Nahiri
awoke in the middle of a large bed in a strange room.
She
shot upright the instant consciousness dawned, her hands reaching automatically
for her weapons.
They
were gone.
The
leather sheaths that crossed her torso were empty.
No. That meant her nightmare hadn’t
been just a dream. It was reality.
The Incubus in the temple…Devlin
Gravori.
He really had taken her.
Nahiri’s
eyelids snapped open in panic. Sunlight poured in from an open window across
the room, blasting her vision.
Momentarily
blinded, she squinted through her lashes, struggling to take quick stock of her
new surroundings.
Creamy
stucco walls. Dark hardwood floors and masculine-looking furnishings. Thick
timber beams high above her head.
And
beneath her, a massive bed. The mattress was as cushiony as a cloud, the cotton
sheets and silken coverlet calling to mind all manner of sins.
All
around her was the scent of intriguingly exotic spices and something even more
enticing.
Him.
She
sensed his presence even before she swung her head in his direction and found
him seated in an upholstered chair beside the bed. No, not seated in it,
exactly. Dominating it. The same way he seemed to dominate every space he
occupied.
His
big body lounged negligently where he sat, his powerful thighs spread, one arm
draped over the side of the chair, the other propping his head up, fist curled
loosely under the square line of his jaw.
He’d
shed his suit jacket at some point, and now wore just his gray tailored pants
and white business shirt. The collar was opened even farther than she recalled,
just one more button loosened, but exposing enough of his tawny skin to make
her mouth water with a sudden, unholy urge to taste him.
She
wanted to dismiss the impulse as one he planted in her mind, but she could tell
from the casual way he regarded her that any curiosity she felt in that moment
was hers alone.
Nahiri
scrambled off the bed. She backed into the farthest corner of the room, eyeing
him warily. “Where am I? Where have you taken me?”
“You’re
at Gravori House.” He cast a nonchalant look around the room. “More
specifically, you’re in my bedroom.”
Even
though she could have guessed as much, her heart still climbed into her throat.
Since she’d gone to the temple to train at eighteen years old, she hadn’t left
the sanctuary grounds even once. Let alone spent so much as a minute in a man’s
bedroom.
She
might be a virgin, but she had never been a wilting little girl. She was a
grown woman. A skilled warrior. She refused to let him intimidate her.
“It
was a bad idea to abduct me from the temple,” she informed him. “The Three will
see you punished for this, Incubus, regardless of what you mean to do to me.
And with or without my weapons, I am still a Blade. I will fight you every step
of the way.”
“The
same way you did in the High Chamber?”
Her
cheeks flamed with heat at the reminder. With humiliation. Her weakness had
shamed her in front of the other Blades, in front of the three priestesses
who’d entrusted her with their lives. With their faith that she was the best,
the strongest, of her peers.
And
this demon had disproved all of that in a moment.
He
would do it again if he wanted to. He could do anything he wanted to her.
Nahiri could see it in the hard glint of his golden eyes.
No,
for all her skill—for all her dedication to the teachings and training of the
temple—Devlin Gravori could destroy her at his whim.
“I’m
not interested in fighting you,” he murmured, as if he could read the troubled
direction of her thoughts.
She
swallowed, watching the way he stared at her from across the room. He didn’t
move, and yet her body trembled as though his hands were already on her, as hot
and roaming as his gaze. All the wicked, deviant things she’d ever heard about
Incubi appetites poured over her in a rush of dread and terrible anticipation.
“In
case you’re worried about it, I’m not interested in raping you either,” he
drawled, the corner of his mouth curling around the sensual growl of his deep,
rumbling voice. “Forcing a woman isn’t the Incubus way. Never been my way, at
any rate.”
Nahiri
hiked up her chin. “No, you’ll just bend my will until I submit. Or make me
your Thrall so you can siphon my life’s energy for your own. Maybe you’ll
manipulate my mind until I beg you to drain me completely. I suppose that would
be more your way.”
