Hours later, back screaming from sitting in one position for too long, she blinked, only to realize how dim the room was now. She’d not noticed the torch that now glowed as if by magic from the center of the table, as she’d been completely engrossed in the war between the demone, which seemed to stem from the avarice and vice of King Dionysis and his lords. Dionysis desired a totalitarian rule. There’d been rumor and innuendo for years that the king’s blood was tainted, that he wasn’t well. Not until he’d declared war on his own people did the lords realize the rumors were true. But only one lord, Prince Rumpelstiltskin, had power enough to challenge the king’s authority.
The history of a land and peoples she didn’t know fascinated her, but exhaustion laid claim to her mind. Clearly the sandman wouldn’t leave her in peace this night, the evidence of his being here stared her boldly in the face. Brushing at the granules of sand, she yawned. After reading the same line six times, it was time to admit defeat.
She’d not even gotten a quarter of the way through the first mammoth tome. Sighing, she closed it and smiled with delight when, once she’d retied the laces, the book again shrank back down to a small size.
“Useful after all.”
Picking up her new treasures, she called for Dalia. But it wasn’t her maid that returned to her.
Gleaming amber eyes glanced at the books she held clasped in her hands. She was still angry with him, and clutching them even tighter to her breasts, she notched her chin and dared him to take them away.
Quicker than she could cry “no,” he’d plucked a book from her and flipped it from side to side before glancing back at her. “This is not light reading.”
He’d clearly been drinking again; she heard the smooth grit of whiskey in his voice. She hated that the sound of it should affect her as it did, should make her stomach take a dive and her legs feel shaky, that her breathing hitched an infinitesimal bit, that her heart banged against her ribs.
Good looks that masked the devil beneath. But body and mind were two separate things inside her, because while she could appreciate the outer, so far she loathed the inner.
“Where is Dalia?” she snapped.
Brow twitching, he flipped the book back to her. She nearly lost the others in her haste to snatch it out of the air.
“Where she should be. I can lead you to your room.”
“Why? So you can snap at me again? Or make me feel like an idiot for opening myself up to you?” Thinning her lips, realizing what she was saying to him and how that must make her look, she sailed past him for the door. “I can find my own way.”
“No, you can’t. The castle shifts at my whim. I wish to walk with you—if you leave, you’ll be walking for hours.”
Hand on the knob, realizing he was probably telling the truth, she rounded on him. “Why are you doing this to me? Hmm? Why can’t you just leave me alone? You do not really wish my company, that much is obvious—”
“Is it really?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
Eyes thin slits, he moved into her sphere of space, his body so close that his heat wrapped with her own. He smelled of fire and whiskey and cloves. She wet her lips.
“You unnerve me, siren, and I find I don’t much care for that feeling. Why are you reading up on me?” His gaze flicked momentarily off her face and back to the books.
Able to take in a deep breath, body jittery as if she’d downed ten cups of her father’s coffee, she shook her head, hating that she’d felt even the tiniest bit flattered at the idea that she disturbed him.
“It’s always good to study your enemies.”
His smile was slow and sensual and she felt the movement of it like a caress on her flesh, heating her blood and forcing her to close her eyes. Sirens affected males, the more exposure the more need, but she could swear he was turning her own charms on her because as much as she detested him, she craved him.
Gripping the books tight when he leaned over her, careful not to touch him, an agony all its own, she waited until he opened the door.
“I’m not your enemy.” His sweet breath fanned her cheek.
Slipping out the door and planting a hand on the wall, she shook her head. The truth of the matter was she had no idea what Rumpel meant to do with her. Was this really just a game? The little bit she’d read of the demone led her to believe that perhaps it could be just that.
They were keenly intelligent, prone to bouts of rage, but they also desired to be surrounded by the finer things in life.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She finally found her tongue.
The castle echoed with a quiet like she’d not known since arriving. And only in this stillness did she realize she’d not really been alone, because the presence of others had always been about. She sensed no life here at all.
“Why did you challenge your father?” If he sent her back to her room for impertinence then so be it, it wasn’t as though she wished his company.
But instead of driving her away as he had earlier in the gardens, he nodded. “Read the book—you can see he was mad.”
“But don’t all demone wish to enslave and rule? Isn’t that the way of your kind?”
His lip curled. “Don’t all succubus wish to rape?”
She gasped as if slapped.
“Do not be so quick to make snap judgments, Carrot, the action does not become you.”