Mark of the Demon

I slowly walked toward him, brow furrowed. I stopped in front of him but didn’t take the proffered hand. “I did enjoy it. But … I don’t understand.”



He lowered his hand and tilted his head, regarding me. “Must you?”



I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. A few minutes ago I’d been absolutely certain that I was going to die a hideously painful death. Now this unspeakably powerful and gorgeous creature wanted to kiss me, and I was going to argue the point?



He gave me a dazzling smile and held his hand out again. Damn, but he was seriously hot. Was he so beautiful because he wasn’t human? His gaze met mine, his eyes displaying a power and passion that sent another wave of warmth rushing through me.



I looked away quickly, swallowing hard to regain control of my body. The sudden burn of anger in my belly helped, now that I had an idea of what was happening. “Well … yeah,” I said tightly. “I’m funny that way.” I didn’t know what he was, but I knew that he was seriously fucking powerful, and I was suddenly afraid of something other than a painful death.



“I … would be dishonored,” I said, heart pounding, “if I could not resist an unwanted act because my willingness to resist had been taken from me.”



He was silent for over a dozen heartbeats, while I kept my gaze fixed on the table in front of the fireplace. I hadn’t wanted to phrase it as an accusation, but I wanted to be sure that my meaning was understood. Cold sweat prickled my lower back as I waited for his reaction.



“You may look at me, Kara Gillian,” he said finally, voice low but still somehow managing to fill the basement with throbbing intensity. “I give you my word I will not dishonor you again.”



I wanted to sag in relief but instead cautiously slid my gaze back to him. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, regarding me with those ancient and power-filled eyes. “I will not dishonor you,” he repeated. “But I would give you what you crave.” Once again he held out his hand.



My throat tightened as I looked at his hand. He knew. Whatever he was, he knew how bitterly lonely I was, how much I just wanted to be touched.



I flushed and looked away, embarrassed and dismayed that he’d so clearly seen this weakness in me. “I’m fine,” I insisted, voice a bit louder than it probably needed to be.



“You are a summoner of demons. You are isolated among your own kind because of your power. I have seen it a thousand times over. There is no shame in that.”



I scowled, still not looking at him. He stepped closer to me and laid a hand alongside my face. “I dishonored you by seeking to compel you for the sake of my own pleasure. I would atone for that if you would allow me.”



I turned my head and met his eyes again. “Atone how?” I said with asperity. “By sleeping with me anyway?”



His thumb stroked my cheek. “By giving you what you will not find elsewhere. Comfort without secrets, without hiding. Release from the fear that has locked you away from seeking out companionship. You have been hurt, but you are safe with me, Kara Gillian,” he said, potent voice oddly gentle. “I give you my word that I will not hurt you or compel you.”



For a brief instant I wanted to laugh. How crazy was it that the “safest” way for me to get laid would be with an insanely powerful arcane creature that I’d summoned by mistake? But he’s offering me more than just “getting laid.” He understands. Where else am I ever going to find that?



I slid my hand into his grasp. He pulled me close and I went without resisting, feeling somehow relieved.



“So beautiful,” he murmured as he bent to kiss me again.



Who does he think he’s kidding? The thought flashed through my mind with a distant ache, and I almost pulled away. Dark memory flared again—the horrible month after my father’s death, no longer suppressed beneath the compulsion of this arcane creature. I shivered in his arms, suddenly gripped in the hideous recall of the times I’d been pushed against the wall by the seventeen-year-old son of my foster parents. The whimpering horror as he’d thrust his hands beneath my shirt and into my pants, groping roughly and stealing from me the idea that a man’s touch could bring comfort and pleasure.



The clumsy and awkward attentions of my boyfriends had done little to dispel that. But this … this was different. His hands were warm and strong on my back, and the kiss was gentle and deep and hot all at the same time. His touch eased me, silently coaxing me to calm and granting me enticing glimpses of what an attentive and skilled lover could give. I relaxed into him, feeling the warm rush of pleasure once again as I moaned softly into the kiss. It was real this time and a thousand times better.



