Really sexy.

He leaned down and nuzzled her ear.

She shivered against him, biting back a moan at the surge of pleasure.

He nuzzled her other one. “Your pretty little ears drive me mad. I imagine licking them, nipping them, murmuring wicked words just to make them twitch.” He moved to the tip . . . he flicked her pointed ear with his pointed tongue.

This time she couldn’t stop her moan.

He gripped her sides with his big hands, his thumbs stretching around just under her breasts.

She was panting. Could he feel her racing heartbeat?

“Your eyes are bright teal.” He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “My kingdom for a kiss, Lila.”

Sexy demon! “I don’t . . . I can’t lose control with you.”

“I’ll take care of you. I’ll bring you the release you crave.” He stroked his thumbs upward, grazing her nipples. “The pleasure you need.”

Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. “Oh, gods. . . .”

He groaned. “Want my mouth on your stiff nipples.” He grazed his thumbs again, then rested them over the hard peaks. The pads of his thumbs lightly kneaded.

She was levitating! She tried to speak but only managed a breathy cry.

“Does my little fey like that?” he asked, his eyes promising wicked things.

Likes? No, loves! She nodded eagerly.

“We can go slow, beautiful.”

She hadn’t thought he had this much control over his inconceivable strength, but he was gentle.

Her brows drew together. Which meant he’d simply chosen not to be gentle before.

That thought broke whatever spell she’d been under. This was the Møriør who’d tormented her, the one who’d probably bedded a dozen demonesses today.

The male who wanted her to join their number.

Gaze locked on her mouth, he leaned down. In Demonish, he said, “Wanted your kiss for so long.”

He didn’t deserve her kiss. Just before their lips met, she slapped him—hard. Pain flared in her wrist. “Ow! Godsdamn it, that hurt!”

He released her, his eyes returning to green, as if he were just waking up. His brows drew together, his expression somehow both unsurprised and confused. “I . . . the ring will heal that.”

Ugh! “Get this through your blockhead: whenever I’m injured—from your claws or your bruising grip or from warding off your unwanted advances—it still hurts.”

A muscle ticked in his prominent jaw as he clearly struggled for control of himself. He grasped her elbow, then teleported her back to that cursed tower.

Over dinner, she’d been able to pretend she was merely a guest of the king. Back in her prison, she felt like a shafted Cinderella after the ball.

She yanked her arm away, and he released her. “So that’s how it works between us? When I don’t succumb to your seduction, you return me here as punishment?”

He drew his head back. “That’s not what I intended.”

“You dress me up, let me out, then put me away again? I’m not some doll that you can bring out to play with whenever you feel like it.”

He scrubbed a palm over his face, as if he hadn’t expected this anger.

Which just made her madder! “Tonight you’ve shown me that you can be gentle with me—which means you’ve decided not to be over these last few days.” Her wrist throbbed. “Which makes you an even bigger prick than I’d first thought!”

He scowled at his hands. At his claws? Facing her, he said, “Calliope, the way I’ve been recently is not how I usually am. You might adapt well, but I do not.”

“What does that mean?”

He parted his lips to speak, then closed them. Another try: “My existence has been the same for ten millennia. Now my life is in flux. Having such limited experience with change, perhaps I haven’t reacted well to it.”

“Reacted well? Is that how we’re describing your behavior?” The nerve of this asshole! “And to believe I’d started to pity you for being so lonely.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Pity me?” Sian had once been one of the most perfect male specimens in all the worlds!

Desired. Pursued. Coveted.

His ego took yet another blow. He felt it all the more because she was right. He was lonely. But he hadn’t been before her return—because he’d drifted through his life like a sleepwalker.

Now she was awakening things in him best left dead.

That stubborn pride of his made him lie: “I’m hardly lonely. My concubines cater to my every filthy desire.”

“Then you can take them from the cupboard.”

“You will dine with me each eve.”

“I’d rather eat dirt.”

“That can be arranged,” he grated. “Again, this isn’t an invitation. You’ve received a command from your king.”

She bit out: “Not—my—king.”

He inhaled for calm, reminding himself of the illusion he’d seen in the fire.

In hell, mystics read flames. Sian’s own mother had been a pyromancer.

He didn’t know if the castle had spoken, declaring Calliope its mistress, or if Sian’s subconscious had supplied the vision, but either way, he knew better than to ignore it.

Tomorrow night at dinner, he would harness his temper. He would treat her as if she were made of glass.

He gazed down at his long, sharp claws. In those first days, he’d been crazed with the fragile fey. How many times had he hurt her?

There had to be a way to retract his claws fully. He’d been in this form for so short a time, he still didn’t understand all the facets of his evolving—devolving—body.

He pictured his claws retracting even more—and they did! He was about to call her attention to it, but she appeared to be reaching her limit with him.

“Now that you’ve put away your doll, you can leave.”

He exhaled. Even if he’d treated her like his queen, Calliope could never accept a life in hell. Much less his monstrous appearance. She would attempt to escape him again and again, for the rest of her life.

The odds of her return had been hundreds of billions to one. Right now the odds of any kind of understanding between them seemed far less likely.

Even if he could discover a way around all their obstacles, she would never forgive his upcoming invasion of her home. Still he said, “Calliope, I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”