Come to Me (17 page)

It was an everyday event for humans; she knew that. She knew it was as mundane as rain or the lowing of cattle. And yet it was a sight that no one in the Night World had ever seen, nor ever would. She had gone three thousand years, seeing sunrises only in the memories of men.

How weak those memories were in comparison to the reality. They were but faded shadows of the visual sense that overwhelmed her now. For a moment she gave herself over to the glory of the rising sun and forgot who or what she was. Pink and gold, lightening blues, emerging shades of green filled her, and she expanded outward, dissolving into the beauty of the morning. It was overwhelming, and she both wanted to absorb every moment of it and also knew that it was too great for her to encompass, A soft sigh escaped from between her lips.

"You've never seen the dawn?" Nicolae asked, coming up beside her.

His voice drew her back to herself, and she became aware once again that she was here, in his tower room, wearing rough and scratchy clothes, her fingers cold and stiff. "Is it always like this?" she asked. "So beautiful?"

He shrugged. "It depends upon what one finds beautiful."

His failure to appreciate the view laid out before them brought back all her anger with him. The sunrise had made her forget for a moment that he had been behaving like an ungrateful brute who had been taught sensitivity by a den of wolverines.

Reluctantly, she turned away from the beauty out the window and faced Nicolae. A guilt-inducing reprimand was on her lips, but it got no further as her entire body reacted to his nearness. She could smell—smell!—a faint scent of what she instinctively knew was his own unique maleness. With the greater light from the window, she could see his features in a detail and immediacy that had been missing, even as a dream demon. It was as if she had always seen the human world through a thin layer of mist, which had now been burned away by the rising sun. Colors were more intense, sounds sharper, she could smell and touch, and everything was solid. Maneuvering up stairs and through the room had been like finding her way through a labyrinth. No flying, no passing through objects. It was disconcerting, and yet every moment seemed so rich in sensation.

And Nicolae's eyes seemed both darker and more full of light; his hair thicker; his body was half again as big as hers, and in her small, wingless, human frame she knew that she was physically at his mercy.

The knowledge sent a weird, unexpected thrill through her. What would it be like if he were to have his way with her? She imagined him above her, she utterly under his control as he parted her thighs.

The thought of giving her body over to his control scared her, even as she felt a tingle in her loins. Disconcerted, she moved away from him, and went and sat down on the bench at the worktable.

"Shall I help you now?" she asked, trying to sound unperturbed by the queer thoughts racing through her head.

He frowned at her—an expression she was getting used to—and followed her over to the table. He stood at its head and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can answer some questions."

She nodded.

He looked suspiciously at her.

She raised her brows in innocence. She didn't want him to know the mixture of anger and desire that was coursing through her. An inkling of either would have him booting her out the front gate of the fortress.

His mouth twitched, not believing her portrayal of innocence. Perhaps he already knew her too well. Holy stars, she didn't like to think what advantages he had over her in predicting human behavior. This body she was inhabiting was already pushing her toward action and emotion in a way her succubus body never had. Observing humans for three millennia was proving, so far, not much preparation for being one.

"Why are you here in this form?" Nicolae asked.

She folded her hands together atop the table and sat up straight. "To help you."

"You know you're not going to be much help as a human."

"Yes I will. I can help you with your studies." She was glad she'd thought of that excuse, out on the lake walkway. "This way we can work around the clock, and not have to stop when the day arrives."

His eyes narrowed, and he scratched at his chin. "Mmm." He tilted his head and considered.

Samira tried to keep her face blank. As any demon knew, humans rarely asked the right questions. Much could be concealed without any effort on her part, as long as he didn't think of the right things to ask.

"How did you do it? Make the change, I mean? Is this something all demons can do?"

"Nyx, the Queen of the Night, did it for me. The only ways a demon can become human are if Nyx changes her, or if a human willingly allows a demon to inhabit his or her body."

"So, this Nyx could make an army of human demons?"

Samira shook her head. "She wouldn't."

"But she could?"

"She wouldn't, and there is no way to force Nyx to do anything. Believe me on that. She is the daughter of Chaos, and first among the powers of the universe."

"There's always a way."

Samira just shook her head.

"How many demons are there?" he asked.

"In the Night World? Thousands and thousands. Dream demons, sickness demons, grief, loss, sadness, lust, envy, deceit, confusion, and so on and so on."

"So these demons could, say, take over a human army by invading their bodies?"

"No. We can't possess a body against someone's will," she explained. "If I were to try, both the human and I would be destroyed by it. Why do you keep asking about armies? I don't think you're going to solve any of your problems with one. Isn't war what caused all your problems in the first place?"

His face colored. "You are not here to give me advice!"

"I think I am."

"No! You are here to do my bidding."

"Don't you want me to help you with your studies?"

"If I bid you to."

"Why else would you be studying those texts unless you already knew that armies weren't going to solve your problems?" she asked reasonably. Really, he wasn't making any sense.

His face turned a deeper red. "You!" he said, unfolding his arms and pointing at her, his finger stabbing at the air in front of her face. "You know nothing of the world of men!"

"I've seen enough to know that the vision of men is too small," she retorted, her own voice rising. She put her hand up in front of her face, like a wall. "They can only see the future right in front of them, and nothing beyond. They only see their own position. They have no vision of what will come after."

"And you do?"

"I know that no victory lasts a lifetime. There are always more battles to come. For thousands of years, that has not changed."

"Yet those who do not fight are obliterated," he said.

She shrugged, enjoying the argument. She felt so
alive
, and was sure that such fiery debate must be good for Nicolae, too. It felt so much richer to argue in a human body—she could feel her blood flowing, her heart pumping, her armpits sweating. "Or those who do not fight are simply absorbed into the conqueror's people, to live their lives. All empires fall, Nicolae," she scolded. "All kingdoms are overcome. All clans and ruling families die out and are forgotten as time moves onward. Surely there are better ways to spend your pitifully short life than in wars."

