by Lara Adrian
She wanted to dismiss the impulse as one he planted in her mind, but she could tell from the casual way he regarded her that any curiosity she felt in that moment was hers alone.
Nahiri scrambled off the bed. She backed into the farthest corner of the room, eyeing him warily. “Where am I? Where have you taken me?”
“You’re at Gravori House.” He cast a nonchalant look around the room. “More specifically, you’re in my bedroom.”
Even though she could have guessed as much, her heart still climbed into her throat. Since she’d gone to the temple to train at eighteen years old, she hadn’t left the sanctuary grounds even once. Let alone spent so much as a minute in a man’s bedroom.
She might be a virgin, but she had never been a wilting little girl. She was a grown woman. A skilled warrior. She refused to let him intimidate her.
“It was a bad idea to abduct me from the temple,” she informed him. “The Three will see you punished for this, Incubus, regardless of what you mean to do to me. And with or without my weapons, I am still a Blade. I will fight you every step of the way.”
“The same way you did in the High Chamber?”
Her cheeks flamed with heat at the reminder. With humiliation. Her weakness had shamed her in front of the other Blades, in front of the three priestesses who’d entrusted her with their lives. With their faith that she was the best, the strongest, of her peers.
And this demon had disproved all of that in a moment.
He would do it again if he wanted to. He could do anything he wanted to her. Nahiri could see it in the hard glint of his golden eyes.
No, for all her skill—for all her dedication to the teachings and training of the temple—Devlin Gravori could destroy her at his whim.
“I’m not interested in fighting you,” he murmured, as if he could read the troubled direction of her thoughts.
She swallowed, watching the way he stared at her from across the room. He didn’t move, and yet her body trembled as though his hands were already on her, as hot and roaming as his gaze. All the wicked, deviant things she’d ever heard about Incubi appetites poured over her in a rush of dread and terrible anticipation.
“In case you’re worried about it, I’m not interested in raping you either,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth curling around the sensual growl of his deep, rumbling voice. “Forcing a woman isn’t the Incubus way. Never been my way, at any rate.”
Nahiri hiked up her chin. “No, you’ll just bend my will until I submit. Or make me your Thrall so you can siphon my life’s energy for your own. Maybe you’ll manipulate my mind until I beg you to drain me completely. I suppose that would be more your way.”
He grunted, dark amusement in his tone. “I have plenty of women more than happy to slake my needs—all of my needs.”
As reassurances went, his did little to relieve her. He steepled his hands beneath his chin, his citrine gaze locked on her. Nahiri could hardly breathe. His dark energy was gathered about him, pulsating and vivid, but not the way she’d felt it in the temple.
He was holding his demonic allure in check now, despite the heat she felt licking along her limbs and putting a flame to her blood. He intrigued her as much as he unsettled her.
Heaven save her, but he tempted her.
Even as he terrified her, infuriated her…he stirred a dangerous longing in her.
And he knew.
The way he studied her, he knew she was struggling against an attraction she wanted desperately to deny.
One raven brow quirked nearly imperceptibly. “If I wanted to take you as my lover, Nahiri, or feed from you as my Thrall, I wouldn’t need force or Incubus magic to do it.”
The combination of her name on his lips and the terrible truth he spoke made her heart stumble in her chest. It beat shallowly, accelerating in time with her breathing.
And she tried not to notice how his gaze tracked every inch of her body, settling on her breasts as they rose and fell with each rapid squeeze of her lungs.
He got out of the chair and stood in place for a long moment. When he finally moved, his steps were measured, unrushed. So confident, as if doubt was something he never had to trifle with when it came to women.
Of course, he’d told her as much, so his arrogance shouldn’t surprise her now.
Nahiri stood, frozen, as he approached, his thick-muscled thighs carrying him in a slow prowl across the room. He paused an arm’s length away from her.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, grateful that the tremors of her body hadn’t found their way into her voice. She could not forget for an instant that she was dealing with a demon. “What do you want from me?”
His sensual mouth twisted in contemplation. “I haven’t decided yet. But let me be clear about one thing, little Blade. You may be pledged to the Three and their precious temple, but in this House, I am Master. So long as I have you under this roof, you will obey me. As of now, your well-being, your life—everything—belongs to me.”
She bristled, outrage shooting through her like fire. She welcomed the anger. It helped eclipse the desire that was still simmering inside her, unwanted and never to be admitted—especially to this overbearing heathen of a man.
Devlin Gravori was mad if he expected her to think of him as anything but her captor.
Her enemy.
And he might as well realize that now.
Nahiri peeled her lips back from her teeth in a furious smile. She squared off against him, ready to do battle even without the benefit of her weapons. “I would rather die before I give anything to you. Willingly or by force. I would see you dead before that day.”
He scowled as she hissed the words into his face. When he raised his hand, she thought for certain he would strike her.
Instead, his broad, warm palm came around the back of her neck. He held her in a firm grip, and brought his face terrifyingly close to hers.
When he spoke his voice was raw, as rough as gravel in his throat. “Be careful with your threats, Nahiri. Those are dangerous words. Particularly when my kin are already grieving the loss of one brother to your kind today.”