He broke the kiss, pulling away only far enough to slip his shirt off and cast it aside. He looked down at me, and after a brief hesitation I unbuttoned my own shirt and let it slide from my shoulders. He smiled, gaze traveling over my body as an oddly shy gratification swirled through me. His hand came up to my breast, fingers lightly encircling my nipple, and I shivered as I felt it harden against his touch. He slowly slipped his hand down to the waist of my silk pants, a line of gooseflesh springing up on my skin, following the trail of his fingers. His mouth found mine again and I leaned into the kiss with a low groan, unresisting.



He pulled me down to the thick carpet in front of the fireplace, still kissing me. His hair tumbled over me and I twined a hand in the silken mass, silently relishing the exquisite texture of it. His arms encircled me, holding me close as he shifted his hips into mine. I shuddered and threw my head back, grinding against him. I’d never felt anything like this—never had anyone shown this much passion, this much desire for me. He was showing me a world I’d given up on, giving me back what had been stolen from me.



He shifted, placing me on my back, gently parting my knees and moving between them. He kissed me deeply, his mouth strong and sensuous, then his lips moved down to kiss my throat. His tongue caressed gently over my neck, gliding further down to eventually circle my erect nipple.



I made a sound of pleasure as he caught the nipple between his lips, then between his teeth. He bit lightly and teasingly and I twined both hands into his hair, arching up into his mouth. His hand came up to fondle my other nipple, then he slowly kissed his way down my belly, fingers still lightly squeezing the captured nipple.



I sucked my breath through my teeth, shivering at the wealth of sensations. His lips traveled over the laces of my pants, tugging, then he went lower and pressed his mouth against me, biting lightly as he rolled my nipple between his fingers. I cried out, gripping his head in my hands and pressing my hips upward.



He lifted his head to look at me, one hand toying with the laces of my pants. “Do you wish to leave these on?”



I smiled down at him, silently marveling at the smooth muscle, the perfection of his body. I didn’t know what he was, but at this point it didn’t matter. He’d dishonored me by his initial compulsion of me and was repaying that small debt of honor by giving me the solace and release that an attentive partner could give. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the end result was awfully similar, but the crucial difference was that this way the choice was mine to make.



I laughed. “No, I do not.”



He tugged my pants down and off in one smooth motion, then pulled away from me just long enough to slide his own boots and breeches off, eyes flashing in what I almost thought was triumph. He returned to cover me, his deep eyes holding mine for just a moment. Then, with a sound that bordered on a growl, he slid into me. I threw my head back as he filled me, giving a shuddering moan as the heat rose between us. I rocked my hips up to his, meeting his steady thrusts.



He kissed me hungrily as he drove into me, groaning against my lips. I returned the kiss eagerly as I clung tightly to him, nails digging as my climax built. His muscles were like malleable iron beneath my hands, rippling with each driving thrust.



My climax exploded, shocking me with its depth and duration—stronger than anything I’d ever experienced before. I cried out and clutched at him as he let out a guttural snarl, emptying into me, grinding his hips into mine. I continued to lift my hips to his as he released. Finally he slowed, then stopped, his breathing deep and heavy.



He rolled to the side and wrapped his arms around me. I sighed and pillowed my head against him.



“I don’t even know who you are,” I said after a moment, looking up at him.



He stroked a finger down the line of my jaw, expression unreadable. “Your call was not for me.”



I shook my head. “No. I was trying to call a luhrek. Rysehl.”



A strange smile quirked his lips, then he kissed me lightly and stood. Baffled, I sat up and stared at him as he dressed.



“Wait,” I said, finding my voice. “Please. Who are you? I mean, I was trying to call Rysehl, but you obviously aren’t Rysehl, and I didn’t mean to call … whoever you are. So, what … er, who are you?” I realized I was babbling, and I clamped my mouth shut.



His eyes met mine, and once again the power in them took my breath away. “I am Rhyzkahl,” he said, giving me an enigmatic smile. “And, Kara Gillian, you may call me whenever you need me.”



