Page 31 of Bound
Caine coughs. “Fire Fae, maybe you should … hurry.”
Gage glances up at him. “What?”
The demon smirks, but his gaze never leaves mine. “Oh, nothing.”
I flush and am grateful for the red light already coating my cheeks.
He’s Asmodean. One of the lust demons. No doubt he can taste my desire even without his magick shrouding me. I drop my head, riveting my gaze on the floor in front of my knees.
Gage moves around me, taking in my limbs before pressing one curled forefinger under my chin and tilting my head back. He tracks his emerald irises over my face. Each pass is calculating and not as heated as it was in the conference room this morning.
After a time, he rocks back on his heels. “Caine, drag back the shield.
Caine gives a noncommittal grunt and the flow of his energy creeps from my skin. I draw a ragged breath from my lungs as it caresses my arms like real hands. When I look at him, he holds a finger up to his lips and grins.
That level of control is not something I ever knew the demonkin capable of. It screams years of patience. Practice. And magick that would put most mages to shame.
I arch a brow at him and he seems pleased, maybe even delighted at my response.
Definitely a demon.
Gage grips my hands again, turning them in an uncanny mirroring to how I had turned them before he arrived. “I can feel your magick,” he mutters. “But it isn’t … hot enough to start a fire. What happened?”
What is that note in his voice? Disappointment?
As he releases my hands, I fold them into my lap, acutely aware of his knee brushing mine. “I was worrying about Branwen and my magick reacted.”
“And the fire? Do you have an affinity for it?”
My eyes snap to his. “No.”
His jaw works. “Then how?”
Blood rushes through my ears, and I swear my heartbeat is visible through the thin bodice of my dress. To tell him or not?
It isn’t a secret. I never swore to hide my power. What it does. But …
“My magick doesn’t work like that,” I say. “I have no real power.”
His green eyes narrow. “I can feel it, Amoret. When I touch you, it’s there.”
My lips tremble in a small smile, but there is no happiness to it. “I have magick, Gage. But no power of my own.”
“I don’t understand,” he tells me.
I reach for him and he goes still. My fingers trail over his wrist, the strong play of muscle there. The near invisible thick hairs. The dull black marks along his flesh. “Your flames, can you make them appear?”
He jerks. “I won’t call them with you touching me.”
My fingers tighten over his wrist, my thumb and first finger still an inch apart. “I won’t get burned. I swear.”
The thrum of his pulse is visible in the smooth skin of his throat. It beats like a trapped thing. So, alive. So strong.
Slowly, oh so slowly, a single tendril of emerald fire dances along his forearm. As I watch, I realize the flame remains only on his porcelain skin. It does not stray into the dark marks at all.
The warmth grows closer. It hovers so close to my fingertips and a sheen of sweat dampens the hollow of his throat.
I raise my hand along his skin, brushing and playing with the flame as it dances with the air flow in the room. When my fingers dive into that tendril, a low sound spills from Gage and my face flushes scarlet.
