nodded. “Very well. I have managed to procure an amulet that will help hide your true heritage from Lilith. It should be ready soon.”
“Wait, I thought the scythe nulled enchantments?”
“It strips them over time, which is why the amulet will have to be recharged every month.” He grimaced as if the thought was distasteful. “But it will afford you some protection.”
“What about the fact I look like Eve?”
“There was never anything to be done about that. Lilith rarely ventures into the human realm; none of the oldest demons who recall Eve’s face do.”
He’d gone out of his way to find me protection, and yes, I knew he had to keep me alive, but still … I was touched. “Thank you.”
He nodded curtly. “Conah told you about your tulpa?”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I assumed you knew. I see that I was wrong.” He looked at the door behind me. “How is she?”
“Confused. Sad. I don’t know …”
He tucked in his chin, pondering this. “Tell her there is no shame in being different.”
The soft tone of his voice drew me closer and made me want to reach out and touch his hard jaw, to comfort him for some reason. The pulse at my jugular pounded hard, throbbing as if in need of something.
His gaze flicked to my throat and lingered on my pulse. Was he thinking about blood? Could he hear it rushing in my veins? Did he want it? Did Lilith’s descendants drink from other demons? What would it feel like to have his mouth on my neck, to have his fangs sink into me, and to have him suck on me? My breath came fast and shallow, and when he closed the distance between us, I backed up into the door. Shit, he was so close. I mean, we got close in training, but that usually involved blows and evasion and the odd moment of being pinned to a mat, but this was different. The air molecules between us were charged with an anticipation bordering on threat. I took shallow breaths and caught the scent of turpentine under his regular fresh aroma.
Azazel’s milky eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, close enough for our breath to mingle but not close enough for our bodies to touch.
“So many questions …” His voice was an abrasive rumble against my heightened senses.
Oh, fuck … How could he know what I was thinking?
He opened his eyes, and even though they were clouded, I got the impression he was looking into my soul, and the urge to touch him, to run my fingers down his cheek and brush my thumb across his bottom lip was a sudden, sharp ache in my chest. Would his mouth soften at my touch? Would it part on a sigh?
His gaze branded my mouth, making it tingle and swell in anticipation. “When we feed from a demon, it’s always sexual.” His voice dropped an octave, thrumming through me. “Always …”
I fisted my hands and pressed them to my thighs. Fuck, what was this? This wave of need, this poignant urge to press myself to his body and lick him? The mark on my chest throbbed in time to my pulse as if egging me to make the move. To turn my head to the side and offer him my neck. To offer him the wetness that was blooming between my thighs.
As if sensing how close I was to breaking an invisible boundary, Azazel took a step away from me.
“Which is why I never do.”
I was dead, barely clinging to the wall, and he was back to stone-cold, unaffected Azazel. There had to be a switch somewhere. Where was it, and where could I get one because my body was in meltdown now, cursing me for promising it a banging time and not delivering.
I licked my lips and blew out a breath. “Well … um, thank you for the information.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You should know that we have an agent tracking the Dread who attacked the Academy.” He blinked slowly. “I’ll keep you informed.”
He walked away.
I guess we were done then, but it was several seconds before I was able to peel myself off the door and slip into my room.
Cyril raised his head, flicking out his tongue. “If my brows could shoot up, they would,” he said. “You sssmell like you’re in heat.”
“I have no idea what just happened.”
“Maybe that mark of yours?” he suggested.
I rubbed the mark through the material of my shirt. “No,