She stared up into his fierce golden eyes, transfixed by the power she saw there. By the pain and fury that hardened his handsome features and tightened the lush line of his mouth.
“On the other side of this bedroom door, I have a dozen Incubi brothers and cousins who might be tempted to take your threats against me to heart. They might be tempted toward other things too. But not so long as you’re under my watch. No one takes what belongs to me.”
As he spoke, his gaze drifted to her mouth. It lingered there, and suddenly Nahiri could hardly swallow for the lack of moisture in her throat. Her lips tingled under his gaze, aching for contact. Her temples pounded with her heartbeat, a rising, steady thrum that seemed to echo in the small space between her body and his.
Everything female in her was fixed on this man—this dark, deadly demon—and the unholy need he aroused in her.
“You will obey me,” he muttered, the command like velvet on her senses when it should grate like sharp stones. “As of right now, Nahiri the Blade, you belong to me.”
~ ~ ~
He wanted to kiss her.
Holy fuck, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that with Nahiri, and he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her for one more second the way his need was churning inside him.
As an Incubus, he thrived on pleasure. Sex was at the core of who he was; it sustained him the same way food nourished a human. But it wasn’t physiological necessity he felt around the gorgeous Nephilim in his custody.
It was lust, pure and simple.
It was craving, deep and raw and all-consuming.
He may have prided himself on never taking something from a woman that wasn’t freely given, but his cock had other ideas where Nahiri was concerned.
Very tempting, very carnal ideas.
Which is why Dev found himself on the other side of his closed bedroom door, st
anding in the hallway with a massive hard-on and an attitude just short of hellacious.
Ramiel came walking toward him in that moment, up from the other end of the hall. He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw Dev’s ferocious scowl.
The Watchman smirked. “Now tell me it wasn’t a mistake to bring the woman here.”
Dev snarled a wordless reply. Ram had been incredulous when Dev had teleported out of the temple with an enthralled, unconscious Blade in tow.
He’d tried to convince Dev to rethink the impulse that made him grab Nahiri as some kind of collateral for the justice Dev sought for Marius’s slaying. But Dev’s mind had been made up. He couldn’t let the Three lie to his face on top of the murder he was sure they had a hand in.
They had to feel some pain today too.
They deserved to weather some degree of loss.
As for Nahiri…her only offense was having the bad luck to be standing in the crossfire of his wrath.
Not that he had any sympathy for the Blade.
No, at the moment, sympathy was pretty damned far down the list of things he was feeling for her.
He stepped away from the closed door to meet his Watchman at the other end of the hallway. The two Incubi headed downstairs to the main floor of Gravori House.
“Shall I post one of my men to guard your prisoner?”
Dev gave Ram a dark look. “That won’t be necessary. She’s not going to try to escape.”
“How can you be sure?” Ram glanced at him sidelong, brows raised in question. “What’d you do, threaten to dangle her pretty Nephilim arse like candy in front of every Incubus in the citadel? I can only imagine the feeding frenzy that would cause.”
The thought put a stab of violence in Dev’s already dangerous mood. He glared at the captain of his guard. “No one will touch her, understood? No one. But she doesn’t need to know that. All she needs to know is so long as she’s in my keeping, she is at my mercy alone.”
Ram gave him a nod, but didn’t seem able to keep from snorting a low chuckle. “At the mercy of Devil Gravori. Does she realize that’s even more dangerous than facing a pack of sex-hungry Incubi?”
Dev grunted, leading the way through the living area of the sprawling Mediterranean-style villa. Most of the House was having lunch in the sun-filled courtyard outside, his brothers and cousins seated soberly around large tables set up on the tiled patio while the Gravori children—a handful of Incubi boys and a couple of Nephilim girls, offspring of the mated members of the family—played a raucous game of chase through the hedge maze in the gardens.
Dev watched a towheaded boy in particular. The five-year-old leapt up onto a large rock with a jubilant shout, his face lit up with triumph as he declared himself the winner. A few of the other boys jumped up to challenge, playfully toppling him, and off they went together in a cacophony of shouting and mock battle.
“I take it Kai and the other children haven’t been told about Marius yet.”
Ram shook his head. “Arionn thought it best for you to tell the boy about his father’s death first. Then he’ll gather the other children and explain the situation to them all together.”
Dev glanced at his mated brother, the calm and steady one. There were times he felt Ari would have been better suited as Master of Gravori House. He certainly had the better temperament, and the compassion required to rule. Although Ari had tried for the seat, it was Devlin who had won it instead.
As for the rest of his brothers—Bannor, Naell and Zaban—none had wanted the responsibility to lead. Least of all Zaban.
And if there was one Incubus in the villa whom Nahiri needed to fear as much as Dev, it was the libertine black sheep of their demon clan.
“I’m surprised to see Zaban’s sticking around today,” Dev murmured. “Not like him to linger when things get too dramatic around here.”
Ram shrugged. “Apparently even he is grieving Marius. Ari told me Zaban will stay until after the rites.”
