Touch of the Demon by Diana Rowland
Straightening, Mzatal lifted me from the edge of the dresser, then held me firm in his arms, keeping me deliciously impaled upon him as he moved to the bed. I kept my legs tight around him as he lowered me to the soft quilt. He looked down at me with a smile that lit his entire face and kissed my forehead, eyes and cheeks, before lowering his head to nuzzle my neck. Already he was hard within me again, and I made a pleased sound in the back of my throat as I arched into him. There was a lot to like about the stamina and quick recovery time of demonic lords, and Mzatal had no problem demonstrating exactly how easily he could bring me right back up to the peak. His hands and mouth and cock worked me into a gasping frenzy that had me begging for yet another release. With merged potencies and deep passion, we carried each other to new realms. In the end, we collapsed together in a glorious tangle of limbs and hair, spent and shuddering and smiling.
At long last I caught my breath and regained the ability to speak. I grinned over at him where he lay propped up on one elbow beside me. “Thanks, Boss.”
Mzatal laughed, stroked fingers down my cheek. “I am forever dubbed thus.”
“Yep, you’re stuck with it!” I said, then gave a languid sigh as my body hummed delightfully with pleasure and potency.
He shifted and swept all his hair over his shoulder. I eagerly reached out to slide my fingers through the silky mass. “There is time yet for sleep,” he murmured with a smile, skimming a hand over my breasts and down my belly.
My loins tightened at his touch. I could get used to this merged-potency-multiple-orgasm-thing. “I’m not sleepy at all,” I said with a sly grin.
He raised an eyebrow, then his face mirrored mine in a smile. “Wrap your hands in my hair again, and I will do…bad things…to you.”
I gathered a handful of hair, tugged. “How bad are we talking?” I asked. I tugged again, harder.
He closed his eyes briefly, muttered a sentence in demon that meant something along the lines of holy fucking shit it feels good when you do that. His reaction sent my pulse racing and heat rushing to my naughty bits.
“Bad,” Mzatal murmured. “Very very bad.” He shifted between my legs and pushed my thighs apart, lowered his head to me. I groaned and wound my hands in his hair, kept my grip firm as he did bad things that made me cry out and scream and clench in very good ways. Once I recovered, I proceeded to do bad things to him, which he seemed to find just as good.
Eventually we lay limp against each other, spent and sated. He wrapped his arms around me, held me close until our breathing slowed, then turned me to my right side and shifted to lie behind me. He dropped his left arm over me, reminiscent of how he held me during the confrontation with Rhyzkahl, pulled me back against him and snuggled his head over mine. “Zharkat,” he murmured.
I smiled, content. “Boss.”
He laughed—a free, beautiful sound—and held me close as we both slipped into sleep.
Chapter 41
I opened my eyes to sunlight and the distant song of unknown creatures greeting the morning. Above me the stars of the domed ceiling still twinkled. Languor and deep peace drifted through me, and I smiled as I felt an arm draped across my hips and a black curtain of hair spread over my breasts.
He stayed, I thought in delighted wonder. He stayed and slept with me. I shifted very carefully to face him. Mzatal had dozed in the chair less than a week ago, so I knew he’d chosen to sleep with me. Rhyzkahl had never made that choice, even when I asked him to. As I looked upon the sleeping lord, I realized I’d never doubted that he would.
And he was, indeed, asleep. I reached and stroked his hair back from his face, wanting to see how he looked in repose.
Beautiful. He breathed deeply and evenly, face relaxed and carrying none of the controlled mask that he usually wore, whether smiling-controlled, or scary-mofo-controlled. For the first time I felt as if I had a glimpse of the true Mzatal, and I reveled in it.
I coiled a lock of hair around my finger while I reflected on, well, everything. I cared for Mzatal quite deeply, yet I knew this wasn’t any sort of “romantic” love. It was far more than that. I didn’t have words to explain it, and didn’t feel any need to do so. It just was. Even if we never slept together again, we’d always have this amazing shared closeness.
