He was gone, a depression on the pillows was the only clue that he’d ever actually been there. Shocked, desperate, she turned and there he was. Right behind her. Smelling of whisky and smoky cherries, and it was like she was caught in the sights of a killer.
She was a cobra, he the mongoose. She should not have been taken down. She was the siren, able to bend any knee her way, and yet it was he breaking her apart.
“…I shall have to come to you.”
Then he kissed her and she forgot that it wouldn’t hurt. She flinched, waiting for the pain, but it didn’t come.
“I’ve waited for you long enough, Shayera Caron.”
His words were a rumble upon her flesh and suddenly she was aware that they were skin to skin, that at some point he’d taken her clothes off.
“You will be mine.”
She would step out of his arms, she would forget him. She would.
“How is this possible? Why can I touch inside these games?”
His leg was suddenly, impossibly, between her own and her head was swimming because Rumpel was touching her, his hand was sliding up her rib cage and the movement of his thigh created a delicious, delirious friction in her aching center.
“Tell me you do not want me.”
“I… do not… want you.” She moaned and clawed at his back, making him bow into her nails and hiss.
Amber eyes gleamed. “You do, little siren. I feel it in your every touch, your every move. The whisper of your flesh against mine, it all screams that you belong to me.”
And then he shifted just an inch to the left, and oh dear gods!
Grunting, she dropped her head upon his chest as his cock massaged between the slippery folds of her desire.
His breath was at her ear, his teeth nipping at her lobe. “Let me in, Carrot, tell me yes.”
Yes. Yes. Yes. “No.”
“Shayera, say yes. Do it now!”
The cadence of his voice snapped her from her sexual fog. Jerking, she slapped him. His eyes were wide, his jaw clenched.
“No,” she said again. “No.” This time with more power. “You lied to me.”
“Shayera, you do not understand. Please, you have less than a minute, you must agree. Please, my love.” He held out a hand and she cringed.
“What a fool I’ve been. Who do you think I am? This is the game?”
“No.” He raked his fingers through his hair, pulling the ends so hard she knew it had to sting. “This is no game. I am breaking my own rule, Shayera, you have to believe me. Ten seconds. Say yes. Goddess, woman, say yes!”
“NO!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “No. No. No.”
“Rumpel, my love,” another voice cooed. The voice was so sultry, so feminine and hypnotic that Shayera spun around.
A woman stood where none had been before and she was Lust personified. As nude as the both of them, she was perfection. The other half of him. Her skin was pale, her hair ebony, and her full, heart-shaped lips as red as blood.
The analogy rattled loose the memory of the boy and Shayera gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Yes.” The woman smirked. “So now you know.”
Turning toward Rumpel, who was glowering at the vision before them, she stuck out an accusing finger. “I saw the boy last night. I read about the games, she is his mother. Your wife. Am I right?” she spat out, desperate that he should deny it. Desperate he tell her no, that he refute what was so unbelievably obvious to her. “Tell me, Rumpelstiltskin, am I right!”
“Yes,” he growled. “Yes!”
The room spun out of focus—the smells, the sights, the timbrels and lutes, everything was gone. Even the woman.
They were back in the cold, gray room, and they were both dressed and she’d be damned if even one tear spilled out in front of him.
“Demone can’t lie, and yet you lied to me all along.” She hurled the words at him, grateful when he grimaced.
Hugging her arms to her chest, she shook her head.
“I did not know you then.”
“And I suppose that should make this all right?”
“No.” He snarled and clamped his hands behind his back as he paced like a caged tiger before her. “Give me a chance to explain.”
“There is nothing you can say to make this right. Absolutely nothing.”
Desperation glittered in the depths of his golden-amber eyes. “The book only told you half the story, Shayera. Not all of it.”
“Oh please.” She waved a hand at him. “Then by all means, explain. Make this right.”
Stopping, he turned toward her. “Euralis is my child, the boy of my heart.”
“You’re married. Where is she? Back on Delerium still? How dare you touch me. Do your vows mean so—”
“My wife,” he spat, “is still on Delerium. She is a soul-sucking succubus who cared nothing for me. Her name was Delanore and she married me because it was the will of our parents.”
“What?” Because that was not the name she’d read of in the book. “Caratina?”
“Was my mistress. In the retinue of Delanore’s personal maids, she was an aberration like myself. More humane, they called it.”
“Humane.” She scoffed. “I’ve seen very little of that since being here.”
He looked down. “I wasn’t always as I am, Shayera. Circumstances have turned me into the very monster I hated.”