Blood of the Demon

Chapter 24

The chalk crumbled in my hand as I completed the last sigil in the circle on the basement floor. I sat back on my heels and brushed the fragments away, careful not to mar the diagram itself. I felt unspeakably calm. Or unspeakably empty. Either way, my hands didn’t shake and my focus was sharper than it had been since I’d come back from the dead.

After Ryan left, I allowed myself to wallow in sobbing misery for more than an hour, then drove home, feeling as if something had let go. I don’t need his approval, I’d thought with a combination of anger and misery. Besides, who the fuck was he to preach to me about the dangers of dealing with demons?

I crawled into bed and slept like the dead for nearly four hours, then woke just as the sun was dipping below the tops of the trees that surrounded my house. I had more than enough time to prepare for a summoning. It wasn’t a full moon, but that was the whole point.

I went through the protocols of the summoning carefully, but with a fluid ease that was gratifying. And when the time came to pull potency from the storage diagram, the power flowed into my control with a sweet and smooth surge, easily channeled into the ritual.

“Rhyzkahl.” His name filled the room as I held the portal open. I’d shaped this summoning as more of a call than a command—something that would normally have been wildly dangerous, but I was confident that Rhyzkahl would not seek retribution. Not when he’d already made it clear that he wanted further access to this sphere.

I felt the surge of power that indicated that something had come through the portal, and I invoked the bindings—more as a protection in the event that something other than Rhyzkahl had come through than for protection against the demonic lord. I knew too well that I didn’t have the means to hold him.

The portal closed and Rhyzkahl straightened, a smile playing on his beautiful face as I released the bindings and wards. I didn’t say anything, just stood beyond the edge of the diagram and waited. His eyes traveled over me and then—as expected—flicked to the storage diagram.

He let out a low laugh. “Very clever, dear one. Your moon is waning, and here you are with a demonic lord at your beck and call.”

The last was a gibe, I knew, especially since I’d been punished before for assuming that I could get the lord to serve me. I inclined my head. “I have no right to expect you to be at my beck and call, my lord.”

He stepped out of the diagram and over to me, putting a hand beneath my chin and tipping my head up. “You are more rested, I see.”

“I would not wish to squander your gift, my lord.”

He dropped his hand and laughed. “Please dispense with this obeisance, Kara. It does not suit you.” He walked past me to the table in front of the cold fireplace, then turned to look back at me. “I am more pleased than you can know that you have discovered a way to circumvent the constraints of your dependence on the lunar cycle.”

He hadn’t expected this from me. It was nice to finally feel as if I’d impressed him, even a little.

I walked to him, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. “I am delighted to give you such pleasure.” I stopped in front of him and let the shirt fall to the floor in a puddle of gray silk. A smile curved his lips as his eyes traveled over me.

“And this is the offering you have for me?”

I shook my head as I loosened the tie holding my silk pants up. They slipped to the floor and I kicked them aside. “Oh, no, my lord Rhyzkahl,” I said as I stood naked before him. “This is not an offering for you. You still wish me to be your summoner, yes?” My heart pounded, and not entirely from lust. A deeply hidden part of me was aware that I was letting my hurt feelings rule my actions, but right now I didn’t want to listen to it.

A flicker of something that might have been caution or confusion passed through his eyes in a fraction of a heartbeat, quickly shuttered, and I had to force myself not to feel a sense of triumph at his reaction. “I do,” he said simply.

He pushed off the table and slid a hand through my hair to the nape of my neck, then pulled me to him. He tilted my head back and looked down at me, fingers tightening in my hair. “I do,” he repeated in a low growl. “You are mine.” His mouth came down on mine and his other hand dropped to my breast as he deepened the kiss with a near-savage intensity. I whimpered against him even as heat exploded through my body. Yes. Need me. Want me.

I managed to pull away from his kiss long enough to drag a breath in. “Prove it,” I gasped in a half sob. Please. Prove to me that someone wants me.

Power flared hotly in his eyes, and his gaze locked on to mine for a bare instant before he lifted me and set me down on the heavy oak table. He pushed me to my back, his teeth bared in a silent snarl as he kept me pinned down with a hand on my upper chest. His other hand slid over my throat, pausing for a fraction of a second—just long enough for me to feel the weight of it—before moving down over my breasts and belly. My breath came in shallow pants as conflicting emotions clashed within me—desire, need, fear, shame.

“You wish me to pleasure you?” he asked, voice low and throbbing.

No. Yes. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears pricked them. What did I really want? I felt his hand between my legs, pushing my thighs apart. His fingers teased me, lightly pinching, and I sucked in breath as a shudder raced through my body.

“Or do you wish something other than pleasure?”

I swallowed harshly. “No,” I whispered. No pain. I had enough of that.

He began to slowly stroke me. “Ah, but you are mine. It should not matter what you wish.”

A slow warmth began in my belly, and I opened my eyes to look up at him. Yes. Don’t make me choose. Don’t make me decide anything. Don’t make me think about it.

His mouth slowly curved into a smile, as if he’d scored a great and terrible victory. He lifted his hand from my chest, but I didn’t move. He unlaced his breeches, and a heartbeat later I could feel him hard against me.

“I wish to fuck you,” he said, surprising me with the bluntness of the statement. “I wish to fuck you until you scream with pleasure, and then I wish to fuck you some more.” There was power in his voice—and a promise of things I could not even begin to imagine. He pressed into me and I moaned, both at the feel of him and at the intense eroticism of his words. He gripped my thighs and began to thrust. “I wish to fuck you until you scream my name and beg me for release, beg me for more, beg me for all I can do for you … and to you.” He drove hard into me, hands clenched on my legs and mouth twisted in a snarl.

Yes. Do it. Do it all. Please! I arched my back as my climax built, breath coming in ragged sobs. His eyes glowed with potency as he continued to fuck me, never relenting, never easing. He wouldn’t, I knew. Not until he was finished with me.

The thought alone was enough to tip me over the edge. The scream of pleasure that he sought ripped from my throat as he continued to thrust into me, perfectly matching the waves of my climax. Not until I was spent and limp on the table did he slow and stop.

I took several dragging breaths as he withdrew from me. He reached and brushed his fingers over my lips, then gave a soft laugh. “Such a beautiful scream, dear one. But I did not hear my name.”

“Wait,” I panted, “I—”

He didn’t give me a chance to finish, seizing me by my wrist to yank me upright and wringing a shocked yelp from me. He lifted me effortlessly and carried me to the chair, then sat, holding me so that my back was to him. In the next breath he wrapped an arm around my neck and shoulders to pin me firmly against him. Somehow he’d rid himself of his clothing, and his skin was warm silk over steel against mine. I shuddered as he slid into me again, then moaned as his other hand slipped between my legs.

It felt like mere seconds before I was crying out and bucking in his hold. His arm was like a band of iron around me, and I clung to it desperately. “Beg for it, dearest,” he whispered in silken command as he drove me higher.

“Please …” I could barely form the word.

“Ahhh … you can do better than that. Beg.” His voice thrummed with power as his grip tightened and his pace quickened. “Beg for me to fuck you. Beg for release.”

“Please …” My voice was little more than a keening whimper as I struggled against him. “Yes, please. I … I beg you. Please … all of it!”

“Now, scream for me,” he hissed against my ear. “Scream my name. Scream for mercy.”

I did. I screamed. I screamed his name as I thrashed in his arms. I screamed and begged and wept as he gave me everything I’d asked for and more.