His touch seared her skin. Even the small whispers of his fingers on her calf. And the way he looked at her right now? She’d never seen anything like it. His gaze flickered with need, desire, and something … otherworldly. Something far beyond a mortal’s ken. As if his entire world turned on her choosing to go to bed with him.
When he’d used his illusions to trick her, his magic had plucked at her to release her life force and give it to him. Right now, that pull of power was absent. He wasn’t using any tricks.
The cedar scent she’d only gotten a whiff of before intensified, and she shifted forward. Funny, she’d expected him to smell like the rest of Peklo, of ash and sulfur, but he didn’t. She watched his arm as he stroked her calf. Watched the muscles flex and bunch. Damn, he was strong.
She reached up and stroked his jaw. “Will you remain in this form if I accept your venom?”
His breath hitched. “Yes. My jackal form is dominant, and I’m stronger in it. You’ll want me to stay in control.”
“Why?”
“I’ll want to breed. My kind, we knot. If I maintain control, I can prevent that.”
Her jaw dropped. “You … do that?”
His brows rose. “You know about knotting?”
She nodded. “The hellhounds pass through our village sometimes.” Her face grew warm. “Many of the women enjoy their company and aren’t shy talking about it.” No, they’d detailed what it meant when a hellhound knotted them during sex. How he swelled at the base of his shaft and bound themtogether. And every one of them fought to entertain a hellhound again, so they must have enjoyed it.
Her heart pounded in her chest. He’d bed her like this. In his jackal form. Dangerous. Primal. A lick of heat flamed through her veins, pooling in her abdomen.
He bared his teeth and turned feral again, a crackle of contained rage snapping around him. “Have you bedded a hellhound?” His hand circled her ankle. A possessive hold.
“That’s none of your concern.”
He tugged her closer. “I’ve decided you’re mine.”
“Well, I haven’t decided anything yet.”
He growled. “You’re too lovely to turn into one of the monstrous feathered folk. You should have decided within seconds to let me pleasure you. It’s a once in a lifetime experience.”
As his words threaded through her, her cheeks warmed. Since he was a god, he must have seen thousands of women, and he’d calledherlovely. Their gazes locked. “For my boon, I want you to save me from becoming a harpy, then immediately take me to the junction to Ulterra.” She sucked in a quick gasp of air, suddenly breathless. “Please.”
He growled and rubbed his chest as a slash of heat seared her thumb. Devon yelped and raised her hand. The ebony ring glowed a bright red and the same word from before flashed across its surface, “Apophis.”
Still rubbing his chest, Rerek snarled and stood. In a flash, he scooped her into his arms. “Your boon has been set.” Wind swirled around them, making her hair fly, and the landscape blurred into one mass of grey. Rerek’s arms grew hotter. The world around her whirled faster and her stomach roiled. Devon closed her eyes and clung to his neck. A small rumble vibrated through Rerek’s chest, a pleasant hum, and she snuggled closer.
The wind died, and she opened her eyes. As Rerek lowered her to her feet, she gasped. They stood in a room with red-hued walls of sandstone. Torches sat in sconces, blazing a bright light over a massive bed, the frame also of sandstone but the sheets of vivid lapis lazuli. Etched on the headboard was the symbol of the coiled cobra.
Devon circled. Tapestries hung on each wall, all depicting a jackal-headed god with mortals bowing or offering him gifts. Ebony furniture dotted the wide room. A sofa, large enough for an eight-foot male to lounge on, sat along one side, and a dresser, large enough she could lie inside one drawer, stretched across the other. When she shifted her weight, sand from her dusty clothes scattered across a plush yellow and blue rug.
“Are we in an illusion?” she asked.
He scoffed, and she jumped at the harsh sound. “I don’t deceive myself with illusions.”
So, his illusionswerea deception. Exactly as she’d suspected. “Where are we?”
“Back when I lived in Ulterra, the people of the southern sands built me a massive pyramid for my home. I recreated it. We’re standing in my bedroom.”
The rush of the perpetual winds of Peklo didn’t whistle through cracks in the walls like at her home. It was so quiet she heard her breath coming in quick gasps as she stared at him. His power was so great he’d justcreatedthis from nothing?
He turned and walked across the room to a sweeping archway. Beyond was a small, tiled room, the floor slightly concave. Rerek reached under one arm, and his breastplate unclasped. He slid it off and hung it on a hook on the wall she hadn’t noticed. His headdress soon joined it. He bent to untie the sandals laced up his calves. “Normally, I have people who undress me.”
She stared at the only clothing he still wore—his armored knee-length short trousers with elaborate fabric draped like a codpiece over it. “You mean your thrall?”
He shrugged. “No. Not always. Many simply wish to admire my form and touch me.” A few more snaps as he unclasped the last of his armor and his golden trousers loosened. He turned toward the tiled area, giving her his back, and stepped out of them.
Devon sucked in a breath. Naked, he was like a sculpture come to life.