Then he was gone.



Chapter 4



I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was not a beautiful woman. I knew that. I was by no means unattractive and I did my best to keep my figure in shape, but I was usually referred to as “cute,” sometimes “pretty,” occasionally “quite appealing,” but almost never “beautiful,” unless it was someone who wanted something from me. I had boring-brown hair that refused to take any sort of curl, dark gray eyes that refused to be hazel or blue-gray or even sparkling, legs that were about three inches shorter than I would have liked for them to be, and an insistent little layer of pudge at the top of my jeans. Not beautiful.



So why had it happened? Why was I still alive? I was too realistic to think that my charm and beauty and sexuality had swayed a creature of that much power from rending me to shreds or keeping me for a plaything to be tormented at his leisure. And why seduce me?



Reality had crashed in on me seconds after he vanished from my basement summoning chamber, and I’d wallowed in a full-blown freak-out for nearly an hour, indulging in plenty of self-loathing and heaping servings of crippling doubt. I’d finally gone to bed, but sleep had been elusive.



Two enormous issues kept battling with each other in my head over which was worth stressing out about more. First was the matter of what the fuck went wrong? It had been a simple summoning. A fucking fourth-level summoning! And Rysehl was a demon that I’d summoned dozens of times before. After I’d calmed somewhat, I walked around the diagram, obsessively checking every sigil and rune that I’d sketched out, looking for any deviation, any smudge or change that could have altered the portal, and finding nothing to explain what had happened.



But this creature had said his name was Rhyzkahl. Had I mispronounced “Rysehl”? Somehow garbled the word? I cast my mind back over the summoning, the ritual, over and over until it was all little more than a jumbled blur. I thought I said it right. The names are close, but not that close.



I felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from under me. I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I was good at this. I shuddered and scrubbed at my face, struggling to push away the aching doubt.



But forcing myself to stop thinking about the summoning only shifted my thoughts to the other elephant looming in the room. Oh, fucking shit, I silently wailed, why the fuck did I fuck him?



I couldn’t even give myself the “easy” out and blame it on his compulsion of me. I knew that he was capable of doing so, since I’d managed to figure it out and call him on it. But then he gave me his word…. And a demon’s word was inviolate. No, I’d just been incredibly needy and pathetic.



I grimaced and turned on the water, cupping it in my hands and splashing it onto my face. I scrubbed away the grit in my eyes, keeping the water deliberately cold to try to shock myself back to a reality I could understand and accept.



I sighed and reached for the towel. Nope, still the same haggard and confused face staring back at me in the mirror. I’d already taken a hot shower, with water as close to scalding as my water heater would give me, seeking to sear the memory of the night away.



But you don’t want to forget, I accused myself. You enjoyed it.



I sighed and straightened. And that was the truth. That had been some seriously incredible sex. No doubt. Best. Sex. Ever.



Which circled my thoughts back to: Why me? Why seduce me? Was sex that hard to come by in the other spheres? That made no sense. He wanted something from me. An alliance? A summoner of his own? It was possible, I supposed. I’d heard of summoners who allied with particular demons, though such alliances were unpredictable and fraught with danger.



I had to assume that Rhyzkahl was some sort of demon that I’d never heard of before. My portal had opened into the demon realm—I felt reasonably confident of that. The demons I knew were creatures of arcane power, inhabitants of one of the many other planes of existence and one of the few that was accessible from this plane with the proper forms and rituals.



There were twelve varieties, or levels, of demons that could be summoned, or so I had been taught. When I had first begun my training as a summoner, I started with simple summonings of zrila—first-level demons not much larger than a cat, though with reptilian bodies and six legs. Limited intelligence and easily controlled. Ten years later I had progressed to the twelfth level: reyza. And not once during that time had I seen or heard of anything like Rhyzkahl. He was obviously a creature of great power—that much was clear by how easily he’d shattered the bindings and wardings. But I had no idea what he was or what his place was in the hierarchy of the demons.