Chapter Eight

The words, the confirmation, had come out of Erion's mouth without his consent. It was as if the beast inside him had spoken. But what beast was that? He knew what his sister and brothers' mutore sides represented. Lycos had the wolf, Helo the water snake, Phane the hawk, and Dillon the jaguar. But Erion, though he had some catlike features during his shift, was no feline. In all his long days, he had never known what he was-besides vampire and a descendant of the Breeding Male.

Until now?

His gaze narrowed on the female. Whatever he had seen in her as she'd climaxed, the change in skin color to a pale green, the ethereal glow from inside her, the electric jade eyes, was nothing compared to what he'd felt from her. The demon, her demon, had called out to him, and he'd wanted to run at it, jump inside her skin, and get lost in that strange though familiar power. It was as if he'd been branded. Her demon wanted to take and contain the part of him that understood, that connected, that desired it.

Christ, none of this made sense. He didn't know his history, and clearly he didn't know his DNA. He was mutore, a descendent of the Breeding Male gone wrong. He knew that Cruen had created the Breeding Male and that he had added in some animal DNA during the process.

But demon?

Was that even possible?

Hellen was staring at him, her face flushed, her eyes wide and glassy, her demon now hidden from view.

Erion wanted it back.

"You said you were a vampire," she uttered, shaking her head.

"I am."

"You have demon blood. How is that possible?"

"I know nothing of demons."

"I do. I am one," she said, straightening up, coming back to life from her haze of need. "You wanted to know what I am-well, now you do. And what came out of you just now, that is demon."

As her gaze roamed his face, Erion wondered if she'd liked or despised what she'd seen come out of him. "I have no answers," he said. Then added with more than a touch of derision, "I'll have to ask my adopted father."

"Who is that?"


Shock registered on her face. And if he wasn't mistaken, fear. "What?"

"The male who raised me, fed me, clothed me, and ultimately betrayed me is none other than your soon-to-be mate." The words were bitter on his tongue.

He watched her process, watched her confusion-watched her pretty brow crease with concern.

"How did he betray you?" she asked in a soft voice.

Erion hesitated, feeling grim. Cruen had betrayed him in so many ways, but keeping his true identity, his lineage, from him was the worst yet. But it wasn't something he was willing to share.

"That is my secret," he said tightly.

She watched him closely. "I knew I wasn't the only one who kept them."

"Yes, but yours is a secret no longer, demon girl."

"Which means you will release me."

He forced his bleak mood back and he moved toward her. Cruen would not have control over him anymore, not in body or in temper. "I know what you are now, but I don't know where you come from, why you've come-"

"You know why I've come, Erion." Her gaze flickered away from his for a moment.

"I don't think I do. You are too special, too exquisite to have given yourself to that manipulative, heartless, soulless vampire." He shook his head. His words, the compliment to her being, had been impetuous. And yet it was true. She was an intriguing female, and beneath her needles-and-pins exterior, lay something glorious and fiery-something he'd never experienced in any female he'd encountered. There had to be more to her engagement to Cruen than a forced claim of love.

He came to stand before her and made great effort to soften his tone. "Are you in trouble, Hellen?"

As an answer, a pained whimper escaped her. She clutched her stomach. "No," she whispered, her face scrunching up as she turned her head to the side.

Concerned, Erion reached out to touch her, but she flinched and drew back. "What is it?" he said. But just as the word exited his mouth and he inhaled the scent around him, he knew what made her moan.

"It's returning." He brushed a hand across her cheek. "This strange, problematic heat."

She turned her eyes on him, and they glittered like polished gems. Another wave of arousal tantalized his nostrils and he breathed it in and swallowed it down. What the hell had he found himself caught up in? This was supposed to have been a simple transaction: the female for the boy. It was turning out to be anything but simple. In fact, it was impossible and startling-and a potential key to his DNA, who he truly was.

She leaned in to his hand, and heat surged into his palm. He wanted to devour it. He asked, "Why is this happening to you?"

"Genetics," she uttered, pulling in her air through her nostrils. "I was born with an unfortunate destiny."

