Hours later, Deidre's heart was hammering when she set the soul of her mate on the rug before the fireplace with its black flames. She'd showered and changed into a Hell dress, paced to determine what exactly she'd say when Darkyn was back, then gave up, knowing he'd be able to read her mind the minute he awoke. It didn't matter what she tried to say, she'd end up revealing everything with her thoughts.

Kneeling beside his soul, she rested her hands over it and closed her eyes. She envisioned him waking up from a nap and waited, her blood racing at the thought of feeling his skin beneath her again.

Something moved beneath her fingers, and she sat back, watching in a combination of horror and intrigue. Black fog rose from the floor. It took on the shape of a man. Within seconds, the fog had begun to harden, the details of the body beneath it growing firm, the color of his skin turning into a familiar golden brown.

Darkyn's frame emerged from the fog. He was naked, scars visible on his exposed skin. His eyes were closed, his dark hair ruffled. The fog began to dissipate and sank again into the floor, leaving the demon lord before the fire.

"Darkyn?" she whispered. Uncertain what to expect, she touched him lightly. He certainly felt real, and Deidre shifted forward, pulse surging within her. She rested her palm on his warm chest, reassured he was real once more.

Another moment passed, and he began breathing. A few seconds later, his heart started beating.

She almost squealed in excitement.

Deidre darted to the bed to grab a blanket, in case he awoke cold after the bizarre experience. Wrapping it in her arms, she turned to see him standing before the fire, testing his body with small, controlled movements.

Elation mixed with some anger and apprehension, and she crossed to him. Her eyes drank him in, from the lean, shapely muscles of his thighs and arms, to the wide expanse of his chest and the fangs that were already starting to grow.

She stopped close enough to touch him.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"I am."

"Good."

Deidre slapped him. Hard.

Darkyn met her gaze, fire flaring to life in the depths of his.

"That's for not giving me an instruction manual when you gave me Hell," she said, face flushing with a combination of desire and anger.

"You figured it out."

She slapped him again. "That's because … well, because you knew what was going to happen and didn't bother telling me!"

A cunning smile spread across his face.

Should've known he'd take it as an invitation. "Before anything … starts," she began, wetting her lips. "I think we should talk."




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