Sculpting a Demon (3 page)

“I don’t—”

“Shh,” Arien said, cutting Dyne off. A woman’s voice. Singing. Singing from somewhere in hell. He leapt off the barstool and glanced sharply around the Grand Hall. His wings spread out behind him, ready for flight.

“Where are you going?” Dyne asked, taking hold of Arien’s arm.

“Don’t get in my way, demon,” he snarled, yanking his arm out of Dyne’s grasp. His body hummed with maddening, pulsating need. Nothing was going to keep him from finding the source of that voice. Nothing.

“Whoa,” Dyne said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down. No one’s trying to get in your way.”

“Good,” Arien said savagely. He knew in a distant way that he was acting crazy, but he didn’t care. That voice. It felt as if it were ripping him in two. And the pain was sweet. So incredibly sweet. “I have to go,” he said, and strode out of the bar, leaving Hordas and Dyne gaping behind him.

He stalked hell, following the call of that sublime melody. Down long and twisted hallways, through countless dark caverns, Arien hunted. The song hit a crescendo as he turned a corner in the far reaches of the lower region, stopping him in his tracks. He looked around, trying to orient himself. He had been so focused on that voice he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. A frown creased his brow as he realized that the only thing down this far was the Summoning Pool, the gateway between the living realm and hell.

The song urged him on and he entered the chamber that housed the pool. He stood on the edge of the gateway and watched the mirrorlike surface ripple as the voice floated through. There was no doubt it was coming from there. His heart raced. The agitation he had felt in the bar was gone. A gentle peace, a warmth that had been denied to him for too long flowed though his body. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, soothing his damned soul. Only after a while did he realize that the serenade from the pool wasn’t actually singing at all, but rather chanting. Arien cocked his head to the side and listened carefully, but the words refused to become clear. All that came through was a rhythmic mishmash of gibberish.

All requests, prayers, spells and the like were heard both Above and Below, but it was the intent of the conjurer that determined which side got to answer. Though he couldn’t tell whether this chant held any malicious intent, any lust for power or harm, he
would
answer this call. If he was overstepping the purviews of hell, well then, let them come for him if they dared. There was no way he was going to let anyone else serve the owner of that voice. Taking a deep breath, he dived into the swirling vortex, transporting himself into the world of the living.

* * * * *

Arien emerged from the darkness and sucked in lungfuls of damp air as he struggled to catch his breath. Traveling through the realms was never a pleasant experience, but this time seemed more taxing than ever. He felt…heavy. Dense. He tried to turn his head to see where he had been brought, but he found he was unable to move. He was encased in…something. Stone? Perhaps. Gathering his strength, he meant to tear himself free from whatever confined him, but a bizarre kind of rippling sensation washed over him, freezing him in place. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it vanished, and he stumbled from the abrupt departure.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, his eyes widening as he began to understand. A corporeal form. In the human realm. No wonder he felt heavy. When he allowed himself to be summoned in the past, he usually ended up bound in a magic circle, manifesting as little more than a thick mist, a ghost of a shadow, a whisper in the night. Patting himself down, he breathed a small sigh of relief when he found everything in its proper place. He glanced quickly behind himself, and though he thought he could feel them like always, it seemed that his wings had not made the transition.

He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed while he traveled, hours maybe, but there was a chance it had taken days. Time was fluid and often treacherous. He only hoped it wasn’t too long. He had to find her. If she wasn’t here… No. He
would
find her. Anything else was unacceptable.

It seemed he was in some kind of large square box. Windows lined one wall, bright moonlight filtering though the long, dark drapes. Instruments, the likes of which he had only ever seen in torture chambers, lay on the bench beside him. He chose a long-handled tool and examined it closely. It had a thick, flat blade, but when he ran his thumb over it, he found that it was dull. Not even his twisted mind could conceive of what possible use it could have and he hastily replaced it on the table.

His eyes shifted to the elevated space directly across from where he stood and his breath caught in his throat. A covered form lay in the middle of a large bed. The owner of the voice. It had to be. The enchantress whose spell had called to him in the depths of hell. His Master. A mischievous grin danced across his lips. In so much as he allowed her to be of course. Just because she possessed the power to summon him did not mean she had the power to control him.

But that song. The sheer, raw intensity of it still made him tremble. Could this one be different? He shook his head, refusing to even contemplate the possibility. It was utterly ridiculous anyway. There was no way any mere human could hold that kind of power.

He crossed the room and stood over the bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breast as she slept. Long hair, an autumnal spectrum of browns and golds and reds, fanned out over the pillow. Her peaches-and-cream complexion glowed in the pale moonlight and her pink rosebud lips were slightly parted. Her scent of rose soap and soft female skin invaded his head and he breathed deeply, savoring the heady combination.

He reached out and her nose twitched when he brushed his fingertips over her smooth, round cheek. Electricity shot along his nerve endings when he touched her and he jerked his hand back. He held it up in the pale moonlight, expecting to find burns on the pads of his fingers, but the flesh was unmarred.

He arched one eyebrow, studying her. The daughters of men had never held much appeal for him beyond what leverage they could afford him over others. There had been women over the centuries who would have killed for him had he asked—killed and so much more—but never once did he desire any of them. But this one… He ran his thumb over his fingertips. Something very strange was going on here.

He hunkered down beside the bed, watching her sleep. She was pretty, as far as humans went, but there was nothing outwardly extraordinary about her. Nothing particularly extraordinary, and yet he was so hard, so much in dire need of her, he had to fight to keep from ripping that sheet off her and taking her right then, awake or not.