A smile twitched across my mouth. Though it wouldn’t be at all bad to do it again. Maybe some post-ritual celebration?
Mzatal drew a deep breath and stirred, a smile playing on his lips as he muttered something. I stroked his hair, and a moment later he stirred again, opened his eyes and looked into mine. He lifted his hand and set it against my cheek.
“Zharkat.”
I smiled. “Hi.”
His hand slipped to the back of my neck, and he brought me close for a kiss that did a lovely job of waking me up fully. He pulled back, smiling a smile that reached all the way to his eyes and shone out. “There are no words adequate,” he murmured.
I let a lock of his hair slide through my fingers. “I’m not even going to try,” I said with a chuckle. “And today we retrieve the blade.”
Mzatal slid his hand over my shoulder and down to my hip. “Yes, we do,” he said, still smiling. “And with Vsuhl, forestall much.”
“We will kick all the ass,” I said, deeply enjoying how at ease I felt with him.
Laughing, he wrapped me in his arms and rolled, pulling me atop him. “Is that what we will do, zharkat?” he asked. “Kick all the ass?”
I grinned, utterly delighted at the sound of his laugh. “Damn straight. We are badass, and all should fear us.” I lowered my head and nestled it into the crook of his neck. Despite my brave words there was a hell of a lot to be nervous about. And I was. I exhaled softly. “I could stay like this all day.”
Mzatal wrapped his arms around me. “And I as well,” he said. “Were it any other day, I would not leave these chambers.”
I shifted to nuzzle his neck. “After this is done, we must research how to conduct rituals from bed.”
He laughed. “What do you think I have been contemplating this morning?”
“You do know I sometimes set things on fire?”
“I have faith that your skills have improved since that incident,” he replied, giving me a squeeze.
Grinning, I sat up, still straddling him as I sketched a quick series of sigils, surprising myself with how easily and fluidly I could do so. “This could totally work!” I laughed and wiggled upon him, then dispelled the series.
I felt him harden—more of that demonic lord quick recovery and response at work. His hands went to my hips, and then he lifted me with ridiculous ease and slid within me. I let out a low groan and began to move against him.
“Trace again,” he said, smiling in enigmatic innocence.
I chuckled low in my throat, then did so while he did his utmost to break my concentration. After that he found new and interesting ways to distract me as I traced the next series, and the next. At long last I found myself—somehow—upon the table in the main room, the final series of the upcoming ritual drifting in luminescent perfection above me, and my body humming with languid pleasure.
“I think I know the series pretty well now,” I said, grinning up at him.
Mzatal leaned down and kissed me. “You have mastered it, indeed.”
“Please tell me you don’t train Idris like this?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He laughed, shook his head. “No, you have a unique advantage.” He pushed off me, then picked me up and carried me toward the bath chamber. “And now it is time to prepare, that you may kick all the ass in the coming ritual.”
After a bath that we somehow managed to finish without any more distractions, it was time to dress and get ready for departure.
My usual style of clothing for ritual fell into the comfortable, casual, easy-to-move-in category. Today’s wasn’t going to be much different, though I stayed away from anything silky and flowy. I wanted to be able to run and move and all that good stuff, but I also wan
But since I had the style sense of a near-sighted hamster, I’d decided to throw caution to the wind and leave my wardrobe up to the zrila.
And wow, did they ever rise to the challenge: comfortable knee-high boots, black pants made out of durable denim-like material but a lot softer and a lot more flexible, and a really cool sleeveless wrap shirt with a black sash to belt it all in at the waist.
I preened in front of the mirror. “I look like a badass,” I announced.
Mzatal had the grace not to laugh at my posturing. “You are indeed glorious.”
I flashed him a grin. “A glorious badass.” Turning away from the mirror, I took a settling breath. “I guess I’m ready to go,” I said.
He took my hand. “The others await.”
My nerves rose again. I had the brief impulse to pounce on Mzatal and enjoy some stress relief, but I knew that was simply a delaying tactic. Okay, it would definitely relieve some stress, but I’d still have to go and do this thing no matter what.
