Lily jerked awake, coated with sweat, her heart pounding madly in her chest. She blinked, her breath coming in pants, her mind entangled in the lingering images, sounds, and sensations of the dream. Nightmare, more like. Gasping, she clutched the sheets as the full extent of the horrid memories flooded her consciousness.

Her hands around Baz’s neck, claws breaking his skin. His eyes, bloodshot and wide with terror. He paws at her to let him go. A dark whisper deep inside her enjoying his struggle. A drumming force within, lusting after the inevitable end to his struggle.

Kill.

A whimper tore from her throat. What had she done? What had she become? More than anything, she wanted to see Baz, tell him how sorry she was, make sure he was okay. And yet, trumping that urge to make amends was a shame so devastating it shriveled every good intention she had.

She couldn’t face him. What if he looked at her with disgust, or hate, or…worst of all…fear? She couldn’t bear the thought. Not when they’d always been so close they finished each other’s sentences, could hold entire conversations just by exchanging looks.

Fighting down the corrosive hurt spreading from her heart, she took stock of her surroundings. A darkened room, its one window heavily shielded, with only a minuscule glow around the edges giving away that it was daytime outside. She was sitting on a sofa bed in the corner, the rest of the room dominated by workout equipment—a weight-lifting bench in the middle, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the other corner, a treadmill on one wall.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and paused. Ugh, she still had on her once-sexy, now-filthy dress, plus the grime and dirt accumulated during one hell of a night. And not the good kind of hell. Grimacing, she glanced at the markings covering her cleavage and shoulders, then looked away quickly. It’s still real. It had really happened.

Swallowing hard, pain lancing her chest, she stood and walked out of the room. She followed the narrow hall to the front of the house. The scent of coffee, bacon, and something fried tantalized her senses. Her mouth watered and her stomach growled on cue.

When she entered the main living area, Alek was at the stove, turning something in a pan. The kitchen light lent his hair a glow like dark, burnished gold. She paused with her full focus locked on his form, her breath stalling in her lungs.

His dark red T-shirt seemed to hug his shoulders and back just so, as if caressing the taut muscles that bunched and rippled with his every move. From underneath the short sleeves flowed the symbols of his demon tattoo, down to his elbows. The sight of those elegant lines curving over his biceps, running over his tan skin in strokes of light-brown henna, it stirred a primal appreciation in her. Credit where credit was due, and those symbols, the way they adorned his arms, they were beautiful.

As was he.

He was cooking with the same concentration he’d applied to washing her wounds, and she guessed he’d bring that kind of attention to every task he did. It lent him an air of focused control and security, and damn if that wasn’t sexy as fuck. Her stomach fluttered, and heat pooled between her thighs.

“Hungry?” he asked without taking his eyes off the stove.

“More than you know.” And for far more than just food.

“Dinner will take a few more minutes. You can jump into the shower in the meantime.” He pointed at the door to the other rooms with the spatula, muscles flexing in his forearm. “Bathroom’s the first door on the left. I laid out towels for you.”

“Um. Thanks.” She pressed her lips together, remembering she had nothing else to wear after taking the shower. Just the thought of having to slip back into this dress…

“Oh,” he said, “and I figured you might want to change into something else, so I ran over to my brother Dima’s and borrowed a few things from his mate. She’s about your size, give or take an inch, so maybe it’ll fit you.”

“You—you ran out?” Her eyes flicked to the heavily covered windows blocking out the day. “Isn’t sunlight lethal to prana-graffitis?”

His lips twitched. “Pranagrahas,” he said, not looking up from the frying pan. “And it’s not immediately fatal. It just drains us of prana more quickly. We can stand a few minutes of full exposure, and when we’re covered from head to toe, we can stay out a bit longer, though it’s a risk we rarely take.”

But he had. For her. Just to get her some damn clothes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice husky.

