Mark of the Demon

CHAPTER 3

The dead bolt on the front door slid home with a soft click, the last step in my preparations for the summoning.

I’d nearly changed my mind about going through with it. After leaving the wastewater plant, I’d gone to the station for several hours to do preliminary legwork and write up my initial report, but by early afternoon I could hardly keep my eyes open—not that surprising once I realized I was operating on zero sleep.

I’d finally given up on coherent thought and headed home to grab a nap, staying awake on the drive home only by keeping the window open and singing along loudly to bad country music. By the time I’d crawled into my bed, I was seriously doubting my ability to summon again, even a minor demon. But six hours of sleeping like the dead did wonders for my energy level, and by midnight I felt ready to go.

I wandered through my house, the usual excitement twining with the usual nerves as I made certain that the house was secure. All of the various mundane tasks were complete. I’d closed the gate at the end of my driveway, checked and secured all the windows—which included nailing several boards over the broken window—then locked all the doors, double-checking everything compulsively. I’d learned the hard way last night that a locked door wouldn’t do much to keep an intruder out, so for tonight I’d added just a tweak of power around my house.

Arcane work could be pretty tiring, which was why I seldom did much outside of summonings. But, after last night’s near disaster, I had to grudgingly admit that I needed to expend the energy. I wasn’t exactly highly skilled at crafting arcane wardings, which meant that it took me nearly an hour to pull together a small protection that would cause anyone approaching the house to experience feelings ranging from mild fear to terror—an arcane version of a subsonic frequency, and hopefully just enough to make a person think twice about trying to get inside.

The house was still spotless from top to bottom from the deep scouring I’d given it before my summoning of the reyza. I wasn’t in the regular habit of keeping my house in pristine condition, but the messes and piles of clutter could harbor unwelcome pockets of energy, or so my aunt Tessa always said—though I suspected that was probably just a way for her to get me to clean the place up at least once a month. It was tough to motivate myself to tame the clutter, since I didn’t exactly encourage visitors. I kept it clean—after all, this was the South, and I’d be neck deep in bugs if I didn’t—but my dirty laundry usually ended up on the floor, and my bed got made only once a week when I changed the sheets.

I owned just over ten acres out here, and most of it remained woods. My house was smack in the middle of the property, with only about a hundred-foot radius around the structure cleared of thick forest and underbrush, though there were still plenty of trees around the house to shade it beautifully all year long. The house itself was a single-story Acadian with a steeply pitched roof, high ceilings, and a broad porch that extended across the entire front. The high ceilings also made it hard as shit to heat in the winter, but I had long ago accepted that electric blankets were made for just that reason. Besides, in south Louisiana it didn’t get all that cold. The house was close to one hundred years old, with walls and ceilings that had been made with precise tongue-and-groove construction. The exterior was supposed to be a dusky blue, but it was also unfortunately in dire need of a new paint job and had a rather mottled appearance where the white of the old paint showed through.

But the best feature of the house was its elevation. It sat on enough of a hill that I was able to have a basement, though not so high up that it could be seen above the surrounding trees from the highway. Houses with basements were practically nonexistent in this region, and the large basement of this house was absolutely perfect for the kind of arcane activities that my aunt and I dealt in. Aunt Tessa had converted the attic in her own house into a summoning chamber, but she frequently moaned that it wasn’t as good as a basement. It was a lot harder to make an attic noiseproof and lightproof, and the earth that surrounded a basement helped soak up excess arcane resonance. Plus, the heat in any attic in the South was damn near unbearable in the summer.

I returned to the foyer, compulsively checking everything again and quietly pleased with how nice it looked. I could have people over every now and then, the thought intruded. Maybe a crawfish boil in the backyard for people from work? It really was a lovely little house, and there was a part of me that wanted to show it off. I had dim childhood memories of my parents throwing parties and having people over—before my mother got sick. But neither of them had dealt with the arcane, I reminded myself. They’d had no reason to be secretive and private.

I had plenty of reason. I’d have to scrub the shit out of the basement to make sure there was no evidence of a summoning diagram. I grimaced. And hide all my implements. Would anyone come, anyway? I had plenty of casual friends from work, but Jill was probably the only one I felt any real “friendship” toward, and I could count on zero hands the times we’d hung out together outside of work. Baby steps, Kara, I chided myself. Make some friends, then worry about throwing a party.

