Coward. He was a fucking coward.

He stormed up and down the length of an empty corridor lined with rows of arched windows, the farthest point from his room that he could get without leaving this floor. But he wished he could keep going. Keep running.

Coward. The word rang in his head. He should have looked at her. He should have had the guts to face her while he broke her heart, but seeing her face, her beautiful eyes filled with pain he had caused her … he hadn’t been able to do it.

He paced the length of the hall. Why had he let this happen? He should have been more of an asshole or something. He should have … what? What could he have done? Women fell in love with incubi all the damn time, whether they were charming or horrible or pathetic. Didn’t Clio know that incubi couldn’t love?

Jerking to a stop, he closed his eyes. Love, no. But infatuation?

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was infatuated with her. He cared about her, lusted for her, dreamed of her. He’d wanted her since the moment they met, and he only grew more obsessed the longer they were together.

But that’s all it was. He wanted her because he couldn’t have her. That’s the way it always went for incubi. No matter how much they might want to stay with one woman, after a few days or weeks, they’d get bored, get distracted, and the next thing they knew, they were in bed with some other girl. He couldn’t do that to Clio.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he backed up to a pillar between windows and sank onto the floor. He’d already hurt her. He couldn’t make it worse by pretending to love her for however long his interest lasted.

Once this was over, he’d disappear, just like he had with every woman he’d slept with … every woman who’d ever claimed to love him.

Arms folded on his knees and head bowed, he didn’t move from the corner, lost in dark thoughts as aching cold welled inside him. He knew the feeling well. Some incubi reveled in their transient encounters, but for others, loneliness was a constant companion, a hole they tried to fill with a parade of lovers to whom they could never remain faithful, even when they bothered to try.

Except now he realized how that cold ache had been less present these past weeks—since he met Clio.

Quiet scuffs sounded on the marble floor and he shot to his feet before identifying the sound. For the barest instant, he thought the feminine footsteps might belong to Clio, but the cadence was wrong.

A young woman with an armload of folded silk hummed softly as she ambled down the corridor. She spotted him standing beside the open-air window and jerked to a stop.

“Oh!” she gasped. “You startled me.”

Belated recognition sparked and he forced himself to relax. She was one of the body artists who’d pampered him, but he couldn’t remember her name.

“What are you doing out here at this hour?” she asked curiously, shifting her load to one arm.

He shrugged, aware of how suspicious he looked wandering the corridors in the middle of the night. He wasn’t even dressed properly, having left his tapa somewhere in his suite. His shirtless state hadn’t escaped her either, and her gaze drifted down to admire her ink handiwork displayed across his abdomen.

“I’m just stretching my legs,” he answered nonchalantly. “Too restless to sleep.”

“It’s too beautiful a night for sleeping,” she murmured as her eyes gradually climbed back up to his face. “Perhaps some company would help settle your spirit.”

He forced himself to really look at her. Luxurious blond hair in two braids that hung down her shoulders, a curvaceous figure wrapped in teal- and violet-patterned silk, her green eyes bright and lined with dark ink to make them smolder. Feathered wings were tucked close to her back and her tail swished idly behind her.

She was lovely. Exotic. Obviously interested, ready and willing to fall under his power.

He hadn’t taken a woman to bed since Clio had arrived in Asphodel. A long time for an incubus to remain celibate. His obsession with her had only grown in that time, and he could pin some of the blame on pent-up desire.

He should erase Clio from his mind and fill the chasm with something else—with someone else. A willing body, another faceless woman, was right here, waiting for him to offer what she wanted. Mutual exploitation. He would use her, and she would use him.

A dozen smooth replies to her invitation jumped to mind, from subtle to seductive to blush-inspiring and bold. He drew in a breath—but he couldn’t say a single one.

He didn’t want her. This young, beautiful, lush woman was offering herself to him, and he didn’t want her. He had no desire to touch her, kiss her, undress her. He could have done it anyway, tested to see if the distraction would work, but even imagining it was unpleasant.

His hands shook and he clenched them into fists to hide it. With a wan smile, he turned away and leaned on the window parapet.

“It’s been a long day.” He spoke to the spectacular view of city lights. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

With a soft rustle, she joined him at the window, propping her bundle of fabric on the stone rail. He glanced at her, surprised by her sympathetic smile.

“You have the look of a man with a lot on his mind.” She fidgeted with the folded silk. “I can listen, if you want to talk.”

“I really am tired.”

She laughed softly. “I wasn’t aiming for an invitation to your bedroom. Two rejections from the most gorgeous daemon I’ve ever met is enough.”

He grimaced.

“I’m offering an ear if you need it, that’s all. You’re far from home and isolated here in the citadel. That can’t be easy.”

He huffed out a breath. “It’s not that bad.”

“Mmm,” she agreed noncommittally, staring out the window as though she had nothing better to do. A thousand warm lights flickered between the stone buildings, and a fair number of daemons moved through the streets, taking advantage of the cool night. Above, countless stars glowed in the velvety sky, not a cloud to be seen, and the planet radiated pale light across the dark dunes.

