Pale Demon

“What is the problem, Trent?” I said. I could smell him now, sort of a sour wine, maybe vinegar scent.

“Ah, I think it would help if you kissed me,” he said, not embarrassed, but irritated.

I dropped back a step. “Excuse me?”

He turned away and cut out another cookie. “You know…the kiss that breaks the spell and wakes the, uh, girl? It’s elven magic. There’s no figuring these things out.”

“Whoa! Hold up!” I exclaimed as it suddenly made sense. “You mean like love’s first kiss? That isn’t going to happen! I don’t love you!”

He frowned, seeing that the cookie he had moved onto the tray had vanished. The two I’d placed were still there, though. “It doesn’t have to be love’s first kiss,” he said. “That was someone trying to write a good story. But it does have to be an honest one.” Almost angry, he spun back to me, the pancake turner in his new, awkward grip. “My God, Rachel. Am I so distasteful to you that you can’t tolerate one kiss to save your life?”

“No,” I said, taken aback. “But I don’t love you, and I couldn’t fake that.” Did I? No, I didn’t. I was really sure about that.

He took a breath and held it as he thought about that for all of three seconds. “Good,” he said, handing me the spatula. “Good. So if you just kiss me, we can get you out of here.”

I took the spatula as he held it out, edging closer to move a third cookie to the tray. “Kiss you, huh?” I said, and he sighed.

“Here in your subconscious,” he said. “No one will ever know. Except us.” His eyes met mine, and a small smirk started. “You’ve been doing it in your dreams since you were ten.”

I frowned, setting a fourth cookie on the tray. “Have not. Grow up.”

He set the cookie cutter down, facing me in expectation, and a nervous thrill spun through me. Kiss Trent? Okay, maybe the thought had occurred to me once or twice, but not as anything that I’d ever do apart from curiosity maybe. Because he looked good, maybe more so with the stubble and the heavy weariness on him. There was no way…I mean, he was Trent, and I hated him. Okay, not hated anymore, but a kiss?

Stop it, Rachel, I thought, wiping my hands on my apron and turning to him.

He was too close, and I shivered when his hands slid around my waist. “I suppose a peck on the cheek won’t do?” I said as he started to lean in. He was just a shade taller than me, and I was suddenly a hundred times more nervous. He practiced wild magic, and he could sing his enemies to death or my soul into a bottle. He was dangerous now, tantalizingly dangerous, whereas before he’d been simply annoying, and my pulse increased.

I stiffened, and his motion toward me hesitated. “Sorry,” he said, and he pulled me close. I was as nervous as all hell, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. They felt funny at his hips, but I left them there—the best of a bad situation. My eyes closed when he got too close, and the smell of cinnamon and wine hit me.

It pulled my head up, and with a startled brush, our lips met.

His touch was light on mine, as if afraid or, more likely, reluctant. A bare hint of pressure, and then he leaned in, his hands on me, pulling me to him. His lips moved against mine, and I still stood there, my heart pounding as I tasted him—oak and leaf, sun on moving water. The prick of wild magic raced over my skin like a shimmer of electricity, enticing, warning me even as I felt it pull a response from me. Breath held, I relaxed my grip on him, finding my hands moving, shaping to him, becoming natural.

Okay, this wasn’t so bad.

Encouraged, my head tilted, pulling away from him with the unsaid language of lovers that demanded he follow. And he did, spinning a thrill through me from his lips to my toes. My pulse jumped, and I pushed against him, my body molding itself to him. Breath catching, he responded, his good hand lifted to touch my face, his fingers light on my jaw, but hinting for more. A slip of tongue touched mine, and a thought rose like a bubble.

Oh my God. I’m kissing Trent.

Making a small noise, I pulled back, heart pounding as I looked at him. “This isn’t working,” I said, my lips cool where he had been. I was tingling everywhere, and wild magic was making his eyes flash in anger.

“Because I’m the one doing everything here,” he said, reaching forward.

“Hey!” I yelped, but he’d grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him.

