The next morning Shayera lay on her stomach on a red-and-white-checkered blanket under the bough of a large acorn tree and read while she chewed on a tart but sweet red apple she’d plucked from a tree just a yard away.
Now that she was well into the third tome, the story of Delerium was becoming more and more riveting as she discovered the history of the clans and rival factions of familial groups. She’d never understood Mother’s fascination with history and learning about peoples and places she’d never see or know; Shayera had always been a feet-firmly-rooted-in-the-present type of girl, but reading this helped her see a broader picture of who Rumpel really was.
She took another large bite and chewed, smiling at the caricature of a gnarled imp exchanging riches in exchange for goods.
Apparently only demone royalty possessed the ability to conjure magick, and their form of payment was offering goods and services in exchange for whatever their current needs were. It was how they all amassed such vast fortunes and why Rumpel, even now so far away from home, continued to make his trade thus.
A fleck of apple fell onto the page. Brushing it off with her finger, she frowned when a heavy shadow veiled the words. Frowning, she glanced up and her stomach immediately lurched at the sight of him.
Tall, and broad, and powerful, dressed in brown leathers and a dark red vest and shirt, he looked as though he could have stepped out of the pages of time.
“Doing some light reading, I see.” He scratched his cleft jaw and she suffered the strongest urge to nip at it.
Just the sight of Rumpel made her remember what they’d done two long nights ago. Tamping down her charms because she’d decided just this morning she would not entangle her heart with him further, she sat up.
But as he stared broodily at her, she realized what’d seemed so easy to assume she’d do this morning was in fact going to be anything but. She could no more control her vexing emotions than she could rein in a storm.
Covering her eyes, fruit-tinted breeze blowing through her impossible-to-control curls, she waited for him to join her.
Sitting, he dragged one knee up and took a peek at the page she’d been reading. “So what have you gleaned of me, Carrot?”
Her lips twitched. Sometime between day one and now, Carrot had gone from being an annoyance to making her feel a slight thrill whenever he uttered it. Like maybe it was an intimacy he shared with few.
And… if she didn’t watch it, she’d be in great danger of letting thoughts of the man burrow in so deep she’d never be able to rid herself of him. Sighing, she jerked the book out from under him and snapped it shut.
“I learned…” She took a bite of her apple, making a great show of crunching it obnoxiously—mostly because his nearness made her quite nervous and it was the only thing she could think to do. “You truly are a devil—you make deals and you take them away.”
He shrugged. “I keep to my bargains. If my patrons break faith, then the revocation of magicks is on them.”
Snorting, she swallowed and was just about to take another bite when he snatched the apple from her hand and, never breaking eye contact, took a huge bite from the same spot she had.
She suddenly felt quite hot.
His grin turned cocky.
“You… you.” She cleared her throat.
“Cat got your tongue, siren?”
Mood turning more charged and electric than she’d have liked, she flicked her wrist. “Stop being so cheeky. And no, you’re wearing entirely too much cologne—it’s offensive to me.” She sniffed.
“Oh come now.” His powerful throat worked as he swallowed his bite of apple, and then tossing it over his shoulder, he leaned forward. “I’m not wearing any.”
She couldn’t help but inhale; it was an automatic response to his nearness. “So you naturally smell of whiskey and cloves?” Her voice sounded much more breathy than it should.
He turned but didn’t put space between them. His touch burned like a brand and she shivered beneath its intensity. “They say when like souls meet that a unique chemical pheromone is released, one perfect for the other. Do you know what you smell like to me, little siren?”
She swallowed hard. He was the fire, she was the moth. She had to get up, had to get away, for he’d consume her entirely, but just as a moth would, she leaned not away, but deeper into him.
“Roses. Sweet, succulent roses.”
There were so many questions she should be asking, so many things she should say. “Why didn’t you return to me after that night?”
It wasn’t at all what she’d intended to say, but the truth she kept trying so hard to deny won out.
His lashes fluttered. “Do you want me?”
She liked that he didn’t play games, that she didn’t have to try to figure out what Rumpel meant.
“Too much to be sane.”