Daemon Fire (Darkin World Book 3)

Chapter Ten

It became Fi and Owen's habit to spend their daylight hours together in the foundry. During that time, they were all business, especially after her success with the anti-nightmare charm. Yes, there was verbal flirtation, but they kept a physical distance. They didn't touch or caress. That was left for the night and the realm of dreams.

After each found completion, they'd tell each other personal secrets. Fears, likes and anecdotes were shared. When Fi asked Owen why his hair was always long in his dreams, he opened up about his past.

"I was born a few years before the forced removal of my mother's people." Fi lay in Owen's arms on her soft white couch. They were nude and had this been real, they would've been drenched in sweat. "Her name was Ahyoka. She'd been raped by a cavalry officer and killed herself not long after I was born."

Fi tilted her head up to look at Owen. The move caused her cheek to brush against the warm, hard pec above his heart. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The smooth flesh beneath Fi's cheek shifted as Owen shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I never knew her. My grandfather and cousin had the raising of me. They never made me feel less."

"Your mother's people are shaman?"

"Yes," Owen readily answered. No doubt he was happy for the change in subject. "Our people didn't share the witch hysteria of the Europeans and settlers. There was no need to hide what we were. Not until the U.S. government set their sights on us. The council of that time urged caution. All were white men then. So, we left our land and marched with the others."

Blowing out a breath, Fi reached up to cup Owen's jaw. She was familiar with the feeling of helplessness, the impotent rage it produced. But this wasn't the time to tell her story.

"So," Fi ventured softly, "you cut your hair to fit in?"

Owen's lips twisted sourly. "The rez schools made us cut our hair. We were to be civilized, to learn English and even Latin. Once I finished with their schooling, I grew my hair out."

"Why did you cut it again?"

"I was sucked into one world war after another. After this last one," Owen shifted and rolled Fi beneath him. Hovering above her on his elbows, he caught her gaze. "I kept it short," he finished. "Jakob felt it best, so I would fit in with the other neophytes."

A warm, calloused palm skimmed its way across Fi's breast, causing the nipple to tightly furl. "Enough talk," Owen murmured. Then, as his mouth descended to hers, he used the pad of his thumb to roll an erect bud. Her resulting moan was swallowed in a scorching kiss.

Lifting his head, Owen gazed down at Fi as he entered her soft core. "Am I really yours?" he wondered aloud. A haunted look crossed his features. The ghost of the lost, motherless boy he'd been overlay the grown man's sculpted features.

Although Fi was certain Owen hadn't meant to voice the question, she answered. "Yes, Owen," she whispered. Bracketing his cheeks between her palms, she softly vowed, "You are mine."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Fi was all smiles when she entered the foundry. A benefit of being intimate all night in one's dreams was that you were well-rested upon waking. Still, her body sang as if it'd been well and truly loved in the real world.

Fi's smile slipped when she noted the torches weren't lit. It wasn't hazardous for her to enter a dark chamber; her demon half could see better than a cat in the dark. It did mean that Owen wasn't yet up and at work, however.

As Fi made her way down the sandstone steps, she frowned. Last night they'd been intimate with more than just their bodies. Did Owen now regret having shown her his vulnerability? Was he hiding in the house, shoring up the courage to face her?