“It’s like the cookies,” he said as his bandaged hand encircled my waist. “You’re not helping. Give me something back to show your agreement.”

“What the hell do I have to do? Rip your clothes off?” I snapped, then gasped as he yanked my hip right into him. “Trent!” I protested, but the word was muffled as he found my mouth. Wild magic lit through me, burning not with fire but warmth. It raced like flash paper, flowing to my chi, overflowing and tingling to my fingertips.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled, and my hands, once splayed behind me for balance, reached to find his hair. I wanted to touch its silky smoothness. I’d been dying to do so for years. His body was against my entire length, and I pushed from the counter, slamming his back into the fridge.

Our lips parted upon impact, and my eyes opened. He was inches away, watching me, daring me. He’d pulled passion from me, and now I’d have to own up to it.

“No one will know?” I said, and blood pounded through me when he nodded.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said, a smile lifting his lips.

Why the hell not? I thought, and then I tilted my head and kissed him back. Giving in, I pressed into him, my hands feeling his outline, his stubble rough against me as our breaths found a rhythm both slow and building. Memories flitted through me, of him in that silly hat as he held me while I died. His white face when he realized he’d summoned Ku’Sox to kill the pixies and I’d already taken care of the problem. His fear in Carew Tower’s elevator when it opened and he saw me standing there with Al. His terror at camp as he leaned over me and begged me to breathe after I’d knocked the air out of myself and he thought I was dying.

His tongue touched mine, and this time, I pushed forward, pulling him closer. My leg went around his, and I demanded more, running my hands through his hair, enjoying its silky softness, enjoying the feel of his hands on my body, tingles arcing through me.

Slowly I let go of the last of my reservations, feeling his energy spill into my chi, kindling it back to brightness. He started to pull away, but I wouldn’t let him, reaching out and pulling him back. I wanted more. He could have everything, just give me…a little more.

“Tink’s pink dildo, all that money and he can kiss, too,” came a high-pitched, sarcastic voice and the clatter of pixy wings.

My breath caught, and I felt myself drop into nothing. My lips on Trent’s stopped moving, and I realized I could smell disinfectant. My eyes flew open.

I was sitting upright in a hospital bed, my arms wrapped around Trent as he sat beside me. My hands were buried in his hair and his hands were curved around me, holding my backside—rather tightly.

“You little prick!” I shouted, smacking him. Trent sucked in his breath and fell back. The sharp crack was startling, and Jenks laughed merrily, dripping a bright silver dust as he flew backward to Ivy, sitting calmly in a nearby chair. Damn it, she was smiling at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She was okay! They both were! My face flamed as I realized they had seen me…enjoying myself. Enjoying Trent. But they were okay, and a knot of fear loosened.

“You said it was only in my imagination!” I exclaimed, turning back to Trent as he stood up and the bed shifted. “You said no one would know!” My eyes darted to the cold feel of metal around my wrist. “And what is this!” There was a band of charmed silver on me. No wonder my head hurt. I was cut off from the ley lines.

“Don’t take it off!” Jenks shrilled as I tried to push it over my wrist, and I let go of it, frightened by his fervor. Maybe my aura wasn’t healed enough to tap a line.

Looking unruffled, Trent tugged his shirt straight, the bright imprint of my hand on his stubbled face. There was a large bruise on the other side, spreading up under his hairline, looking ugly. His right hand was bandaged, and my anger dissolved when I saw that he was missing two fingers, just like in my dream. What had happened?

“Would you have kissed me if you had known it was real?” he asked, and when I simply stared at him, my face flaming, he turned on his heel. “Ivy, Jenks,” he said, looking stiff as he reached for a cane. “It’s been a pleasure.”

My jaw dropped when his pace was awkward, and then I saw his foot, in a cast. “Trent, wait!” I called, but he kept walking, his back stiff and his neck red. Jenks and Ivy exchanged a heavy look, and I tried to get up, failing. “Trent, I’m sorry for slapping you! Come back. Please! Thank you for getting me out of there. Don’t make me crawl