Demon from the Dark

her palm against his cheek. Her eyes began to soften as she gazed up at him.

Every time she looked at him like that, his rancor grew. 'The only reason you accept one like me into your bed'—he forced her hands over her head, pinning them with one of his—'is that you know you will be vulnerable without my protection.' He recognized this as well as he would his own harsh reflection in a pool. 'And when you are safe in your home, you will have no need of me.'

'That's simply not true.'

'Prove it,' he said, his voice cruel. 'Prove to me why a highborn woman so fine as you'—he clawed her shirt open to expose her breasts, giving each a brusque squeeze—'would want to lie with a male like me.'

'Malkom, I want to lie with you because I desire you so much.'

At her ear, he rasped, 'You truly crave the bastard son of a whore rutting betwixt your pale thighs?' After tearing off his own shirt, he shoved her skirt up to her waist, baring her sex. 'Wouldn't you be suspicious, if you were me?' He yanked his pants down to his knees, then maneuvered his body over hers.

'I crave you. I always will.'

When he positioned his cock at her entrance, she began panting, growing wet for him, which only infuriated him more.

'You like being fucked by a Scarba?' He wrapped her hair around his fist. 'Look at me! Truly look. Tell me what you see that others cannot!'

'I see my husband.'

With a yell of frustration, he entered her with one unrelenting stroke. Though his thoughts were in turmoil, pleasure rocked him. He threw back his head, biting back a groan.

She gasped at the intrusion, sucking in a breath. Then she whispered, 'I love you.'

He stilled, gazing down at her. 'What did you say?'

The demon's body was a mass of tension, like a bomb about to explode, but she still repeated, 'I love you, Malkom.'

'Shut up!' He shoved inside her so hard, her teeth nearly clattered.

'But I do.'

'Stop saying that,' he commanded, bucking his hips, driving his shaft deep within her. He looked down at her as if he hated her, as if he wanted to punish her for loving him—even as she could sense his emotions, could sense how much he yearned for her too.

'Are you trying to hurt me?'

He quaked above her. 'It'd be nothing more than you deserve.' His flickering eyes were filled with more pain than she'd ever seen in another. Then his gaze fell to her neck. 'If I bit you, would you still tell me you love me?'

Yes, always. 'Try it and see.'

'You'd probably come for me again. Isn't that right, witch?'

But instead of taking her neck, he went to his knees, releasing her hands. Gripping her ass with splayed, clutching fingers, he positioned her so he could sink even farther inside.

Seated deep, he pumped inside her like a piston, his rigid muscles flexing under sweat-slicked skin. She tried to raise her hips up to meet him, seeking his next determined thrust, but he was too strong.

The friction ... his growls of pleasure ... the thick heat swelling within her.

Just watching his body move like this was about to send her over the edge. Her hands were drawn to him, palms caressing his sheening chest, then dipping down his torso.

With each of her strokes, with each of his relentless plunges, tension built inside her, spiraling, until she throbbed. 'Demon!' she cried, desperate for release. Her head thrashed as the pressure within her gathered, readying to explode.

At last, the pleasure seized her. Scorching. Boundless. 'Ah, gods! Malkom, yes!' Her back arched, her nails digging into his hips, wanting more, wanting him even deeper.

'I feel you,' he bit out between clenched teeth. 'Feel you coming round me.' At the last minute, when she was certain he'd remain within, he jerked his hips back.

With an agonized yell, he shoved his shaft over her belly, mindlessly grinding atop her for his final shuddering throes.

When he collapsed over her, she gazed above him at the misty sky, tears welling as she hurt for him—hurt with him.

At her ear, he grated, 'I'm still not done with you, wife.'

When Carrow woke just before dawn, a cocoon of fog had wrapped around her and Malkom. The last time she'd checked on Ruby, it'd been raining. Now all was still and soft.

Malkom remained asleep, which wasn't surprising. He had to have exhausted himself in the previous hours of sweating, frenzied—and, she hoped, cathartic—sex.

Yet never once had he hurt her.

And at the end of the night, he'd turned on his side so he could enfold her in his arms, clasping her tightly to him. His body still shuddering, his voice raw, he'd said, 'A witch holds my life in her palm. Ara, I live or die for you.'

Now she gazed down at him. His brows were drawn, his eyes moving behind his lids. His lean cheeks were covered in blond stubble.

So beautiful. Her wild, lost male. How could this demon who'd known so much hurt and shame be so proud and good?

She grazed the backs of her fingers over his face, repeating his words, 'Carrow is Malkom's.'

Wanting to get back to her own bed before Ruby woke, she reluctantly extricated herself from his arms, earning a soft growl, though he slept on.

She dressed in tattered clothes, then made her way to the cabin, reflecting on the secrets he'd confided, the revelations of all that had been done to him.

In the past, she'd wondered if hatred and abuse might be preferable to neglect and abandonment. At least then she might have found out why her parents hadn't loved her.

After hearing Malkom's tale, she knew how fortunate she'd been. She'd been able to find a new family—a mother, sister, daughter.

And now a husband.

Carrow was lost for him. She admired him, respected him, loved him.

She felt as if they'd turned a corner. He'd let out all his frustrations, told her his secrets. It had to have bonded them. She'd become certain that he could get over her betrayal.

But could he get over the rest—the four centuries of expecting and receiving duplicity—without breaking her heart first?

When he woke, she would tell him that things were going to be different. She wouldn't tolerate him saying cruel things to her—or about himself. He was her husband, and she'd be damned if she let anyone call him those things, not even Malkom himself.

Going forward, she would show him that he was more than his past. Did Carrow believe that the love of a good woman would heal all his wounds? Counteract years of abuse?

No. But the love of a good woman and a new daughter, the respect and gratitude of a witch coven, the eventual welcome into a community of immortals—well, these things couldn't hurt.

She intended to fight his doubt, calling on all her available resources to kick its ass to the curb. If he thought his past was stronger than their future, then he'd never seen a witch hell-bent on saving her demonically proclaimed marriage.

Heartened by her decision, she rubbed her thumb over her ring.

Am I not more than my past as well? She was ready to fight his doubt, but not her own?

Though the ring wasn't as loose as it'd been, she realized it no longer fit her. She removed it, clasping it in her palm as she detoured to the beach.

Standing before the roaring surf, she peered down at it.

Carrow was done.

She'd made this resolution before, but invariably, as time went by, she would try to contact her parents.