He
grunted, dark amusement in his tone. “I have plenty of women more than happy to
slake my needs—all of my needs.”
As
reassurances went, his did little to relieve her. He steepled his hands beneath
his chin, his citrine gaze locked on her. Nahiri could hardly breathe. His dark
energy was gathered about him, pulsating and vivid, but not the way she’d felt
it in the temple.
He
was holding his demonic allure in check now, despite the heat she felt licking
along her limbs and putting a flame to her blood. He intrigued her as much as
he unsettled her.
Heaven
save her, but he tempted her.
Even
as he terrified her, infuriated her…he stirred a dangerous longing in her.
And he knew.
The
way he studied her, he knew she was struggling against an attraction she wanted
desperately to deny.
One
raven brow quirked nearly imperceptibly. “If I wanted to take you as my lover,
Nahiri, or feed from you as my Thrall, I wouldn’t need force or Incubus magic
to do it.”
The
combination of her name on his lips and the terrible truth he spoke made her
heart stumble in her chest. It beat shallowly, accelerating in time with her
breathing.
And
she tried not to notice how his gaze tracked every inch of her body, settling
on her breasts as they rose and fell with each rapid squeeze of her lungs.
He got out of the chair and stood in place for
a long moment. When he finally moved, his steps were measured, unrushed. So
confident, as if doubt was something he never had to trifle with when it came
to women.
Of
course, he’d told her as much, so his arrogance shouldn’t surprise her now.
Nahiri
stood, frozen, as he approached, his thick-muscled thighs carrying him in a
slow prowl across the room. He paused an arm’s length away from her.
“Why
did you bring me here?” she asked, grateful that the tremors of her body hadn’t
found their way into her voice. She could not forget for an instant that she
was dealing with a demon. “What do you want from me?”
His
sensual mouth twisted in contemplation. “I haven’t decided yet. But let me be
clear about one thing, little Blade. You may be pledged to the Three and their
precious temple, but in this House, I am Master. So long as I have you under
this roof, you will obey me. As of now, your well-being, your life—everything—belongs to me.”
She bristled, outrage shooting through her
like fire. She welcomed the anger. It helped eclipse the desire that was still
simmering inside her, unwanted and never to be admitted—especially to this
overbearing heathen of a man.
Devlin
Gravori was mad if he expected her to think of him as anything but her captor.
Her
enemy.
And
he might as well realize that now.
Nahiri
peeled her lips back from her teeth in a furious smile. She squared off against
him, ready to do battle even without the benefit of her weapons. “I would
rather die before I give anything to you. Willingly or by force. I would see
you dead before that day.”
He
scowled as she hissed the words into his face. When he raised his hand, she
thought for certain he would strike her.
Instead,
his broad, warm palm came around the back of her neck. He held her in a firm
grip, and brought his face terrifyingly close to hers.
When
he spoke his voice was raw, as rough as gravel in his throat. “Be careful with
your threats, Nahiri. Those are dangerous words. Particularly when my kin are
already grieving the loss of one brother to your kind today.”
She
stared up into his fierce golden eyes, transfixed by the power she saw there.
By the pain and fury that hardened his handsome features and tightened the lush
line of his mouth.
“On
the other side of this bedroom door, I have a dozen Incubi brothers and cousins
who might be tempted to take your threats against me to heart. They might be
tempted toward other things too. But not so long as you’re under my watch. No
one takes what belongs to me.”
As
he spoke, his gaze drifted to her mouth. It lingered there, and suddenly Nahiri
could hardly swallow for the lack of moisture in her throat. Her lips tingled
under his gaze, aching for contact. Her temples pounded with her heartbeat, a
rising, steady thrum that seemed to echo in the small space between her body
and his.
Everything
female in her was fixed on this man—this dark, deadly demon—and the unholy need
he aroused in her.
“You
will obey me,” he muttered, the command like velvet on her senses when it
should grate like sharp stones. “As of right now, Nahiri the Blade, you belong
to me.”
