Zacharel stiffened. “Dream?”
“Yes.”
“You remember it?”
“Of course. I’ve relived it a thousand times.” She’d hoped to figure out what was wrong with it. At first, she’d loved it. But the more the scene had played through her mind, the more she’d realized something had been…off.
“Tell me.”
“A smoking-hot Prince Charming saved me from fire-breathing dragons and asked me if I was willing to help him. I said yes. He said I love you and want to be with you and I said how sweet, and he said will you be my woman, and I said yes, and he said then we are one. Then I woke up in the most agonizing pain.”
Zacharel ran his tongue over his teeth. “The prince was the demon, and he tricked you into agreeing to his claiming.”
“Uh, no. It was just a dream.” A dream that had stuck with her for years…
“No, you only thought it was a dream. He manipulated your mind, vulnerable as it was in sleep. When he asked you to be his woman, and you agreed, you became his slave.”
“But that’s… I didn’t mean…would never… They can do that to people?” she squeaked.
“If a human allows it, yes.”
“But…how could I have known what was happening?”
“You could have, if you had been trained to distinguish the truth from the lie.” When he stood in front of her, he tugged the robe over her head. “To keep you clean and warm.”
The material bagged on her, draping her arms and pooling at her feet.
“Do you wish to remove the leather?” he asked.
“Yes.” Since the robe shielded her body, she was able to contort this way and that to extract herself from the dirty, chafing clothing.
When she finished, she realized her skin was tingling and her cells fizzing, as though hundreds of butterflies were giving her a sponge bath. It was the strangest feeling, and she wasn’t sure if the robe or Zacharel’s nearness was responsible.
He lifted her hair from the collar, his fingertips brushing her nape, making her shiver. His nearness. Definitely his nearness.
He didn’t jerk away, as she expected, but lingered, saying, “Soft.”
Well, what do you know, she thought. He wasn’t as opposed to touching her, after all. “Why did you avoid coming into contact with me before?” she asked, veering away from the subject of demons. Right now, her mind needed a break. “And don’t try to say it wasn’t deliberate. You basically contorted your body to maintain distance, a move I invented to establish boundaries with other patients.”
“I lose track of everything important when you’re near me,” he grumbled.
Everything important, he’d said. Meaning, she was not. Nice. “Such a romantic,” she muttered, slapping his hand away. “You’re lucky I’m not one of those girls who burst into tears at every little insult.”
“That was not an insult.” He frowned, and while she knew he hadn’t meant for his expression to pulse with sensuality, his lack of chill caused just that, an erotic throb inside her, where want blended with need. “And I am not trying to romance you.”
“Believe me, I know.”
Frown deepening, he stepped away from her, at last ending the contact. “Do you want me to romance you?”
Yes. “No.” You’re not very fond of men right now, remember? Not even sexy angel men.
“Then as we were saying.” Zacharel cleared his throat, and even that was steeped with his innate sensuality. “We must kill the demon who made that claim on you.”
Demons again. The break was over.
“When you agreed to be his slave,” he continued, “you gave him permission to do whatever he wanted with you. However, when he dies the marking will fade and the others, the weaker minions, will lose interest in you.”
“So…the hunted must become the hunter?”
“Exactly. If we do not do this, you will never find peace.”
Wait. “You said we.”
“Yes.”