I scowled and pulled my focus back to the task at hand. I could worry about my social life some other time. I checked one more time that the curtains completely covered the windows, then headed to the hallway door that led to the basement. I paused in front of it, taking a deep breath and rolling my head on my neck to work the tension out. I was good at this, I reminded myself. This was going to be a very low-level summoning, and I’d performed plenty of them successfully. I’d worked my ass off for the past decade to learn everything I could about summoning demons. I knew the chants, the bindings, the names. I’d studied rituals dating back centuries, when it was first discovered that there were people who were genetically gifted with the ability to open a portal between this world and another—a world of creatures that came to be known as demons. Last year I’d even taken leave from work and scraped together the money to spend two months in Japan, studying under the summoner who had been my aunt’s mentor—a waste of time and money, I later decided. The convergence had been too weak to summon anything really interesting, and Tessa’s mentor—a wisp of a man who looked old enough to have been around for the first summoning—was a rude, condescending asshole.

I slipped off my bathrobe, folded it neatly, and set it against the wall in the hallway, despite my usual habit of dropping clothing wherever I happened to be. For the thousandth time I reminded myself that I needed to put a hook on the door for just this reason. I opened the basement door and walked naked down the stairs, skin prickling with goose bumps at the slight chill that lingered in the air despite the fire I’d lit earlier. It was spring closing in on summer, but the basement held the cold fiercely at times. I pulled the waiting clothing off the hook at the bottom of the stairs—drawstring pants and a loose shirt made from a gray buttery-soft silk. I’d never bought into the whole flowing-silken-robes thing—far better to be free from distractions, able to move about.

I stepped off the stairs, bare feet chilling against the concrete of the floor. The basement was huge—almost the same square footage as the main floor of my house. There was a fireplace in the south wall that tended to get a lot of use, since the basement stayed cool in the summer and became downright frigid in the winter. A couple of years ago, I’d converted the third of the basement that contained the fireplace into a mini-office, carpeted in a plush deep-red shag that only barely avoided looking like it belonged in a bordello. A heavy oak table and a comfortable wingback chair that I’d scored at an estate sale completed the ensemble. The other two-thirds of the basement floor was smooth concrete, unmarked except for the intricate and large circular diagram I had laboriously chalked out earlier.

I rubbed my arms as I scanned the room. The only light came from the fireplace and a few low candles placed around the circle, but it was enough. It wasn’t as if I would need light to read anything. There wouldn’t be time to read if things went wrong.

I’d already put my materials out, the implements I would need set in precise alignment outside the complex diagram. I was reusing the diagram I’d created for my summoning of Kehlirik, with the changes needed for the different-level demon that I would be calling. A diagram for a twelfth-level demon was a large and complicated construction that usually took me a good three hours to complete. The changes needed to summon the luhrek Rysehl had taken only twenty minutes.

Placing myself so that the fire was at my back, I moved to the edge of the diagram, careful not to touch it with my feet or clothing.

I took a deep breath, allowing myself to bask briefly in the rich and warm contentment that I found in summoning. I was in control during a summoning ritual. If something went wrong, I had no one but myself to blame. I knew what the consequences were, and even though they could be dire and extreme—especially if a demon’s honor was somehow impugned—the end reward of having a demon at your service was worth the risk and occasional pain. Performing the rituals and dealing with the demons was headier than any drug—something I knew from brash experience, unfortunately.

But this summoning tonight was a straightforward one. Not even a tenth as difficult as the one from last night. I knew better than to be cocky—I bore a few scars from summonings that had not gone well—but I was quite familiar with Rysehl, and I knew what to expect from him.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I lifted my arms and began, my voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls as I spoke the words. Working carefully, I began by laying the shields on the room itself, then progressed to setting the wards on the diagram.

I kept my arms up as I chanted, finishing the wards, then starting in on the bindings, setting them carefully so that I could trigger them with the merest thought. Those could not fail. Demons were bound until suitable terms could be reached—an agreement on an offering in return for the demon’s service. Once terms were set, a demon’s honor wouldn’t allow it to break the agreement, but until that time the bindings kept me safe from claws and teeth and arcane perils. This was especially important when summoning the higher-level demons—the reyza and syraza and zhurn—where you had to be utterly certain that the terms were set before releasing the bindings. The higher demons did not like being summoned. In fact, some utterly despised it, submitting only after intense and protracted battle with the bindings that the summoner had in place.