"What destiny?" he asked, knowing this was foolish, this closeness, this care. She was his bait, his ticket to Ladd. Nothing more. And yet he couldn't stop himself from asking. He couldn't turn away. "Have you had this problem, this heat, since birth?" His hand refused to draw back from her face, her skin. Her warmth.

"It happened when I shifted from girl to woman." Her gaze held his. "But I've kept it under control for a long time."


She shook her head. "No more," she begged, her nostrils flaring. "I must get to Cruen."

As she stared into his eyes and silently implored him, Erion's chest tightened. The struggle within him to protect her, touch her, hold her, breathe her in, warred with the cruel understanding that she was his currency. She didn't belong to him. It wasn't his duty to help her. Cruen would ease her torment, ease the heat that was once again spreading through her like wildfire.

Erion's nostrils flared, and he ripped his hand from her cheek with a growl.

Just the thought of Cruen touching this female made him involuntarily irrational, made him murderous, and yet he couldn't act on those possessive thoughts in his head because if he did, he would be risking the life of the balas.

And that he would never do.

"Just a few hours, now," he said, moving back, away from her, away from her scent. "You will be in the arms of your lover."

When the sadness bled from her emerald gaze like paint in the rain, and was replaced with hope, Erion wanted to shove his fist through the wall behind her and roar.

But instead he turned around and headed for the stairs, leaving her to care for herself again.

This time, without an audience.

Cruen watched them, the demon females play with the balas, Ladd. They were taking turns teaching him a game Cruen did not know, but the boy's laughter irritated him. It spoke of a brave, fearless heart. Much like his father's. And right now, that kind of internal strength made Cruen feel even weaker.

It reminded him of Titus. That washed-up Breeding Male who'd used him, used his blood, relied on him until he'd decided to abandon his goal, his work, and go soft. Helping the Roman brothers, pretending to be the father they'd always desired, when in truth he was perpetually clinging to the edge of Breeding Male status.

Where was that paven? Cruen wondered with displeasure. Where had he run to when the well had dried up? Was he a Breeding Male once again? Or was he being cared for by his children?

One of the females looked up from her game with the balas and gave him a tentative, worried smile. Cruen had assured them both that their sister would be coming home-that he'd located her and was soon to retrieve her.

What he did not tell them was that he needed to rest first. It was why he'd told Erion twenty-four hours instead of immediately. He was too weak to flash. His lip curled. He despised weakness.

One of the demon females stilled suddenly, confusion creasing her features. Then her eyes clamped shut and her lips started to move. Cruen leaned forward in his chair, nervous tension flickering to life within him. He didn't know what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, it didn't look good. Her body jerked, spasmed, and her sister gripped her arm and called her name.

Cruen fought his fear, his ire again. He couldn't have one of Abbadon's children hurt or falling ill in his care. It was enough that the Demon King's eldest, and Cruen's bride, was missing.

As quickly as the episode had come on, it retreated. The female's eyes opened and she seemed to relax. Cruen did as well, leaning back in his chair. That was until she looked up at him, her expression a mask of terror.

Cruen arched a hand over the glass and it disappeared. The action cost him big, but he knew there was no choice. He dropped back in his chair and sucked in a breath.

"What is it?" he called out in a hoarse voice.

"My father," the female called up to him. "He has just spoken to me inside my mind."

Cruen felt the blood drain from his face.

"And what does he say, female?" he ground out, utterly exhausted.

But he knew. Even before he asked and even before the female's words lifted up to scratch at his wounds.

"He knows Hellen is missing," she said, her gaze retreating. Not to her sister, but to the balas. "He is coming."

Quiver at her back, bow at the ready, Hellen ran through the Rain Fields, her bare feet pounding the ground, her vision acute, her heart determined. She was shooting at the rogues. One kill, two, three, four-ha! She wouldn't stop until they were all dead.

An arrow shot past her ear and she grinned, motioned for the one who ran just behind her to catch up. The male had missed his target, and growled his irritation as he ran beside her. Clouds rolled in at knee level, but they barreled through the moist puffs, kept pace as the male tracked, a fresh arrow in his fist, the rogue that had gotten away.

