Wicked Abyss
Page 52
The garment was a female’s, which soured Lila’s mood even more. Who did it belong to? After appropriating it, she climbed from the tub to the slippery floor. “Please give my thanks to whichever demoness owns this robe.”
“I conjured that for you.”
Over her shoulder, she said, “Did you happen to conjure any other clothes?”
“We’ll sort that out in the morning.” Droplets of water flew through the room when he shook his hair and wings out. “For now, we’ll sleep. Into the bed with you.”
She tossed a towel back in his direction, hoping he’d wrap it around his waist, then padded out of the bathroom.
Resigned to sharing a bed, she settled under the luxurious covers far to one side, turning her back to him.
The demon’s weight pressed down on the mattress beside her.
“Have you been with a lot of females in this bed?” Why did she even care?
“None. I’ve never brought anyone to my bedroom but you. By the way, wife, we sleep without clothes.”
She tensed. “How do I know you won’t do things to me when I’m asleep? Trusting you with my body when I’m awake is one thing. Being naked and defenseless with you is another.”
He exhaled. “I vow not to ‘do things’ to you as you slumber tonight.”
With a huff, she sat up and removed the robe, tossing it to the foot of the bed.
He pulled her against his naked body, spooning her. His dick pressed insistently against her lower back and ass, his intoxicating scent surrounding her.
“And you will sleep within my wings every night.” He lifted her to slip a wing under her side, his other draping over them—which put one of his lethal wing claws in front of her face.
“Seriously, demon?”
He retracted it. “Better?”
“Must we do this?”
“We must.” Each wing was warm and soft on the inside, like a blanket out of the dryer. Such a difference from the cold stone she’d slept on.
As a storm gathered strength outside, she felt safe and warm and found herself relaxing against him.
Too bad the Lôtn head was staring right at her. That mounted trophy must be a demon treasure beyond calculation, but did it have to look over the bed she’d be sleeping in?
As her lids grew heavy, she thought of a question she’d always wondered about. “Why did your ancestor come to this place?” Abyssian’s ancestors will be my children’s ancestors.
Then, with a pang, she remembered she wouldn’t have children. Unless she became a widow.
His chest rumbled against her as he murmured, “A tale was passed down that he saw a strangely colored flame on the horizon, a flare of blue in the middle of blackness. He couldn’t stop looking at that flame, dreaming of it, obsessing over it. He somehow understood that it was his beacon, a point of reference from which to view all other things. He knew that if he kept his eyes on that light, all would be well. The hellfire led him to Pandemonia.”
Abyssian’s line was legendary, his ancestors discovering new worlds. Her line was . . . shameful.
“Calliope, you were fated to come here. To come to me.” He clutched her closer, exhaling as if with bliss. “You are now exactly where you belong.” The satisfaction in his tone made her wonder if he’d been waiting ten thousand years to say those words.
Calliope’s breaths had grown deep and even. His mate was sleeping in his arms.
Yet Sian felt as if he were the one dreaming.
I wed my female. I have her safe in my bed. Within the protection of my wings. He stifled a groan at the feel of her. Calliope’s curves would bring a lesser demon to his knees.
Sian leaned in, greedily inhaling her scent. His mate’s scent was ideal to him, at once soothing his mind and enlivening his body. In all his travels across thousands of realms, he’d never encountered anything like it.
Though fatigue weighed on him, his cock hardened even more. By all the gods, she is . . . mine.
He’d intended to maintain his distance with her, drawing on his long-seething hatred. Yet after what he’d experienced over the night—from their pleasure by the goldfall to their cataclysmic encounter in the bath—distance was the last thing on his mind.
He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or how to be a husband, but he could try to prepare for his new bride’s day-to-day needs: food, clothing, and shelter. His lips curved. The care and feeding of my fey. At last, he would fulfill his instincts to protect and provide!
Food. He would talk to his steward about smuggling in a steady supply of Sylvan fare.
Clothing. Already taken care of with a mystical dressing room. When the queen of hell entered her wardrobe, it would perceive her mood and provide whatever she imagined wearing.
Shelter. Perhaps her idea of luxury differed from his. She doubtless wanted his—their—bedroom to look different.
He gazed at the Lôtn that had hung above the mantel since the castle had been completed. She wasn’t a fan. Granted, the head was grisly. And it did loom over the bed.
He’d remove it tomorrow, then ask her what other changes she might like. Just in case, he’d have her things brought from her apartment as well.
With her needs planned for, he racked his brain for anything—anything—he and Calliope had in common. Not their species, ages, affiliations, backgrounds, cultures, political views, friends, or experiences.
Sian’s likes—his alliance, demon delicacies, combat—would count as her dislikes.
He could come up with only two commonalities: they enjoyed reading. And they would both be in sore need of release again soon.
Pleasure would bond them, serving as their foundation.
All those years ago, when he’d been in Sylvan, he would lie in bed and dream that Kari was his. Staring at the ceiling, he’d imagined being able to touch her whenever he had the impulse.
To explore her naked body. Or bury his face in her hair for more of her scent. To kiss her lips and draw a moan from them.
His fantasies about her had changed, just as he had. Calliope too was different from Kari. He knew Kari would never have stroked his horns, receiving him with abandon. But Calliope . . . might.
He could almost be thankful to the hell-change curse for bringing him new ones.
If he was patient and gentle, in time he could train his wife’s body to crave more of his—
She rolled over in sleep, turning to him. He smoothed a lock from her cheek. Her eyes darted behind her lids, her expressions shifting from happiness to a brows-drawn look.
