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She paused to shove hair behind her shoulder. It sprang back, curling under her breastbone. Lines scrunched between her eyes, and her head tilted back and forth as she worked.
“You knit.” Fascination drew him closer. Her calm rhythm soothed his frayed nerves.
“I picked up the habit in the colony.” She shrugged. “It keeps my hands and my head occupied. I’ve done it off and on, made things for Maddie. Now it kind of fills the void, I guess.”
“What you said up there…” he cleared his throat, “…you meant it?”
Her hands slowed. “I kicked the caffeine habit, quit cold turkey once I left Earth.”
“That’s good.” He swallowed sweet relief.
“And in case you’re wondering, I haven’t picked up any new ones.” She pushed a strand of yarn aside. “Well, except this, and it doesn’t count. This is more of a rededication.”
“Fair enough.” He turned away, shook out his wings, stretching until they stung. Glamour was an illusion, but it was a tangible illusion. When he altered his appearance, tucked his wings out of sight, they were plastered to his spine, trapped in a magical cocoon that itched and burned.
Emma gasped. “What happened?” Seconds later, hot hands smoothed down his back.
Every inch of him tingled at her touch. Color drenched his wings, turning their dusky carmine to vibrant crimson. No hiding his arousal in his natural form. He shouldn’t have dropped his glamour. He still didn’t know what she was fussing about— “Damn it.” She poked a finger below his wing joint and pain crashed over him in agonizing waves. “Could you not do that?”
She caught his arm, wheeling him around to face her as she snarled, “Has anyone checked your back?” Her fingers tightened. “Were you in that mine when it exploded?”
“No, I was outside.” His back had been burned, hadn’t it? The pain hadn’t registered until she mentioned it. His wounds weren’t life-threatening, so he blocked it like everything else. The men in the mines mattered. The lone survivor of the caravan required their healer. He didn’t.
“Males.” She didn’t ask permission, just shoved him onto her lounge face-first. Expert hands spread his wings one at a time as delicate fingers inspected every leathered inch. He pushed up when her hands deserted him, but she shoved him down as if he were a child. He’d forgotten how strong she was. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he surrendered to her whims.
The same gentle hands returned, stroking every inch of his back, working over every muscle, pausing to pick debris from his cuts. “You know you’ll get infected if you let something like this go untreated.” She jabbed a nail deep in his shoulder blade, and he grunted. “Those mines are a case of wing rot waiting to happen. Don’t you have a healer?”
“We have two in training,” he defended, “but they were needed elsewhere.”
“Good grief. They were needed here.” She stabbed his hip for emphasis. “Don’t move.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The lounge smelled of Emma. He buried his face in the pillow, and a stray hair tickled his nose. Sleep weighted his limbs, and his eyes closed for a moment.
“This is going to burn.” A second later, she slathered icy ointment across his back.
He shivered. Let it burn. This was one pain too delicious to block. Emma’s hands on him, nursing him like she had a thousand times when his protection of Maddie earned him lashes from her father’s whip. Archer had been so consumed with desire for Maddie, he assumed Harper shared the same twisted lust and punished him for her affection. He hadn’t suspected Harper craved only one female, or that Archer’s halfling daughter was the one true light in Harper’s life.
His eyes closed again, and this time he left them shut. If someone had told him he would long for the days of their enslavement, he would have called that person a fool.
Yet here he lay, wishing for a simpler time when his body was a tool to be used, his thoughts dictated by cruel circumstance, but his heart was free. And it had belonged to Emma.
Five years made no difference to him. This year apart made even less. Ten or a hundred more wouldn’t change the sick ache in his bones craving her long-ago touch. He couldn’t love her openly then, either. But she knew she was his. Just as he knew he would always be hers.
He should push her away…but he’d rather have his wicked way with her.
Getting Familiar With Your Demon
© 2012 Jodi Redford
That Old Black Magic, Book 4
After too many years learning death from the inside out as the familiar of a voodoo queen, soul collector Samael Gorasola betrayed his boss, which landed him on demon death row.
He should have known not even his punishment would come easy, but the deal he’s offered to escape his fate stinks. Become the indentured servant to his despised enemy? No thanks, he’d rather be six feet under. With that in mind, he picks a deadly fight with two demon hunters, only to be rescued by one misguided, deliciously innocent white witch.
Marabella hasn’t a clue what possessed her to help Sam, particularly since he’s not the least bit grateful. She blames it on her overwhelming attraction to the dark, dangerous demon, and her exasperating quest to rid herself of the stubborn curse that guards her virginity. If the guild finds out, though, she can kiss her white-witch status goodbye.
A kiss is exactly what she gets, followed by a consuming hunger that breaks down all heavenly and earthly barriers…and leaves Sam saddled with the one thing he never wanted, a conscience, and a connection to Marabella that puts her soul on the line.
