Lord of the Night

Chapter 2: A Real Kiss

The hurricane in my chest gathered speed, crashing waves of hot and cold. But some stubborn part of me could not refuse him outright. If I could possibly learn anything from this, how could I not try? The Demons had already destroyed my family and my best friend. What did I stand to lose?

And after this, if he still refused to tell me anything, I would be ready to make him pay.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."

But then I eyed the Demon, wondering how to kiss someone strapped to a chair. How to kiss an enemy wearing cuffs, tattered clothing, and a smile almost like the cheeky smirk I had initially anticipated. When I had kissed men before, it was either with soft tenderness or in the throes of passion. Now only fear and disgust quickened my heartbeat.

Or at least, that was what I told myself. But when my eyes found my target–his lips–an undeniable flutter of giddy anticipation mingled with the dread. What would it be like to kiss a Demon? Could his lips do half of the wicked things the stories promised?

Shame twisted my gut and burned hot on my face. What the fuck, Remgar? If Marqan was watching this, or Borgal, or worst of all, my father...

"So, you mean, like, today?" asked the Demon. He looked almost relaxed now, lounging in that chair as if he were there by choice. "Or tomorrow? My calendar is pretty clear, but there's no time like the present."

Alright, fine. I would use sheer irritation as my motivator. That, and the need to shut him up fast. I pressed one hand flat on the table and curled the other over the back of his chair.

But when I leaned toward him, he stiffened. His shoulders drew back an inch, and his wrists tugged against the straps.

I stopped.

On some knee-jerk reaction, my eyes found the ripped seam of his button-down shirt. Usually, my empathy did not extend to Demons. But usually, I was not about to kiss one.

"Did they already hurt you?" I heard myself ask.

He studied me with perturbed fascination–like watching water flow upstream. "No. Not really."

"Then...you are scared of me?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

I glanced at the straps still securing his wrists, and my chest pinched. Moments earlier, I had been prepared to rip off his fingernails. How ridiculous that I now worried about consent for a kiss–one he himself had requested. If anything, he was using me.

Yet...

"Not right now," I said finally. "I will torture you, if I have to, but I won't force myself on you. So, if you've changed your mind–"

"I haven't." The renewed strength in his voice brought my eyes back to his, which still regarded me curiously. I had the unnerving feeling he was sifting through the dark recesses of my mind, discovering secrets unknown even to me. "I want you to kiss me, Guardian. Please."

Fuck, those last words, drawn out so softly...

Heat swirled in my belly.

Before I could stop myself, I tugged free the straps holding his hands to the table, leaving only the blocker cuffs. He blinked, eyes dipping to his hands before returning to my face. He arched an angular brow, asking what I was doing, perhaps.

The fuck if I knew.

A different part of me had taken over–the part that knew how to kiss but not how to harm. The part that craved intimacy, but not with someone who couldn't pull away.

"You can move your hands," I told him, even as my own hands grew clammy. "You can–you should push me away, if it doesn't feel right. If you change your mind."