Finally I lowered my arms and assessed. The first phase—the protections—was finished. I could see in my peripheral othersight the bindings and wards that wove throughout the room.

That was the easy part.

Now to summon the demon.

I took a deep breath and began to chant. There was no turning back now.

A wind rose from nowhere, swirling about my legs and teasing my hair. The fire jumped and popped in the fireplace but I continued to chant steadily, holding my concentration. The diagram began to glow more brilliantly, until the light from the floor rivaled the fireplace.

The wind grew cold and swirled angrily around the room, whipping the words from my lips and flinging them into the forming portal. The light from the chalk patterns gleamed fiendishly, near blinding in its incandescence. The wind shrieked as I raised my voice, nearly shouting the words, never stopping or pausing. If I stopped, the portal would consume me, sucking me into a nether region of neither death nor life. The wind swirled into a screeching crescendo, then hovered there.

I spoke the demon’s name.

“Rysehl.”

The instant the name left my mouth, the wind and the light vanished, as if they had never been. The name of the demon leaped out harshly into the sudden silence as my eyes burned with the afterimage of the glowing diagram. The fire still cast its light, but after the brilliance of before, I felt as if I was staring into pitch blackness.

I invoked the bindings quickly, then lowered my arms. I cautiously tested the protections, letting out my breath in satisfaction as I sensed a presence within the circle. My vision slowly cleared as I held the bindings carefully, ready and waiting for the demon to test me, to try to escape me. Rysehl never put up more than token resistance, and I already had the offering for it ready and waiting—a six-pack of Barq’s root beer. The lower demons seemed to enjoy being summoned—like kids on an adventure—and their taste in offerings ran to simple items that they found unusual and interesting. Offerings for higher demons were never simple. The razor-thin scars on my forearm were a testament to that.

I blinked furiously, peering into the circle, trying to pick out the small canine figure of the demon.

I heard a low growl and I tightened my grip on the bindings reflexively, bracing myself for a tussle with the scrappy little demon.

The growl repeated, resonating throughout the room, and was far different than any sound I’d ever heard come from any level of demon.

“Who … dares …”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a stab of shock and confusion speared through me. That was not the voice of a luhrek. This was a voice filled with power. A voice filled with menace. A voice that promised pain and suffering and a lingering death.

My heart began to slam in my chest as I looked upon the crouched figure in the center of the dark diagram. This obviously wasn’t Rysehl. I’d screwed something up, and somehow a higher-level demon had come through. I don’t understand! I thought I did everything right! My thoughts whirled in a brief burst of panicked chaos before I was able to force myself into enough focus to be able to think. The bindings. Those are still in place and intact. A sliver of calm returned. I’m fine. It’s going to be fine. It would take me only a moment to send this creature back, and I could figure out later what the fuck had gone wrong. I just had to finish the binding, close and ground the potency, then reopen the portal. I scowled blackly. If that damn burglar hadn’t come last night, I’d have known how to reverse the portal without going through all this bullshit.

“I am Kara Gillian,” I stated clearly as I rewove the potencies, naming myself as part of the binding process. I had no intention of completing terms and releasing the bindings, but the forms still had to be followed. “I have summoned you to serve me—”

The laughter stopped me—a cold sound that cut through my words and sent a chill up my spine.

“Serve you?” The voice flowed from the crouched figure, serene and vicious. “I will rend the flesh from your bones and scatter your blood to the wind.”

Oh. Shit.

I frantically gathered power to me. Screw the forms. I wanted that portal open now. This was feeling worse and worse, and I had no desire to find out what kind of patterns my innards could make on the floor. I gabbled out the chant for a dismissal.

In one fluid, graceful motion, the demon stood, and the light from the fire illuminated him fully.

I stared, slack-jawed, my words dying away. I had seen many startling things as a summoner, but not this. Never this. I hurriedly checked for signs that it was some sort of illusion or glamour, but there were none. There were twelve levels of demon that could be summoned. This was most certainly not any one of them.