Unbidden thoughts of what those rosebud lips would taste like flashed in his mind. How those round, full breasts would feel in his hands. Her soft body writhing beneath him as he thrust into her for the first time. All that slick, wet heat gripping him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, warm breath on his neck as he made her moan…

He reached out to touch her again but hesitated, his hand hovering over her face. He wasn’t sure about those eclectic jolts. They weren’t painful, but he had never felt anything remotely like them before and he did not like that he didn’t know what they meant.

Arien growled at himself. All this thinking was making his head hurt. He lowered his hand and his fingers grazed the delicate curve of her jaw. The jolts came again, making his cock jump. He straightened a little and ran his index finger along the slender column of her neck. A soft murmur escaped her as she stretched, her chin rising ever so slightly, allowing him more access.

He could definitely get used to this, he decided as his fingertips caressed her collarbone. If just touching her made him this hard… His gaze swept over her and he smiled. Carefully, he pulled back the sheet, crawled into the bed beside her and gently took her in his arms.

He couldn’t wait until she woke up.

Chapter Three

Lila was having the most amazing dream. It had to be a dream. How else could there possibly be strong, muscled arms around her waist? She knew even in her sleep-fogged mind that she had gone to bed alone. Hell, she always went to bed alone. This was just one of those dreams that was so vivid it felt as if it were actually happening.

She stirred and the arms momentarily tightened around her before relaxing once again. Imagines floated behind her closed eyes, visions of every man she had ever lusted after, movie stars she had secretly fantasized about, crushes she had admired from afar. The man in bed with her was all of them and at the same time none of them.

It feels so good to be held
, she thought as she snuggled into her dream lover’s embrace. Her fingers traveled down the sleek line of bone and muscle, along the powerful forearms that held her, downy hair tickling her palms as she worked her way to his hands, over the long, tapered fingers. She turned her head slightly, nestling into the space below his collarbone, and nuzzled his warm, hard chest. He smelled clean. Fresh. Electric. Like an ocean breeze after a thunderstorm. His heart beat beneath her ear, thrumming through her entire body. When he groaned softly behind her, warm breath and soft lips tickling the back of her neck, Lila shivered.

She reached back, her hand draping over the curve of his lower back. Naked! He was naked and his skin was like satin. Her hand roamed over the swell of his ass, down over the back of his thigh. Muscles tensed and jumped under her fingers as she explored his lean, hard body.

His hand moved then, slowly lifting the t-shirt she had worn to bed, fingertips lightly tracing circles on her bare stomach. Featherlight kisses on the back of her neck sent tingling heat right to her core and she breathed out a contented sigh. His lips followed the curve of her throat, teasing her heated, sensitive skin while his hand glided over her stomach, up her waist and then lingered below her breast, fingers stroking her ribs. She arched back into him and her hand came up, her fingers plunging into thick, silky hair. He cupped her breast in his palm and gave her already-hard nipple a gentle squeeze.

She couldn’t believe how real his touch seemed. This had to be the best dream ever. She only hoped she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. She didn’t want to have to face the bright morning light all alone.

Lazily, his hand inched up her leg, caressed her inner thigh and then slowly continued upward until he was cupping her wet and heated sex over her boxers. She trembled under his touch and literally purred. A spark of anticipation lit deep within her, spiraling down and down, her thighs relaxing, spreading for the phantom hand that teased and played and made her tremble. With one swift move, he rolled her onto her back and settled himself between her thighs, the full, hard length of him pressing into the exact right spot. She lifted her hips, grinding into him, wanting him, needing him to fill her, to ease the deep ache that pulsed low in her belly. He growled, his hands curling into fists in her hair as he pushed back against her.

“Yes,” she moaned, her hands gripping his firm ass, pulling him tighter against her.

The word left her mouth and landed in the silence of the room like an explosion. Her body stiffened. She had spoken aloud.
Aloud.
Her eyes flew open. Real. This was
real
. There was a real, live man in her bed. A stranger she had been about to… With a yelp, she recoiled backward with enough force that she fell out of the bed and hit the floor with a hard thump.

“Jesus!” she breathed as she scrambled away from him.

The man laughed, a deep, resonant sound, like rich, dark chocolate. “Certainly not,” he said.

“What?” she asked. It was then she got her first real look at him and the sight almost stole every last bit of her breath away. Chin-length, midnight black hair framed a face too beautiful for words. High cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips—in her wildest dreams she couldn’t have created a more perfect example of male beauty. However stunning his face, his eyes captured her total attention. Radiant and cobalt blue, they burned like wildfire. It was hard to meet the intensity of his gaze, but she refused to drop her eyes.

The stranger propped himself up on the pillows, cradled his head in his hand and studied her as she studied him. “I said, certainly not.”

“Certainly not?”

“Not even close,” he answered. His grin was wide, wicked, mischievous.

“What are you talking about?” No, that didn’t matter. “Who are you?”

He tossed the sheet aside, got out of the bed and gracefully knelt before her in a formal bow. Like a knight of old before his queen. “I am Arien,” he said. “An honor to serve, my Master.”

His black hair fell over his face, blocking it from her view, but she distinctly thought she heard a hit of mocking in his deep voice. “Master?”

“Is it the custom in this land to repeat everything that is said?” he asked. She saw the edges of his wide smile from beneath his hair. “Or perhaps you were calling me Master?” His head came up, cobalt eyes flashing in the dim morning light. “I can’t say I would mind that.” That wicked grin again. “If that is what you desire.”

I’m dreaming
, she thought as she gaped at the man kneeling before her.
I have to be. Otherwise, I’m totally fucking insane and I can only hope they have lots and lots of Thorazine on hand wherever they decide to lock me up.
She pinched herself because that seemed to work for people in stories, but they only thing that accomplished was to make a bright red welt on her arm. “What—” She cut herself off and took a deep breath. Her head spun with too many questions. “How did you get in here?”