“Are you going to be naked every time you visit me?”
Surprise washed over Adonis as he looked down at himself. He blinked, noting that she was right, and he was in fact naked—again. He’d left his clothes beside Chrysopelia’s tree. He’d been in such a hurry after the will o’ wisp filled his head with naughty daydreams of a sun elemental that he’d completely forgotten.
“I’ll be honest,” he said pensively, watching her through a puff of smoke. “I didn’t actually intend to show up naked. I simply forgot to get dressed before I came here.”
“You forgot to get dressed.” Ivy’s expression betrayed no emotion, but her tone spoke volumes.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I suppose you aren’t much of a planner.” She crossed her arms and turned her cheek. “Should have guessed that from your first visit.”
A blush crept up Ivy’s neck to tinge her face with an attractive shade of pink. He tapped his cigarette against his lip. Had she hoped he’d come here naked on purpose?
The blush lingered, but it was fading, and her eyes crackled with the hint of a challenge. “My mother would be very upset if she found out you were visiting me.”
“Well, we just won’t tell her then,” Adonis replied easily. “When will she return home?”
“At sunset.”
“How lovely, we’ll have the whole day together then.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked. Her blush returned full force and he grinned.
“I have things I need to get done,” she insisted, her eyes unwavering on his even as the blush robbed the severity from her tone. She bit her lip before the next words could escape.
Adonis waited patiently, taking another leisurely drag from his cigarette, relishing the sweet scent of herbs caressing his face. There was no rush for him to speak just yet, not when Ivy so obviously had something to get off her chest. Past experience had taught him that women would tell him anything if he just gave them the time and space to do so.
She crossed her arms. “Why did you come back?”
Something about the way she’d physically closed herself off halted the snappy response Adonis had readied. It wasn’t so much the question she’d asked. It was more the way she’d asked it. Despite her haughty tone and the death-glare she wielded so well, there was a distinct vulnerability in the way she wrapped her arms around herself. He remembered the way she’d grabbed him to kiss him and for a moment he wondered if she was trying to shield herself from a repeat of that performance.
“Do you not want me here?” he asked carefully.
She pursed her lips but didn’t speak. If possible, she seemed to pull even further inside herself.
“You aren’t afraid of me,” he observed, confident that whatever was making her shrink in on herself, it wasn’t any real fear of him.
She shook her head. “No.” She shrugged. “You’re too strange to be really scary.”
“Strange, huh?” Adonis grinned. “I won’t argue with that.”
He waited for her to say more, but she just stared at him, boring holes through him as if she could read his mind given enough concentration. It made his brain itch and he crushed the rest of his cigarette in his hand, expending a modicum of energy to snuff it out of existence. The stinging scent of its remains lingered and he fought off the urge to drag Ivy into his arms and kiss her until that uncomfortable challenge in her eyes was no more than a memory.
“You look angry.”
Her voice was still soft, but there was an underlying strength to it. He carded a hand through his hair. “Something reminded me of you and I just had this urge to come back.”
The words stuck in his mouth, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He could think of a million different smooth ways to turn this conversation into pillow talk, but for some reason he just couldn’t bring himself to do it when Ivy was looking at him like that. Not when she looked like he was the big bad wolf come to blow her house down—and she was the mistress of the house ready to defend it with a shotgun.
Nervous energy licked at his muscles and he stalked into the tower, searching for something to take the conversation away from the dangerous waters he was currently treading in. His gaze landed on a pristine armchair covered in olive green fabric and he straightened.
“Isn’t that the chair I broke when I dropped in on you last time?”
“Yes.”
There was a hint of smugness in Ivy’s tone and Adonis paused in his stroking of the newly restored olive green fabric to face her.
“I cast a mending spell on it and it’s good as new.”
“You cast a mending spell?” Adonis echoed. He eyed the chair once more before narrowing his eyes. “Interesting.”
Confidence brightened her face. “No, it’s perfectly normal. I’m a witch, casting spells is what I do. If I were an elemental—as you claimed—then it would be odd for me to cast a spell.”
Adonis crossed his arms, straightening his spine until he could look down on her. Her superior tone rubbed him the wrong way and for a split second he considered dropping the human façade and finishing this conversation in all his demon glory. He quickly dismissed the idea as overkill, but the mental image helped.
“You know, you’re not very welcoming,” he said casually, continuing his perusal of her home as he trailed a finger over the curved lines of the chair. “With an attitude like that, you probably don’t get much company. Oh, that’s right, it’s a secret dimension, only your mother and you can get in here.” He continued quickly before Ivy could let loose whatever words went with the sudden dark look on her face. A flash of inspiration hit him as he remembered something she’d said the last time they met. “How long have you been here, Ivy?”
She gritted her teeth. “That is none of your business.”