“My pleasure.” He met her gaze for a searing moment then nodded toward the couch. “I put the clothes over there.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes trained studiously on the pan again. “Uh, Tori said the panties are brand new, she just bought them recently and washed them, but they haven’t been worn yet.”

She pressed her lips together, a grin wanting to steal across her face. “That’s, um, good to know.”

She was about to flee for the emotional safety of the bathroom when he asked, “How are your feet?”

Taken aback, she stopped mid-stride. That’s right, her feet. She hadn’t felt any pain or discomfort padding across the hardwood floors after waking up. Lifting one foot, she inspected the sole. Smooth skin, unscarred.

“Healed?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, baffled. “Not a scratch left.”

“Perks of being a pranagraha.”

“That is neat.”

Alek opened the oven, peeked inside, then closed it again. “More severe injuries can still cripple us or leave scars, but stuff like that?” He shrugged, muscles rolling in his shoulders. “Heals in no time.”

“Great perks.” She gave him a tight smile and hurried to the bathroom, where she chucked her dress and underwear, stepped into the tub, and turned on the shower.

The splash of cold water was a welcome shock.

Yes, the healing was a great perk. An advantage many would covet. And a few people probably wouldn’t even mind the darkness that came with that perk, the urge to kill, the necessity of taking someone else’s life force to survive.

She shivered despite the now-hot water pelting down on her. Even if being demon came with immortality and super powers like flying, or waking up with perfect makeup and no morning breath, she’d trade it in for being a witch immediately. Deep inside her, where her familiar magic should be, where it had pulsed and glowed since she came into her powers, was a hollow ache. A ravine of empty darkness. If she focused on it too long, she’d fall into that black chasm.

Who was she, if that which had defined her for more than twenty years was stripped away? If her identity as a witch was removed, what was left?

Maybe she didn’t even want to know, was afraid to find out.

Reeling from the force of having the rug yanked out from under her, it took her several minutes to realize she was rubbing so hard over the demon markings she’d chafed her skin raw. She took a deep breath, held on to what little peace of mind she had left, and finished showering. After toweling herself dry, she dressed in the clothes Alek had risked himself to get for her.

The black panties—no frills or fancy stuff, just cotton with a little lace on the sides, the way she liked it—fit her well enough, as did the skinny jeans. The red sports bra did an acceptable job of keeping her girls in place, and she pulled the dark blue tank top over it. A dark red cardigan and a pair of black boots completed the ensemble. She wiggled her toes against the front of the boots, where she needed just half an inch more for a perfect fit. They would do, though.

First chance she got, she’d have to thank Alek’s sister-in-law—or would that be sister-by-mating?—for her generosity.

When she joined Alek again in the kitchen, he’d already set the table. Bacon, sautéed vegetables, bread rolls, and basically what looked like the entire contents of his fridge covered the table.

“Sit,” he said while emptying the contents of the skillet into a bowl, then set a glass of juice in front of her. “You like mango, right?”

“Uh, yeah. How do you—” She broke off, understanding dawning. It was a habit of hers to eat out on the back deck during summer when the weather was fine, whether that be breakfast or dinner. “You saw me. When you watched Maeve.”

One side of his mouth curved up in a charming half-smile. “I promise it’s not as stalkerish as it sounds. I was doing my task as sentinel, keeping an eye on the mansion. You happened to be there, too, so I…noticed. Coffee?”

And he’d picked up on the sort of juice she always drank—even though she was not even his target. Her heart started a mad gallop. “Sure,” she muttered, accepting the mug of coffee he handed her. And remembering the fact that Arawn was staking out her family’s home, his covetous eyes on Maeve, she made a mental note to warn her mom and Merle the first chance she got. As soon as she was able to talk to them again without shame heating her face, that was.

“What would you like on the bread?” he asked as he turned back to the frying pan. “I’ve got salami, cream cheese, peanut butter, jam…” He nodded toward the table and the abundance of food on it.

