Personal Demons

  Everything she'd imagined about the gentle fork in his tongue was true and he knew how to use it. He nestled the hard little bundle of nerves hiding in her folds between the twin tips and shifted it, rolled it. Megan danced for him, helpless to stop. He was so hot, his hands gripping her thighs, sneaking up her stomach to caress her breasts. His breath on her tender, swollen skin, his tongue delving into her secrets and pulling from her everything she'd ever hidden from anyone. Slowly he moved, then faster, then slowed again, until she trembled, balanced on the wire between sanity and abandon.

  He slipped his tongue into her, exploring her. Her hands in his hair tugged and pulled without her conscious knowledge. Greyson shifted his grip, resting her heels on his broad shoulders, then sucked her swollen little bud into his mouth.

  That was enough for Megan. Her back arched off the bed. Her heels dug into his shoulders, but she didn't know it, wasn't aware of anything but the climax ripping through her body and leaving her lost, crying his name, her eyes open but sightless. For what felt like hours she floated, lost in unbelievable pleasure, her body thrumming and howling as if her soul could escape it in one glorious burst.

  He pulled away, kissing her trembling thighs, the muscles of her stomach heaving with her every gasping breath, her incredibly sensitive nipples, her throat, until his face hovered over hers again. His trousers rubbed against her skin, and she forgot any last vestiges of shyness she might have had as she reached down to tug at the button and zipper keeping them on, keeping his bare skin from her.

  Without looking away he reached down to undo them, peeling them off his lean thighs. Megan looked down to see all of him, and found nothing in his nakedness to displease her. Quite the opposite. The perfection promised by the hard muscles of his upper body continued all the way down. Greyson Dante might have been a demon, but he had truly been blessed.

  "I can't get you pregnant,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I can't catch human diseases, or give them. But if you want me to wear something, I will."

  "No. But thanks."

  His response was to climb onto the bed, sliding her across the enormous silk-covered mattress until his body rested completely on hers. He kissed her throat, her forehead, her shoulder, one hand stealing under her back to grip her neck from behind. The other caught her right leg in the crook of his arm, holding her thighs far enough apart for the blunt, heavy head of his cock to find her entrance.

  One smooth, hard thrust brought the entire length and width of him into her, stretching her walls, filling her. Not only with the hard heat of his flesh, but with his power, driving through her torso into her head, so strong it made her scream. Pleasure beyond pleasure, pleasure bordering on pain. She shook with it, already desperate for release. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this, nothing could. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him swallow her cries as he started to move inside her.

  His fingers curled into her neck, holding her still as he shifted his weight to delve more deeply. She matched the slow, steady circles of his hips as he moved, his lips still exploring her throat and chest, dipping down to capture her nipples while she watched the top of his dark, sleek head. The pressure in her pelvis already threatened to explode when he gave something, did something, and more power slid into her body.

  She was made of fire, the same flickering fire hovering near the ceiling of the room, the same quick fire that consumed buildings and forests and everything in its path. She opened her mouth and hot smoke escaped with her cries of ecstasy. His right hand held her hip, but she did not need his encouragement to quicken her movements as she was consumed by him, made whole by him, as she lost herself completely in the sensation of his body meshed with hers. The delicate friction of his skin rubbing against hers inside and out as he shifted and thrust made her bite her lips, bite his lips. They writhed together on his black satin sheets while pale gold poured over their skin from Greyson's flames, now growing larger as the power between them built.

  His skin was alive under her fingertips, his mouth so hot on hers. She stroked his back, digging her fingernails in just enough for him to feel it, then losing control and digging still harder. He growled and thrust into her with more force, pressing forward until her knee touched her upper arm.

  Megan hadn't realized he'd been speaking almost the entire time, bits of poetry, snippets of the demon tongue, mixed in with English and what sounded like French. Now she heard it, both soothing and arousing. He said her name a few times like a mantra, a spell cast into the shadows of the holy place his room had become.