“Your whole life?”
She glowered at him and didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
“Oh, Ivy, your mother has hidden you away here, hasn’t she?” Adonis breathed. “You stay here in your secret dimension while your mother goes out to fight in a fake war and you don’t get to see anyone who could contradict all the lies she feeds you.”
“Shut up!” Sparks flew from her body as her energy roiled the air around her. “How dare you speak about her like that? Do you really think that I’m so stupid that I’d take your word over hers?”
“I think you let me in here today because you wanted to see me,” Adonis pressed, walking around the chair and stepping closer to her. “I think you’re lonely and now that you’ve had a taste of something outside this tower, you want more. I think you’re afraid of that, you’re afraid to leave here because this is all you have, but at the same time you know that this isn’t enough.”
Ivy’s eyes flashed, but Adonis was ready this time. He pulled at the astral plane, tugging down enough energy to shield him from the heat wave that blasted out from Ivy’s body. It wasn’t the firestorm he encountered the first time, but then she was just angry, not terrified for her life.
“Get out,” Ivy whispered, fury coiled in each clipped word.
“Come with me,” Adonis challenged.
Ivy’s jaw dropped and she jerked back. “What?”
“I’ll show you the world, Ivy,” Adonis coaxed. “I’ll take you out of this tower and show you things you’ve never dreamed of. Adventure that will make your heart pound and your head spin.” He let his essence infuse his words, putting seduction into every syllable. His tone slid through the air to curl around her senses and they hit their mark, if the way her breathing sped up was any indication.
“You are sick,” she hissed. “You think you can seduce me away from this tower, away from my mother. Just because I decided to amuse myself with your company doesn’t mean I’m a fool.”
Adonis let out a bark of laughter, but he didn’t take his eyes off hers. Whatever she said, he was having an effect on her, he could feel it. “You are delightfully antagonistic.”
Something smooth and grey caught his eye. There, bes
ide the bookcase, sitting on a small side table, was a sculpture. A nearly two foot tall sculpture of a woman’s body from mid-thigh to mid-neck. A tiny strangled sound escaped Ivy, but before she could move, Adonis dashed over and put his hands on the piece.
His eyes widened. “Oh, my, what is this?” he breathed.
He knew full well what it was. Even if he hadn’t guessed from looking at it, he knew once he touched it. An incubus never forgot even a nuance of a lover’s body, and though he had not strictly been Ivy’s lover, he’d held her body in his arms enough to know that these curves were hers.
“Quit touching that,” Ivy snapped.
“Oh, Ivy, you have been holding out on me,” Adonis murmured. He met her eyes as he ran his hands over the sculpture. Up and down, fingers caressing every curve, every dip. Furious powder pink splotches flared on her chest and he let his gaze travel down her body, imagining her naked as his hands mapped the sculpture’s graceful lines. Heat rose inside him, a slow-burning inferno that started to eat away at his self-control. He gripped the statue, the only thing keeping him from running his hands over the real thing.
“Is sex the real reason you came back?”
Adonis inhaled deeply, trying to reign in his desire enough to tighten his grip on his wits. “I won’t lie and say the idea doesn’t hold significant appeal for me,” he murmured, his tone dropping to something deeper, more primal.
“Because that’s what incubi are all about. Sex.”
“No,” he answered evenly. “Incubi are about love. They are about finding a lover that will complete them. I, however, have energy needs that exceed what one woman can provide.”
He sent the words out to her like a soldier firing arrows from within a foxhole. Only instead of standing in a deep hole, he was hiding in a pit of desire, stoking the flames with fantasy images of touching Ivy as he touched the sculpture. If he concentrated on how much he wanted her, how much his body yearned for her, then the words coming out of his mouth didn’t weigh anything, didn’t have any serious implications. They were just words.
“You have needs?” Ivy repeated. “Ah, yes. Well that is convenient then. You don’t sleep with all the women in the kingdom because you’re a hedonistic demon, you do it because you have needs.”
Adonis went rigid, his muscles seizing and his hands freezing on the shoulders of the sculpture. “You don’t believe me.”
“You are a very desirable demon, I’ll give you that. But for all your claims that incubi are about true love, I haven’t seen a romantic bone in your body.”
It took a great deal of effort to keep his face passive while inside he felt as though she smacked him in the face. He should let the comment go, shrug it off as he did so many insults from those who looked down on his carnal lifestyle. But this was Ivy. He couldn’t let that lie.
“Perhaps because I am not so masochistic as to invite what I can’t have.” He slid his hand down the side of the sculpture, idly wondering if Ivy was ticklish. If he did this to her actual body, would she laugh? He glanced up at her, catching her watching his hands. The pulse in her neck throbbed so hard he could see it, could count her heartbeats if he wanted to.