He gaped at her, his body as tense and ready to strike as a bolt of lightning. Yes, arguing
was
good for him! He looked deliciously male, all dark fury, and she had the urge to throw herself on him and beg him to have his way with her.

"The Dacian race has survived more than a millennium, due to our cunning and perseverance," he insisted. "It is worth fighting to preserve our clan."

"Your people survived by hiding in the mountains, and most of you are interbred with Romans and neighboring peoples. There is no
Dacia
as you think of it." That should set him off.

He sucked in a deep, offended breath. "There
is
. And there are the people of Moldavia, who need strong rulers, and protection from the Turks and the invaders from Wallachia and Maramures. If they are to live their 'pitifully short' lives in peace, they need fighters."

"Is that why you hate Dragosh, then? Because he is a threat to the peasants of Moldavia?" she asked. Such lies men told themselves! "I think it is more personal."

"The personal and the political need not be at odds."

"Indeed, they seem identical to me," she said. "I'm sure the peasants are pleased."

He stared at her for a long, cold moment. "You don't seem to realize that you are here on my sufferance. At a word from me, my men will haul you off and dump you back into the lake."

She bit her upper lip and kept herself from making a tart retort. He was right, after all, and perhaps she had pushed him far enough for one day. Pity, though. He really was an enticing specimen when he got his fur up in a fury like that. It was so much better than seeing him morose, or lost in his books. It was so much better than having him ignore her.

Her continuing silence only made him frown the deeper, though. "Why are you so intent upon helping me?"

"I promised you I would."

"Since when is the word of a demon worth anything?"

"It's never given falsely."

He snorted.

"It's not," she said. "It's you humans who hear what you want to hear when a promise is made."

"I am warned, then, to listen closely to your words."

She gave a small smile. "Listen to the space between the words when dealing with a demon. That is where the interesting things happen."

He made a harrumphing noise, stared at her a little longer, and then threw his hands in the air, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Samira. I have no idea."

The sound of her name so casually on his lips sent a small thrill through her. He was a grouchy, suspicious, arrogant, self-absorbed brute, and she was angry with him for not welcoming her into his cold and horrible monastery, but it was surprisingly easy to forget about that while her name was on his lips. She wanted to ask him to say it again but suspected it might annoy him.

Instead, she propped her leg up on the bench. "Will you look at my wound?"

He glanced at her leg. "What wound?"

She pointed to the red streak, then looked at it more closely herself. It wasn't bleeding anymore. The bath had rinsed off most of the blood, and all that remained were a few thin lines of crusting brown-red.

"That's just a scratch," he said dismissively.

"But it hurt…"

He raised one brow. Her gaze drifted to the burn scar down the edge of his face, and she felt a chill run down her spine. How had he survived that? She couldn't have; she was sure of it.

She slipped her leg back under the table and pulled her caftan more tightly closed, crossing her arms over her chest for warmth.

He sighed. "Let me tie that for you."

Before she knew what he meant, he was standing close beside her, the warmth from his body palpable through the cool air, and again her human flesh reacted to his nearness. Her heart raced and she felt a flush of heat.

He took hold of the cords at one shoulder and tied them into neat bows, the tips of his fingers lightly touching against her through the cloth. He then wrapped a sash around her waist and tied it, securing the caftan. Each accidental touch of his hand sent a pulsing thrill through her, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. "Are… are there more things to tie?"

"What?"

"Should I wear stockings, like you, and have you tie them at the tops?" The thought of his hands near her thighs and hips made her go half faint.

"Women don't wear hose like these."

"Oh." Was there no justice in this world? "I'd like to, though, if they are warm," she tried.

"I haven't any to spare. If you stay here, though, I suppose we'll have to find you some proper woman's clothes to wear." He didn't sound pleased about the effort that would cost him.

"Something soft?" She pulled at the caftan she wore. "This doesn't feel very good. And maybe something pretty. Shoes? And what will I do with my hair? Do I have to braid it, like a peasant, or should I leave it free? Do you know how to braid hair?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "No, I do not know how to braid hair. And you'll thank me for whatever we can find for you to wear. You're lucky not to be naked."

"I like being naked."

He made a small strangled sound in his throat. He pointed to the books on the table. "If you're going to be of help to me, then get to work."

The piles of books looked intriguing. She'd never read a book before and was looking forward to the experience, even if Nicolae was ordering her to do it. A good bedding would do much to improve his humor, she thought. She wished she knew why he denied himself that pleasure.

She reached for the nearest book, then paused with her hand above the cover. She glanced at Nicolae. "Do you think it's safe?"

He seemed to catch her meaning but just shrugged. "You say you're human right now. It shouldn't hurt you if it doesn't hurt me."

She held her breath and quickly touched the cover, yanking her hand away again almost before she could register the feel of the leather beneath her fingertips. When there was no bolt of energy or shock of pain, she released her breath and lay her hand flat on the book. She pulled it toward her and opened it.

Black markings met her gaze. There were some pretty pictures along the margins, in rich colors and gold leaf, and she looked carefully through the birds, animals, twining plants, and miniature people depicted there. They seemed to be telling a story of some sort, but she wasn't sure what.

She turned the page. Most of this one, too, was filled with short black marks, but the pictures were just as fascinating, albeit just as difficult to follow.

She made a
hmmm
sound in her throat.

"Yes?" Nicolae asked eagerly, sitting down near her on the bench.

"I see why you've had such a hard time. It might take me a long time to decipher this."

"So there's a code!" he said in excitement. "I'd wondered if there might be."