again, that ring of utter truthfulness. He wasn’t lying to her. She could tell. She could read his thoughts!
As well as his starkest emotions. His rawest needs.
They came barreling forward, rushing into her inexperienced, awakening mind like a defensive line of burly ball players. Crashing into her hard and fast, screaming his agonizing physical need.
“Oh my God!” she gasped, suddenly doubling over and reaching to clutch at the bed sheets. It flooded over her whole body, a tension of constant readiness and endless craving. Her heart began to race as fast as his was, her breasts filled heavily with a rushing heat of blood and awareness until her body shivered and her nipples came to painfully erect attention. Liquid fire melted through her every bone, hunger raged and clenched through every muscle.
This, she realized, was what he had been struggling with all this time. Corrine looked up at Kane with shock and dismay flashing briefly in her eyes just before savage appetite and need overran it.
“Corrine?” Kane was almost afraid of the look she was running over him, but it didn’t keep his aching body from reacting eagerly to it. The fresh rush of blood into his already swollen penis hurt incredibly, but it was quickly forgotten as she slowly sat back on her heels, her hands releasing the bedclothes to run up her body. Thighs to hips, her palms slowly turning and fingers spreading as they coasted into the bend of her waist and over her belly. She rushed abruptly upward to cup her breasts, each hand kneading fiercely for a moment as she made a soft noise of frustration mixed with pleasure. Her eyes had long since slid closed, but now they opened so she could stare steadily into him.
“You didn’t tell me how much this hurts,” she whispered, a soulful groan coming out of her as she curved her spine against the rush of heated feedback coming from his reaction to watching her touch her own bare body. “You didn’t make me understand the way it hurts! The way I make you hurt.” She exhaled sharply and then reached out for him, her hair falling all around him in a curling auburn curtain as she leaned far enough forward to grasp his forearms just before that spot where the shackles bound him. “You didn’t explain that you let them do this to you to protect me from you.”
In truth he had shown very little to her. All he had given her so far was words and an underhanded trick to trigger her moon-fed libido. That realization reminded him that there was much more to him and his powers than telepathy and his currently thwarted ability to teleport. He needed to do something to distract her from what she was feeling. He didn’t think he could man up twice in such a short period of time and pull away from the fire he saw burning in her liquid green eyes.
“I am not human,” Kane reminded her, knowing she wasn’t quite absorbing the truth of it. “I am not without power. Right now my
Suddenly he seemed to be pulling free of the chains binding him, and Kane reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, and drawing her into a swirl of nonexistence. For a moment she could not breathe, felt as if she had no substance and no focus, and yet her mind had never felt so sharp. The next thing Corrine knew, she was standing on her own two feet, her fingers still locked within his grasp, and the crisp cold of an autumn breeze was rushing over her. She was out of doors, sunset streaking the horizon all around her, a lush lawn prickling softly beneath her bare feet. She was now clothed, her body wrapped warmly in a fiery red velveteen fabric, a dress with a high waist and ripples of feminine material flowing away from that high center point of her body. She tended to wear jeans and T-shirts, so she was not used to the feel of plush fabric billowing around her in the breeze. But, if she could choose. . she had always been drawn to beautiful, classic fashions like this. Dresses that were soft and feminine and flowing. Of course, they were not very practical for day-to-day living in the bustling world of New York City. She was a counselor for endangered teens in the Bronx. What would they make of her if she came to work every day dressed like this?
And in red no less. She would never have chosen red. Didn’t many of the fashion experts say redheads shouldn’t wear red? The truth was, red washed her out terribly. She looked wan and sickly. The only thing possibly worse would be orange. But here it was, on her body, and even without being able to see herself, she knew it was beautiful. Beautiful on her, beautiful with her. He had chosen for her far more bravely than she would have chosen for herself and had done an amazing job of it. The narrowed sleeves warmed her wrists, making her seem so thin and fragile. Yet there was vigor in her body for the first time in days. She felt strong and healthy, felt full of energy and life.