He wished she would go away. He’d prefer to return to his tormented brooding, thanks very much. He still had to figure out how to face Clio, how to explain that his infatuation was no more than stupid incubus instincts going into overdrive. Would she understand? Could she move past her feelings for him and …

… and what? And be his friend?

A choking sound—disgust and disbelief—rasped from his throat, and he rubbed a hand over his face with more force than necessary. What an inspiring new low he’d achieved.

“Could I have some space?” he growled abruptly.

“You know,” the griffin girl replied, stubbornly unmoving, “when my betrothed got that sort of look, he always felt better after talking about it.”

“You’re betrothed?” He didn’t bother to hide his sneer at her disloyalty.

“I was,” she said simply. “He died.”

He bit back a curse. “I’m sorry.”

“Loving a soldier has its risks.”

He remembered the griffins who’d died in the embassy and the raiders who’d died in the Brinford smugglers market, wondering how many of them had lovers, wives, children. It was easy to label enemies and forget they were anything more than obstacles and threats.

“What was it like?” The question was out of his mouth before he stopped to think.

“What?”

He considered dropping it, then plowed on. “Loving him. Being in love. What did it feel like?”

She looked contemplatively at the stars, sadness ghosting through her eyes. “You think about them constantly. You worry about them when they aren’t with you. You miss them. When you’re together, you can finally relax. You don’t even realize how tense you are until they’re back at your side.” Smoothing her bundle of silk, she smiled wistfully. “It’s like a part of your soul belongs to them. When they’re near, you feel complete. When they’re gone, you feel hollow inside.”

He drew in a slow, steadying breath. “But how do you know you’ll always feel that way? What if it changes?”

“We can never really know, can we?” Gathering the folded silk into her arms, she stepped back from the window. “But when you truly love someone, they keep that piece of your soul forever … even after they’re gone.”

With a final smile and a murmured farewell, she strolled away. He watched until she was out of sight, his mind churning. Infatuation. Obsession. Love. Where was the line between them?

Hollowness ached in his chest. When they’re near, you feel complete.

He surged away from the windows. He barely saw the dark halls as he strode back toward his room. With the aid of a cloaking spell, he slipped past the griffin guards at the head of the corridor. A pair of nymphs stood in front of Clio’s door and he couldn’t hide from their asper, but they pointedly ignored him. Was Clio back in her room, or were they guarding an empty suite?

He stopped at his door. He could sense her somewhere on the other side and the hollowness in his chest faded.

Incubi couldn’t fall in love. The fact was as immutable and steadfast as his power to seduce. Seduction without connection, lust without love, a thousand fleeting encounters without a single meaningful bond. That was the gift and the curse of incubi.

But if incubi couldn’t fall in love, then what was this?

He pushed the door open. The room was dark, lit by a lone sconce, and the floor where he’d left his weaving tools was cleared of everything but the heavy steel disc. His tools were stacked on the desk, his notes in a neat pile.

Clio stood in front of the desk, staring at it, her arms hanging at her sides as though she’d been standing there for a while. At the sound of the door closing, she whirled around.

“Oh.” She shrank at the sight of him, withdrawing to make herself a smaller target. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …”

He started forward, drawn to her as though caught in her gravity.

“I didn’t mean to …” she mumbled incoherently. “I’ll go back to my room.”

She rushed forward, angling to sweep past him, but he stepped into her path. Halting, she fixed her gaze on the floor. Every second she refused to look at him hurt.

Motions slow, he reached for her face and gently cupped her cheek, tilting her head back. Her wide eyes met his, rimmed red from crying, her summer-sky irises darkened to ocean blue.

“I’m an idiot,” he said hoarsely.

Her eyes went even wider and her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. His harsh words from earlier still held her in silence, and maybe it was too late to take them back.

“I don’t know,” he whispered as he brought his other hand up to cradle her face in his palms, unwilling to let her bow her head because of him. “I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be. I don’t know if I’ll just hurt you.”

He leaned down until their foreheads touched, his eyes closing as he struggled to find the right words.

“All I know is that, right now, I’m obsessed with you. I want to be with you. I want to be beside you every damn minute.”

She sucked in a quavering breath. He opened his eyes and leaned back just enough to bring her face into focus again.

“But I won’t lie to you, Clio.” His voice roughened. “As much as I’d love to be obsessed with you like this every day for the rest of my life, I don’t know how long I’ll feel this way.”

Her eyes shone and a tear slipped down her cheek, catching on his fingers. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, staring up at him.

“I want to be with you,” she breathed, the words trembling. “We can try, can’t we?”

“But incubi never—”

She touched her fingers to his lips, silencing him. “You’re more than your incubus nature, Lyre. Just like you’re more than your family name. You’ve always been more, don’t you see?”

Those words pierced him in a way he’d never felt before.

She slid her fingers from his lips to his cheek. “If this is what you want …” Her eyes met his, bright and blazing with inner fire. “If I’m what you want, then take me.”