Hellen reveled in the male's company. He was a fine hunter, and they moved well together; a true partnership. And, hell, he wasn't bad to look at either.

In one fluid movement, he dropped to one knee, narrowed his gaze, and stretched his bow, flexing his impressive muscles. The arrow released, and the squeal and pop of death curled into the air.

Hellen grinned at him.

Erion grinned back. "Another round?" he asked, excitement, thrill in his tone.

Her body hummed. He was so handsome, so impassioned, his black hair falling to his naked shoulders, his diamond eyes piercing into her, his full mouth ready and willing to possess hers.

"We have hunted for more than an hour," she said in a teasing voice. "Are you sure you have more to give?"

His eyebrow lifted. "Do you challenge my stamina, demon girl?"

She laughed. She loved when he called her that. She grabbed his bow and tossed it into the Fields. Hot rain broke from the low clouds, instantly soaking them from the hips down. Hellen flashed him her demon and pushed him up against a nearby tree. He staggered back, growled at her, then grabbed her ass and lifted her to his waist. Hellen wrapped her legs around him and squeezed, then dipped her head and kissed him.

She moaned against his lips. He tasted of the Underworld, spice and heat and wickedness. Her hands wrapped around his neck, delved into his midnight-black hair, and fisted. There was a low rumble in his chest and he yanked her closer, his tongue plunging into her mouth. It wasn't a simple kiss or even a passionate one. It was survival, not being able to breathe or function unless they consumed each other's essence.

His hands dipped under her shirt, cool fingers raked up her back, and she rocked her hips against his.

"Shit! You're burning up." His voice sounded faraway instead of a few inches from her ear.

"Don't stop, Erion," she murmured, gripping him tighter. "We're just getting started. I need you."

There was another curse. "Wake up, Hellen. Wake up now before my entire household descends on this dungeon and feasts on you."

She came out of the dream on a gasp. Sweaty and confused, she opened her eyes to both the pain of desire and the face of the male who'd just held her close and kissed her fiercely.

It was a dream, demon girl, she told herself, trying to push the fog from her brain. Oh, gods, she was weakening-every inch of her, including her mind, which was conjuring up fantasies, insanities.

"What are you doing?" she said, realizing he wasn't standing in front of her anymore, watching her, studying her as he normally did.

He was at her side, keys out. One already in the lock at her left wrist.

"You're being released."

"It's time?" she said, her tone rising with happiness. "I'm going to Cruen now?"

"Your anticipatory glee disgusts me as much as it astounds me," he ground out against the click of the lock. "Perhaps save it for your mate."

She didn't care if he was angry. She was so relieved that there was an end in sight for her misery. She would have her draft soon, she would see her sisters and finish this bargain once and for all. She rubbed her wrists as he dropped down and swiftly took care of the shackles on her ankles. Her destiny would be realized, Polly and Levia would be safe, and she would never have to know or access or deny the ultimate power of being her father's firstborn.

"Hey!" she called out as Erion stood and gathered her up in his arms. "I'm capable of walking."

"You've had your limbs caged. I'm sure you're weak."

She tried not to think about how good his chest felt against her side. "My limbs were caged because of you."

He nodded. "Exactly. It is only right that I care for you as punishment for my crimes."

His crimes. Was he actually trying to make nice here? Humor and chivalry? "That's really sweet and obnoxious and all, but I'm not weak, Erion. I don't get weak." My beloved and protective mother saw to that early on.

Erion chuckled softly as he carried her up the stairs. "Doesn't scent that way to me."

"That's a different kind of weakness," she clarified.

"Yes, it is, but I cannot assist you in taming that heat," he said, shifting her in his arms, pulling her closer. "So this will have to do."

"So, I'm a demon in distress."

"Stop being ornery and just relax. Enjoy the ride."

The ride. His words brought back the dream she'd just had. Him against the tree, her straddling his waist.

As she'd revisited that foolish fantasy, she hadn't been noticing where they were going. Or where they weren't. Not outside as she'd assumed, but up several flights of stairs.

