Demon Night

would be one hell of a punishment for him.”
    The scar over his lip paled, and she told herself to stop talking, nothing was coming out as she meant it to. That hadn’t been amusing, but instead sounded so needy, practically asking for confirmation that he wouldn’t use the terms of the bargain as a way out of his promise.
    Ethan would never do that; she’d have wagered her own soul on it.
    His fingers slid into her hair and clenched. “Don’t look away from me, Charlie,” he said quietly, and that dangerous edge was there again.
    She steadily held his gaze. “I won’t.”
    “All right.” His face and his grip didn’t soften. “Now suppose you tell me what the hell is going on in your head, and what you are meaning to say to me.”
    Her hands fell to his chest again, and she felt the thud of his heart beneath her palm. Racing, though his voice was flat, and she couldn’t read the emotion at the source of it any more than she had Sammael’s.
    Her throat thickened. “I’m just trying to figure out what you need right now.”
    A shudder tore through him. His gaze lifted from her face, and he stared over her head for a long moment.
    “My needs are real simple, Charlie,” he finally said, and swept her up against his chest.
    No, they weren’t. If they were simple, he’d kiss her as he walked toward the stairs, rather than approaching them with the measured tread of a man heading into a fight he feared he might lose.
    Charlie smoothed her fingers over his collar; if Ethan thought she would put up any resistance, surely the press of her lips against his throat, the lay of her head against his shoulder would reassure him.
    As soon as he set her on her feet beside the bed, he gripped the hem of her shirt, drew it over her head. He’d never removed her clothes with his hands before; he’d always vanished them. Not because he was in a rush, but so he wouldn’t ruin them.
    But there was no saving these. Even if her blood hadn’t stained them, her pant leg was torn the length of her thigh, her shirt singed at the collar.
    Swelling emotion squeezed at her heart as he slid the pants over her hips and followed their fall with his palms, lowering himself and examining the unmarked skin above her knee. She touched his hair and he rose, but he only came part of the way, tipping her chin back to expose her throat. His thumb traced a line above the scar; the cut Sammael had made must have still shown faintly pink.
    “Ethan.” The muscles in his shoulders were steel beneath her hands. “You were hurt worse than I was. And I’m all right.”
    Another shudder wracked his large frame. “You need blood,” he said hoarsely.
    Yes. She’d lost too much, and the hunger had been smoldering deep. She’d been inhaling as little as possible and always through her mouth, so the bloodlust wouldn’t flare with the odor, but his words were a breath across tinder.
    “ My blood.” He spoke fiercely against her neck, and for a wild second Charlie thought he would bite her, take whatever it was he needed in the most basic way.
    “Yours,” she whispered, and stiffened in surprise when his clothing vanished. He always waited until the last moment to remove them, to feel his skin against hers.
    And now his body burned the length of her, but she had no time to revel in the sensation: he was lifting her to his neck, where a crimson stream already flowed. What on earth had he—?
    His hand cupped the back of her head and guided her with relentless strength to his throat. At the first taste, she was lost, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drinking deep.
    The bloodlust whipped through her. His forearm across her lower back held her trapped, and she rubbed herself against his stomach, seeking release. It didn’t come. Dimly, she realized that she was clinging to him, her legs around his waist, and he wasn’t moving toward the bed but simply standing as she fed. Each hard pull from his veins made him shake; she wanted him overcome and senseless and as helpless to his need as she was to hers.
    But Ethan weathered the storm of her bloodlust as solidly as a mountain, and was still upright when it broke.
    Charlie lifted her head and closed her eyes, thirst slaked but her body an inferno. She hadn’t come; now she didn’t know if she wanted to. Didn’t know if she wanted to be alone in this.
    And when he carried her to the bed, she was still separate. Those were not her hands braced in the middle of the mattress, her