“Godsdamn it, what are you thinking about?”
“Huh? Nothing important.”
In Demonish, he muttered, “Maddening female.” She got the impression that he hated her but was helplessly intrigued by his mate.
When would he admit that she was his? She might have disbelieved it, but there were times . . . “I was just recalling a watershed moment in my life that shaped me as a person. But I’d never share it with someone I distrust so much.”
He glowered. “Why did you disguise your eyes?”
She shrugged. “I wish they matched.”
“They do when they turn.”
“My eyes don’t turn.”
“Bright teal. A lover never told you that?” His voice dropped lower. “Hasn’t your fiancé brought you to come?”
Her cheeks grew hot. She was used to blunt talk, but his interest was . . . dark. “Why would my orgasms be any of your business?” Because I’m your . . . starts with an M . . .
He didn’t take the bait. Standing fully, he investigated her food tray. “You truly can’t stomach these dishes?” When she shook her head, he strode outside, gazing back at her.
Expecting her to follow?
Picking a spot on the terrace where the railing had broken off, he sat with his long legs hanging off the edge.
She sidled closer.
“Sit, Calliope.” He waved beside him.
“So you can push me off?”
“I can do that anyway.”
True. She cautiously joined him, catching a hint of his scent. Fire, evergreen, and male.
There they sat, overlooking hell together. They hated each other, but apparently they’d called a temporary truce.
She wanted information from him; what was his reasoning?
As he gazed out at the rugged terrain, tension seemed to seep from him. His eyes even grew a touch heavy-lidded. He clearly loved it here.
She tried to see it from his point of view. Now that the ash had cleared, the sun shone brighter, and the landscape was alive with color. The black of the mountains only made the lava river more vivid. Gold and silver stripes ran down cliff faces. Did molten ore simply spill out?
She pointed to the largest volcano far in the distance. “What is the name of that one?”
“Mount Volar.”
“The name of the river?”
“The Styx.”
“When I was younger, I would read tales about this dimension. Are there really traps in the wilds of hell?” What will I face out there?
“Countless. Which should appeal to you.” He turned to look at her. “A net from spider silk was crafty. But the crowning touch was using phallic carvings for a weight.”
“You are the one who imprisoned me in this tower. Besides, if anyone should be brought down by faun erections, it’s you, King Abyssian. You deserved that and more.”
Green eyes lively, he asked, “Are you planning on more?”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
For some reason, her answer seemed to please him. “A wiser female would use her wiles, instead of coming at me head-on.”
“I don’t possess wiles.”
His gaze roamed over her. Voice dropping to a husky timbre, he said, “Oh, little firebrand, I beg to differ.”
Stifling the impulse to fan herself, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I would never depend on wiles anyway. I depend on my mind. It’s served me well in the past; it will with you.”
“You propose to outwit me?” He grew animated, as if this was the most exciting thing he’d heard—in centuries. “Be forewarned, I’m a master of trickery. I could match even Loki, the greatest trickster ever to live.”
“I’ve experienced your trickery with those labors.” Reminded of those interminable hours, she said, “But I don’t expect anything more from you; trickery is for the weak-minded and lazy.”
He looked to be on the verge of laughing. “Calliope, I would very much like to spar with you. I wager I’ll be up for the mental challenge.”
“Demon, I win this round just by virtue of one fact.”
“Which is?”
She held his gaze. “You didn’t even know we’ve already begun.”
His expression turned to one of fascination. Then he seemed to harden himself. “You were bright in your past life as well.”
“Who do you believe I was?”
He hesitated, then said, “You were once Kari of Sylvan. A treacherous princess.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“A soothsayer confirmed it.” No doubt N?x. “And you are nigh identical to Kari in looks.”
“According to your ten-millennia-old recollection? I’m not convinced. Shouldn’t I have memories of my past life?”
“Some do; some don’t. The most visceral memories are the ones that might remain. Often they come in dreams.”
“I suppose I would have had an inkling of one by now. If I were going to.”
“Perhaps nothing was