Page 67 of Demon's Bane

“Come on, it’s got to be really uncomfortable to sleep on the floor when you’ve got wings.” He takes another step, but so do I. “Let me take the floor.”

“Little mate,” he says, a warning. “You’re not going to win this one.”

Lips tugging up at the corners, I lunge for him, only for him to lift the bundle higher, out of my grasp. I reach for it, stretching all the way up on my tiptoes, at least until I realize…

Shirt. Shit.

It’s ridden up almost high enough to give Rhett first-hand knowledge of the fact that I’m not wearing anything underneath it, if he decided to look.

And, oh Goddess, does he look.

His eyes travel down the length of me, all the way to where the hem of the shirt brushes against my thighs, before they dart sharply away.

But in the instant before they do, I don’t miss the flare of heat, ofwant, within them. Sharp and laser-focused, it sends a matching pulse of fire straight through me.

“I should bathe as well,” he says abruptly, setting the bundle down on the bed before heading toward the bathroom. “And I expect those to be right where I left them when I’m finished. I mean it, Joan. The bed is yours. There’s also some food in the kitchen, if you’re hungry. Halla brought it over.”

Nodding mutely, I’m left standing in the middle of the room as the door closes behind him.

The sounds of the tub draining, then refilling, the soft rustle of clothes as he strips, the splash of the bath as he sinks into it, all make it very, very hard not to picture what’s going on behind that door.

In my mind’s eye, I can see him.

Naked. Wet. Wings draped over the side of the tub and horned head dipped back to lean on its rim in exhaustion.

He’s probably tired and sore after everything we went through today. After protecting me and carrying me out of the cave. Hell, even after safely taking us through the Veil and portalling us here, finally getting to take off that damned glamour for good. I’m sure his muscles are tight, aching, that he might enjoy it if I got my hands on him and…

Enough, Joan. This is enough.

Trying to shake off the warm, skittery, anticipatory energy humming over every inch of me, I debate what to do next.

Part of me wants to ignore his bossy command and take the blankets into the living space to make a nest for myself, but it’s probably not worth the trouble. Knowing Rhett and the habit he’s developing for picking me up and carrying me around whenever he feels like it, he’d probably just scoop me up and toss me back in bed anyway.

The idea ofthat, though…

“Goddess damn it,” I mutter, stomping determinedly out of the bedroom.

My first impression of the cabin’s front room hasn’t changed much as I take in the sparse furnishings and decor. The small table with a few mismatched chairs, a pair of worn-looking armchairs set on a threadbare rug in front of the unlit hearth, a small kitchen with a wooden counter, an iron stove, and not much else.

Wandering into the kitchen, I eat a little of the food Rhett mentioned—a chunk of soft bread and a drumstick that I swear could be chicken.

Do demons have chickens?

They don’t have cats, so I guess the jury’s out on what the fowl situation in this realm is.

Still, it’s tasty and warm and that’s all that really matters right now as I eat a few more bites and let my eyes wander around the room.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been anywhere that feels quite this lonely.

Like the echoes of all the grief and guilt I’ve glimpsed in Rhett when he’s shared about his past are etched into the floorboards and woven into the walls, all that loneliness hangs heavy over this place.

But Rhett is here, too. His scent. The small touches of softness he’s added. The magick I can always feel around him, warm and stirring and undeniable.

It’s another complicated layer to this demon, and I wonder if it’s better, or worse, to have me here. I wonder if he’d prefer to keep his solitude, or if he likes the company.

I must have been zoned out longer than I realize, because a motion in the bedroom doorway catches my attention. I turn to find him standing there with the blankets tucked under his arm and his hair tousled and damp, utterly touchable.

All that magick whispering against my skin pulls taut, rippling over me in insistent, inexorable waves.

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