He soon had a blazing fire started, and she leaned forward to luxuriate in the warmth, lids growing heavy. He exhaled, his eyes darkening on her, and a sudden jolt of power hit her like a Mack truck. He was satisfied merely having her here.
And just a thread of his happiness had powered her like this?
He was stronger than any other Lore creature, his kind the most vicious. Everything about him was magnified. It figured that he would be able to give her the most power.
She'd bet sex with him would make him very satisfied.
The demon was turning out to be an unpredictable, feral, bone-and-head-collecting, sexually ravenous happiness battery.
She swallowed. All I have to do is plug him in.
Chapter 13
My female, in my home. No longer would he pass nights alone down here. He had a mate, a companion.
As she leaned closer to the fire, the light flickered over her raven-black hair, the flames reflecting in her green eyes. She had the sultriest eyes. And he couldn't seem to pull his gaze away.
At last, his woman was with him. Here to be sheltered by him, to be claimed by him.
The idea of protecting her aroused Malkom. As did the idea of providing food for her. He could imagine her expressing her gratitude with her body ... or her mouth.
Eyes locked on her full lips, he stifled a groan, recalling what she'd said in Demonish. He envisioned her asking once more when she was on her knees, naked before him. In their negotiation earlier, she'd said nothing about his using his mouth on her - or her doing the same.
Malkom had never had his member sucked, had never received that pleasure. No matter how many times I was forced to wring it from another, he thought darkly, his muscles knotting with tension before he shook away that age-old resentment.
He'd always wondered how it would feel - wondered what was so remarkable about the act that it could make a male weak in the knees, could make him crave it again and again.
Could she be coaxed to satisfy his curiosity once and for all?
Maybe she would let him do even more this night? Yes, she'd stipulated no intercourse, but only out of fear that he'd hurt her. Naturally, he'd made no vow about that, because as soon as he'd proved he could touch her without paining her, he intended to take her body.
But he had vowed not to drink her, and he would try to honor his oath, at least until he could explain what the act meant to him, and why she could deny him no longer.
On the hike here, he'd realized that with this woman, the Thirst didn't rule him.
The sense of connection did. As he'd taken her neck, he'd never felt more bound to another in his entire existence.
But did I really make her head hurt from drinking her? He thought back to his youth, trying to remember his own reactions....
For now, he'd sate himself on animal blood, would be forced to even this night. Though he'd drunk her blood, he'd lost still more defending her.
Her stomach growled then. Reminded that she must be starving, he shot to his feet, promising to return with a feast of game birds for her to cook.
He held up his forefinger, telling her she should wait there. She would be safe within his den. Beasts avoided this place instinctively. And his foes like Ronath couldn't trace. Even if the armorer had learned that skill in the intervening years, he couldn't teleport directly into the mine shaft, a place he'd surely never been.
When she gave no response, Malkom scowled and held up his finger more insistently.
With a roll of her eyes, she gestured to the fire, plainly saying, As if I'd leave this.
Filled with a new purpose, he set out into the night, hunting swiftly, determined to provide for her. A half hour later, on his return, he stopped at a small collection pool to refill the canteen. As usual, he was uneasy beside the water. He began to sweat whenever he neared anything larger than a puddle, had since he was a boy.
For the first time in centuries, he forced himself to kneel so he could look at his reflection. Wondering how she saw him, he peered down.
He had horns and fangs; she did not. While her skin was smooth and clean, his was dirty, his face covered with stubble. His clothes were rough-hewn and tattered.
And those were merely the detractions that could be seen.
He could neither read nor cipher numbers, and his birth could not be lowlier. I was a slave and ill used....
I killed the only friend I ever had. With a scowl, he hit the water, scattering the reflection.
While he was gone, Carrow peeled off her boots and hose, casting a spell to heal her feet, courtesy of the demon. Once her skin was mended, she wiggled her toes in the fine sand.
And she still had some power left over. If she got enough happiness out of him, she could do some bigger spells, maybe even a three on the Wiccan scale of five. She had a particular one in mind.
Determined to keep some juice on tap, she decided she'd allow herself only one more healing - either the bite on her neck, the bruise on her chest, or her wrist. The wrist was healing on its own, and the bite mark wasn't nearly as bad as the first. This time he'd pierced her skin cleanly, with no tearing.
As if he'd gotten better at it. She shivered again, recalling how it'd felt. A spike of pain, then warm pleasure.
She gazed down at her chest, cringing at the bruised outline of the demon's huge hand. The discoloration stretched nearly from shoulder to shoulder. Chest it is.
Another spell, and the bruise disappeared.
Shortly after, Slaine returned with a full canteen and two dead fowl of some sort. They looked like a cross between a pheasant and a chicken.
His eyes briefly widened at her unblemished feet, then he tried to hand the "phickens" to her.
"What do you expect me to do with them?" She shrugged with an I got nothing expression.
He launched into another spate of low Demonish, this time using her name. She felt like a cartoon dog listening to its owner: "Blah blah blah CARROW blah blah."
"Whatever." She pointed to the canteen.
At length, he handed it to her. As she drank, he ripped off one bird's head as smoothly as pulling a cork out of a wine bottle. When he lifted the body to guzzle the blood, she spit out the water, about to throw up.
With a scowl at her reaction, he took the creatures outside, returning once the cheasants were cleaned, dressed, and doubtless drained.
She turned away as he spitted them over the flames. But once they began roasting, she couldn't take her eyes off them. Though she was starving, and the meat smelled so good, she didn't know if she could eat it.
Carrow wasn't a vegetarian by any means, but if he had handed her those birds before he'd killed them, they would've become pets. Part of her mourned CluckCluck and Chanticleer.
Even so, her mouth watered, her stomach growling loudly, and he smirked, his expression saying, Bet you're glad you came with me.