“I conjured that for you.”
Over her shoulder, she said, “Did you happen to conjure any other clothes?”
“We’ll sort that out in the morning.” Droplets of water flew through the room when he shook his hair and wings out. “For now, we’ll sleep. Into the bed with you.”
She tossed a towel back in his direction, hoping he’d wrap it around his waist, then padded out of the bathroom.
Resigned to sharing a bed, she settled under the luxurious covers far to one side, turning her back to him.
The demon’s weight pressed down on the mattress beside her.
“Have you been with a lot of females in this bed?” Why did she even care?
“None. I’ve never brought anyone to my bedroom but you. By the way, wife, we sleep without clothes.”
She tensed. “How do I know you won’t do things to me when I’m asleep? Trusting you with my body when I’m awake is one thing. Being naked and defenseless with you is another.”
He exhaled. “I vow not to ‘do things’ to you as you slumber tonight.”
With a huff, she sat up and removed the robe, tossing it to the foot of the bed.
He pulled her against his naked body, spooning her. His dick pressed insistently against her lower back and ass, his intoxicating scent surrounding her.
“And you will sleep within my wings every night.” He lifted her to slip a wing under her side, his other draping over them—which put one of his lethal wing claws in front of her face.
“Seriously, demon?”
He retracted it. “Better?”
“Must we do this?”
“We must.” Each wing was warm and soft on the inside, like a blanket out of the dryer. Such a difference from the cold stone she’d slept on.
As a storm gathered strength outside, she felt safe and warm and found herself relaxing against him.
Too bad the Lôtn head was staring right at her. That mounted trophy must be a demon treasure beyond calculation, but did it have to look over the bed she’d be sleeping in?
As her lids grew heavy, she thought of a question she’d always wondered about. “Why did your ancestor come to this place?” Abyssian’s ancestors will be my children’s ancestors.
Then, with a pang, she remembered she wouldn’t have children. Unless she became a widow.
His chest rumbled against her as he murmured, “A tale was passed down that he saw a strangely colored flame on the horizon, a flare of blue in the middle of blackness. He couldn’t stop looking at that flame, dreaming of it, obsessing over it. He somehow understood that it was his beacon, a point of reference from which to view all other things. He knew that if he kept his eyes on that light, all would be well. The hellfire led him to Pandemonia.”
Abyssian’s line was legendary, his ancestors discovering new worlds. Her line was . . . shameful.
“Calliope, you were fated to come here. To come to me.” He clutched her closer, exhaling as if with bliss. “You are now exactly where you belong.” The satisfaction in his tone made her wonder if he’d been waiting ten thousand years to say those words.
Calliope’s breaths had grown deep and even. His mate was sleeping in his arms.
Yet Sian felt as if he were the one dreaming.
I wed my female. I have her safe in my bed. Within the protection of my wings. He stifled a groan at the feel of her. Calliope’s curves would bring a lesser demon to his knees.
Sian leaned in, greedily inhaling her scent. His mate’s scent was ideal to him, at once soothing his mind and enlivening his body. In all his travels across thousands of realms, he’d never encountered anything like it.
Though fatigue weighed on him, his cock hardened even more. By all the gods, she is . . . mine.
He’d intended to maintain his distance with her, drawing on his long-seething hatred. Yet after what he’d experienced over the night—from their pleasure by the goldfall to their cataclysmic encounter in the bath—distance was the last thing on his mind.
He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or how to be a husband, but he could try to prepare for his new bride’s day-to-day needs: food, clothing, and shelter. His lips curved. The care and feeding of my fey. At last, he would fulfill his instincts to protect and provide!
Food. He would talk to his steward about smuggling in a steady supply of Sylvan fare.
Clothing. Already taken care of with a mystical dressing room. When the queen of hell entered her wardrobe, it would perceive her mood and provide whatever she imagined wearing.
Shelter. Perhaps her idea of luxury differed from his. She doubtless wanted his—their—bedroom to look different.
He gazed at the Lôtn that had hung above the mantel since the castle had been completed. She wasn’t a fan. Granted, the head was grisly. And it did loom over the bed.
He’d remove it tomorrow, then ask her what other changes she might like. Just in case, he’d have her things brought from her apartment as well.
With her needs planned for, he racked his brain for anything—anything—he and Calliope had in common. Not their species, ages, affiliations, backgrounds, cultures, political views, friends, or experiences.
Sian’s likes—his alliance, demon delicacies, combat—would count as her dislikes.
He could come up with only two commonalities: they enjoyed reading. And they would both be in sore need of release again soon.
Pleasure would bond them, serving as their foundation.
All those years ago, when he’d been in Sylvan, he would lie in bed and dream that Kari was his. Staring at the ceiling, he’d imagined being able to touch her whenever he had the impulse.
To explore her naked body. Or bury his face in her hair for more of her scent. To kiss her lips and draw a moan from them.
His fantasies about her had changed, just as he had. Calliope too was different from Kari. He knew Kari would never have stroked his horns, receiving him with abandon. But Calliope . . . might.
He could almost be thankful to the hell-change curse for bringing him new ones.
If he was patient and gentle, in time he could train his wife’s body to crave more of his—
She rolled over in sleep, turning to him. He smoothed a lock from her cheek. Her eyes darted behind her lids, her expressions shifting from happiness to a brows-drawn look.
