Immortals After Dark 10 - Demon From the Dark

halting English. "No bi-ting." He held up his palm in frustration, so clearly saying, Then what am I to have?
    Good point, she thought as she knelt on her new bed. The demon had fed her, given her shelter and protection. Though he came from a master/slave culture, he'd actually been negotiating with her, but she knew she was on borrowed time.
    Change of plans. "Fine." If she did give him pleasure, he might fuel her with more power. She glanced away and held out her own palm. "Hand shandy, anyone?"
    He hadn't moved. Great. Was she going to have to mime this one, too? When she faced him, realization lit his expression.
    He narrowed his eyes, giving her a look of distaste. As if she'd just cheapened herself.
    And Carrow the Incarcerated, party girl without inhibitions, was embarrassed. Then she remembered who she was with. "You're giving me that look when you creamed jeans on me--twice? Maybe you should be embarrassed!"
    "Carrow," he said warningly.
    Yes, he'd injured her and freaked her out, but she no longer believed his behavior was due to malice in his heart--it was because of what he'd become. He yelled at me to run.
    Which meant that Carrow was the real villain here. She did have malicious intentions toward him. She planned to hurt him worse than he could ever hurt her.
    Don't think about that; think of Ruby.
    He flicked his fingers at Carrow's shirt, commanding her to remove it. When she merely gaped at him, he hit his fist into his other palm.
    The demon wasn't joking around.
    Yet the idea of kissing him, or more, when he was so dirty skeeved her. "Look, it's not you. It's me, and my inability to dig dirty dudes." Not to mention how filthy she was. Earlier, she'd swiped phicken juice off her chin with the back of her hand.
    She had all the materials needed to get them squeaky. She just needed a tub and about fifty gallons of pure, grade A water. "Uh, I don't suppose you have a place to take a bath ?"

Chapter 15

    She wanted a ... bath . He remembered the word because 'twas so abhorrent to him.
    As a boy, he'd been washed by the master's other slaves, had been wholly dunked in water as he'd choked and sputtered. He'd screamed with fear over the bathing, as much as anything else that the master had done to him.
    Malkom would never forget the heavy, alien feel of liquid over him, or how the lye soap had burned his eyes like fire.
    To this day, he'd never submerged himself.
    She mimicked washing her arms. "A bath?"
    Yet another habit of hers that was so similar to the vampires'.
    Was this another of her conditions? Then afterward, she might do more than coldly offer her hand? She'd wanted to give him that release but to deny him the feel of her body--and he'd resented it.
    Even as his member had swelled for her soft palm...
    "Water? To bathe? " Now she mimicked pouring water over her head.
    Oh, yes, wherever she hailed from, she was from a family of wealth--lots of it. He knew this with all the conviction of one who'd spent most of his life without any . He wouldn't doubt if she were a noble, or even a royal.
    Here a carafe of water could buy a slave--and she wanted a barrel's worth of it.
    Yet now he was rich in water, could afford her extravagances. When he nodded, motioning for her to follow him, her eyes lit up and she swiftly collected her pack.
    Grabbing his pickax, he led her to an area with a bowl depression that had a retaining wall bricked around it. In olden times, the ceiling ten feet above had been pierced at intervals, tapped for the gathering pool beneath.
    He stood on the retaining wall and lifted the ax above his head. After a couple of practiced swings at the ceiling, warm water sprang from the rock, trickling into the pool.
    She gave a delighted cry as the level began to rise, and he lifted his chin proudly.
    "More," she murmured in Anglish. She clasped her hands together in that gesture of pleading.
    Though it would eventually fill up the large crater, could he deny her when she asked so sweetly? He was already anxious from his nearness to the water, but when he thought about her disrobing completely--with him watching--he yanked off his chainmail, took up his ax once more, and hacked at the ceiling.
    Ah, Hekate, the way his body moves.
    His back was bare, the skin damp, and as he swung that ax with such ease, his muscles flexed sensuously.
    When a bead of sweat dripped down along his spine, she imagined tracing its path with her finger. The first time she'd ever desired to touch him.
    Was she