He was beautiful. Angelic. White-blond hair hung in a satin-smooth fall down the length of his back. His skin glowed in the firelight, so perfect as to be ethereal. He was well muscled and tall, and the insanely incongruous thought came to me that he was probably about the same height as Captain Turnham. But this … being … wore nothing as mundane as a dress shirt and khakis. A shimmering white silk shirt hung on broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. Leather breeches the color of fresh cream fit snugly to well-muscled legs. He had the body of an Adonis.

And he looked human.

Only his crystal-blue eyes told me that this was a creature of deadly and terrifying power. Eyes that were deep and ancient, full of a dominance and strength that belied the angelic beauty of his face.

This … is no ordinary demon. Oh, shit, Kara. What the fuck have you done?

His lips curled into a smile as those eyes traveled over me, weighing and measuring me.

I swallowed hard and drew breath to restart the chant for the dismissal. I still held the bindings firm. I still had a chance.

I could feel pressure against the bindings as I choked the words out, could feel him probing, testing, but they still held. My shredded confidence steadied. I could hold this creature. He finished his lengthy appraisal of me, then looked around the room, slowly turning, still not moving from the center of the chalked diagram. Finally he returned his gaze to me.

“Ah.” He smiled. “This will prove interesting.”

I felt the bindings tremble, and then, before I could react, they snapped like threads.

I gasped in horror as the bindings unraveled and dissipated. How could he have broken them so easily? I abandoned the dismissal chant as I struggled to gather up the shreds of power. The wardings were my only hope. I threw all the potency I could seize into the diagram, seeing the runes flare into life.

His laughter mocked me as he brushed the wardings aside like old cobwebs, shattering the runes. Then he stepped out of the diagram and locked his eyes on mine as raw potency exuded from him in a smothering wave. “I am so glad you have brought me here.” His voice was calm and melodious, but in his eyes I could see a black fury.

My breath froze in my chest as I began to back away. Terror warred with barely controlled panic despite all of my training and preparation. I knew how much the higher-level demons despised being summoned, yet somehow I had fucked up and pulled this creature through—a creature that was undeniably far beyond the level of a reyza. I was about to die. And badly.

The flight reflex took over and I turned and bolted for the stairs.

And came up against a blank wall.

I stared in horror at the place where the stairs were supposed to be, then whirled back to face him. “Let me go!” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. I was far beyond any need to appear strong.

He laughed—a beautiful, musical sound that only increased my terror. “I do not hold you.” He took another step forward, his angelic features and rage-filled eyes catching the firelight. “I do not hold you at all.”

My stomach clenched. All of the bindings, the wardings, the protections were gone—useless. Even my police training would do me no good against this creature. I could feel the wood paneling of the illusory wall at my back, and I fought to control the urge that screamed at me to turn and claw a way out.

“Then where are the stairs?” I demanded, hating the note of hysteria in my voice.

He shrugged eloquently as he stepped closer. “I am responsible for careless architecture? I think not.”

He stepped to within a pace of me as I tried to press back into the wall. He reached out to touch my face, and I jerked away from his hand. A snarl curved his mouth, and then, before I could move, he seized me, holding my face in both hands, pinning me firmly though not hurting me. Yet, I thought wildly. It’s going to start hurting really soon.

He gazed down at me for at least a dozen heartbeats, eyes locked on mine as if searching through my essence—eyes that promised death and pain and vengeance. I could feel the rage that he held in check, could feel myself trembling violently in his hold, but I couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away.

Then suddenly the fury in his eyes faded. “I see,” he murmured, so softly I never would have heard it if he hadn’t been inches away from me.

I gasped for breath as my heart hammered so loudly I knew he could hear it. “Let me go … please.”

He was silent for several more heartbeats, his eyes still holding mine. Then he smiled—a dazzling sight—and gave a small laugh. “But … you do not want me to let you go.” He bent and brushed my lips lightly with his.

My heart jumped in a combination of confusion and shock. What the fuck? Surely he was toying with me. He would destroy me, but first he would humiliate me….

“No. Don’t do this,” I breathed. “Just kill me quickly. Get it over with.”

He continued to cradle my face, then trailed the fingers of one hand lightly down my throat before slowly withdrawing them. He tilted his head slightly, eyes on mine. “So eager to die,” he murmured, then laughed low in his throat, shaking his head. He no longer looked enraged. Instead, he looked amused and … delighted? I blinked, terror shifting into bafflement.