She was so stunned by the care and attention he’d put into making dinner for her, all she could do was take a sip of coffee in the hopes of maybe jump-starting more of her usual mental capacities. She spotted sesame bread among the assortment of food on the table—her favorite.

Slowly, she set the coffee mug down. “Why am I getting the feeling you’ve more than noticed me in the past?”

Instead of answering, he turned and set the bowl with what he’d fried in the skillet on the table. Steaming hot fried potatoes, made the way her mom always prepared them, German-style and roasted to perfection. Her favorite dish.

Inside her chest, her heart thumped around like a trapped rabbit. Breath leaving her in a dizzying rush, she stood and took a step back from the table, from him. “What is this about? There’s more to your helping me than just an altruistic drive, isn’t there?”

Alek met her look, his expression serious. “If there is?”

“What are you playing at?” Suspicion crawled over her skin like a thousand tiny spider legs.

He hesitated, took a deep breath as if gathering courage, and said, “I like you.”

She blinked, her chest and stomach still tight with wariness. “Right. Okay.”

“No, I mean…I like you as in, I want you in my life.”

Her throat had gone dry at the intensity of the look he was giving her. Like she was the one bright spot in his life, the one thing he craved more than his next breath, the treasure he’d do anything to obtain.

She cleared her throat. “What do you mea—?”

“I want you to mate with me.”

* * *

“Mate?” Lily’s eyes were locked onto Alek’s, depths of indigo that drew him in like nothing else. “As in bond-for-a-lifetime-squeeze-out-a-bunch-of-demon-spawn-and-live-happily-ever-after? That kind of mate? Or do you mean the have-hot-and-mindless-animal-sex-and-part-ways-without-strings-attached kind of mate?” She sounded so hopeful when she babbled out the second alternative.

He prowled toward her. “The first one. Lifetime, bunch of demon spawn, and happily-ever-after. Though I do plan to include the hot-and-mindless sex, too.” He caught her gaze, made sure she saw the intention in his own. “But I want the strings. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you at the beginning of summer, but you were a witch, and I couldn’t have you. Now you’re a pranagraha, we’re compatible to mate. And that,” he said, dropping his voice to a sensual caress, “is what I’m playing at.”

A part of him worried this was a little too straightforward. Too much, too soon. He’d thought about taking more time to court her, to win her heart bit by bit before proposing. If she were any other pranagraha female, that would have been his route of choice. But Lily’s case was different in one essential point: He might very well not have enough time to woo her as was proper. If whatever happened to turn her into a demon was reversible somehow, it was logical she’d want to find out how and become a witch again. Unless…

Unless he gave her a reason to stay demon.

So he’d decided to lay his cards on the table, to let her know he was serious about her. And didn’t human females usually appreciate honesty, and a male who was in it for the long haul?

She blinked, shook her head, disbelief written all over her face.

“I’m perfect mate material,” he said, going on to list his assets, ticking them off on his fingers. “I’m smart, healthy, strong, I can provide for you, protect you, I can cook, I clean up after myself, I’ll always take care of your pleasure, and I make cute babies.”

Her mouth fell open. “You have children?”

“No, but I have a twin brother, and he has three kids. They’re the cutest buggers you’ll ever see, and since we share the same genes, my kids will be just as cute. At least.” He waved his hand at her. “With you as their mother, they’ll be gorgeous.”

For the second time in as many minutes, her mouth fell open. She closed it. Opened it. Then closed it again, making the most adorable imitation of a fish out of water he’d ever seen. “You,” she said slowly, moving her head back warily while keeping her eyes on him, “are the most crazypants person I’ve met in my life.”

“Not crazy. Determined. I’m well aware of what I want, and I’m going for it.”

He stalked toward her, stopped just short of invading her personal space, though close enough to see the flutter of her pulse on her throat. It had sped up while he prowled over to her, and as he raised his hand, ran his finger over the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder, she uttered a soft, feminine sound of pleasure. It made him wonder what she would sound like in wild abandon, hot and sweaty underneath him, open and trusting. Would she cry out when he made her shatter with ecstasy?

