The Relic (Cradle of Darkness #2) - Addison Cain Page 0,9

an open blend of delight and disappointment playing across his brow. “Utterly remarkable.”

Grinning, his attention dragged from his hand straight to where I stood. “Well then, this changes a great deal. So, I apologize in advance.”

Before I might shriek or rally, before I could even begin to understand how I had gone from one place to another in the blink of an eye, he bore down on me. A wave of indescribable power that scorched all it touched, stole my air, and then retreated.

Prickles of ice stole over what had been burnt. What I imagined had been the stink of sulfur teasing my nose with a distinctive crispness.

Pine.

Snow.

Mountains at my feet and a dimming sky overhead setting a distant lake to glitter.

“How?” My breath steamed, a puff that dissipated on a breeze.

“Easy now.” Arms came around my middle, steadying a body too cold and too stunned. Warming me with brimstone fire. “Why eat breakfast there, when we can enjoy ourselves here?” Lips came to my ear. “And just so we’re clear. If you try to mist away from me, I will follow. Can’t have my sweet darling wondering the world all alone. You never know just what might try to gobble you up.”

There was a very clear threat in his growl, the beast closer to the surface than the skin of a man he wore to fool the world.

What was there to say when the air was so cold breathing was growing difficult.

To the sound of rending cloth, the size of what stood at my back transformed. Moments later, wings enfolded.

Shivering ceased. A cocoon of vileness tightening as if to deepen the embrace.

“Maya was to serve as your breakfast, followed with some fresh coffee and a scone. She was overjoyed at the opportunity, has feasted upon female virgins for days so her blood would bear a fruity roundness.” The beast at my back chuckled. “I know, excessive for a breakfast. I can’t imagine what she’ll plan should I ever ask her to provide your dinner.”

Nuzzling into my neck, the feel of his cracked, searing skin somehow velvet soft with artic air to cool him, he purred, “But I will always be your dinner. And maybe tonight, you’ll be brave enough to do more than sip me from a crystal goblet?”

Under those membranous wings, massive hands of fire moved up and down my arms. “Maybe you’ll sip from a fingertip, my wrist. When you’re truly daring, I’ll give you free rein of my throat.”

After each private morning mass, a priest told me my ravings were due to a condition. That no sin lay on my soul, that my confessions were delusions soon to be rectified by my faith in God’s goodness, mercy, and medication. He left, and medication was delivered. Blood. Served on a silver platter in an ornate goblet.

Utterly irresistible, I swallowed it down in great gulps. And felt full, healthy, confused at my inability to fight so deep a craving once my eyes or nose were tickled with what waited on that gleaming platter.

Then I spent my day with a talkative devil in the guise of a man. Who I tried to ignore, since pleading had gotten me nothing but a lemon cake topped with raspberries covered in black blood.

An odd combination I had practically torn from his hands in my physical inability to refrain.

Thinking of that cake now…

Gums tingling, I felt the part of me that brought the most shame try and fail to lengthen. The thoughts of blood, of blood that didn’t come from rats or make me vomit, left my mouth to water.

Laughter moved from the beast into me, more of those stroking hands, my body rigid and famished.

“The cake was brilliant on my part. You’ve thought of it so often I was concerned it might be some time before I’d be able to impress you so greatly again. But now… my sweet soul has developed a new talent much more quickly than I anticipated, leaving me with endless ideas.”

Heaven, help me.

“Would you like to stay, enjoy the view… with a drizzle of black blood on top?” He was ever the tempter, and I smelled a drop of blood bloom in that icy air, unsure which part of him had been pricked. But certain I was being toyed with. “Or would you prefer to dine on Marquita, back home, at the table?”

The option of remaining sequestered in my room was not offered.

Yet before I might choose, a thumb dragged over my lips. Chilled cheek cupped in