If I’d heard his remark from out of the darkness, I would’ve detected only a flat question, but now, watching his face, the angle of his head, the slight narrowing of his crimson eyes—dry sarcasm, irritation, and perhaps a hint of displeasure at my ogling him.

“I—I—” I couldn’t speak. I was too stunned. “Try the cake.”

His gaze dropped to the angel food cake. He sat forward, movements smooth and swift, and pinched the napkin sticking into the circle. He dragged the slice across the inlay, then scooped it onto one palm.

As he lifted it, his gleaming crimson eyes turned to mine. “Payilas mailēshta. Stop staring.”

My mouth fell open. I forced it closed. “Sorry.”

He waited a moment. “Still staring.”

I forced my gaze to the floor. For about ten seconds, I resisted looking, then like a magnet drawn to steel, my eyes rose again—in time to catch him stuffing the final bite of cake into his mouth.

“You ate it already?” I gasped.

He swallowed, then licked a dollop of whipped cream off his thumb. Had he even chewed it?

I scanned his alien face, trying to read his expression. “Did … did you like it?”

He ignored my question and slid the cookies—classic chocolate chip—into the circle. He snapped one in half and shoved both pieces into his mouth. Swallowed. Picked up the next cookie.

“You should chew,” I said faintly. “It’s … better …”

He shot me an annoyed look, then rammed the next cookie into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Which, I realized, he hadn’t. Aside from the few cookies I’d given him, I’d never seen anyone bring food down here. Did he need food? He was obviously capable of eating.

I unabashedly watched him devour the cookies in record time, my gaze darting from detail to fascinating detail. I hadn’t noticed anything about the other demon’s clothing, but now I studied this one’s garments.

The most familiar shape was his dark fabric shorts, topped with a thick leather belt. Worn leather straps crisscrossed his right shoulder and side, holding a metal armor plate over the left side of his chest. Two overlapping plates shielded his left shoulder, and a shining armguard covered his left forearm, strapped over a fitted sleeve that ran up to his bicep. Matching greaves protected his shins atop … leggings? I didn’t know what else to call the tight black fabric that ran from his ankles up over his knees. Strips of fabric wrapped around the arches of his feet, leaving the rest of his soles bare.

Aside from the shorts, the other fabric he wore seemed only for the purpose of protecting his skin from the metal armor and its leather straps. That left … a lot of bare skin.

He swallowed his final mouthful, then pinched the napkins between two fingers and his thumb. Red glowed over his fingertips. The paper smoldered, then erupted into flame. I jolted backward, but the fire consumed the flammable napkins in seconds. Ash fluttered to the hardwood, and I gulped.

His eyes, glowing as brightly as the other demon’s had, turned back to me. His lips curved into a wolfish smile that exposed a hint of white teeth—a smile that mocked me, taunted me. A savage, hungry smile.

Then darkness swept over the circle and it was an impenetrable black dome once more.

Chapter Eight

I flipped the lights on. “All right!”

A yellow glow swept across the library. Balancing a plate on one hand, I crossed to the dark dome and dropped down to sit crossed-legged.

Last night, after giving the demon his slice of cake, I’d spent three hours on the sofa reading The Summoner’s Handbook. Determined to gain a proper understanding of Demonica, I’d returned to Chapter Three and slogged through endless pages about summoning rituals. Even with my college-level fluency in Latin and Ancient Greek, the technical instructions were over my head.

While reading, I’d felt the demon’s gaze on me. He hadn’t spoken again and I hadn’t tried to engage him, but hidden in that darkness, he’d watched me read. It’d been … weird.

“Are you paying attention?” I asked. “Tonight, I brought you the entire cake—minus the piece you ate yesterday.”

I set the plate on the floor. Four thick white slices were buried beneath whipped cream, strawberries, blueberries, and chocolate drizzle. Technically, it wasn’t the rest of the cake—I’d eaten a piece too—but I saw no need to mention that.

A quiet snort from within the circle. “Should I be flattered, payilas?”

My cheeks heated with embarrassment. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just take my cake and leave.”