“I want to make you mine,” he said, and damn, his voice was as rough as the crude urges raging inside him, this potent, devastating mix of hunger, desire, and possessiveness.

As he rubbed her collarbone—with more gentleness than he’d thought he was capable of in his current emotional state—she leaned into his touch for a moment, then seemed to catch herself. She stepped back, the scent of her growing excitement a tantalizing fragrance that belied her retreat. “Tell me, is this normal prana-gravy behavior, or are you just a special kind of insane?”

He chuckled at her creative misuse of their species’ name. “Male pranagrahas do have a strong mating urge, and the older we get, the stronger the urge. There are fewer females than males around, so females are coveted. But I don’t want you because you’re the next best pranagraha female. Not because of what you are.” He followed her retreat, just a small step, careful not to threaten her, but enough to keep her body aware of his. “I want you because of who you are.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you think watching me prance around our backyard for a few months has given you extensive knowledge about who I am. Well, congratulations on knowing my favorite food and juice, that’s a real nice touch, but frankly, my dear—” she leaned forward, jutting out her chin, the movement a dare and a warning at once “—you have no fucking idea about who I am.”

Ignoring the warning, he took her up on the dare, leaned in, and paused a few inches from her face. The air between them heated. “I know enough to know I want you. You’re funny, clever, a fighter, loyal to a fault, passionate, and beautiful. Not to mention hot enough to make a demon forget his name. I want you in my life, by my side.” He lowered his voice to a murmur. “In my bed.”

She inhaled softly, her pupils dilating. Her eyes skittered down to his lips, and his whole body tightened, remembering their kiss. Judging by the fresh tendrils of arousal in her scent, she remembered it too.

“I’m not even attracted to you.”

He cocked one eyebrow and sauntered around her, looking pointedly at her jeans.

She half turned around, following his movements with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for fire.” He hooked one finger through a loop in her pants, tugging gently. “These must be burning like hell right about now.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Tsvetochek, you do know our sense of smell still surpasses that of humans, even when it’s dulled during the day?”

It took her a moment. Then her eyes widened, and her cheeks blazed an adorable tomato red. Clearly trying for furtive, she clenched her thighs together. Which he of course noticed, glancing down. Amusement and desire vied for supremacy. He ignored both and went with calm observance, dragging his gaze up her body again before focusing on her eyes.

She cleared her throat, took another step back. “What does tsvetochek mean?”

“It’s Russian for little flower.”

A small crease appeared between her brows.

“Your name,” he said, his lips curving up without his conscious doing. “You’re named after a flower. Thought it was fitting.”

The frown on her forehead smoothed away, like rainclouds clearing from the sky—and the smile that graced her face then was like a ray of sunshine, warm, open, radiating joy. “I like that,” she whispered.

That smile of hers, it shot straight through to his heart, filled the cold and aching places. How often had he dreamed of her giving him a radiant smile like this one?

With his finger still hooked through the loop of her jeans, he pulled her closer again, until her front all but brushed against his own. His every sense alert, he studied her body language, ready to let her go at once if she gave the smallest sign of rejection or fear. She didn’t. Though her hands flexed, fingers fidgeting, and her brows drew together just the tiniest bit, her attention darted between his eyes and his mouth, the overtone of excitement in her scent deepened, and her lips parted on a slow exhale as her body swayed oh-so-slightly toward him.

Yes.

Anticipation humming through his muscles, he leaned even closer, ready to remind her how explosive they could be together. Her breath whispered over his lips. Her fingertips grazed his shirt.

Claws clicked on the floor, and then a muzzle pushed its way between both of their legs. Lily startled and pulled away. Fidgeting, she tugged at her clothes—which hadn’t even been disturbed, much to his chagrin—and looked at Grant. The old traitor of a dog wagged his tail, sporting a happy canine grin.