He lifted a hand and I flinched, expecting a flare of pain, but instead he merely reached out to stroke my hair, sliding his hand to the back of my neck. My confusion increased tenfold. Was this just a prelude to some sort of complex torment?

“Look,” I said, working hard to keep my voice from quavering. “I’m very sorry I summoned you. I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. Please, let me go, and I’ll dismiss you and send you back.”

He gave no indication that he heard me and trailed his other hand over my cheek and down my throat. The unmistakable caress slid slowly over the buttons of my shirt and over the swell of my breast until his hand came to rest lightly on my hip.

I stiffened and sucked my breath in through my teeth, dark memory suddenly crowding in. Another time I’d been pressed up against a wall, an unwanted touch fumbling over my body …

His eyes caught mine and a sudden shiver raced through me. I could feel the slow and gentle movement of his hand on my hip and along my side. Not so unpleasant. Not unwanted. No reason for me not to want it, to enjoy it.

I blinked. There’d been a reason. Hadn’t there?

He smiled down at me, his hand still moving in a slow caress. A tingle of warmth simmered through my body. It had been a while since anyone had touched me like that. A long while. And I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed it until this moment.

He pulled me closer with the hand cradling the back of my neck, then bent and kissed me—lightly at first, then gradually with more depth and insistence.

Oh … wow. I’d never been kissed like this before. His lips moved sensuously against mine as I briefly struggled to keep from responding to the kiss. But I didn’t struggle for long. My lips parted and I groaned softly as his tongue whispered sweetly against mine. Damn, but he was good at this. My hands reached up automatically to circle his neck, and I quickly jerked them back down. But his skin was warm and smooth, and the feel of him pressed against me made thoughts of resistance difficult. But this is no human, I reminded myself as I fought to gather my scattered wits. He was a damn good kisser, but other than that I didn’t know a thing about him. I didn’t even know what he was, except that he sure as shit wasn’t Rysehl.

I broke the kiss with a rough gasp. “Please. Stop.” I was no prude, but this felt wrong and dangerous and a thousand other things.

He slipped a hand around to the small of my back, caressing lightly as he looked down at me, ice-blue eyes echoing the faint smile on his lips. I let out a small moan at the feel of his hand. Maybe I was being silly. He obviously wasn’t going to kill me. It didn’t matter who or what he was. Would it really be so wrong to enjoy a little bit of comfort and pleasure? I deserved it. I needed it.

He lowered his head down to mine again, teasing my mouth open and quickly deepening the kiss. I groaned against the heat of his mouth as he pulled me close against him. I could feel the strength of his form, the smooth muscle of his chest and legs, and I could feel the hardness that pressed into the curve of my belly. Warmth surged through me as I felt the power of the arms that held me. His mouth was hot and sweet, and in the kiss was all the power and strength and dominance that I had seen in his eyes.

His hand slid up to gently fondle my breast, his fingers lightly circling my hard nipple through the thin silk of my shirt. I put my hands on his arms to try to push his hand from my breast, but the muscle beneath the silk of the shirt was hard as iron and soft as velvet. I moaned softly and slid my hands up higher, holding on to his shoulders. The lustrous fall of his hair tumbled over me, and the pleasant, musky smell of him filled my senses.

He broke the kiss gently and nuzzled my throat as I tipped my head back, gasping, trying to gather my scattered wits. He released me slowly, and I clutched at the wall to support my wobbly legs. Smiling, he stepped back and turned away.

I stared at him, confusion and wariness mingling with a healthy dose of horniness. He walked to the fireplace, then turned back to me, looking at me expectantly.

What the fuck just happened? I took a deep breath, feeling as if I needed more oxygen so that I could wake up. “Are—” My voice cracked. I took another deep breath and tried again. “Are you going to kill me?”

Amusement lit those crystal-blue eyes. “Do you wish me to?”

“No!” I replied quickly. I cautiously pushed off the wall and took a wavering step forward. “No, I’d really rather you didn’t.”

His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “Then I will not.” He held his hand out to me. I blinked stupidly at the proffered hand, then looked back up to his beautiful face.

“Come to me, Kara,” he said, voice rich and inviting.

