Page 25 of My Demon Desire
He approaches the bed and sits down on the edge, his gaze fixed on me. The late morning sunlight streams in through the window, casting shadows on his face, making him look almost ethereal like a misunderstood god with horns and dark eyes. He's silent for a moment, and I can't help but wonder what's going through his mind.
"Sorry that I woke you," he says finally, his voice low and rumbling. He rubs his thumb across his lips and I can't stop staring at him. His eyes darken and he inhales long and hard as though he can smell my desire.
"It's okay." Liquid heat pools low in my belly and I want him to touch me so badly, I ache. I push the feeling aside to have been woken up from my sex-driven dream.
"You were tossing and turning," he continues, "I thought maybe you were having a nightmare."
I shake my head, still unable to say what my dream really was, and my face burns with embarrassment.
With a rolling back of his shoulders, he glances up at me. "I have some questions I need you to answer truthfully."
His tone is serious and authoritative, sending unease down my spine.
"Okay," I manage to say despite the growing fear coursing through me.
His gaze is so intense it feels like he can see into my soul. "Do you know if you have any fae blood?"
A puff of air burst from my lips because of all the questions I was expecting, but that wasn't one of them. "Um... no. I'm human. Why are you even asking me this?"
Instead of answering, he takes my hand and looks into my eyes before asking, "Let me see your injury, the one on your arm."
"My arm?" I stare at him, then realize he means my scar. "It's nothing. A burn mark I've had for as long as I can remember."
"Thorne says you were cut by the slaugh on the scar and it revealed a marking."
I pull my hand away, suddenly feeling nervous. "No, it's fine. I need to put a Band-Aid over it, but I cleaned it with the herbs in the kitchen earlier."
He cocks his horned head to the side. "You're embarrassed by your wound?"
"No." I balk but glance down at my hands that are curled into the blankets, holding on for dear life. I force them to relax. "I just don't like it. It was a bad burn and the skin there is... melted looking. I hate it."
"Then we must truly appear grotesque to you." He straightens, and his mouth presses in a thin white line.
"No." I shake my head, then clear my throat. "I mean, sure, I thought that when I first saw you. And Kaden chasing me like he was going to eat me didn't help." I scratch my cheek, wishing we could talk about something else, like finding my father. "But now, none of you seem like monsters to me anymore." Not after facing a dragon or what had they called it... a laugh?
"Humor me." He motions to my arm with his chin. "I don't think the burn mark is what you think it is."
"What else could it be?" I laugh, but there's an undercurrent in the air that chills me.
He raises an eyebrow and I bite my lip, pulling up my torn sleeve to show him.
His finger traces over the scar, and I shiver as his touch sends sparks of desire through me and I fight myself not to swoon and lean into his touch. "This isn't an ordinary burn," he finally says, his voice quiet. "I think it's a mark, an ancient one. It's a sign of your heritage."
My eyes widen in shock as I try to process what he's saying. My mind is spinning trying to make sense of it. "My heritage?"
"Yes. You have fae blood in you." His voice is soft and comforting.
I squint, looking down at my upper arm, which would be a lot easier with a mirror, and realize he's right. There's a strange pattern traced along the middle of my scar. Almost like a runic symbol or something.
"What is that?" I jerk my arm up higher, squinting at it. The lines were delicate and intricate like they were purposely made and not an accident.
I look past my arm to Reis who is nodding.
"It's an ancient symbol," he says in a voice laced with excitement. "It marks you as a member of the royal court."
My heart thumps in my chest as I try to comprehend his words and what this means. "I'm fae?" I shake my head. "No, no I can't be. My parents are human." I wave my hand toward his horns. "No magic or horns or wings."
"The burn on your arm isn't from a fire." He reaches out his hand. "Let me show you." When his fingers trace over the mark, my whole body feels like its on fire. Not a bad one, a sexual one, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and look away from his smoldering gaze. Power pulsates off him in waves and the mark on my arm practically hums under his fingers.
