Except, his libido wasn’t completely dead. Not around Serena.
When she had touched him just now, his body had erupted like a newly awakened volcano. That, combined with the sudden bout of poison sickness, had sent his nervous system into stimulation overload, and he’d had to get out of there. His body had felt pulled in several different directions, and he hadn’t been sure how he’d react. He could easily have pounced on her for sex. Pounced on her for blood. Or thrown up in the middle of the room.
Fantastic choices, all of them. Kill her with sex, kill her by bleeding her out, or just really gross her out.
Shaking violently, he sank to the floor and took deep, calming breaths. When the room stopped spinning, he dug through his duffel and tossed a half-dozen items on the tile before grabbing a unit of O-negative from the cold pack. Gods, he hated cold blood, but he didn’t trust himself to hunt right now. His bouts of illness were coming more often, and the last thing he needed would be to catch a meal and get sick while feeding, leaving himself vulnerable.
He supposed he could go to UG, where he could find a willing female to satisfy his nutritional and sexual needs, but at this point he didn’t think he could get it up for anyone but Serena, and how humiliating to not be able to perform. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
Besides, he couldn’t handle seeing his brothers. The bomb they’d dropped on him had torn him open and apart. He’d been willing to give his own life to save Serena, had been okay with sacrificing UG. But how could he turn his back on his brothers after all they’d done for him?
He couldn’t.
He shot up with the anti-libido medication, and immediately, the pump of arousal in his groin mellowed out, and his skin, which had felt too tight for his body, loosened. He tossed the syringe into the garbage. Puncturing the bag of blood with his teeth, he took a long, slow pull to swallow the pills.
He gave himself fifteen minutes to finish his meal, brush his teeth, and shower, and then he dressed in sweatshorts and a T-shirt, and carefully re-packed his bag so his blood packs and meds were buried beneath his clothes. A muffled beeping noise drew his attention to the phone in his pocket. Eidolon’s callback number flashed on the screen, but Wraith wasn’t in the mood.
Between his brothers’ announcement and Serena’s true confessions, he was hanging from his last thread of sanity.
He couldn’t believe she’d confided in him like that. He should be thrilled that she trusted him enough, but guilt was starting to eat at him for the deception he was carrying out, and the more she trusted him, the more she cared about him… the more he hated himself.
And f**k if he was going to let Byzamoth near her again.
Anger flushed through his veins at the very thought. He’d suspected that the demon had been after her charm, but to hear confirmation from her had set him alight. If she was going to lose her charm, it would be to someone who gave her the most intense pleasure of her life.
It would be Wraith.
Except… even with his brothers’ lives at stake, could he really do it now? The idea that she would die because of him hadn’t thrilled him from the beginning, but now he’d gotten to know her. Care about her.
Man, he was a really sucky demon and a terrible excuse for an incubus.
Maybe… maybe he could save her. E might be wrong about his ability to cure her. If Wraith could take her virginity and make sure she survived, everyone would win. Hell, he’d done the impossible last year when he’d found the cure for Shade’s curse. Okay, so he didn’t find the cure, exactly, but he found the means to activate the cure. And the same demoness who had helped Wraith go through his s’genesis early could surely cure Serena.
Feeling better than he had since this whole thing began, he headed back to Serena’s bedroom.
When he reached her closed door, he took a bracing breath and knocked, cursing the wild pounding of his heart. She opened the door, hair wet and wearing a Family Guy nightshirt that somehow covered too much and not nearly enough.
“I showered,” she blurted, her face taking on an adorable blush as she tugged down the nightshirt.
As if doing so would make him stop admiring her legs.
And… adorable? Had he really thought that? Gods, he was going soft.
He needed to kill something.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, and he nodded as he strode inside.
“Chronic headaches. Took some aspirin.” He glanced at the tray of food that was still too full. “You need to eat more.”
“I will. I was just waiting for you to get back. You didn’t find any demons lurking in the hotel, did you?”
