have been like yours that does not feel insipid. But I am here, and I…I am sorry.”
His yellow eyes shut, and he lay there in her embrace, his fingers curling into the fabric of her skirts like a child hugging a pillow. They stayed like that for some time in silence, with her gently stroking his hair.
He pulled in a deep and wavering breath before letting it out in a rush. When he spoke, his voice was haggard and strained. “Thank you. I understand now.”
13
Bella was lounging against the headboard. She had pillows arranged behind her, but she was sitting upright, thinking over the creature who was lying half in her lap like a giant cat. Mordecai—the incubus, a thought that still seemed to hitch her thoughts every time it occurred to her—was asleep. His head was in her lap, horns and all, and he was draped over her right leg.
His tail had wound around her ankle several times, holding on to her as if that part of him was concerned she might wander off. A tail, with its jewelry at the end, that seemed to have a life of its own. He swore it acted of its own whim and on instinct most of the time. She now knew in a very personal sense. Oh, the terrible things he had done with it during the night made her cheeks grow warm. The terrible and wonderful things he had done.
She began stroking his rakish, unevenly cut blond hair. It looked like someone had tried to cut it with hedge sheers, but it suited him all the same. Slowly, she kept stroking her fingernails gently along his scalp. The gesture had lured him to sleep, and now it seemed to be doing quite a good job of keeping him there.
She was touching him like a lover.
We are lovers.
She had taken him into her body willingly. She had been the one who had climbed into bed with him. He had not coerced or blackmailed her. He had merely pointed out the faulty reasoning behind her adherence to her shame. The darkest thing he had done to convince her to sleep with him had only been to point out that she had no reason to feel guilty for it.
That wasn’t to say that what had followed had been innocent. Not in any shape of the imagination. Bella had been free for the first time in her life—cut loose of all the expectations of the world around her. For all her life, the whispers of the desires of others had stung her psyche.
Be a better orphan.
Be a better woman.
Be a better hunter.
But not with Mordecai. With him, she could simply be. He put no expectations upon her. He seemed utterly grateful to receive whatever she might pay him, kindness or otherwise. And she decided she was unwilling to treat him poorly.
He was so attentive. So intuitive. He knew what she wanted before she did. She supposed that was his instinct, after all. She smiled faintly. He was an incubus. A demon of lust sent to prey on the weakest part of mankind.
It could all be a trick. He could be seducing her slowly, seeking to make the moment he finally devoured her lifeforce the moment he also shattered her heart. But there he was, lying—rather undignifiedly, she might add—in her lap, hugging her leg like it were a stuffed toy and he a child.
He was smiling in his sleep.
He was happy.
And it was because of her that he felt so.
It made her smile as well. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy him. He was a demon from the pits, and she was a hunter. She was sworn to rid the world of things like him. But I was not taught the whole truth. That they can love. That they can wish for families. That their lives might have meaning beyond the death and ruin of mortal men.
She had been like this for a few hours, if the muted toll of a church bell nearby was any indication. She spent the entirety of it lost in her thoughts and the slow, repetitive movement of her fingers through his hair.
His horns were fascinating. They did not dig into her enough that she cared overmuch. She gave up stroking his hair to run her fingers over one of the ridged black curls. There was writing etched into it, as if it had been carefully carved there. It was a language she could not fathom. One she had not