Take me.

His hands tightened on her cheeks.

Take me.

With those two words, she shattered his control. It didn’t matter whether she’d meant them literally. He couldn’t stop himself.

Ravenous hunger scorched his veins, but his lips met hers in a soft brush of skin on skin. Slowly, he pressed his mouth to hers, immersing his entire awareness in each sensation as though he’d never kissed her before.

That breathless pressure was back in his chest, squeezing his heart. He unhurriedly explored her lips until she parted them for his tongue. He tasted her anew, her face cradled gently in his hands, the touch as intimate as the kiss.

Her breathing quickened, her hands finding his bare chest with tentative touches. Urgency threaded through him, building under the surface, but he kissed her with slow passion, discovering every facet of her lips. His heart ached, his chest tight, his emotions electric. He’d had sex with women, had pleasured women, had used women. But he’d never made love to a woman. With every kiss, with every touch, he burned with the need to give her everything he had, to make her his in every way.

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss until she arched into him, and he swept her against his chest with one arm.

He wasn’t thinking about seduction when his hands started roaming over her body. The hundreds of tricks he knew to arouse a female never entered his thoughts. He touched her for the pleasure of touching her, sliding his hands across her soft skin, tracing her curves beneath the silk garments. He kissed her because he wanted to, because he couldn’t stop.

She melted against him and he shuffled them backward into the desk, then lifted her onto it while he stood between her knees. Now her face was level with his and he brought their mouths together again.

Each press of her lips felt new. Each flirting touch of her tongue was a first experience. The faceless women of his past—they didn’t matter. They were nothing. They were forgotten.

There was only Clio.

When she ran out of breath and finally tore her lips free to suck in air, he shifted his mouth to her jaw. Her head tipped back, and he kissed slowly along her throat to her collarbone. Running his fingers down her sides to her waist, he pulled her against his hips. A soft moan slipped from her and she wrapped her legs around him, her skirt pushing up with the movement.

His hand found her bare leg, caressing smooth skin from her calf up to her lean thigh where nymph markings patterned her skin. Shivering beneath his touch, she stroked his chest with growing confidence.

He sought the clip on her tapa. Slipping the garment off, he tossed it aside, leaving only her chest wrap. His mouth drifted lower and his hand slid over the soft curves of her breasts, hidden beneath the silk band. As his fingers found her most sensitive spots, she gasped.

His hand on her thigh worked under her skirt and curled over her ass. He pulled her hips harder against him, needing to feel her heat, needing even more than that. The driving hunger he’d denied for weeks was raging through him. His fingers slid dexterously down the side of her top, plucking the ties apart, and he pulled it off her.

Leaning back, he took a moment to drink in the sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her swollen lips begging to be kissed. Fine green markings trailed over her shoulders and down her arms, slightly darker than her ivory skin. His eyes traced every delicious curve, the swell of her small breasts, her skirt hiked up and her bare legs wrapped around him.

Her blush deepened, and she self-consciously covered her bare chest.

He caught her wrists, gently forcing her arms away. “No,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect.”

He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deep and hard to erase her embarrassment. Sliding his lips down, he guided her hands to his hair to give her something to hold on to. Then he closed his mouth over her breast.

She arched into him with a gasp, clutching his hair and flinging the other hand out for balance. A cascade of weaving tools crashed to the floor. His notes were scattered across the marble, but he had no idea when they’d fallen and he didn’t care.

His fingers slid over her bare skin, exploring every curve while he teased her with his lips and tongue. Her legs clamped tight around his hips and he rocked against her. She moaned between wild gasps. The sound stoked the fires of his lust and without thinking, he reeled in the aphrodesia that was slipping out of his control.

For so long, he’d fought how much he wanted her—because he’d been afraid. But after the succubus club, he should have realized he had nothing to fear. He wouldn’t hurt her with aphrodesia any more than he would hurt her with a physical weapon.

What he felt for her was stronger than his hunger. Stronger than his instincts.

She clutched him like she was holding on for dear life. He teased her breasts until she was whimpering with need, then slipped his hand between her legs. She inhaled sharply.

He stroked her with careful, exploratory touches, his senses tuned to each minute reaction. When he found her rhythm, she moaned softly, her hips bucking with the motion of his fingers sliding across her.

“Lyre,” she half gasped, half moaned.

He caught her mouth again, kissing her as she trembled. When she started to quake and gasp, he shifted his touch, slowing and softening.

“Not yet,” he breathed against her lips as he withdrew his hand. “Not quite yet.”

She sucked in a breath and pulled back, her hazy eyes full of reproach. “Why are you stopping?”

He plucked apart the tie of her skirt and pulled the fabric out from under her in one swift motion. She gasped as the fabric pooled on the floor at his feet.

“Oh, Clio,” he purred. “I’m not stopping. I’m just getting started.”

Her eyes widened and he couldn’t help his low, husky laugh as he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the waiting bed.