He slid me a look as we walked, a hint of a smile twitching his mouth. “It would be a shame to dishevel the braiding Faruk made in your hair,” he murmured, telling me clearly that he’d read my impulse. His own hair was once again perfectly contained in a complex braid, its utter blackness beautiful against the grey and silver brocade of his tunic coat.
“I bet you could find a way to do it without messing up my hair,” I said slyly.
His hand briefly tightened on mine. “If I were to take you now,” he said, “your hair and clothing would be quite disheveled.”
I laughed. “Tease.” But even the simple banter was enough to quell my nerves. Well, somewhat. This was still a huge thing we were about to do. And neither of us had any doubt that Rhyzkahl would make an appearance.
Our footsteps on the stone path seemed loud in the still morning air as we headed to the grove’s tree tunnel. The others were there waiting—Idris, Safar, Ilana, a big reyza I didn’t know, as well as two zhurn and two kehza I also didn’t know. Gestamar was still recovering, his absence palpable. Everyone was so damn quiet that I had the brief urge to shout, “Let’s do this thing!” but I decided it wasn’t the right moment. Still, I smiled at the thought.
Mzatal paced beside me, contemplative. “If you remain open to me during the ritual, it will be helpful,” he said. “After last night, I am certain there is much we can accomplish together that we cannot alone.”
I smiled. “I know we can.”
Idris glanced up from his papers as we approached. His eyes flicked to our joined hands and then back up to my face. He gave me a nervous smile, one that I knew would vanish as soon as he was involved in the patterning.
“Hey, Kara,” he said. “Big day.”
I exhaled. “Yeah, not sure I’ll ever be able to top this.”
Puzzled, he furrowed his brow as he looked from me to Mzatal, then back to me, expression deepening into a frown.
“Yes, you will need to make adjustments,” Mzatal told Idris. “The shift is likely permanent.”
Idris cleared his throat and nodded, perplexity seeming to deepen.
Mzatal and I entered the tree tunnel, and the others fell in a few paces behind us.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
Mzatal smiled and squeezed my hand. “You and I are…different, and he must make adjustments in the ritual and support parameters.”
A slow smile spread across my face as I explored the connection and merging of the two powers. Our energy signatures had changed, as if we’d exchanged a portion of our auras, bringing us into a beautiful flow of connection. “Yeah.” I grinned. “We’re better, stronger, faster.”
“With all going as planned,” Mzatal said, “we will bring a measure of stability that is sorely needed.”
“Nothing ever goes as planned,” I said with a grimace. I’d been on enough search warrants and other operations to know that all too well. “What’s our worst-case scenario, Boss? Rhyzkahl, right? Are we ready for that?”
“Worst-case scenario would be Rhyzkahl intervening and our failure to recover the blade,” Mzatal said, but then he shook his head. “No. Worse would be if he captured the blade once we had it.” He gave me a look filled with confidence and reassurance. “I am prepared for Rhyzkahl this time, and we are together.”
“We will kick all the ass,” I told him, grinning.
Mzatal smiled back, eyes unveiled and filled with unaffected peace. “And the best case scenario is that there will be no ass to kick, and we return with Vsuhl.” He stopped in the center of the grove, eyes traveling over everyone and everything, assessing and assuring that we had all we needed. He took my hand to prepare for the transfer, but then paused and gave me a questioning look.
“What is it?” I asked.
He pursed his lips in thought. “You lead. I will support for the group.”
I blinked. “Me? Are you sure?”
Giving my hand a light squeeze, he nodded. “It feels right.”
“Right,” I echoed, then took a deep breath, soaking in the comfort of the grove to calm the sudden rush of nerves. It was here for me, ready for me when I needed it. And now I had a stronger understanding of it—its strengths and limits, and how to engage and control the semi-sentience.
“Right,” I repeated with a firm nod. “I can do that.” Extending, I asked the grove to take us to Szerain’s palace, and within three heartbeats we were there.