“Why?” I asked, still wary. “What are you going to do?” With him across the room from me, it was easier to think clearly.

He laughed, still holding his hand out to me. “I would like to kiss you again.”

“Why?” I asked again, not moving. It wasn’t a stupid question. I was no raving beauty. I was the one who’d had a grand total of two boyfriends in my entire life, neither of whom had lasted for more than three months.

A look of surprise flickered across his face, then was gone. “Because I enjoyed it,” he responded simply. “Did you not enjoy it as well?”

I slowly walked toward him, brow furrowed. I stopped in front of him but didn’t take the proffered hand. “I did enjoy it. But … I don’t understand.”

He lowered his hand and tilted his head, regarding me. “Must you?”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. A few minutes ago I’d been absolutely certain that I was going to die a hideously painful death. Now this unspeakably powerful and gorgeous creature wanted to kiss me, and I was going to argue the point?

He gave me a dazzling smile and held his hand out again. Damn, but he was seriously hot. Was he so beautiful because he wasn’t human? His gaze met mine, his eyes displaying a power and passion that sent another wave of warmth rushing through me.

I looked away quickly, swallowing hard to regain control of my body. The sudden burn of anger in my belly helped, now that I had an idea of what was happening. “Well … yeah,” I said tightly. “I’m funny that way.” I didn’t know what he was, but I knew that he was seriously fucking powerful, and I was suddenly afraid of something other than a painful death.

“I … would be dishonored,” I said, heart pounding, “if I could not resist an unwanted act because my willingness to resist had been taken from me.”

He was silent for over a dozen heartbeats, while I kept my gaze fixed on the table in front of the fireplace. I hadn’t wanted to phrase it as an accusation, but I wanted to be sure that my meaning was understood. Cold sweat prickled my lower back as I waited for his reaction.

“You may look at me, Kara Gillian,” he said finally, voice low but still somehow managing to fill the basement with throbbing intensity. “I give you my word I will not dishonor you again.”

I wanted to sag in relief but instead cautiously slid my gaze back to him. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, regarding me with those ancient and power-filled eyes. “I will not dishonor you,” he repeated. “But I would give you what you crave.” Once again he held out his hand.

My throat tightened as I looked at his hand. He knew. Whatever he was, he knew how bitterly lonely I was, how much I just wanted to be touched.

I flushed and looked away, embarrassed and dismayed that he’d so clearly seen this weakness in me. “I’m fine,” I insisted, voice a bit louder than it probably needed to be.

“You are a summoner of demons. You are isolated among your own kind because of your power. I have seen it a thousand times over. There is no shame in that.”

I scowled, still not looking at him. He stepped closer to me and laid a hand alongside my face. “I dishonored you by seeking to compel you for the sake of my own pleasure. I would atone for that if you would allow me.”

I turned my head and met his eyes again. “Atone how?” I said with asperity. “By sleeping with me anyway?”

His thumb stroked my cheek. “By giving you what you will not find elsewhere. Comfort without secrets, without hiding. Release from the fear that has locked you away from seeking out companionship. You have been hurt, but you are safe with me, Kara Gillian,” he said, potent voice oddly gentle. “I give you my word that I will not hurt you or compel you.”

For a brief instant I wanted to laugh. How crazy was it that the “safest” way for me to get laid would be with an insanely powerful arcane creature that I’d summoned by mistake? But he’s offering me more than just “getting laid.” He understands. Where else am I ever going to find that?

I slid my hand into his grasp. He pulled me close and I went without resisting, feeling somehow relieved.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he bent to kiss me again.

Who does he think he’s kidding? The thought flashed through my mind with a distant ache, and I almost pulled away. Dark memory flared again—the horrible month after my father’s death, no longer suppressed beneath the compulsion of this arcane creature. I shivered in his arms, suddenly gripped in the hideous recall of the times I’d been pushed against the wall by the seventeen-year-old son of my foster parents. The whimpering horror as he’d thrust his hands beneath my shirt and into my pants, groping roughly and stealing from me the idea that a man’s touch could bring comfort and pleasure.