Her hot skin prickled and her muscles tensed. "Where are we going?"

"I asked you to relax."

"You said it was time."

"No, you said it was time. I said I was releasing you." He reached the top of the staircase, breathing easily as if he carried nothing at all. "Before we go we need to clean you up a bit. Don't want your lover seeing you like this, do you?"

"Like what?" she said, suddenly indignant.


"I wasn't ravished."

"Yes, you were. I saw it with my own eyes." His voice dropped to a ragged, husky whisper. "Don't think I'll ever forget it."

She didn't speak. Couldn't. It was one thing to push against the need, the heat, the desire snaking through her system, but having Erion remind her what had happened in the dungeon-what he had witnessed, what his eyes and mouth and skin had looked like when she'd claimed her orgasm, was something else entirely. It not only inflamed the already debilitating heat, but it made her yearn for something she should never want.

She just had to keep reminding herself that soon she'd be with Cruen, soon the draft would cleave to her veins, cooling her blood and making her rational once again.

"It wouldn't help either of our causes if you met him looking like a woman of the streets," Erion continued, stopping before a heavy wood door.

"I don't know what a woman of the street is," she said as he carried her inside a large, well-lit room. "But I don't think I like the sound of it. I'm sure I look decently presentable-"

She stopped speaking because he'd crossed the room and placed her in front of a mirror. Her sisters used mirrors in the Underworld, but Hellen never had. It had always seemed like a waste of time and, frankly, just another reason to feel bad about her appearance. Kind of like now, she mused, her eyes moving from foot to face in a slow progression.

"Oh. My."

Erion grunted. "Indeed."

She whirled on him, the vision of her wild hair; tear-soaked face; and dirty, wrinkled gown still weighty in her mind. "Let us not forget whose fault it is that I look so improper and so . . . ugly."

The violent look that crossed his features made her heart stutter, and she drew back.

"Call yourself that again and you will be back in chains," he said. "Do you understand me?"

She gaped at him, stunned at his words, his passion.

"You need a bath, yes," he continued, "your hair combed, and a new gown, but your beauty is irrefutable and not to be insulted."

Hellen had said but minutes ago how weakness was not a part of her person. She had been schooled by her mother to not only never show weakness, but to smile in the face of fear. That advice had served her well in the Underworld. It had kept her clearheaded and brave when dealing with her father, while allowing her to look at her future without resentment. But this male and his impassioned opinion regarding her appearance was not something she could smile at or write off. Perhaps because instead of making her feel weak, his words filled her with a strange new sense of strength.

She caught his gaze, resolute yet concerned, and knew it was vital that she get to Cruen as quickly as possible. This demon bloodsucker who kept her prisoner, scolded her for self-flagellation, looked at her as though he'd never seen anything so intriguing or so desirable, could be her downfall if she allowed him to be.

If given the opportunity, he could do great damage to the house of cards she'd built. He could have the power to make her see herself differently, change her opinion of herself. Want for more than she believed she deserved.

"We don't have much time," he said, yanking her from her thoughts as he walked over to a white oval structure that stood about five feet off the ground. "I have had this drawn for you."

Hellen stared at the oval and at the steam that rose from its center. It was filled with hot water. "What is it?"

"You're not serious."

She looked up at him blankly.

His mouth lifted at the corners. "It's a bath. For washing."

She shook her head. "I've never seen such a thing before."

Erion looked amazed. "How do you clean yourself in the . . . ?"

"Underworld," she provided, then shrugged. "We have rain, hot rain, and a fragrant flower that grows and provides us with a powder to wash with. It's all we need."

"The Underworld," he repeated, looking thoughtful. "That's where the coach emerged from, and the horses, their skin as thin as paper. That is where you live?"

Hellen felt a bite of pain near her heart. "Where I used to live," she corrected. "This is my world now."

His gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared. "You should wash while the water is heated." He gestured to her. "Remove your dress."

Her eyes shot to his. "No."

"You cannot bathe with clothes on."

She lifted her chin. "Then perhaps I will not bathe at all."