  The flames flared higher. Her skin was sweaty, they were both sweaty, as they strained and reached for the pinnacle just out of their grasp. His hands moved, holding her face on both sides so their gazes could meet. She wanted to blink and look away but he dragged her back, forcing her to stay with him, to look at him, and it was in the red-black depths of his eyes that she found her own presence, the well of her soul. As he increased his pace she fell into it, his name on her lips, and when her body started to shake she climbed out, covered in the sweetness of him, and screamed as she shuddered around his swollen length.

  He thrust again once, twice, gasping, groaning, before he swelled inside her. She felt him jerk and throb just as she throbbed around him, her arms struggling in vain to hold him even closer. His lips claimed hers in one final searing kiss and the muscles in his back shuddered under her palms. It was her turn to swallow his cries as flames filled her mind and Greyson came, claiming her as his own deep in her core and deep in her head.

  * * * *

  She woke up in the darkness some time later, her feet freezing without covers but the rest of her body warm where Greyson wrapped around her. The flames were gone, and only the faint light coming through the window illuminated the room. The reflective surfaces of the picture frames on the wall and the clock by the bed turned blank faces at her in the gloom.

  Her mouth was dry. She started to slide sideways off the bed, hoping she'd find the kitchen, or at least the bathroom, to get some water.

  "Megan.” The dreamy quality in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

  "Just getting a drink,” she whispered, hoping he would stay in bed. Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to be alone, to try and figure out why without the distraction of his bare skin against hers.

  "Kitchen's to the left,” he mumbled. “Don't be long."

  She padded her way across the soft, thick carpeting on the floor, scooping up his discarded tuxedo shirt and sliding her arms into it. Half the buttons were gone, and she blushed as she fastened the few that remained.

  Once out of the bedroom, the light brightened. Here windows lined the walls, floor-to-ceiling. Greyson lived on the seventeenth floor. The only view she had from where she stood was smudgy charcoal sky, the lights from the city below keeping the stars hidden.

  The cavernous room lay silent before her, revealing nothing of its owner's secrets. Megan couldn't even make out the colors, but she was reluctant to turn on a light. She'd be too exposed if she did.

  Now why would she think such a thing? She couldn't think of a safer place in the city for her to be and in the next room slept a man who'd gladly kill to protect her. Not necessarily because of his feelings for her, but just because killing things didn't matter to him.

  To her left she saw the kitchen and headed towards it, but something stopped her, turning her back towards the windows. The open shirt flapped around her thighs like limp, ghostly wings as she crossed the room, her heart pounding.

  Greyson's name formed on her tongue but she refused to call him. No matter how good he'd made her feel, no matter how amazing it had been, she wasn't ready yet to hand herself over to him. She didn't even know if he wanted her to. “Greyson isn't the relationship type at all,” Tera said again in her head. So turning him into her knight in shining armor probably wasn't the best idea. Hadn't he said he wasn't interested in being a hero, anyway?

  The curtains in he
r hands were made of thick velvet, soft and slightly prickly against her palms as she bunched them up and yanked them open all the way. The sheers were next, whispering across the curtain rod.

  Cool air seeped in through the tiny spaces around the edge of the window, but that wasn't what made Megan cold. Her eyes widened, dilating, her muscles freezing as she looked across the street below to the roof of the building opposite.

  There was no point in wondering how they came to be there and she already knew why. The moonlight glanced off their bald heads, emphasizing the hollows of their eyes, the elven caverns of their mouths as they stood motionless on the rooftop opposite. Staring at Greyson's windows, staring at her.

  She didn't know how long she stood, ridiculous in the too-big, open shirt, her bare skin turning to ice in front of the window and her hands still tangled in the sheers on either side. Watching them as they watched her, not even daring to blink.

  You won't beat me, she thought, raising her chin in a defiant gesture she didn't think they could see. You won't beat me.

