Touch of the Demon

“Do you expect Mzatal to come?” I asked Rhyzkahl after Amkir disappeared from view.

Rhyzkahl gave a low snort of derision. “I doubt Mzatal has the tebakh—” Which I somehow knew meant “balls” or something damn close to it. “—to come to my domain now.”

I shivered, remembering Mzatal’s face and what he’d said before he’d retreated down the tree tunnel: I will retrieve you. I rubbed my arms in an attempt to dispel the memory of his scary-intensity.

Rhyzkahl moved to a place beside me on the rail, watching as Amkir’s reyza rose to meet Kehlirik in either greeting or challenge. I couldn’t tell the difference.

“Tell me of your time with Mzatal,” he said. His eyes were still on Amkir’s approach, but I had no doubt his attention was fully on me.

The last thing I wanted to do was go through all of that shit, but at the same time I completely understood Rhyzkahl’s desire to know what happened. It was a post-incident debriefing, I figured. Plus, maybe something I’d seen or experienced could give Rhyzkahl an advantage over Mzatal somewhere down the line.

I gave a fairly emotionless recounting of the summoning and the damn purification ceremony. Told him about Idris and his skill, and my exploration of Szerain’s palace. I watched him for any reaction when I told him about my connection to Elinor, but his expression remained one of polite interest.

“Did you know about that whole Elinor thing?” I asked.

“Yes, you carry something of her,” he replied with complete calm. “It is part of the reason you required extra protection in the form of a syraza guardian.”

I straightened, frowning. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? I mean, she damn near destroyed this world.” I felt the grove activate again, but I resisted the urge to look toward it.

“I did not choose to distress you with unnecessary information,” he stated. “It seemed but a mild whisper of memory to you. More awareness, more knowledge on your part, increased the risk of other qaztahl discovering you and seeking you, as occurred with Mzatal.” His gaze shifted to the grove as another lord exited. “Vahl,” he said with a slight frown.

Vahl’s demonic contingent consisted of a reyza, two faas, one kehza, and a graa—a scuttling, crab-spiderish-looking demon that could fly with lightning speed. It had only been a little over a week ago that I’d been attacked by a graa. I knew there was little chance it was the same one, but I couldn’t help eyeing it somewhat dubiously as it flew to the top of a squat broad pillar near the grove, already occupied by over a dozen reyza, kehza, and zhurn.

The lord was another matter. Tall, dark-skinned, and broad-shouldered, he wore a close-fitting long-sleeved grey shirt and dark jeans that showed off a build that was muscular in all the right places. His hair was closely shorn, and he sported a perfectly trimmed mustache and beard. His aura was welcoming and dangerous at the same time, and I watched him with avid interest as he approached.

Dark eyes lifted to mine as he strode down the path, and a slight smile touched his mouth. A moment later, the demons on the pillar erupted in an uproar of bellows, snorts, trumpets, and squawks that carried clearly in the crisp air and gave the strong impression of laughter. They engaged in groups of two and three with mega-rock-paper-scissors and other apparent games, lending a party-like atmosphere to the assembly. “They sure like their games,” I said.

Rhyzkahl looked over at me with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “Everything is a game to them.”

I smiled and continued my tale. Rhyzkahl’s eyes narrowed when I told him about the shrine and how I freaked out when I saw the image of the blade. But it was when I told him of falling with Safar and crashing into the grove—and the grove’s incredible response—that he truly reacted.

His lips parted slightly, and red-gold potency flickered briefly in his eyes. “And when you passed through the grove after that, was it the same?” he asked, gaze and presence intense. “Did it still respond to you?”

“When we went through the grove to go to Mzatal’s realm, it simply felt incredibly peaceful,” I told him, smiling a little at the memory. “But the next time we went through, I knew I could use it. That’s how I escaped and kept Mzatal from removing your mark.”

An unusual, faraway look lit his eyes as he looked out past the rail. “Yes,” he said softly. “Clearly you have a very special connection to the groves.” A few heartbeats later he returned his focus to me, faraway look gone. “And what of your injuries once Mzatal had you again?”

“He healed me,” I replied, then told him of the healing and the return to Mzatal’s realm, the attempt to remove the mark and, finally, of his conviction that Rhyzkahl sought Szerain’s blade and of Mzatal’s drive to get it first.