His fangs dropped all the way, and as they stared at each other, the room seemed to grow very dim, as if the sun were afraid to emerge.

"If you do not wash yourself," he said in a soft, deadly voice, "I will be forced to do it for you."

Fear and heat fused inside her. "Do you enjoy humiliating me?"

His jaw tightened, but his eyes held no ire. "No."

"Then why this brutish, caustic, egotistical way of yours? The inappropriate demands?"

He stepped toward her, invading her space. "I only want what's mine returned, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that happens without incident."

Her hands went to her hips. "Cruen will be fine just to have me returned."

"I will not risk it."

"You will not risk your treasure!"

"No, I will not!"

Hellen bit her lip, bit back the wave of heat that was assaulting her. His treasure. What was it? Who was it? And why did it make her hurt and angry and jealous that it meant so damn much to him?

"If you want to see your beloved today or ever again," he said with quiet vehemence, "you will do as I say." He nodded at her feet. "Shoes first, then stockings, then your dress."

Hellen fought with the idea of telling him to fuck off, telling him she wasn't about to get naked in front of him-that if he wanted her clothes removed, he was just going to have to do it himself. But she knew her words meant nothing and her threats gave him permission.

Gods, she needed to go home. She needed her draft. She needed to seal this bargain with Cruen. And this was her chance-probably her only chance. Lest she forget, Erion had seen her touch herself, cry out in orgasm. What was a few feet of skin compared to that humiliation?

She hissed but began to undress. First she toed off her shoes, then tossed them over her shoulder. A canine yelp sounded, and she glanced over to the bed where the mongrel slept. Her shoe now lodged in his mouth, the little beast jumped from the bed and tore across the room and out the door.

"The canine is still here?" she said, staring at the open door, her feet bare.

"He refuses to leave me."

She turned back to face him. "Perhaps you do have a soft heart beneath all of that battle armor, Erion."

"No, demon girl," he said. "Never be foolish enough to believe that."

Hellen looked at him curiously, but he wouldn't allow her to study him. He pointed to her feet. "Stockings, please. We waste time."

She heaved a breath, pulled off one stocking, then the other, and deposited them in a little pile on the rug.

"Now the dress," he said.

This was madness, and yet what choice did she have? She gave him an impertinent glare. "I need help with the laces."

He made a circle with his index finger. "Turn around."

"You are getting entirely too much pleasure from bossing me around," she said, giving him her back.


Erion growled softly. Pleasure was the last thing he was feeling in that moment. Pain, frustration, desperation, concern, desire . . . nothing even remotely close to pleasure.

He came to stand behind her and tried like hell not to breathe her in, but it was impossible. His lungs had tasted her scent in the dungeon and ached for more, ached for their fix. His nostrils flared and he pulled her in. Ahhhhh . . . Her scent was intense, intoxicating, and the heat poured off her body in waves. He wondered if it had been wise to draw her a hot bath. Perhaps cool water was needed to soothe her skin.

She was nape to waist laces, and he made quick work of them, easing them out two at a time with his index fingers until her back was exposed. Erion hated Cruen more every second, every pale, smooth inch that was exposed to his greedy gaze. But though his hands itched to touch her, encircle her waist, rake up her stomach and ribs until he captured her breasts, she wasn't his prize to claim.

His cock strained against his zipper and he forced himself to remember what they were doing in his room. Getting her clean, getting her perfect for the one who held Ladd.

She stepped away from him then, turned, and held the bodice of her dress to her breasts. "You can go."

"No." He was foolish, reckless, but unable to deny himself.

"Dammit, demon! My body is not for your eyes."

"I know perfectly well who your skin belongs to," he ground out. "But I won't allow you the chance to escape."

She looked nonplussed. "Why would I escape now? You are bringing me to Cruen."

His head cocked to one side and he had to force himself to remain still. "I wouldn't dare to guess what goes on in your brain, female. What games you play, what tricks you pull. Now remove the gown. We don't want to be late."

Her cheeks flushed. "You are acting like an animal."

"I believe I am acting like a demon."