I drew a deep breath, tasting the subtle difference in the air. After traveling with Helori, I knew that sharp edge, like a faint continuous flow of arcane electricity, was localized here and likely exuded from the cataclysm-born rift to the east.
Mzatal drew my arm up to link with his, tucked his free hand behind his back, and we headed out of the tree tunnel. To the north, the honey-blond stone of Szerain’s palace shimmered with golden iridescence beneath a bright, cloudless morning sky. When we left nearly two months ago, Mzatal had closed and warded the double doors to the arched passage that led to the interior and the main courtyard. Now they stood open, so I had to wonder who’d visited since. The paved path rose toward the arch and, halfway there, split into three: one continuing on, and the other two branching right and left to flank the east and west wings of the palace.
“Juntihr, seek interlopers and warding,” Mzatal said to the reyza I didn’t know, voice focused and intense. “Idris, you know what to do, but—” He paused, frowned. “Add an additional layer. Double the pattern.”
Juntihr snorted assent and leaped into the air with a bellow. Idris’s brow furrowed with a quizzical look as though considering the implications. A second later he gave a sharp nod, likely having analyzed the possibilities in the time it took me simply to register the statement. With total focus suffusing his face, as if slipping into a second skin that fit better than his own, he turned and loped off down the path toward the passage. The zhurn scuttled on in Idris’s wake and the kehza took flight, heading up and over the palace. Safar and Ilana paced us some distance behind.
Mzatal and I followed Idris in comfortable introspective silence, stopping only to close and ward the doors behind us. It wouldn’t stop Rhyzkahl, but it would delay him or encourage him to flank the palace. Either way, it bought a little time.
We exited the passage into the overgrown tangle of the courtyard proper. Nothing had changed, yet it felt as if every thing had changed. The raised circle of stone with its enigmatic eleven columns still stood among sorely neglected pathways and flower beds. The wings of the palace still angled off to the east and west. But me? I couldn’t even begin to quantify the changes in me since I’d last stood here. Blatant rape of naïve innocence tended to shake things up a bit.
Letting my cop-senses assess the area, I released Mzatal’s hand and headed toward the columned pavilion. I wasn’t the best tactician by any stretch, but it wasn’t tough to figure
Uneasy, I scanned the area, then looked back toward Mzatal. “Can you ask Safar to station himself on the tower there?” I asked, gesturing to a section of the palace above the arched passage that offered a good view of the grove on the other side. He nodded and turned to give the instructions while I continued on to the pavilion. Idris was already there, laying out the initial diagram. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, but doing something would help. I’d spent the last couple of weeks learning everything I needed to know about my part, and now it was show time.
“Watch out, dude,” I called out to Idris, “I’m coming in.”
He grinned and gave me a look of mock horror before slipping back into total focus. “Mzatal wants the patterns double-layered to amplify the resonance,” Idris said without a hitch in his flow of tracing. “That doesn’t change anything in the initial set-up, but when we start on the overlay, you’ll have to feel into it to get the two layers to mesh.”
I gave him a nod. “I can totally do that.” Creating the sigils by feel for the recovery of Gestamar last night had skyrocketed my confidence in my intuitive ability. I began to work the opposite side of the pattern from Idris, delighted at how smoothly the tracings flowed. All that practice with Mzatal this morning, I thought with amusement.
The main ritual pattern dominated the circle of stone, reaching almost to the columns themselves. With the double layer, it pulsed in multicolored beauty at about chest-level, quiescent sigils shifting subtly, primed and ready for ignition. Once we’d checked it over for continuity, Idris gave me a grin and thumbs up then moved out to his designated place about halfway between the pavilion and arched passage. I wasn’t keen on him being exposed like that, but it was the right place for the damn support diagram.
After a brief assessment, Idris traced a compact pattern and ignited it. With an impressive burst of heat that stirred my hair even twenty yards away, he seared a neat circle in the overgrowth, efficiently clearing the ground for his patterns. Damn, the dude had skill.