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I stare at him, trying to find the lies in his words or on his face. It doesn’t feel like a lie.
But that could be because my own emotions are overwhelming everything else.
“Is there another name? Or how about a description? I’ll keep trying, Dove, but if I can’t get anywhere with a description, we might have to consider other options.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The males of the species have no regard for female pleasure. Their power isn’t connected to Rites, so demons have no impetus to prioritize feminine needs.
- Demonic Charms and How to Avoid Them
That nightas I lie between the heirs, I can’t make my mind stop concocting every awful way Gael might be hurt. Every atrocity power-hungry demon mafiosos might subject him to.
“What’s wrong? Bastian whispers against my ear, pulling me tight against his chest.
I don’t have to answer. Dashel does it for me. “Axe hasn’t made any progress and still can’t find any references of the name she gave him.”
Bash squeezes my arm. “Axe will get it done. I’d bet my life on it.”
I sniff into Dashel’s chest. “What if it’s too late? What if they’ve already hurt my friend? What if he’s already gone?” It’s the first time I’ve said those thoughts out loud, and they ringin the air like a death horn, unsettling everything and everyone around them.
Dash smooths a hand over the top of my head, repeating Bash’s sentiment. “Axe will get to the bottom of it, Dove.”
I shake my head, tears welling.
Both demons squeeze me tight, and, on another night, it would have been enough. I would have settled and drifted off to a new day with new hope.
Not tonight.
“I’m so scared I’ll never see him again. So scared I can’t breathe, can’t think.”
“Dove, how can we help?” Dashel asks as I cry into his chest.
I don’t know. How could I know?
But my damaged brain does. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Please, just make it stop.” My voice sounds husky, needy.
I know exactly what my brain is getting at, and so do the demons cuddled against me.
“Dove, you don’t mean that,” Bastian says behind me, voice full of just as much need.
Do I?
I slide a hand under Dashel’s t-shirt. The softest, grazing brush of fingertips against his side has Dashel gasping.
“Dove.” My half-groaned name on Dashel’s lips doesn’t sound like my name at all. It’s wicked, decadently unholy.
I slide my hand farther up his shirt, sighing at the feel of his warm flesh, cataloging every rise of muscle, every valley, every last goosebump springing to life under my attention.
A deep groan rattles Dashel’s chest before he catches my hand in his, stopping me. “You have to say it.”
“Say what?” I ask, buying myself time.
Do I want this?
Bash grips my hip, pressing his hardened cock against my ass. “You have to say you want us, or this stops right here and now.”
Do I?