Her jaw went tight and Erion wondered if she would fight him on this-and how he would respond if she did. But just as he took his next breath, she lifted her hands and let the gown fall. Perhaps it pooled at her feet, a great puff of white. Erion didn't know. He didn't care. His eyes were nowhere near the floor. They were wide and hungry and feasting on every inch of her creamy white skin. He'd suspected she was utter perfection beneath her gown, and he'd been right. Her legs were long, her hips round and ripe for a male's hands to grip and guide toward his own. Her waist was small and flared upward to a set of the most beautiful, mouthwatering breasts he'd ever beheld.

His hands no longer itched at his sides.

Now they ached.

"All of it, demon girl," he said quietly.

He heard her swallow and take a quick, nervous breath as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her white silk underwear and eased them down over her luscious hips. The moment she stepped out of them and stood before him completely and gloriously naked, Erion lost his mind. He turned and roared, stalked toward the open bedroom door, and slammed it shut with a bone-clattering bang that was meant as a grave warning to all who dwelled within his castle.

Come near this room and die.

When he rounded on her again, Hellen was standing there, staring at him, tall and beautiful, her chest rising and falling, her nipples beading in the cool air.

"What now?" she asked.

His jaw clamped shut, his molars grinding with frustration. He chastised himself. You did this, foolish male. You brought her here, made her undress, and now you can barely breathe for wanting her. Remember your purpose-remember her purpose. He had to get her clean, had to deliver her to Cruen just as he'd found her, as he'd taken her. Unharmed, untouched.

"In the water," he growled. Now. Before I bend you over the side of my bed and finally make use of it.

She gripped the side of the tub and stepped in. Her hiss as skin met hot water drove blood to his groin and heightened his foul mood.

"Sit down," he demanded.


His gaze ripped to her and narrowed. "Why not?"

She stood there, a goddess, a demon goddess in white skin and flaming curls both on her head and between her legs. Erion licked his lips.

"I don't like the feeling of sitting in water," she said. "I won't."

"You are trying to be a pain in my ass," he growled, crossing the room and grabbing a small towel and a bar of soap from the table beside the bathtub. He knelt down and plunged the washrag into the water, scrubbed it with the soap until he created a substantial lather, then uttered the terse command, "Don't move."

Her hands fisted at her sides, but she stilled, remained silent as he reached down and dragged the hot, soapy cloth over her calves, then behind her knees. When he moved up her thighs, avoiding the red curls that called to him like a lover, she gasped and his cock pressed hard against his zipper. She was so close, heat surging from every pore of her skin and entering the atmosphere around them. He gritted his teeth against the growl of desire that wanted to escape his lungs and throat. He wanted to go slow, hours if he could manage it, explore every inch, let the cloth be his excuse to know her. Shit, this was madness. Though his nostrils were heavy with her scent and his tongue ached to be heavy with her cream, he forced himself to remain on task.

That is, until the rag brushed against her belly and she moaned deep and pained and sensually, and she stepped wider apart, granting him a perfect view of her pink pussy lips.

He fisted the wet rag and cursed blackly, violently.

"I am holding as still as I can," she said, mistaking his desire for irritation. "You are rough. I can't help shifting to keep my balance."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and he knew they were pitch-black and untamed. "Your scent makes me insane."

"Your scent does the same to me," she said, her breathing gently labored, her skin flushed.

Erion watched as one lone teardrop of sweat fell from her forehead onto her cheek. He licked his lips. The bead continued to move over her jaw, down her neck and collarbone, until it rose and fell over her nipple. His throat was so dry. That bead of sweat would quench his thirst; he was certain of it. It continued, building speed as it trailed down one side of her ribs, made a gentle left near her navel, then dropped, disappeared, into the arousal-soaked curls of her sex.

Erion cast the washcloth into the tub and brought his hands around her hips to cup her backside.

"I need it, Hellen," he groaned, filling his palms with hot, plush skin. "I need to taste you, bury my tongue inside you." He looked up, flashed her his fangs. "Just once."

She stared down at him, her mind working, desire and panic and uncontained heat making her limbs tremble. "You won't hurt me?"