  She stared them down until the sky started to lighten and they disappeared one by one, until the roof was bare and Greyson's sleepy voice came from the bedroom asking where she was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The car pulled up to the curb and Megan took a step towards it. Greyson grabbed her hand and pulled her back for a kiss.

  "Megan, I need you to know something."

  She nodded. The smile on her face faded as she looked into his dark, serious eyes.

  "Whatever happens today, whatever happens at this little lunch meeting ... I made the decision. And I knew what would happen when I made it."

  "What? I don't—"

  "Shh.” He opened the back door, ready to help her in. “Just remember. Don't talk.” He glanced at the driver.

  Megan nodded, but her blood ran icy. What did he think was going to happen? Or rather, what was going to happen, because he wouldn't warn her about something if he thought it was unnecessary.

  At least he was telling her. She suppressed a twinge of guilt. She hadn't mentioned the demons watching his apartment last night. There hadn't been a good time. It wasn't that important.

  The truth was, she'd been afraid to mention it. She didn't want to ruin an amazing morning, starting with mimosas and French toast and ending with a steamy shower ? deux in which Megan learned that some fires were waterproof.

  Now her feet were cold in the black, spike-heeled boots Maleficarum brought over for her. How he'd found them shoved in the back of her closet she didn't even want to think—she'd never worn them, they were a bit too black and spike-heeled—but find them he had. Along with a houndstooth skirt she thought she'd thrown away, a black turtleneck, and a red jacket; though, she had to admit she looked good. The outfit would never have occurred to her on her own.

  The boys weren't riding with them. Megan twisted around in her seat to watch them following in her little Ford. At least they would be there, whatever happened, but Greyson's words sent a chill of foreboding down her spine that wouldn't go away, no matter how calmly he sipped a glass of wine from the basket on the seat of the car.

  The driver had barely dropped them off before she turned to him.

  "What are you talking about? What's going to happen?"

  He took her hand. “There's no point in discussing it, Meg. It might not happen. Just remember what I said."

  "But—"

  "Greyson! Miss Chase! Nice to see you both."

  "Hi, Temp. Megan, you remember Templeton Black."

  Megan nodded and smiled, her hands numb as she shook with Templeton Black and let the men lead her into the white mansion where Black lived.

  If she hadn't been so nervous, the interior would have impressed her. Pure white walls rose high to the mosaic ceiling, the design of which Megan couldn't quite place. Something swirling, moving ... just when she thought she had it, it disappeared, like one of those infuriating “Magic Eye” images. Megan could never really see whatever she was supposed to see in those pictures.

  "It's a dragon,” Greyson said, leaning over. “The symbol of our Meegra."

  "Fire."

  He nodded.

  "It's beautiful."

  "The whole house is beautiful,” he replied. “It's called Iureanlier Sorithell, the House of Flying Fire, and it belongs to the Gretneg of the Meegra. Right now that's Templeton. When he's gone ... who knows?"

  Something in the way he said it made Megan's skin prickle. What exactly was going on here? Greyson thought something horrible might happen, yet he still planned, or hoped, to become head of his family?

  Then again, why would he not want to become head, if he could live in this place. Their footsteps clattered across the marble floors as they followed Templeton into a dining room the size of Megan's entire house. Here the walls were covered with ivory damask paper and oil paintings of what Megan guessed were former Gretnegs, frowning imperiously at her from their ornate frames.

  Megan expected they would stop, but they did not, continuing instead to another room, green and gold, with soft leather chairs and a wide mahogany desk. Templeton motioned them to sit.

  "Drink?"

  She nodded as she sank into her chair, feeling like a little girl in a palace. Without asking what she preferred, Templeton brought her a gin and tonic. She glanced at Greyson.

  "I noticed last night at the ball,” Templeton said. “You weren't far from me when you and that reporter ordered your drinks. I assume it's satisfactory? I have wine, if you prefer."

  "It's fine,” Megan said, taking a careful sip. Something told her it was best to stretch this one out.

