Lyric came close enough to hear the air hitch in her lungs when she felt his breath near her ear. “Your flower grows at your command, Shivaun.”
Eyes fluttering open, she looked around. Half of her expected to see a sea of red valerian stretching into the distance. The other half expected to find the scene unchanged except for Lyric laughing at her.
Shrugging, she said, “Very funny. Next time I will no’ be so gullible.”
Lyric took a step back and pointed to the ground in front of Shivaun.
She followed the direction of his finger and lit up like a child on Yule morn.
“Oh! Look!” A single red valerian plant in full bloom grew directly in front of the toe of her brown, suede boot. An expression of joy so acute and singular that it had to escape burst from her mouth. Lyric chuckled but grew serious when he saw her expression change. “Did you do that, demon?”
“I did not, Shivaun. That little girly pink flower is all your doing.”
She pinned him with a stare. “So. I can really make wildflowers?”
Nodding, Lyric said, “Yeah. You really can.”
“Flowers. Out of thin air. Am I a goddess?”
Lyric laughed. “You are divine. But not in the way you probably mean.”
Looking around at the sea of blooms, she said, “It can no’ be like this all the time,” she added. “Too perfect.” She waved her arm. “Did you create it?”
Shivaun was the farthest thing from ‘worldly’ when she signed on to train as a demon hunter for the Order of the Black Swan. She’d still been in the process of adapting to the alien environment of modern life when she’d been transformed. That meant that she was the farthest thing from a creature who matched his perspective. Still. The attraction was as irresistible as a mountain-sized magnet.
When she’d asked if he’d known the day would be beautiful, he’d skillfully redirected the conversation. But she remembered and circled back. That was the first indication that she was not just beautiful, but smart as well.
At length he replied, choosing his words carefully. “Perfect dates are rarely accidents.”
“Is that the demon double-speak we learned about in training?”
Lyric laughed. “No.” He cocked his head. “Maybe.” Pause. “I don’t know.”
“Well, can you give a straight answer or no’?”
“I can. I’m just not sure you’re ready to hear it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ready or no’, I can no’ see a way clear to communication between us without, em, communicatin’.”
“A valid point. You’ve very astute.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve noticed you’re a very flatterin’ sort of demon. I’ve also noticed that you use compliments to distract from the fact that you’re no’ answerin’ my questions.”
Lyric sank down to sit on the bluebonnet-covered ground then gestured for Shivaun to join him. She complied, folding herself into an Indian-style pose with an athletic grace too fluid to be purely human.
“It’s not that I don’t want to answer,” he said. “It’s that I don’t want to step on toes.” He lightly tapped her jeans-clad knee with the tips of his fingers; a gesture that shouldn’t have felt intimate, but did.
“Whose toes would those be?”
He raised his eyes slowly from where his fingers had made contact until their gazes locked. “Perhaps that was inaccurate. The Order of the Black Swan is a toeless entity.”
With an indignant huff, she asked, “And why are ye thinkin’ honesty would be a problem for Black Swan?”
“Not honesty per se. But they may just have some plan for how to unfold the secrets of elemental living. Perhaps allow the newborns to adjust gradually.”
“Newborns?” Her brow pinched in confusion then smoothed away. “You mean the hunters who are, um, more? Like me?”
He nodded and leaned back, bracing himself by straightening his arms and putting his palms on the ground behind him.
“Then you may as well take me back, demon.”
“Call me Lyric.”
“’Twill be no need to call ye anything if ye do no’ agree to stop bein’…”
“What?”
“Evasive.”
“Evasive,” he repeated.
“Aye. I can find my own way back ye know.”
“You can’t.”
“Of course I can.” He shook his head. ”And why no’?”
“Relates to your question.”
Shivaun popped to her feet with an economy of movement that would be the envy of any dancer. “I do no’ care for riddles, demon.”
“Lyric.”
“I’m goin’ home.”
He rose to his full height, towering over her by a head. “Okay. You win. You agree to call me Lyric and I will agree to be more forthcoming.”
With narrowed eyes, she said, “More forthcomin’ is no’