“Mine,” he said, then tugged my hair just enough to have me arching back, kissed my neck. Shoes were toed off, and then his hands traveled up, reached my breasts, and ignited a new kind of fire. Then his hands were at my waist and pushing clothing lower until I stood naked before him.

He went to his knees and looked up at me like I was a queen. And I felt like royalty, bathed in love and magic and the awe in his eyes.

I’d fought for him, for his people. And while that wasn’t the only reason we were in this room—or in this position—he would offer his gratitude.

His mouth found my center, and the world seemed to wobble. He chuckled with male pride and set to his work. He cherished me, worshipped me, until the fire he’d created subsumed me and left me boneless.

Then his jeans were down, his hand inside, pumping.

Arousal fired again. “Connor,” I said, and my voice was hoarse.

“You do this to me,” he said. “The desire. The wanting. Like no one else.”

I moved back from him and toward his bed, beckoned him forward with a fingertip. He growled his approval, came to the edge of the bed, and hovered over me, those strong arms corded as he held up his weight. His grin had gone wicked again as I ran hands down his body and up again, savoring taut skin flushed with desire, muscles that were hard as granite. And the length of him, strong and eager and ready.

“On your knees,” he said, and I turned over. I heard the slide of clothes, and then his body was against mine, hard and hot and aroused.

“Now,” I said, and pushed back against him.

He plunged with a groan that nearly sent me over the edge, began moving with strength and finesse that made my knees wobble, and began to build that heat all over again. His teeth found my neck, and he nipped, a hand moving to my breasts, to my core, until we were moving together, minds and hearts and bodies aligned, and pleasure swamped us both.

Stars fell and the world felt right again.

EIGHT

A hot shower, a hot boyfriend, and no demon activity during the day made for a wonderful wake-up. And then I found Lulu in the town house’s otherwise empty kitchen sitting morosely on a stool.

“What’s wrong?”

“My parents are flying back tomorrow,” Lulu said.

I stopped short. “They’re coming here now? With all this”—I gestured vaguely to the city outside—“demon possibility?”

“I know, right?” She put down the screen she’d been perusing, walked to the fridge, pulled out a carton of orange juice. She took it to the island, sat down on a stool. But didn’t open it. Didn’t drink. I didn’t presume to fully understand the complexities of their relationship, but I knew a battle when I saw one.

“And how do you feel about them coming out here?” I asked.