Alek rubbed a hand over his face, inwardly cursing Grant’s new cockblocking tendencies. Well, to be fair, Alek had never brought a female home before, so Grant had never learned to leave him alone when he got physically close to a date.

“Um, I think he’s peeing,” Lily said, yanking him back to the present situation.

A situation that was just getting worse.

With a barely-held-back groan, he turned to Grant, who was indeed emptying his bladder on the kitchen floor, all the while happily wagging his tail. “He does that when he’s excited. It’s gotten worse with age.” He grabbed the roll of paper towels from the counter and started wiping up the mess. “It’s okay, buddy,” he muttered to Grant, his voice soothing. “You’re okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He scratched Grant’s ears, and then applied cleaner to the peed-on area as well. He’d still have to use some urine neutralizer, too, but that could wait until later. Right now, he had to get back to convincing one searingly hot witch-turned-demon that staying on the dark side had more perks than cookies.

He washed his hands and faced Lily. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” She didn’t sound disgusted or embarrassed as he’d feared. In fact, a small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes warm as she glanced at Grant. “We used to have a cat that started having bladder issues when she got older. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and we could tell it was embarrassing for her. We set up so many litter boxes all over the house for her that people thought we had three dozen cats. But it helped. And she was so grateful.”

She met his eyes, and for a moment, he basked in the affection and warmth in them, the softness of her features. Then as if a switch had been turned, her expression shuttered and she glanced away, clearing her throat. “Um, I think it’s best we stop this.”

His stomach made a dive for the ground. “Stop what?”

“I know you offered to help me, and I agreed, but I don’t feel it’s right, considering.”

“Considering what?” Man, he felt like a parrot. A frazzled, confused, feeling-like-a-moron parrot.

“Your intentions.” She gestured at him. “The whole wanting-to-mate thing. It…makes me uncomfortable. If I’d known you were into me like that, I would have never accepted your help. I’m not looking for a serious relationship—not usually, and especially not now. So.” She paused, bit her lip. “I think it’s best I leave. Thank you for what you’ve done for me. I wish I could pay you for the clothes, and your help. If I had my wallet on me…”

“Whoa.” He held up his hands, heart racing, his blood running cold, not just with the imminent threat of her departure, but with the implication in her words. “Let me make one thing clear. You don’t owe me. I don’t expect you to pay me.” He let his arms fall to his sides, hands clenching. “In any way,” he added, making sure his voice carried his indignation at even the hint that he was looking for a reward of the physical kind. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to imply that. But even if you don’t expect me to repay you that way, you’re not just helping me out of kindness. You do have an agenda, a goal you hope to achieve. It doesn’t feel right to accept your help when I know you want something from me that I can never give you.”

Her words struck him like a blow to the gut. Scratch that, the strike was worse than the solar plexus hit she’d delivered last night. He was losing her. Losing the one chance he’d had at winning her favor. He pushed that hurt down, gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose, exhaled through his mouth to center himself. His mind raced to analyze the situation, to see if there was something salvageable.

Lily crossed her arms in front of her chest, shuffling her feet. “If you could tell me where the next bus station is…”

“I’ll take you home.” Fuck that, he wasn’t going to let her roam on the public transportation system. He’d drive her, even if it broke his fucking heart to facilitate her leaving.

She shook her head, a haunted expression on her face. “I can’t go home.”

Right, she’d attacked her brother and was probably still too racked by shame and guilt to deal with it. “You can stay with me,” he tried again. “I won’t pressure you into anything, or expect you to mate with me.” Of course he’d hope for it. And use whatever skills he had to smoothly court her and change her mind without scaring her away.

“No.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I can’t do this. It’s not fair.” One of her hands came up to rub the markings peeking out from under her neckline. “I’ll go to my friend’s house.”

“Merle MacKenna?”

Her eyes darted up, widening slightly. “Yes.”

“I’ll drive you there.”