The clumsy and awkward attentions of my boyfriends had done little to dispel that. But this … this was different. His hands were warm and strong on my back, and the kiss was gentle and deep and hot all at the same time. His touch eased me, silently coaxing me to calm and granting me enticing glimpses of what an attentive and skilled lover could give. I relaxed into him, feeling the warm rush of pleasure once again as I moaned softly into the kiss. It was real this time and a thousand times better.

He broke the kiss, pulling away only far enough to slip his shirt off and cast it aside. He looked down at me, and after a brief hesitation I unbuttoned my own shirt and let it slide from my shoulders. He smiled, gaze traveling over my body as an oddly shy gratification swirled through me. His hand came up to my breast, fingers lightly encircling my nipple, and I shivered as I felt it harden against his touch. He slowly slipped his hand down to the waist of my silk pants, a line of gooseflesh springing up on my skin, following the trail of his fingers. His mouth found mine again and I leaned into the kiss with a low groan, unresisting.

He pulled me down to the thick carpet in front of the fireplace, still kissing me. His hair tumbled over me and I twined a hand in the silken mass, silently relishing the exquisite texture of it. His arms encircled me, holding me close as he shifted his hips into mine. I shuddered and threw my head back, grinding against him. I’d never felt anything like this—never had anyone shown this much passion, this much desire for me. He was showing me a world I’d given up on, giving me back what had been stolen from me.

He shifted, placing me on my back, gently parting my knees and moving between them. He kissed me deeply, his mouth strong and sensuous, then his lips moved down to kiss my throat. His tongue caressed gently over my neck, gliding further down to eventually circle my erect nipple.

I made a sound of pleasure as he caught the nipple between his lips, then between his teeth. He bit lightly and teasingly and I twined both hands into his hair, arching up into his mouth. His hand came up to fondle my other nipple, then he slowly kissed his way down my belly, fingers still lightly squeezing the captured nipple.

I sucked my breath through my teeth, shivering at the wealth of sensations. His lips traveled over the laces of my pants, tugging, then he went lower and pressed his mouth against me, biting lightly as he rolled my nipple between his fingers. I cried out, gripping his head in my hands and pressing my hips upward.

He lifted his head to look at me, one hand toying with the laces of my pants. “Do you wish to leave these on?”

I smiled down at him, silently marveling at the smooth muscle, the perfection of his body. I didn’t know what he was, but at this point it didn’t matter. He’d dishonored me by his initial compulsion of me and was repaying that small debt of honor by giving me the solace and release that an attentive partner could give. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the end result was awfully similar, but the crucial difference was that this way the choice was mine to make.

I laughed. “No, I do not.”

He tugged my pants down and off in one smooth motion, then pulled away from me just long enough to slide his own boots and breeches off, eyes flashing in what I almost thought was triumph. He returned to cover me, his deep eyes holding mine for just a moment. Then, with a sound that bordered on a growl, he slid into me. I threw my head back as he filled me, giving a shuddering moan as the heat rose between us. I rocked my hips up to his, meeting his steady thrusts.

He kissed me hungrily as he drove into me, groaning against my lips. I returned the kiss eagerly as I clung tightly to him, nails digging as my climax built. His muscles were like malleable iron beneath my hands, rippling with each driving thrust.

My climax exploded, shocking me with its depth and duration—stronger than anything I’d ever experienced before. I cried out and clutched at him as he let out a guttural snarl, emptying into me, grinding his hips into mine. I continued to lift my hips to his as he released. Finally he slowed, then stopped, his breathing deep and heavy.

He rolled to the side and wrapped his arms around me. I sighed and pillowed my head against him.

“I don’t even know who you are,” I said after a moment, looking up at him.

He stroked a finger down the line of my jaw, expression unreadable. “Your call was not for me.”

I shook my head. “No. I was trying to call a luhrek. Rysehl.”

A strange smile quirked his lips, then he kissed me lightly and stood. Baffled, I sat up and stared at him as he dressed.

“Wait,” I said, finding my voice. “Please. Who are you? I mean, I was trying to call Rysehl, but you obviously aren’t Rysehl, and I didn’t mean to call … whoever you are. So, what … er, who are you?” I realized I was babbling, and I clamped my mouth shut.

His eyes met mine, and once again the power in them took my breath away. “I am Rhyzkahl,” he said, giving me an enigmatic smile. “And, Kara Gillian, you may call me whenever you need me.”

Then he was gone.