Demon from the Dark (Immortals After Dark #10)(35)

Ignoring him, she began unrolling it, but he hastened forward, startling her with his incredible speed. She tripped back, her arms cartwheeling and her ring flying—into the fire. “My ring, my ring!”

He looked from the fire to her with a raised brow.

That ring was the only thing she had of her parents, the only personal gift she’d ever received from them. She clasped her hands to her chest in a pleading gesture.

Sharp nod from the demon. He shoved his hand into the flames, rooting through the embers to retrieve the ring. He held it out to her, then snatched it back at the last minute, blowing on it to cool the band for her.

How could this being—who’d decorated his home with severed heads—also be so . . . thoughtful?

Once he offered the ring again, she breathed a sigh of relief and slipped it back on. But when she noticed the damage to his burned hand, she cried, “You crazy Neanderthal!” Before she thought better of it, she’d knelt beside him and seized his hand in hers.



Malkom’s lids went heavy. He felt no pain, only the pleasure of her touch. After being alone so long . . .

Keep your eyes open, Slaine, to enjoy this more.

She spoke, sounding breathless, but he didn’t understand her. Still, he suspected this behavior of hers was akin to affection. And he craved more. How to get it?

He tried to draw on what he knew of females, to determine how to make this one stay pleased and affectionate.

His knowledge was . . . limited.

He’d barely known his mother. She’d been a whore who’d despised his very existence, selling him into slavery—and eventually attempting much worse. She was no example to him. Then, in the years when he’d been a sequestered slave, he’d rarely even seen females, and always from a distance. At fourteen, he’d encountered young highborn demonesses who’d laughed as he’d eaten from their garbage or begged them for a drop of water.

I know naught of females.

As he pondered this, he absently brushed Carrow’s hair from her cheek. The touch had been gentle and she looked surprised, maybe even . . . hopeful. Again he marveled at how revealing her expressions were. She was so easy to read; he realized he could learn—from her—how to put her at ease.

I know naught of females. He took her delicately boned hand in his own, pulling her closer. But this one will teach me.



What is wrong with me? Carrow didn’t know what had possessed her to cross to his side of the fire, much less to touch him. When she tried to extricate her hand from his, he clutched it too hard. “You’re going to hurt me again!” She yanked back, freeing herself from his grip.

His eyes darted, his mind working. To her horror, he shoved his other hand into the fire.

“What are you doing?” she cried, leaping forward, hauling his arm back.

His chin jutting, he presented his latest burned hand to her.

With a defeated exhalation, she took it, skimming her fingers over it. “You’d go through that pain just so I’ll touch you?” Sympathy bloomed in her. After centuries alone, he was so starved for attention he’d harm himself, seeking more.

She could relate . . . .

Unbidden, a memory arose of her eighth birthday, which her parents had celebrated with a soiree. The dazzling gathering had been out on their terrace, with lanterns dangling from oak limbs, stretching out over the laughing guests.

Carrow hadn’t been invited.

She remembered trembling with desperation, feeling as if she’d die without their attention. She’d ditched her nannies and jumped her pony over the hedge onto the terrace. She hadn’t cared if she crashed or made it—either would result in her parents having to acknowledge her existence. Desperate, shaking, please look at me.

She’d fallen from the saddle, breaking her arm and cracking her skull for her troubles. Once she’d awakened, her parents had already departed for the summer—abandoning her into the care of new, sterner nannies.

When Carrow thought back on her youth, she remembered most that clinging neediness. Sometimes, she still woke with a yawning lack aching in her chest.

And amazingly, anticipating a future with Ruby was the first thing that had ever made that yearning ebb.

“Ara?” he rasped.

“What?” He was studying her again. “I’m fine.” Even though they didn’t speak the same language, when he watched her for every tiny response, she felt like he was “listening” to her better than any man before.

He held up a finger again, then shot to his feet and away from the fire. When he returned, he had her backpack. He must have collected her things last night.

He presented it to her as if he’d known she was sad and wanted to cheer her.

“That was really nice, demon. Thank you.” He truly wanted to please her. Which meant he was manageable.

I’m going to get him to that portal, and now I know how.





14




Give and take.

Malkom had given her shelter and a present she’d appreciated, and they’d just finished a bountiful meal he’d provided.

Normally he would’ve taken the burning spit in his roughened hands and devoured the meat. But for her, he’d cut away a portion, offering it to her on his blade. In time, he’d coaxed her to bite the meat off his knife with her white little teeth. Which had made him stiffen with a swift heat . . .