The sea breezes had picked up until she could hear the surf crashing. . . .
After their dining room encounter, Abyssian had traced her to the shower to rinse off wine. As he'd rubbed his callused palms over her, he'd said, "You can't be done after coming two times. A third will make you sleep better, and you'll be less likely to use me as your body pillow." One thing had led to another. And another.
The promise of a life with him was seductive. Life in the fey court had once been seductive as well. She'd been protected from the Morior, yet vulnerable to infighting royals. Now she was protected from other fey, yet vulnerable to the Morior.
She'd learned never to lower her guard in the Sylvan castle. Could she with this demon?
How exactly would she tell him her secret?
You remember Magh, the evil bitch with the tainted line? Surprise! Your fated female is one of those disgusting descendants of hers that you think should die. On top of that, I was Saetth's fiancee. S'posed to be his queen. I vowed to him that I'd deal you a blow, then I lied to you from our first moments on. See, I was a spy, just like Kari. Now I know history repeats itself, but I'm totally different from her--aside from being the same person engaged in the same type of scheming. . . .
What if he locked her in the tower again?
"Tell me what thoughts are hidden behind those spellbinding eyes." Gods, the way he was looking at her . . .
With his millennia of yearning, the demon tugged at her heart.
She didn't want to ruin this. She'd never been in a real relationship, just wanted to explore it a little more. She drummed up a question: "Why did you move the trophy? It must have hung on that wall since the first days of this castle."
"The Lotan served his watch commendably, but my wife is not a fan. So off he goes." The demon pinned her gaze. "Just because I don't adapt well doesn't mean I'm incapable of it. I will adjust to sharing my life. As you're adjusting to sharing yours."
The great king of hell was trying. That sense of hope hit her with all the finesse of a charging hellhound.
"There's your soft look, the one that twists my horns into knots. I'm defenseless against it."
Was a soft look all it took to manage him? Maybe this big dominant beast could be tempted by sweet things.
"But, Calliope, I too ask for patience. It will take me time to get this right. I want you to give me some leeway."
"Like a get-out-of-jail-free card?"
A lock of hair tumbled over one of his eyes. "I suppose you could say that."
"I'll give you a card if you give me one too." Or an entire deck.
"Agreed," he said. "On that note, I have a wedding gift for you."
She popped upright. "Ooh, what is it, what is it?" A rock? Emeralds?
He sat up and conjured a weird-looking . . . wand thingy? "Here." He handed it to her.
She accepted the strange piece. It looked kind of fey in origin. "I . . . thank you." She was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but she did wonder what message he wanted to convey with such an unromantic present.
"I was guided to give you that. Graven kept putting it in my path."
"What do you mean?"
"With jewels in mind for my new bride, I traced to one of the castle's rooms, a chamber I remembered for its copious riches. The area was empty except for this: a scepter wrought of gold and Titanian steel."
Titanian? The Ancestors' Sword had been forged of that metal.
Abyssian continued, "Not exactly what I'd had in mind. So I went to a second room. Again, I found it empty except for the scepter. The third room was the same. Graven wanted you to have it." He curled his finger under her chin. "Calliope, never refuse the castle more than three times."
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "My father told my brother and me this rule. Even he didn't understand Graven. Which meant even he feared what it is capable of."
She glanced around, wondering what her new home had in mind for her. "How would a fey scepter end up in a demon castle?"
"With Graven, who knows?"
"Thank you for the gift, demon." She leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. "Will you put this on the mantel?" She handed him the scepter.
With a nod, he rose, unfolding the long length of his body. She'd seen his ass in the shower, but she hadn't gotten a view like this.
My, my, my. Sculpted rock-hard muscles flexed with each of his steps. In the shower, when she'd been on her knees giving him another blowjob, she'd dug her nails into those muscles; he'd cradled her face with shaking hands and stared down into her eyes, rasping in Demonish, "How I've yearned for you . . ."
On his return to the bed, he treated her to even more magnificence.
Her gaze traveled up his lean body, lingering on his sigh-worthy dick, roving over the chiseled ridges of his torso, before settling on his smirking face.
He joined her in bed, then situated her in his wings. "My jealous hell queen can't get enough of me."
Fighting a grin, she turned over, giving him her back. "Shut it, you smug prick."
