Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,78

have answers on how to send you home.”

He said nothing.

“What’s your home like?” The curious question slipped out thoughtlessly. I expected him to ignore it, but his head tilted slightly, gaze on the city street below.

“It is very different from here.” His low, husky voice blended with the night and shivered across my skin. “There are many places we do not go where it is too hot or too cold. Where we live … the land is made of rock and sand. It is red, almost like me. The plants are darker, some red, some green.”

My eyelids slid partway closed as I imagined it. A desert landscape of burnt maroon, the sand drifting among wind-carved rock. Dark foliage sprouted in nooks and crannies, clinging to life beneath a harsh, blazing sun.

“Some places, water runs deep and wide, and trees grow tall. Other places, there is no water for endless distances and we catch the rain at night to drink.” His gaze drifted toward me. “The sun is hot in the day, but the land grows cold at night. Colder than here. You would not survive a night in my world.”

“Does the cold bother you?” I whispered. I didn’t know why I was whispering, only that I could almost see his words. I could imagine my head angled back, mouth open to the pouring rain, the liquid cool on my parched tongue.

“Only if we are weakened. During the day, we rest and recover our vīsh. At night, we hunt … or we are hunted. It is cold and very dark. The clouds come at night, and the rain. Great storms.”

Roiling clouds lit by streaking white lightning. Earth-shaking thunder and torrential rain carving rivers of mud into the sand and rock. The powerful wind sweeping against me.

“We must conserve vīsh until the sun,” he murmured. “It is a game and a hunt and a battle. Who is smartest? Who is strongest? They survive.”

Glowing eyes in the darkness. A dim but distinct outline of heat and magic, curved wings spreading wide. A slash of fear in my chest.

I gave my head a sharp shake and absently rubbed my sternum as my heart rate kicked up. “You’re hunted more because you’re a demon king, aren’t you?”

“I have always been hunted.”

“Why?”

“Because I am Vh’alyir. I am Twelfth House. We are weak.” His eyes glowed fiercely. “I have taught them to fear Vh’alyir.”

Another zing of apprehension hit me, this one triggered by the savagery sliding across his features. “How?”

“They do not fear my strength, but the strike from the darkness.” His tail lashed sideways, a quiet rustle across the carpet. “They call me nailēris, but they do not laugh at my House any longer.”

Gooseflesh prickled up my arms, compounded by the chill air. The other demons called him cowardly … but he had taught them to fear him anyway. For the first time, I saw a shadow of regal power in him, of unyielding command and ruthless authority.

“You’re talkative tonight,” I said weakly. “What were you thinking about before I came in?”

He let his head fall back, resting it against the window’s edge. I saw no sign of his wolfish smirk, his contrary antagonism, or even his dangerous but semi-playful badgering.

“Maybe I will return soon to my world.” His voice dropped, deeper and rougher, his accent thickening. “I will return not as Dīnen but as Ivaknen … the Summoned.”

The Summoned. I shivered again and rubbed my upper arms. His gaze followed the movement and he leaned forward with sudden interest. Warm hand closing over my wrist, he drew my arm up to peer at my skin.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing is wrong. It’s how human skin reacts to cold.”

“It is not cold.”

“It is for me. The weather has to be much warmer than this for humans to walk around in as little clothing as you do.”

He turned my hand over and his fingertips slid across my inner wrist. “This has not changed. Is this part of you not cold?”

I opened my mouth—but couldn’t remember how to speak. He stroked the top of my forearm, exploring the texture of my skin as full-on gooseflesh made every fine hair stand on end.

He lifted my arm to his face and rubbed the lower edge of his cheek across my inner wrist. “This is smooth.”

I didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound. Only my heart reacted, pounding erratically in my chest.

He ran his hand down my forearm to my elbow, his palm hot as it