I really care about you, and the thought that this whole thing is just you playing me as part of some bigger game is a pretty awful one.” I clamped my lips shut as I felt the flush rise up my neck. Shit. I’d gone mental again with the verbal diarrhea but in a different direction. Did I really just tell him that I didn’t trust him that I cared about him?
“I mean…” I started, but then trailed off. What the fuck was I supposed to say that could serve as any sort of useful damage control? I needed to simply shut the fuck up.
His expression remained inscrutable as he regarded me. “When I watched television with you I realized that it might be useful and worthwhile to more closely conform my appearance to current standards.” He paused. “You are right to be wary of me and to trust cautiously, but I will tell you that some of the decision to change my clothing was based on my observation that you found these styles…appealing. I do hope that on this, at least, you will believe me.”
I managed to give him a smile in response. I wasn’t about to tell him that his changing to please me was the part that was freaking me out.
Rhyzkahl bent his head to kiss me. I returned it, then pulled back and looked up into his face. “I don’t want to fuck today.”
He dipped his head in a slight nod. “Then we will not.”
“I mean, it’s not you at all, and you’re still crazy-hot and sexy, but I just have too many things going through my head today and—”
“Then we will not,” he gently interrupted. “There is never a need to explain or defend such a wish.”
He sure did make it hard to distrust him. The best con men always seem trustworthy, I reminded myself. I leaned my head against his chest and closed my eyes. His hand stroked over me, a warm tingle following its path.
“You like to win, don’t you?” I murmured.
“I do not care for the consequences of losing,” he said.
“Winning has consequences as well.”
“But one tends to have more control over consequences when one is the victor.”
I opened my eyes to look into his. “Do you ever lose?”
“Yes. It is how I know that I prefer to win.” An expression of regret skimmed across his face and was gone. “You have yet to ask your questions, dear one.”
I pulled away from him, moved to the table, and hitched myself up to sit on it. Rhyzkahl’s eyes were intent upon me as if he knew what I was going to ask. For that matter, it was possible that he did know. I desperately wanted to know about the summoning of Szerain. But there was another question that haunted me more.
“I know Ryan Kristoff is a demonic lord,” I said, watching him. To his credit he didn’t twitch, but the hopeful part of me thought it detected just the faintest flicker of interest. I also noted that he neither confirmed nor denied it.
“Why is he on earth, posing as a human, and with no apparent knowledge or memory of being a demonic lord?”
The air seemed to grow heavy as he regarded me. I could hear my heart thumping as I waited for his answer, any answer.
When he finally spoke his voice was low and rich, tinged with an emotion that I couldn’t process. “I am bound by oath, Kara,” he said, shocking me by the use of my name. I couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken it. It was usually “dear one” or something of that ilk. He stepped to me, let out a low sigh, and touched my cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. “I know this frustrates you beyond measure. But I cannot answer this question. Ask another.”
Frustrated was putting it mildly. “You can’t tell me anything?” I asked, struggling to hold back my disappointment. I’d finally pinned him down and asked the damn question right, and all I got was “I am bound by oath”?
