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“This is so weird,” I grumbled. My cheeks flamed hot with a blush, and I glanced past his head, unable to hold his stare. He waited for me to say something, and I sighed again as I looked at his face. “I can’t take my medicine anymore. Since I came back to life, I haven’t been able to hold down anything. I need my meds.”
His eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits with a pop of crimson. “What do you need medicine for? You’re a succubus.”
“I have schizoaffective disorder. Turns out I still have it, even after being changed into a demon,” I spat.
“And you’re having symptoms?”
This big, bad demon—who was growing on me—acted like I’d just told him the weather. Not many people were very educated on schizoaffective disorder—schizophrenia coupled with a mood disorder—and those who were reacted pretty terribly. I’d been accused of being possessed by demons and told I needed an exorcism. Someone from the church said it was a matter of time before I snapped and killed people in a schizophrenic episode.
“Yeah,” I whispered, my annoyance deflated. I turned onto my back to stare at the ceiling.
As a typical man who wanted my attention on him, he leaned over me and placed his hand beside me on the mattress. He forced me to look up at him, refusing to allow me to shut down on him. Instead of glaring, his features softened and his eyes held kindness for once as he gazed at me. A pleasant aroma came from him. He smelled like bergamot mixed with a different spice I couldn’t put my finger on, but I’d smelled it before . . .
“I have some connections. Maybe someone can fix it,” he said, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“I don’t want to be fixed.” I pushed at his chest to get him away from me. He didn’t budge. “I want to take my meds and not feel like this fucking bed is shaking.”
He turned his gaze to the mattress as if he might see what I felt. When he couldn’t, he brought his eyes back to my face.
“When did you last take your medicine?” he asked.
“The night after I came back to life.” I tried to keep calm and not get mad at him for asking a million questions. I’d never had someone question me like this, wanting to understand. Well . . . my family was nosy, but this was different.
“What happened between that time? Did you feed?” he asked.
I groaned and threw back my head, closing my eyes. “You and Lucien about the fucking feeding. I swear to God.”
“If you’re going to swear to anyone, it’ll be me, succubus,” Daiman growled.
I opened my eyes and huffed. “I have a name, and it’s notsuccubus.”
“What happened between the time you came back to life and when you took your meds? Details,Grace.”
Goosebumps rose on my arms, and my nipples pebbled. All because I loved hearing how my name rolled off his tongue as if he was savoring it like fine wine.
Jesus, I was messed up. He was a demon, and I was a . . .
“Grace,” Daiman growled, snapping me out of my wandering thoughts again.
“I woke up at that demonic church where Lucien killed me. I ate my best friend’s arm and half of her heart.”
Daiman’s eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared. I didn’t know if he was angry with me or turned on. Maybe both. A sweet and musky scent came from him, reminding me of how Sebastian smelled while I fucked him and made him come. The same aroma Alex had while I went down on him.
It had to have been their arousal.
“I came back here, threw up everything, and was so hungry, but nothing stayed in my stomach. Food didn’t sound good, and I felt sick just thinking about it. Then I took my medicines before crawling into bed because I had symptoms, but I threw that up, too.”
“So you were starving when you took it,” he said. I thought it was meant as a question, but we both knew the answer.
“Yep,” I said, popping the p.
“Have you tried when you aren’t hungry?”
I opened my mouth, paused, then closed it.
No. I hadn’t tried when I was full, which wasn’t often. After I had sex with Sebastian, I didn’t take my meds because I assumed they would just come up again. And I didn’t after I sucked some stranger’s dick or when I had that dream the other night.
Wait.