  Templeton handed Greyson Scotch and sat down with what looked like the same for himself. He cleared his throat.

  "It's such a pleasure to have you in my home,” he said. Megan wished she could read him. “As I said last night, Greyson's told me so much about you. I suppose when it comes to you, he can't stop talking.” He chuckled.

  Greyson didn't move, didn't react in any way, but Megan knew something was wrong. This was not a friendly brunch and Templeton Black had plans she didn't want anything to do with.

  And she was trapped here. Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud, standing in the corner, were Templeton's employees. They couldn't help her, even if she begged them to.

  "He hasn't told me much about you at all,” Megan said, widening her eyes. “Perhaps he talks about me, but I can't get anything out of him."

  Templeton's eyes narrowed. Just as it had the night before, a shadow of something passed over his broad, handsome features. Something Megan didn't like at all.

  "I seriously doubt that, my dear,” he said, smiling as if nothing had happened. “But I hear you're quite close-mouthed yourself. Certainly I'm informed that reporter isn't having a lot of luck with you."

  "I think he's getting a good enough story,” Megan said, smiling as though she thought this was simply a little chat. How did he know what Brian was or was not getting? Her heart pounded loud enough for her to hear it, though, and she was worried they could to. How good was demon hearing? She'd never asked.

  All she wanted at that moment was to be back home, alone under the covers with a book. She shivered.

  "Cold?” Templeton waved his hand at the fireplace. Immediately a fire started burning merrily. “Better? Good. As for the reporter, I'm told he has some rather interesting abilities himself. Oh, Miss Chase—may I call you Megan? And you must call me Templeton—don't look like that. Surely you must have guessed I know all about your gift."

  "I—"

  "Megan doesn't like to discuss the subject, Temp,” Greyson said.

  "But there are some subjects she will have to discuss, aren't there? Some truths, hidden in the depths of time, that must come to light if we are to truly know how to proceed against the Accuser. Perhaps we could work out some sort of trade, do you think, Megan?” He said her name, but he was looking at Greyson. “You know that's how we do things, with our equals. Trade. Favors."


  "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Templeton,” Megan said. “But I'm not a demon. So I don't know that I can participate in a trade."

  Templeton started to laugh. “Oh, I'm glad you've come to dine. Which reminds me, our meal should be served. As much as I'm enjoying myself, we do have more pressing matters, do we not?” He set his glass down with a thud.

  Greyson's fingers were cool in hers as they walked back into the dining room. She'd never felt his skin anything but warm, almost to the point of hot. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he stopped her with a warning glance.

  "Remember what I said earlier,” he whispered as he ushered her into her chair.

  Megan's forehead and underarms were damp despite the comfortable temperature in the room. Greyson hadn't wanted to do this to begin with. Now vague threats hung in the air and he knew what they were about but wouldn't tell her. Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud wouldn't meet her eyes. She felt like Alice in Wonderland at the Red Queen's court. This was definitely curiouser and curiouser, but she didn't think she'd be able to drink a potion and go back home. Or whatever it was Alice had done to get out of the rabbit-hole. She couldn't remember.

  Servants in black and white with red caps brought heavy silver trays into the room, setting them on the wide marble-topped table, opening the lids with a flourish. Had Megan been hungry, the sight of all the food—roast pork and beef, roast potatoes, lobster salad, heaps of wonderful-smelling bread so fresh the steam still rose from its pale, spongy surface—would have thrilled her. Two pasta dishes, one Alfredo, one tomato, sat next to a bowl of black olives. There was broccoli, green beans, asparagus, and at the far end rested what looked like caviar. She'd never seen such a spread before.

  As it was, she could only focus on their uniforms. Black, white, and red. The same colors she wore, the outfit picked by the brothers. She didn't think it was a coincidence.

  The staff busied themselves serving everyone, but even when two heaping plates sat in front of Megan the table still groaned under the weight of the feast in the middle.