She looked back at him and saw he was dressed as well. He had on the same faded denims as before and a shirt made of that same rich fabric as her dress, only in a dark teal he wore very well. Actually, he wore everything well. Would wear anything well, she realized as her gaze ran over him quickly. He was taller than she had realized, longer in the waist, stronger in his stance. Once again she appreciated just how beautiful he was. Breathtakingly beautiful as only a perfectly fashioned male could be. He was almost too handsome.
Then a strong breeze rushed over her again and she realized she was out of doors for the first time in what had to be ages. Days. Too many days. She closed her eyes and turned her face into the wind, taking in the deepest, cleanest breath she could manage. The air smelled so fresh and different, the touch of it carrying the crispness of late autumn in a way that chilled the tip of her nose.
“You’re doing this?” she asked, even though she already knew. “We’re really back in that place, lying next to one another, but you’re doing this with your mind?” She didn’t need to see his nod to know it was the truth. She held her free hand up to her eyes, shielding them against the brilliant light and colors of the waning sun.
“I would not be able to be out in this much daylight if it were real. I would still be sleeping, or very weak. Darkness is my daylight.” Kane squinted his eyes against the fading brightness around him. His eyes, like all Demon eyes, were made for darkness. He could not see nearly as well in sunlight. But he knew the same was not true for her. Not yet, in any event. Humans, he knew, found much beauty in sunrises. And yes, they were lovely, but they had always meant borders to him. Restrictions. Time to rest. Quickly to rest, or he might find himself exposed to the deadly light of day that could kill a Demon as young as he was. He must spend the sunlit hours locked in rest, forced to sleep whether he wanted it or not, forced to wait for the day to hide itself.
But this had always been her world. And just as day was turning to night, now she would have to say farewell to blue skies. If she were to be his mate, she must change her ways to match his. It was a lot, he realized, for her to sacrifice. The truth was, she was sacrificing far more than he was. What was he saying farewell to, besides perhaps the torture of lonely Samhain and Beltane nights?
Corrine looked all around herself, knowing as she breathed it in that there was something foreign in the air around her. Not exotic, just different. But that was easily seen just by looking at the vast green landscape that surrounded her. She was encompassed by a great ocean of manicured green, rolling hills of it sprawling away from her in all directions. In the distance before her was a great stone building, what she could only call a castle. It was wider in body than it was tall, reaching high and then tumbling low, clearly made of a grand central mass that had been added to over time. There had been an attempt at balance, and the engineering of it was remarkable compared to castles that she had seen in pictures. But it was a fortress of stone no matter how you looked at it. Flags flew from its highest points, but there was nothing in the design of those flags that she found familiar. Nothing that hinted at state or country or an affiliation she recognized. There was writing in the crests, but she couldn’t see what it was from this distance and she had a suspicion she wouldn’t be able to read it even if she were closer. There were hedgerows and fountains, great sweeping drives of white stone that reminded her of a great manor from an Austen novel. The oaks that lined the drives waved at her with pale-colored leaves barely hanging on.
“Is this where we are?” she asked him. “Inside of that place?” She recalled the stone room she’d woken up in and how it had reminded her of an old castle room.
“This is the home of the Demon King, Noah. And yes, this is where we are. Somewhere on the third floor, beyond those colored windows. I wanted to show you some of my world from another perspective. Some of who and what we are.”
That was when a cloud of smoke suddenly swirled into her view, several feet before her. It rushed around like a tornado, but it was no bigger than a man. Black and grey and silver streams curled around one another, and then suddenly resolved into the shape of a man made of smoke, and then a man made solid. Corrine’s eyes had seen many special effects on movie screens, but nothing like the reality of what she’d just experienced. Even so, she wanted to reach out and touch him, to prove to herself that he was as real as he looked. How was any of this possible? A man appearing out of thin air? Another man who could read thoughts? It was all fantasy, pure and