He clasped her waist, drawing her against him. At her ear, he said, "If I even look at other females in front of you, I'll be endangering lives. My Lila does not share her toys."
"Fuck off, demon."
She dozed off to the sound of his chuckle.
Over this night, the female in Sian's arms had delivered more bliss than he'd known existed.
As he stroked her shining hair, her breaths were deep and even. His young mate needed more sleep than he did.
Hours passed, but he found it difficult to close his eyes. He was half convinced this must all be a dream.
A hundred things had rendered him dumbstruck tonight. Among them: when she'd gazed at him with desire and told him she understood why women fought over him.
And she'd bloody leered at him when he'd returned naked to bed. His lips quirked just to recall that.
Everything Calliope had objected to initially had been because of his treatment of her--not necessarily his looks.
Possibility glimmered on the horizon like a flame. Could he let go of his lifeline?
As he'd told her, he'd been one way for so very many years. And he still dreaded how the hell-change would affect their future. But for now he wanted to savor a night like this.
Her body twitched against his. Such an active dream life. Was he about to be tortured once more?
He frowned when she gave a distressed moan. Instead of sexual dreams, she was plagued with a nightmare.
He brushed his knuckles along one high cheekbone. He sensed her blocks weren't as impenetrable as usual. Maybe she was beginning to trust him. Though tempted to delve, he would respect her privacy--
She shot upright with a scream.
"Lila! I've got you." He dragged her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. "It was just a nightmare. Shh." Protectiveness surged inside him. His mate should never be afraid. Rubbing her back, he said, "Tell me what you dreamed."
Shuddering, she murmured, "I couldn't run fast enough."
"Shh. You're safe here with me." He rocked her. "You have nothing to be afraid of."
Sounding dazed, she said, "There's a face to the violence you love so much, a cost that the Morior never have to pay. Why wouldn't you love war? You never feel the toll like the rest of us."
He lowered her back to the bed, holding her.
In time, she drifted to sleep again.
As he listened to her breaths, his mind raced. She was righ
t: the Morior lost nothing with each battle, just seized one victory after another.
He couldn't do anything about war out in other realms, but could he change his own? Calliope continued to bring up the legions. Even by punishment standards, their two strongholds in Slaughter Gorge were disgraceful, festering with hatred and violence.
Sian and hell were symbiotic; so what did those hellholes represent within him?
He could alleviate the worst through magic--changing doom to fortune--or he could give those demons a purpose.
Sian thought of his brother. Gourlav had wanted commerce and prosperity to be his legacy. He'd been such a young king with so many dreams for Pandemonia.
If Sian took up the mantle, his twin's life wouldn't have been one long tragedy.
Sian wanted this kingdom to be his mate's home, but was he ready to make it the home she needed?
FORTY-FIVE
You don't write, you never call . . ." Rune drawled, giving Sian a crooked grin. "Hitched three weeks, and you never got around to inviting us to meet the missus?"
Sian had just been overseeing his new project when he'd sensed arrivals. He'd found the archer seated in Sian's throne, sharpening his claws with an arrowhead, and Josephine kicked back in Calliope's throne.
Uthyr slumbered like the dead nearby.
Sian had a little time to talk with them since Calliope was in the library, buried in books.
Rune pointed the arrow at the sleeping dragon. "I've been reading Uthyr's mind, trying to get caught up on your marriage, but mainly he's been dreaming about plump cattle."
"Careful that we don't get our feelings hurt," Josephine said, her pale face glowing. The longer the halfling was with Rune, the happier she appeared. "Couldn't spare five minutes to draw summoning runes?"
"I've been busy."
"I'll bet you have been, old boy." Rune waggled his brows, his craggy features showing his amusement. "So where's the slip of a female who brought down hard-ass Abyssian Infernas?"
"She's not ready to meet anyone yet." With a sigh, he admitted, "She fears the Morior, has heard only the worst about us." Every time he assured her of her safety, Calliope refused to listen.
Josephine said, "You want me to go inform her how bad the Vertas is? How Nix kicked my ass?"
"Calliope isn't pro-Vertas." Yesterday, she'd told him, "Let's bow out and not pick sides. You and I can be allies, just us." She had no idea how futile her attempts were. He would always be a Morior. "I will make her understand, but it will take time."