“Prince Patricio—the death angel, to you—feels much the same way about me as you do.”
Ivy jerked, her eyes a little too wide. She started to speak, but no sound came out. Part of Adonis wanted to be amused that his gestures with her sculpture had distracted her so, but the conversation had veered into territory that even he wasn’t inclined to laugh off. He gave her the time she needed to gather her thoughts.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Oh?”
“Yes. He’s quite judgmental, very high and mighty, not out of character for someone who’s worshipped by everyone who sees him. His condemnation doesn’t bother me though.”
“It doesn’t?” Ivy’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and she wasn’t bothering to pretend she wasn’t watching his hands anymore.
“No.” He dropped his hands and strode forward. She trembled, but she didn't step back. He stopped an inch away from her, just before the brush of her body could tempt him further. “Your condemnation bothers me,” he said quietly.
“Why?” she asked, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“Patricio is making himself miserable, and his venom toward me is just a sign of his own unhappiness. He’s a grown man, and he has everything he needs to be happy if he would just make that choice. You, however. You are here, alone, with a mother that tells you horrible, horrible things about the outside world. Your condemnation bothers me, because it’s symbolic of an ugliness that doesn’t suit you. Hatred leaves a mark, anger leaves a mark.” He took her hands in his, pleased when she didn’t fight him. He almost smiled when he saw the paint under her fingernails, the smudges that never really came off the hands of an artist. “Don’t paint yourself with those colors if you don’t have to.”
“I… I can’t leave the tower,” she said hoarsely.
“Very well, no leaving the tower.” He closed his hands around hers. “There is another way.”
The spark of interest in her eyes made his heart ache. There was a hint of desperation to the way she held herself now, clutching her arms as if she was fighting a physical urge to dart forward at his insinuation. She was eager, willing. Whatever her mother had taught her about the outside world, she hadn’t completely managed to snuff out the flame. There was still hope.
“Can you bring me a mirror? Any mirror, it doesn’t have to be big.”
Ivy tilted her head for a moment, but strode to a small staircase between the kitchen and one of the bookcases. Adonis was tempted to follow her up, but quickly cast that idea from his mind. She was trusting him, however tentatively, and he didn’t want to push her. Why he was here instead of off finding that naiad that had gotten away from him yesterday was a subject he didn’t want to dwell on.
Besides, he had plenty of energy, he didn’t need sex. Not that he was here for something more than sex. He paused. Wait.
“Mystery and adventure,” he said aloud, trying to block out the argument in his head.
“What about mystery and adventure?”
He whirled around to find Ivy standing behind him with a small antique hand mirror in her grasp.
“Nothing, I just—your painting supplies are in here?”
He then walked over to a small closet where he’d seen her retrieve her painting supplies last week, aware of the weight of her gaze on him as he proceeded to set up an area on the floor with paints and a fresh canvas.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” he mumbled, half under his breath. “Bear with me.”
Kneeling on the floor, he grabbed a few cans of paint and splashed them onto the canvas. Reaching deep within himself for the memory he wanted, he laid his hands in the paint and dragged them over the white surface.
Like slipping into a favorite pair of old gloves, the paint welcomed him back into the world of creation. Reality faded away and peace settled on him with the strange buzzing energy that always seized him in these moments. An image of his home, his true home on the astral plane, filled his mind. He remembered the sweet scent of the air, the way the light came from anywhere and nowhere.
Shadows danced with a life of their own under swaying trees. Spindly black branches waved like fingers tickling the belly of the wind, the bark shifting like the pelt of a snake as it crawls. Leaves flickered with different colors, the trees at once the bare sticks of winter, the crisp chartreuse of spring, the emerald green of summer, and the burnished gold and flaming red of fall. Majestic violet-blue mountains that rose up in the background took his breath away. Without looking, he reached for more paint, smearing it in his fingers and flinging it across the canvas. Yearning filled his heart. His home was there, hidden in the mess of colors, he just had to find it, had to dig it out.
“Adonis?”
Ivy’s voice tore him out of his stupor and Adonis sat back on his heels. The painting was an im
age of the astral plane, so vivid he was certain he could put his hand out and pluck a leaf from one of the trees. The image seemed to move with a life of its own and he had to look away as tears burned his eyes.
“Adonis, are you crying?”
Ivy’s voice was so soft, so concerned, that Adonis almost took the comfort she offered. But his burden wasn’t hers to share, not yet. Not ever. Without responding, Adonis snatched up the hand mirror and thrust it toward her.
“This is a little trick that incubi have used for centuries,” Adonis’ mouth quirked in forced mirth. “Tap your finger on the glass to imbue it with your own magic.”
“How?”
“Considering the strength of your magic, I doubt you have to do anything beyond tapping the glass,” Adonis mused. “Try it.”
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