Page 10 of Her Demon Daddy
“Leave us,” I say, waving a flippant hand at Drar’ran and Ti’lek, who are still loitering by the door. They obey immediately, but it’s not until the door clicks shut behind them that I allow my eyes to return to the woman before me.
It’s a shame, to know that her soul will be ripped from her corporeal form- that I will be the one to have to force her to yield it. It’s a necessary evil, done on behalf of my people, and yet…
The thought makes me feel something akin to sadness.
Strange. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt sad over a human before.
I fight the urge to shake my head, mentally clearing my thoughts. The silence stretches on between us, and I find myself waiting to see if she will react like the others before her, if she will scream or cry or beg for her life. She does none of those things, however, and I find it only draws me to her more.
“What is your name?”
My voice resonates in the confines of my room, shattering the tense silence, and the woman stiffens at the sound. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer me.
“Siara,” she responds curtly. Even her voice is beautiful, strong and soft at the same time. I know what must be done, and yet, I cannot resist the urge to know more about her.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask as I rise from my armchair, drawing myself up to my full height. She is tall, by human women’s standards, but I easily dwarf her. Despite having to look up at me, however, I get the distinct feeling that she is still looking down her nose at me. It is a peculiar skill, one I cannot decide if I like.
“You’re a kidnapper and a murderer,” the woman- Siara- snarls, that cold facade cracking beneath the flames of her anger. I smile beneath my hood, glad that she can’t see it. Anger is always an interesting coping mechanism.
“Ah, but I am far more than that,” I respond smoothly, stepping toward her. Siara does not flinch away, although her hands tremble from where they are clasped tightly in front of her. Her full lips twist into a snarl as I take another step toward her, putting myself within arm’s reach of her as her green eyes harden.
“I’m not scared of you,” Siara spits, and I cannot help the dark laugh that slips from between my lips.
“Your bravado is inspiring, little human, but your scent does not lie.”
She stiffens, her cheeks flushing an interesting shade of crimson. Before I can resist the temptation, I brush the bare pads of my fingers across it, needing to know what that color feels like. The second I touch her, however, what little control Siara was exerting over herself snaps.
She flies at me like a feral animal, her fingers bent into the shape of claws. I evade each of her blows easily, sidestepping her swings and backing out of the range of her long legs.
Siara snarls, launching herself at me with renewed vigor after I deflect her initial blows. I can’t help but admire the sheer tenacity it takes for such a feeble human woman to try and challenge the King of demons, and I find that I’m almost… enjoying this.
Her leg lashes out, her bare foot very nearly catching me in an undesirable place before I catch it, holding her ankle firmly in my hand. It’s almost laughable, the way she hops on one foot and scowls at me before ripping her leg from my grasp.
“I do not expect you will get very far in this attempt,” I warn her. Siara’s only response is to pick up a vase off of the nearby side table and launch it at my head. I duck, air whizzing past me, and she’s launching herself at me again before the vase has even hit the floor.
I deflect the flurry of blows she tries to rain down on me, knocking her arms away before she can do any damage, blocking one blow after another. Nearly all traces of fear are gone from her scent now, and I can’t help but wonder if this is as cathartic for her as it is entertaining for me.
Before I realize what’s happening, her hand winds in the thick material of my hood, and an innate panic that’s been drilled into me for the past several decades takes over. I shove her off of me with far more force than necessary, grabbing the material of my hood out of her hand before she can unmask me.
Siara flies off of me, slamming against the wall with a resounding crack and crumpling to the floor. For a moment, I’m only capable of standing there in stunned silence.
Have I killed her?
Before I can think twice about it, I’m kneeling over her, gathering her unconscious body into my arms. Her skin is as soft and warm beneath my hands as it looks, and all of a sudden, I can’t help but marvel at howfragileshe feels tucked against my chest, so at odds with the fiery woman who stared me down.
I cross the room quickly, laying her out on my bed. Her face is smooth and blank, as though she were simply resting, but that does little to quell the gnawing panic rising in my stomach.
I try to tell myself that this panic has nothing to do with my interest in her. She must be conscious for the soul-cleaving to work, after all. That’s why I have to wait for her to wake up.
Minutes seem to stretch into hours as I stare down at her unmoving form. How do I wake her up? How does one take care of an injured human? Does she need water? Blood?
I’m seconds away from shouting for Ar’geg when Siara lets out a soft, throaty moan, her brows knitting together over her still-shut eyes. It’s all I can do not to heave a sigh of relief as her lashes flutter open.
For some reason, an apology springs to my lips, but I swallow it before it can shake free.
“You mustbehave,” I growl instead.
“So I’ve been told,” Siara mutters, her eyes squeezing together as she shifts to sit up.