Immortals After Dark 10 - Demon From the Dark

wasn't accustomed to entering into all these negotiations, much less miming them.
    Instead he gazed on in fascination as she collected the animal-- fingers crossed! --bones in her arms, carrying them like firewood to cast out into the main shaft.
    Next she coiled the ropes and myriad chains, stowing them and the countless blades in an empty corner. Finished with that, she turned to his pallet. The one he sat on. "Shoo, demon," she said, waving him away. She got the sense that this amused him, but he did move.
    She pinched the corner of the worn material, lifting it with disdain, then tossed it out as well.
    Once she'd replaced it with a new sleeping bag, she said, "You can come back now."
    But when she selected a second bag to lay on the opposite side of the fire, he finally conveyed an opinion. He smirked, holding up a pair of fingers together, as if saying, You can set up two pallets if you like, but we'll still be using one.
    Ignoring him, she began unrolling it, but he hastened forward, startling her with his incredible speed. She tripped back, her arms cartwheeling and her ring flying--into the fire. "My ring, my ring!"
    He looked from the fire to her with a raised brow.
    That ring was the only thing she had of her parents, the only personal gift she'd ever received from them. She clasped her hands to her chest in a pleading gesture.
    Sharp nod from the demon. He shoved his hand into the flames, rooting through the embers to retrieve the ring. He held it out to her, then snatched it back at the last minute, blowing on it to cool the band for her.
    How could this being--who'd decorated his home with severed heads--also be so ... thoughtful?
    Once he offered the ring again, she breathed a sigh of relief and slipped it back on. But when she noticed the damage to his burned hand, she cried, "You crazy Neanderthal!" Before she thought better of it, she'd knelt beside him and seized his hand in hers.
    Malkom's lids went heavy. He felt no pain, only the pleasure of her touch. After being alone so long...
    Keep your eyes open, Slaine, to enjoy this more.
    She spoke, sounding breathless, but he didn't understand her. Still, he suspected this behavior of hers was akin to affection. And he craved more . How to get it?
    He tried to draw on what he knew of females, to determine how to make this one stay pleased and affectionate.
    His knowledge was ... limited.
    He'd barely known his mother. She'd been a whore who'd despised his very existence, selling him into slavery--and eventually attempting much worse. She was no example to him. Then, in the years when he'd been a sequestered slave, he'd rarely even seen females, and always from a distance. At fourteen, he'd encountered young highborn demonesses who'd laughed as he'd eaten from their garbage or begged them for a drop of water.
    I know naught of females.
    As he pondered this, he absently brushed Carrow's hair from her cheek. The touch had been gentle and she looked surprised, maybe even ... hopeful. Again he marveled at how revealing her expressions were. She was so easy to read; he realized he could learn--from her--how to put her at ease.
    I know naught of females. He took her delicately boned hand in his own, pulling her closer. But this one will teach me.
    What is wrong with me? Carrow didn't know what had possessed her to cross to his side of the fire, much less to touch him. When she tried to extricate her hand from his, he clutched it too hard. "You're going to hurt me again!" She yanked back, freeing herself from his grip.
    His eyes darted, his mind working. To her horror, he shoved his other hand into the fire.
    "What are you doing?" she cried, leaping forward, hauling his arm back.
    His chin jutting, he presented his latest burned hand to her.
    With a defeated exhalation, she took it, skimming her fingers over it. "You'd go through that pain just so I'll touch you?" Sympathy bloomed in her. After centuries alone, he was so starved for attention he'd harm himself, seeking more.
    She could relate....
    Unbidden, a memory arose of her eighth birthday, which her parents had celebrated with a soiree. The dazzling gathering had been out on their terrace, with lanterns dangling from oak limbs, stretching out over the laughing guests.
    Carrow hadn't been invited.
    She remembered trembling with desperation, feeling as if she'd die without their attention. She'd ditched her nannies and jumped her pony over the hedge onto the terrace. She hadn't cared if she crashed or made