“How noble of him.” Dev grunted, his gaze clashing with that of his dark-haired younger brother, who saluted him grimly over a glass of blood-red wine. He looked away from Zaban without acknowledging him.
In the garden, the children were still playing, laughing brightly. Dev glanced with regret at Marius’s only progeny. The Harem-born little boy’s face was alight with glee, innocently unaware of the crushing news that awaited him. “Bring Kai to me after his game is over. I’ll be in my study, making arrangements for tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Nahiri didn’t see her demon captor again the rest of that day or night.
She’d avoided the tempting comfort of the bed—his bed—and had instead spent the night curled up on the hardwood floor, trying her best to keep from sleeping in case he decided to return to his bedroom and make good on any one of his disturbing threats.
As much as she knew she should fear all of the Incubi in this unfamiliar, enemy terrain, it was Devlin Gravori who frightened her the most.
Not because she dreaded what he might do to her.
Because deep down, to her horror, she dreaded that what he’d said was true: If he wanted to make her his lover, he wouldn’t have to resort to brute force or Incubus tricks to persuade her.
The words had haunted her all night.
They were still heavy in her mind that next morning, when the bedroom door opened without a knock of warning and in walked the arrogant, disturbingly attractive demon.
If possible, his black scowl seemed even more dangerous now.
Nahiri got to her feet, throwing her long braid behind her as she eyed him warily. His handsome face was more rigid today, his square jaw clamped tight, unforgiving. Deep lines scored the sides of his sensual mouth. Dark shadows rode beneath the startling canary hue of his eyes.
“You’re up early. Good,” he muttered, looking her up and down as he entered the room. He carried clothing folded neatly over his arm, something feminine by the look of it, the tropical blue fabric adorned with a smattering of tiny, delicate flowers. “I brought you something to wear.”
Nahiri smoothed her rumpled, undyed linen tunic and pants. “I have my own clothing.”
He didn’t bother to acknowledge that, just stalked farther into the room and thrust the sundress at her. “There’s a shower and anything else you might need in the en suite. When you’re dressed, meet me downstairs.”
Nahiri stared at him. Meet him downstairs—why? Had he decided to throw her on the mercy of his Incubi brothers and cousins after all?
Was he telling her to shower and dress to face her executioners…or worse?
She had to know. “What’s waiting for me downstairs?”
“I will be,” he said. “Fifteen minutes, Nahiri, no more. Or I’ll come back and personally see that you do as I tell you.”
He gave her no chance to argue, no chance to demand more information.
Pivoting away from her, he was gone from the room in the next moment, shutting her in once more. Nahiri looked at the dress that was so different from anything she’d put on in the past ten years. It was nothing she’d wear now either, and she wanted to despise the dress as much as the man who brought it to her.
With thin straps at the shoulders and a skirt that flowed in a loose drape probably to her ankles, it was both sensual and modest. The fabric was soft and cool to the touch, probably silk.
Nahiri held it up to her body, surprised to see it was just the right size.
She didn’t want to put it on.
Nor did she want to leave the room and face whatever humiliation or torture he had arranged for her downstairs.
But she refused to consider the alternative—having him return to make sure she obeyed his commands.
His arrogance made her normally calm demeanor seethe.
She was not his plaything. She was a Blade. The right guard of the temple’s High Chamber.
If Devlin Gravori wanted to lead her into some kind of judgment today, or some Incubi means of degr
adation, she would walk into his wrath with her head held high.
She showered and dressed in less than ten minutes.
It felt strange to leave the bedroom and make the trek down the long hallway by herself. In the villa below, the smell of food drifted—smoked meats and fresh-baked breads, the citrus tang of oranges, the nutty aroma of brewing coffee. Nahiri breathed it in, more accustomed to the temple’s pervading scents of hot sand and incense.
Instead of waking to silent meditation, this place was busy with activity. A large group of people were gathered somewhere downstairs. Groups of men and women conversing, plates and silverware clinking, chair legs scraping over smooth tiles. Here and there, the bright chirps of children’s voices.
Nahiri inched her way down the stairs, peering into the heart of a lavish Mediterranean mansion.
As she descended, the group gathered in the open-air courtyard stopped talking, everyone turning to look at her. A few of the men—large, imposing Incubi—stood to glower in her direction.
At the breakfast table, a pretty red-haired woman set down her utensils and motioned for two young boys to come to her side. She immediately pulled them close in a suspicious, protective stance.
Protecting them from me, Nahiri realized, astonished to consider it.
She didn’t know what to do.
She didn’t know where to look or where to go.
She felt even more uncertain wearing the long-skirted floral dress with her temple sandals, instead of her Blade’s garb. The minuscule straps holding up the bodice felt no better than the thinnest threads as she stood before these people. Her bare arms raced with heat, then chills, making her feel exposed, self-conscious.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, trying not to feel so awkward and afraid. So out of place and unwanted.
“You finished sooner than I expected.”
Even though it sounded like an accusation, Gravori’s deep voice was a comfort under the weight of so many unwelcoming stares. He came to stand in front of her, taking an unrushed measure of her appearance. His mouth tensed slightly, nostrils flaring nearly imperceptibly.