The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(37)

With a sudden motion, he rolled toward her. His chin, dusted with dark stubble, grazed her shoulder. His arm fell heavily across her torso. The contact stirred her senses into painful acuteness. Each square inch of her skin in contact with his sizzled. He was hot, as if a furnace burned inside him. His cock, still hard, prodded her hip. She inhaled, and the scent of him made her head spin. She wanted to do it again. She wanted more.

She gave a soft snort. More? The thought was ludicrous. Arthur had stretched her, shattered her, and flung the pieces to the seven stars. There couldn’t possibly be more.

Except...Cybele was, after all, only a dormant. Her human body was too fragile to take everything Arthur’s demon nature could dish out. Once she’d completed her own Ordeal—once she was an adept with a demon body of her own—then they would both find out exactly how much more there was.

The thought left her lightheaded.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where a brilliant blue sky shone through a lacy pattern of branches. The scene caused a snatch of memory to surface. She’d looked out the window earlier, during sex. The branches had been different. There’d been a shadow. She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. No. Not a shadow. Just the opposite. There had been a soft glow. And a flutter of—she frowned—wings?

A sudden chill swept through her. Wings. Wings too big to belong to any bird. Nephil wings? Mab? No, it couldn’t have been. Mab would never lurk outside a window. She’d stride through the front door, whip in hand.

And anyway, she realized now, the wings hadn’t been black like Mab’s. They’d been bronze. And Cybele had seen eyes—velvet brown, fathomless eyes. Mab’s eyes were a piercing blue. It hadn’t been Mab. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been any of the other adepts from Demon’s Hollow. Who, then? She was at a loss to explain.

Maybe a closer look would reveal a clue. Easing her body out from under Arthur’s arm, she rolled off the mattress and came up in a crouch. When she tried to stand, pain stabbed her lower back.

“Aah!” She turned and dropped back onto the mattress.

Arthur’s body jerked. He bolted upright, his head swinging toward Cybele. His eyes were open and dilated, irises nothing but narrow gray rings around the pupils. A sound came from deep in his throat: a terrifying half-snarl, half-hiss.

Cybele shrank back, her heart racing. Being frightened of Arthur was a new experience, one she didn’t like at all. He was her best friend, her lover. She knew him. She trusted him. Or she had. Right now, naked and powerful, his body rigid and his eyes blank, she wasn’t so sure.

His gaze passed over her. Did he see her? Probably not. Whatever he saw, she’d bet the farm it wasn’t in this room. Something from his Ordeal? Some long-ago ancestral memory?

He looked right and left. His eyes glowed red, his skin darkened. He lifted his hands. Sparks of white hellfire zipped across his fingers. It gathered in his palms. Cybele ducked. The bolt sizzled past, just inches above her head.

“Arthur.” She kept her head low, and her eyes fixed on his face. “Arthur. Can you hear me?”

If he did, he gave no indication of it. His glowing eyes darted about the room, looking for...what? Cybele faltered. What the hell should she do?

He’s still Arthur, she told herself. And yet...he wasn’t. Or, at least, he wasn’t the Arthur she knew. His human body no longer encompassed everything he was. He was a demon now. A fearsome creature, filled with darkness and magic.

Careful not to draw his attention with any sudden motion, she eased herself upright. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her hip and ribs, she rolled into a crouch by the side of the bed. Arthur, peering intently at the window, didn’t seem to notice.

He muttered a string of words, low and throaty, in a language she didn’t recognize. He needed to wake up. Heart pounding, she rounded the bed to his side. Inching as close as she dared, she laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Arthur? Can you hear me?” She squeezed gently. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. You’re asleep. Wake up.”

He moved so quickly, she didn’t even see him do it. She was on her back on the bed. His fist was in her hair, his arm across her throat, his lower body pinned her to the mattress. His cock was hard. He glared down at her, eyes aglow and teeth bared.

She lay utterly still, not even daring to blink. Her heart battered her ribs so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Their gazes locked. His eyes, burning red, regarded her with unnerving hatred. What—or who—did he think she was?

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement. His grip in her hair tightened.

“Arthur.” She struggled to speak through the pressure on her windpipe. “Let me go.”

When he didn’t answer, she tried again. “Let. Me. Go.” She swallowed. “Please.”

His answer guttered low in his throat. “Break...your fucking...neck.”

She forced all the authority she could muster into her voice. “Don’t you dare.”

Doubt crept into his eyes. “No?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because...because I’m Cybele. You’d never—never—hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“No. You love me.”

His brows shot up at that. “I do?”

“Yes.”