But I could not bring him to orgasm. Oh, gods, oh, gods. "Did you?"
"Yes, I used you. And, no, I did not want you."
"Did you - " gods, why are you doing this to yourself? " - did you think of her when you were inside me?"
There was a painful, tension-filled pause. "Does it matter?"
Oh, gods. That was answer enough, yet she still had to hear him say it. Maybe then her love for him would die. Maybe then her obsession would wane. "It matters. Tell me. Say it."
He uttered another sigh. "Then, yes. I did. But even then..."
Even then he could not come. Curse him! And curse herself!
Her nails elongated as she curled her fingers into fists, cutting past skin, drawing her own blood. She was panting, she realized. "You should not have used me while thinking of another."
"No, and for that I'm sorry."
She laughed bitterly, felt his eyes boring into her back. "I must be like all the other women in your life, throwing myself at you, willing to accept any scrap of affection you toss my way. Not that you ever tossed me a moment to cherish. A moment to sigh over in the dark of night, to dream of for years to come and to giggle over with friends." If she'd had any friends.
"You could not help yourself. The allure of the nymph is impossible to ignore."
But no other nymph had made her crave things she could never have. "Do you laugh about us when you are alone?" she asked, striving for an unconcerned tone. Inside, she still seethed. What right did Shivawn have to hurt her like this? To use her and humiliate her? To treat her as beneath him? None. An idea took root in her mind and refused to leave. No, I cannot do it.
But he deserves it.
"Laugh? At who?" He quickened his step until he was beside her, obviously no longer content to lag behind.
She pushed the snow-white branch of a ghost tree from her path, taking a small bit of satisfaction when it slapped Shivawn in the cheek and he grunted. "At the women," she said. "At your females. At those of us who throw ourselves at you."
"I hope I am not so callous as that. I would die without those females. I need them as much as they want me."
Clearly, she wasn't part of the "they." Bastard. No one else will give him what he deserves. Not the gods, not his king, not my king. I must do it. "I wonder why I ever desired you." And why, despite everything, she still did.
"I have wondered that myself," he replied darkly.
"You are strong," she offered, not wanting to admit the real reason.
"So are others."
"You are handsome."
"Others are more so."
True, and yet...no one else had eyes like his. Most likely some shared the color, but not the pain banked there, the hint of, well, a man possessed by ghosts and dark passion.
Once, many years ago, she had glimpsed the beast inside him.
He didn't know it, hadn't seen her, but she had been mesmerized by him.
His father...She gulped, had sworn never to think of that terrible time again, lest it grow wings and fly from her memories, reminding him. But the dark images flooded her, images of that fateful day marking the beginning of her obsession, and she couldn't stop them.
Even though Alyssa was of mixed blood, both a vampire and a demon, she never allowed herself to think or act like a demon. Too many races despised them. As she appeared every inch the vampire, the deception wasn't difficult.
But that day - that week, actually - she'd snuck her way inside the demon camp, curious about the father she had never known, about his people. For days she'd watched them, beginning to despise them herself. They killed for fun, delighted by their victims' screams. They did more than drink blood; they ate flesh.
One day, several demon warriors - her brothers - ambushed Shivawn's father, an innocent, during peace talks. For sport, they had tortured the man in the most horrendous ways, and young Alyssa had stayed hidden in the shadows, cowering, too afraid to try and make them stop.
Shivawn had seen his father's limp body nailed to a tree and attacked. A battle had been waged and he had ultimately triumphed, slaughtering the demons responsible. His love for his father had shown in every slash of his blade, in every roar of fury and helplessness that had left his mouth.