Rhyzkahl remained silent for a moment after I finished, then turned to face me. “Mzatal is arrogant and knows little of what I want,” he said as he stroked the hair back from my face. “That he seeks Vsuhl is valuable information. Very valuable.” His hand stilled, resting against my cheek. “The chekkunden had hopes to make you his own. He did not kill you upon attaining you, and kept you whole.” Anger darkened his eyes. “And then he sought to remove my mark,” he said, nearly snarling the words. “It is an unforgivable offense.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, grimaced. “Well, he came close to killing me more than once.”

Rhyzkahl nodded. “And he sought to slay you through the implant.” His other hand curled into a fist atop the railing. “He now curses his weakness for not killing you while he had you fully in his control.” He sneered. “Foolish that he would think you could ever be his.”

I smiled tightly. “Yeah, well, I’m not his. I won’t ever be his.”

His eyes shifted to me. “No. No you will not.” He pulled me to him before lowering his head and brushing my lips with his. “You belong with me,” he said, voice compelling and resolute.

I slowly relaxed against him as he deepened the kiss. This was what I’d been needing all along—the nice, caring, and sensual Rhyzkahl instead of the badass lord. I needed a damn hug, and if a curl-your-toes kiss came along with it, well, that was fine, too. His arms encircled me, holding me close. I slid my hands around his neck and through the white-blond silk of his hair as I eagerly returned the kiss. I’d been way too stressed these past few days, and I knew exactly how I wanted to relieve it.

He slid a hand to the small of my back, pulling me hard against him and showing me his own stress that needed relieving. His other hand tangled in my hair, lightly fisting as he pulled my head back. I groaned as his mouth traveled down over my throat, teeth grazing my skin. I felt the grove activate but I didn’t care. I wanted to have sex, not watch lords.

But, Rhyzkahl, damn him, lifted his head and looked out toward the grove. I tried to pull his head back down to mine, but he exhaled and shifted away from me. “The last two, Rayst and,” he shook his head slightly, “Seretis.”

I did my best to control my pesky libido and looked out at the approaching lords. These two had a scattering of reyza and faas with them, but also at least half a dozen sy raza. Rayst had a swarthy complexion and what seemed to be a stocky build beneath nondescript robes, though he moved with a grace and ease that told me the thickness of his body likely wasn’t due to being out of shape. Wavy brown hair swept back from his face to the nape of his neck, and the smile on his face was broad and genuine as he conversed with a syraza beside him.

The other lord, Seretis, was tall and rangy, with chiseled cheekbones and dark, wavy hair that brushed his shoulders. He totally looked as if he belonged on a Spanish-language soap opera. The fact that he wore a frilly RenFaire type shirt, black breeches, and boots only added to the impression. These two exuded patient kindness and a subtle strength—unless I’d missed something. Why did Rhyzkahl shake his head when he saw them?

I did a mental head count of the lords. Process of elimination meant the first one today had been Vrizaar. At least now I had faces to put with names, except for Jesral.

“So Mzatal won’t be coming,” I said, relieved.

“He could arrive under protection of the conclave,” Rhyzkahl replied, “but he will not. You need not trouble yourself with that.” He stepped back, adjusted his clothes with a twitch of his hands, and shook his hair back into perfect place. “There is much I must attend to,” he said with a smile, eyes still carrying a hint of a smolder.

Oh, well. So much for de-stressing. I summoned a faint smile in return. He turned to go, then paused and looked back at me. “What of after Mzatal was thrown back, and he failed to remove the mark?” he asked, a frown creasing his forehead. “What happened then?”

I grimaced and ran a hand through my hair. “He wanted to find a way to block my contact with the grove, so he decided to take me to some place in the middle of nowhere so that he could have some time to work without you finding him.” I gave a low chuckle. “And that’s when I got my ass out of there and used the grove to come here.”

“Yes, relocation to a remote grove would have caused delay,” Rhyzkahl said, “though I would have found you.” He lifted the hand that had been so bloody the night I arrived. “I was in the final preparations for it when you so cleverly escaped.” I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there was an approving glint in his eye.

“Just in the nick of time, too,” I said with a chuckle. “Mzatal was getting…um, weird.”

Rhyzkahl lowered his hand and frowned. “Weird? What did he do?”

“He kissed me,” I said. “But it was weird and, I mean…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain it.

Red-gold potency abruptly shimmered around him. “Kissed you?” he hissed through clenched teeth. I took a step back in surprise at the vehemence of his reaction. “Mzatal kissed you?” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “He had no right to touch you thus!”