After what seemed like hours passed, my stomach grumbling, my eyelids getting heavy, I slowly lowered myself down on the floor beneath the window, feeling the warmth on my face even as the hardwood cooled my back as I closed my eyes, eventually allowing the previously elusive sleep to claim me.
I dreamed of Samhain—the Summer's end solstice I would be missing this year, along with every other sabbat until the end of my time.
We would honor the dead, the generations of mothers before us. We would set their places at the table while we feasted. Then Marianne would hold a seance, seeing if any of the crossed over wanted to speak to us, guide us.
We would end the night by breaking away for private moments alone under moonlight with our cards in our hands, rolling them out in the Wheel of the Year spread, taking the guidance for the coming year that the universe, the mother, the father, had for us.
It was a happy dream as I saw myself spread in my black gown, my black cloak, my familiar, well-loved cards spread out before me.
It was the message that alarmed me, though.
Because it was a message of love.
We didn't fall in love, witches.
We met men, we grew heavy with daughters from them, and we devoted our lives to our beliefs, taking whatever love was within us, and pouring it into our daughters.
We didn't fall in love.
The cards never spoke to us about it.
But there it was, undeniable.
Ace of Cups, symbolizing new love. Two of cups, repressing learning to open up to another. Queen of Cups, a card speaking of sexuality. The Sun, a happily-ever-after sort of card. The Empress, suggesting children.
All happy.
All pointing toward love.
Until my eyes landed on the final card.
The Devil.
"What the fuck are you doing?" A growling voice startled me from my dream.
My eyes flew open, struggling to focus with the fogginess of sleep still blanketing my mind.
Several things came to me at once.
The sun was down in the windows to my side.
I was freezing because my cloak had fallen open down the middle exposing me completely.
And Ly looked even more intimidating and primal standing over me.
"I... resting," I said, voice thick with sleep.
"On the floor? There's a bed right there," he said, waving toward it.
"You own that bed. And the bedding. And the pillows," I spat, throwing his earlier words at him.
"And I don't own the floor?" he shot back, rolling those entrancing eyes of his. "Being a stubborn ass isn't going to get you far now that you're here," he declared, squatting down, slipping his hands under my body, and lifting me off the floor.
Surprise flooded my system. I hadn't been lifted since I was a little girl. I hadn't been carried since I was a babe. And this, well, this was decidedly different than that.
I felt oddly... small.
And strangely safe.
Which was absurd.
I was in the arms of a demon.
A creature of hell.
Safe was the last thing I was.
But he picked me up. And he carried me as though I weighed nothing more than a dried leaf before stopping at the side of the bed and tossing me onto it.
"Sleep there," he demanded in that grumbly voice of his.
I was starting to miss the basement. The certainty of the days there. Footsteps on the floorboards above, a sink and toilet, halfway edible food on a tray at least once a day, brought down by a man who didn't look for me, didn't notice me, didn't seem interested in harming me in any way.
Here, in this room, on this bed, with this demon prowling around, I had no idea what to expect.
Would he touch me like he'd done in the tub?
Was I in that kind of danger?
If I was, why did the idea send a thrill through me?
Ly moved through his room, grabbing something out of a dresser, then going into the bathroom.
I heard the water turn on, then off a few moments later before he appeared, this time wearing only a pair of loose black cotton pants slung low on his hips, putting the rest of his body on display.
Again, I'd seen pictures and statues. But there was something about the flesh itself that was more appealing. The way his muscles moved under the skin as he walked, the artwork he'd had tattooed into his skin.
"What are you doing?" I heard myself ask as he moved to the other side of the bed.
"Going to sleep," he told me, getting into the bed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
I couldn't think of what to say to that. His temper seemed short-fused. If I asked why he didn't bring me back to the basement, he might get set off.
And if his intentions were simply to go to sleep, there was no harm done there, was there?
This bed was preferable to the one in the basement, especially now that the basement bed was broken. And was more than large enough for both of us to sleep without ever so much as brushing shoulders.
So I rolled onto my side away from him, curled my legs into my chest, and closed my eyes.
But sleep refused to come.
I was too aware of him just a few feet away from me. Despite the space, I could feel the heat of him. It warmed my back in a way that shouldn't have been comforting, since his warmth came from the fiery pits of hell. Yet that was exactly what it was. Comforting. In this cold and drafty house, to feel so much warmth, like falling asleep in front of a winter fire, the heat tingled across your skin, burrowed inside, warmed you to your core.
"Fucking hell," Ly growled some indeterminate time later, making me jump, a little squeak escaping between my lips.
"What?" I asked, pulling the front of my cape closed before I turned to look over at him. There wasn't much light in the room, but his eyes seemed to catch what little there was, glowing redder in the dark.
"How am I supposed to sleep with your stomach growling like that?" he demanded, sounding genuinely angry about it.
"How am I supposed to make it stop growling if I haven't been fed?" I shot back.
My body had never become accustomed to hunger. Our coven participated in fasts for certain rituals, but while others seemed to effortlessly get through the long days of emptiness with ease, I was always tormented by the grumbling of my stomach, the stabbing hunger pangs.
"Fucking witches," he snapped, getting out of bed, moving across the room in the dark, and flicking on the light. "Come on then," he demanded as he opened the door.
I didn't stop to think.
I hopped off the bed and followed behind.
I wasn't going to turn down food if I could get it. Who knew when they would feed me again?
If these demons were willing to show me any sort of kindness, I had to be humble enough to accept it graciously.
It was against their nature, after all.
Chapter Four
Lycus
I wasn't known for my self-control.
That wasn't how we were built.
Self-control wasn't a virtue in our world.
In fact, the utter lack of it was much more desirable.
Why I was showing so much to the fucking witch was beyond me.
I wanted to slip my fingers in her waiting pussy in that tub.
And then I walked back into my room after punishing myself in the gym, to find her passed out on the floor with her fucking cloak open, exposing damn near every desirable part of her body to my hungry gaze.