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I grin. I probably should not, not when my Hope is suffering so. I cannot help it. From her essence, I know that I am not the first male she has been intimate with. That doesn’t bother me. She didn’t know of Sammael then, so why would she wait for a mate that might never find her? She is human, not Sombran, and that is how some humans search for their life partners.
There is no magic in this realm. Not like how I was led to believe before I spent more than four cycles here. The humans fated to find a Sombra demon might are touched by something that none of the other mortals share, and they only can master theverus amorspell because the gods give them the power to find their forever.
Just like they gave my Hope the ability to call me to her on the dream-plane.
I hope she will tonight. Her body craves something only I can provide. Because, while the human male might have been able to touch her intimately if she allowed it, he is not her fated mate. His touch would not ease her mate sickness.
Mine will, and if she calls to me, I will be there to do anything she asks of me to make her feel better.
In the dream-plane, I can be whole.
I can be aroused.
If she asks it of me, I can mate her.
And I will.
For Hope, I will doanything.
* * *
I hoverclose behind Hope for the rest of the night.
I cannot touch her. I still have faith that simply being near her might be enough to help her with the worst of the mate sickness. And maybe it does because, after she finishes her drink, she’s able to eat a little food before she goes upstairs to rest.
She must feel terrible. Rather than grab one of her small books to read before she turns on the box with the moving pictures, she shucks her clothes—I give her my back as she does—then climbs in among her bedding.
She’s snoring softly before I know it. Sucking in a breath that isn’t necessary in this half-life of mine, I wait to see if she’ll tug on the growing bond between us.
When she does, I quickly answer.
Arriving on the dream-plane, I immediately take the chance to revert to my demon shape again. She seemed to like it the last time we met, and while I often spend most of my time in my shadows, this is the true me. I want my mate to be attracted to my healthy red skin and shiny onyx horns.
From the scent of her musk perfuming the dream-plane, it’s easy to tell that she isdefinitelyattracted to something.
As I appear, she immediately rises up from her bedding. She had been lying down, covered, but as she shifts, the covering falls, revealing her breasts to me.
“Oh,” she says, her voice throaty. “It’s you again.”
My body immediately comes to life. Thankfully, I conjured shadows to shield my lower half otherwise my mate would be greeted by an impressive cockstand.
I am constantly aroused by my Hope. As a phantom, my body does not react; as a demon, it is all I can do not to take my cock in hand, finding momentary relief. But if I ache to mate her, I can only imagine how she feels after suffering from mate sickness since this morning.
My tongue darts out. I lick my lips, then croak out, “It is I, my mate. And you… you have bared yourself to me.”
She glances down as though she had no idea her breasts were out. Shrugging, they bounce as she leaves them free. “They’re just tits. I’m sure you have seen plenty before.”
I… have not. I know there are some Sombrans who settle for any demoness because they are randy and lonely—especially some students in the School of Mages—but I was not one of them. I have never seen a naked female as a mature male until Hope blessed me with this vision.
And when she mutters something about it being ‘hellish hot in here’ before throwing the last of her coverings away, I get my first full sight of her cunt.
I don’t know if demonesses in Sombra have a patch of hair protecting their cunt like my Hope does. Sombran demons do not, but most demonesses are from Soleil, a neighboring plane. They have horns and a deep golden shade to their skin, with smaller breasts and wider hips than my Hope… and that is all I know.
It matters not. This is the female given to me, and she is perfect in every way.
And I am all the more grateful for my coverings so that I do not frighten her with how desperately I want to taste her.
In the dream-plane, I am alive in every way. My nose scents how much her body is begging to be touched, and my ears pick up on her heaving breathing. My body is tight and hot and heavy. My claws itch to touch her soft skin again… and, with the mate sickness affecting her, I see no reason why I shouldn’t.