Like smoke caught in a breeze, the darkness in the circle swirled away. The demon cast me a sideways look, his lava-red eyes glowing dimly. He lay on his back in the middle of the circle, one leg bent at the knee, the other ankle propped on it, foot in the air. With an arm tucked behind his head like a pillow, he looked surprisingly comfortable lying on the hard, cold floor.

I drank in the sight, tracing the strange lines of his clothes, the shine of his armor, and his reddish-toffee skin. I should’ve been afraid, but his danger had been stripped, his weapons disarmed. He was a tiger at the zoo, a wild specimen safely behind bars, exotic and mesmerizing.

His gaze slid to the dessert. “What do you want this time?”

“I want your name.”

“Which one?”

I waved my hand. “Not your summoning name. Your personal name.”

A corner of his mouth curled—that mocking smile—and he swung into a sitting position. As he faced me, a flick of motion drew my eyes—something long and thin sweeping across the floor behind him.

My expression froze. “You—you have a tail?”

He looked over his shoulder. The long, whip-like appendage swept across the floor again, and as it stilled, I spotted two curved barbs on the end.

“You do not?” he retorted, facing me again. “How do you balance?”

“I balance just fine.”

“Because hh’ainun are slow.”

I lifted the first piece of cake off the plate and set it beside the silver inlay. I’d prepared each one on a napkin so I could move them easily. “Your name.”

“Ch.”

I leveled him with a stare, shocked by my own boldness. Where had my shy timidity disappeared to? Maybe the key to my confidence issues was conducting all interactions through an impenetrable barrier.

He considered me. “Zylas.”

“That’s your name? Zylas?”

“Not zeeeellahhs.” He mimicked my attempt in an exaggerated tone. “Zuh-yee-las. Try again.”

“Zee-las.”

“Zuh-yee-las. Three sounds, not two.”

“Zyee-las.”

“Close enough,” he muttered.

“I’m trying my best here,” I complained. “My name is much easier to say. Robin.”

“Robin?”

Surprise fluttered through me. In his strange accent, my name sounded almost as exotic as his. Grinning, I pushed the napkin’s corner across the circle. He pulled it in, scooped the cake up, and devoured it in three bites. Still no chewing.

“You never said if you like it,” I prompted.

“Your name?”

“The cake.” But now I was wondering what he thought of my name.

He eyed the remaining pieces. “What else do you want?”

I thought for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Ih?”

“Huh?”

We stared at each other, stymied by the language breakdown. His age was hard to judge. If he’d been human, I would’ve pegged him as early twenties—but who knew how aging and maturity worked for demons?

I tried again. “How many years have you been alive?”

His face scrunched in bewilderment. “You count this?”

“Yes, of course. I’m twenty.”

“Twenty?” He scanned me from the top of my head down to my jeans-clad knees. “I learned your numbers wrong. Twenty is wrong.”

I held up one finger. “One.” I spread my fingers and thumb. “Five.” I added my other hand. “Ten.” I opened and closed my fingers twice. “Twenty.”

“How long is a year?”

“Uh … three hundred and sixty-five days, so …”

He rubbed his hand over his face in a gesture so human I did a double take. “Dilēran. I do not know this. I have no numbers.”

Disappointed, I slid him another slice of cake.

He shoveled it down. “What else?”

“What do you keep calling me? Payilas?”

“Pah-yil-las,” he sounded out bossily. “It means small female.”

So … “girl.” I scrunched my nose.

He flicked his fingers at the cake in a “give me that” gesture, but I scoffed.

“You don’t get a piece for that little answer. Hmm, what else …” I studied his irritated scowl. Black hair tangled across his forehead. If not for the crimson eyes and small horns, his face could’ve belonged to a human. It was disconcerting. “Why did you show yourself to me this time? You didn’t have to.”

“To see you properly. Wasted question, payilas.”

“See me? You mean you can’t see me through the darkness in there?”

“No eyes can see without light,” he replied dismissively. “I can see in a different way but it is … not details.”

I leaned forward curiously. “What sort of different way?”

“I can see … hot and cold. Shapes of heat.”

“No way! You have infrared vision? Like a snake?”

He frowned. “I do not know those words.”