"Never," he said passionately. He couldn't. He knew that weakness within himself now. He could contain her, quarrel with her, desire her, and miss her, but he could never harm her.

Her eyes darkened and she raked her teeth over her bottom lip. "Then wash me, Erion," she breathed, her eyes mirroring his desperation. "Use your tongue and lick me clean."

It was all he needed.

His hands left her soft, taut backside and came around to where she truly ached. He spread her open with his thumbs. Pink, so damn pink. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he growled at the wetness leaking from her cunt. He'd never been so hungry, so desperate to taste anything in his life.

"Erion, please," she begged, her knees flexing slightly.

He leaned forward and licked her. The honey that met his tongue made his cock pulse, while the scent of her unrelenting heat made the tip bead with come.

"You are so beautiful, demon girl," he whispered. "So hot I'm desperate to get burned. So wet I want to drown."

His tongue lapped at her again, tended to both sides of the hard, swollen ridge before coming home to her clit. He circled the hot, tight pearl until her moans reached a fevered pitch. Then he eased back and looked up at her.

"Touch your breasts, Hellen," he commanded as he pressed a finger inside her and stroked the tight velvet passageway of her sex. "I want to see you squeeze your nipples as I suckle your clit."

"Oh, gods," she moaned, grasping her breasts as her hips swung forward and back.

Erion eased another finger inside her cunt and fire-hot juices spilled around both his digits. Shit, I'm going to come just from touching her, he thought, as he watched her release her breasts and pinch and flick her nipples.

"Please, Erion," she begged as the room filled with the luscious scent of her heat. "Please. I need to come. Right now, before I lose my mind. Please."

Erion would never admit to it later, but in that moment, Hellen owned him. Her scent had taken up residence in his lungs, her moans directed the swell of his cock, and her pussy possessed his tongue. He eased his fingers from her tender cunt, spread her lips as wide as he could manage, and suckled her. Her clit instantly swelled in his mouth and he couldn't help himself: his fangs elongated and they bracketed the hot bud. Just those tiny pinpricks combined with the rhythmic sucking of her clit made Hellen cry out. But it was no ordinary cry of pleasure. It was a scream, a sound so high-pitched, so otherworldly, the glass in the mirror by the bed moaned, then shattered.

The violent crash made Erion growl against her flesh, made him so deviantly hungry he slid his mouth all over her, dipping his tongue inside her, pressing his fangs closer, suckling her swollen clit until her legs shook, her back arched, and she came hard and uncontrolled.

For several moments, she rocked her cunt back and forth against his tongue, his mouth, his wet jaw, until her breathing began to slow and her moans turned to whimpers. And then she pulled back from him, sighed, and sat down in the water.

Erion stared at her, watched as she picked up the soap and the cloth he'd discarded and began to wash herself in earnest. Confusion commingled with the intensity of his desire and the raging hard-on in his jeans. She was in the water. Sitting in the water. She'd said . . . She'd said she wouldn't sit in the water, wouldn't wash herself . . . She'd forced his hand . . . She'd made it so he would have to-

His gaze narrowed and he growled, his anger another being in the room. "You lied to me."

"Yes." She sounded calm, clearheaded.

"You lied to me so I would touch you, lick you, get you off."

She looked over at him, her red hair a mass of wild curls, her cheeks stained with pink from her climax, and her green demon eyes a little glassy. "It wouldn't do to have me arrive sexually charged. Cruen might suspect something happened between us."

Erion couldn't believe what he was hearing-what he was seeing.

"You could've touched yourself," he snarled, coming to his feet. His fucking cock was like granite. "You didn't need me!"

"Yes, I could have," she said coolly, then shrugged. "But you wanted to, and I wanted you to."

He pointed at her. "Shut up!"

"Don't be angry. Think about it. If he suspected you touched me, he wouldn't give you what you're after." She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "It wouldn't have helped either of our causes. Now, would it?"

Erion's nostrils flared and he slowly backed up, his hands fisted. "You are a . . . a . . . DEMON!" he roared.


And with that, she slipped down beneath the water.

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