Just one. “Nope. We’re demon free.” When she didn’t answer, he cupped her freshly clean cheek with one hand. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to go?” He really needed her to say yes.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled his hand in a gesture so affectionate, so tender, he felt something inside break a little. “I want you to stay,” she said softly. “I’m just not used to spending the night, you know, with a man.”
“Yeah, me either,” he teased, and she laughed, lightening the mood. “So, Family Guy, huh?”
Her smile socked him right in the heart. “It’s a guilty pleasure. Stewie is so wicked. I love him.”
“He’s the best.” He grinned. “I figure if I ever had a kid, that’s what he’d end up like.”
“I doubt that.” Serena climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
She was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn’t tell her why, so it was pointless to argue. Instead, he eased onto his back next to her, careful to stay as close to the edge as he could, not wanting to spook or touch her. Well, he wanted to touch her, but the way she lay there, stiff and eyeing the door like she wanted to bolt, told him now wasn’t the time.
“How’s your head?” he asked, and she rolled to face him.
“Better. Thank you.”
He stared at the ceiling. “You really shouldn’t thank me for anything.”
“Remember that conversation about you being an ass?” Her fingers came down lightly, hesitantly, on his right arm, which lay across his abs. “Just let me be grateful.”
He’d be grateful if she stopped touching him. Stopped using the pads of her fingers to trace his dermoire, the most sensitive part of his body. Well, the second most sensitive.
She used the backs of her nails to stroke one of the symbols on his wrist. “What’s the significance of your tattoos? They’re extraordinary. Sometimes they seem to actually move.”
That was because they did. Usually during sex or while using his gift. They would glow or pulse, sometimes appearing to writhe. “Trick of the light,” he said smoothly. “They’re sort of a history of my family. My dad’s side.”
“Really? How? The designs are familiar.”
“Ancient Amorite,” he lied. They were actually Sheoulic, symbols and words in the demon language. “My father’s family is big on tradition.”
“I know you never knew him…”
“So why get the tats?” He couldn’t very well tell her he was born with them, but lying to her was becoming harder to do. “It’s a family thing. I’m tight with my brothers, and we all wanted to do something together, so we got the tattoos. Corny, I know.”
“No, it’s not. It’s cool. It would be great to have family like that.”
“What about you? I know your parents aren’t around, but brothers? Sisters?”
“Neither. My mom was pregnant when she died.”
Giving comfort wasn’t something he was used to or good at, so he said simply, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She wriggled closer, so her head was on his shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“No,” he croaked. “Feels good.” Right down to his dark soul, it felt good. “So, what happened to you after she died?”
“Her will specified that I be raised in a convent. So I grew up with nuns who were really disappointed that I didn’t become one myself.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” The idea that she’d grown up with nuns, well, it gave him the jeebies. The things she would have learned, about sin, about sex… a weight settled deep in his gut. Even if he got the sex, they wouldn’t be friends or have a relationship… and good Gods, what the hell was he thinking? Friendship? Relationship?
Motherfucking poison. Eidolon had said it would turn his organs to mush, but he hadn’t said anything about his brain.
She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him like he was some sort of mystery and she was f**king Sherlock Holmes. “You don’t like being touched, do you?”
He liked it when she touched him. Liked it too much, which was the problem.
“I’m not used to it.”
“Me either.”
“I’ll bet, seeing how you’ll die if you have sex. That would suck.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t mean I can’t do other things.” Her voice was husky and low, touched him in places her fingers couldn’t reach, and he couldn’t stop himself from turning to her. “Like the other night.”
“What are you saying?” He knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“I’m saying I want to be with you. In whatever way we can.”
Serena welcomed the firm pressure of Josh’s soft lips against hers. He took his time, first brushing his lips across hers and then flicking his tongue over her bottom lip before catching it in his teeth. The little pinpoints of his sharp canines made her gasp at the pinch of both pleasure and pain.
He licked where he’d bitten, a warm sweep of his tongue over her sensitive inner lip. Her mouth opened for him, and so did her legs as he settled his h*ps between them. She cocked her knees to allow for greater contact, and nearly groaned at how well they fit together, his erection cradled by her sex, with only the thin barriers of her underwear and his shorts between them.