Page 179 of Lost in the Dark

I am not the least surprised, but I nod gravely in sympathy. My little female smiles as she tucks herself up against my body, her arm wrapping me in a one-armed embrace. My wing slides forward seemingly on its own willpower to curve around her, to which she responds with a happy sigh.

“You are very warm, but you are a demon so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she says, snuggling against me. “I just have to say that I can’t complain about this aspect of having you around. The house gets colder every day.”

My wing curls tighter around her. “I am actually cooler than many other types of demons. If I feel that warm to you, perhaps you are colder than you realize,” I gently prod, hoping to make her scrutinize her surroundings closer.

Surely that will help.

To my frustration, she just shakes her head, but in the next moment any irritation evaporates as her breasts press into my side as her entire body leans into my “warmth.”

“If you are cool, then I am sure that other demons are uncomfortably hot to the touch. I can’t imagine hugging a fire demon, not when you’re absolutely perfect.”

An upwelling of feeling overwhelms me at her bold words choosing me above all others. I wrap myself around her, drawing her close as possible within my embrace, even my tail curling around her waist as my wings conceal us completely within their dark embrace. Her content sigh only encourages me to hold her there tightly, our pulse of our power coming into a perfect alignment with each other in a singular beat.

Could this be love?

Naomi

Gralius is my sentinel. He is never far away, not at night when the touch of his hand is the only thing rooting me to reality, and not even during the day. If he is not in my home—practically my personal shadow while I work or get tasks done around the house—he’s just outside the house, stretching his wings. As much as I need to keep my attention on my work, in those moments I can’t help but to stop and watch him from my window. It makes me feel a bit creepy, like I am spying on him, but I can’t seem to resist.

I am acting like an infatuated teenager. I need to get a grip. So he’s a fascinating male who shares interests and passions with me, who can sit in a companionable silence with me, as he often does, without it being weird or uncomfortable. That he makes my home feel like a real home just by being a constant makes him my personal favorite catnip. And while I should be working, I know that he is out there now, taking in the gentle morning sun.

It’s fine. I can resist. I stand in front of my computer, staring down at the screen, and make no attempt to sit in the chair pulled out from the desk. I blink at it, trying to focus on the document pulled up to no avail. Frustrated, I release a huge sigh.

No. It seems that I can’t.

As much as I can’t resist Gralius simply just being himself, he has to be sexy as hell too even if he can’t see it past the scarring on his face. Sexy and a fascinating personality with something so different about him that I will never get enough of wanting to learn more about him, it makes a very potent combination for me.

I stalk over to the window and shake my head as I cast a sharp glare at my familiar as he chitters on his perch. I can’t be mad at Wilox’s taunting amusement, however. This is getting ridiculous.

Pulling back the curtain, I bite my lips as I watch him. His dark hair shifts in the air, his face tilting up into the weak sun as if it’s the warmest beam, the trace of a smile appears on his face that makes my heart squeeze at the sweetest expression of pleasure. As small as it is, it lights up his entire face, softening the hardness of his features. It makes me want to join him, but I stay rooted to the spot, staring at him as he stretches, the muscles of his chest expanding, pulling at the robe so that it parts slightly down the front, showing his sculpted pectorals.

As impressive as they are—beyond mouthwatering, I admit—I can’t claim that they are his most beautiful feature. But it is coming, and I press closer to the window watching as he cranes his head back, his wings stretching out and catching the light.

And there it is!

My breath catches as the morning light shimmers in sapphire and violet across the black feathers, hints of silver at their edges. As his wings stretch out their widest span, each feather stands out like as if spun from magic in the faint gray light and deep shadows of the morning. He both blends in with the soft hues and is so radiant that he is now the singular most bea—

The moment is prematurely terminated, however, when he cocks his head toward the ground, spying something there among the litter of leaves, and his wings snap shut behind him as he bends for a closer look. I crane my neck, trying to get a look at whatever he spotted but I can’t see at all around the droop of his wings or the flash of his robe’s sleeve as he leans to cup whatever it is between his hands.

Whatever it is, he holds it in front of him for a moment, staring down into his hands, turning just enough that I catch the tip of his lips before he spins around and rushes back for the door.

Cursing, I bolt for my chair, practically sliding right off it in my hurry to appear as if I were working—doing anything at all besides peeking out at him. Catching myself with my fingertips on the edge of my desk, I right myself and wrinkle my nose at my computer, tapping the keyboard to bring the screen back to life from hibernation mode.

Jeez, was I lurking at the window for that long?

It felt like just a couple of minutes. Not long enough to make my entire computer default into hibernation. I peer at the file in front of me as if focused entirely on it when in reality I’m tracking the whisper of sound as Gralius moves through the house. He doesn’t have any weight to make footsteps to carry down the hall, but the movement of his energy is at a level where I can faintly hear it moving as he approaches the room.

My gaze turns toward the bedroom door as he enters, his dark wings appearing to merge with his cloak as the edges of both graze the floor. His hands are cupped in front of him still, and my eyes go directly to them, raising my brows.

“What have you got there?”

His wings shrug as if it is nothing, but I can see his delight in the quirk of his lips, the scars at one side shifting just enough that it makes that side appear to be grinning fiendishly despite the softness in his predatory features at that moment. Curious, I turn in my chair to fully face him, and he extends his cupped hands toward me.

Reaching out, I cup his hands in mind, almost sighing with pleasure at how warm they feel against my skin, and tip his hands to peer down into them. Within his hands, velvety soft, petal-like orange wings slowly flex, moving up and down. A small sound of dismay escapes me as I look down at the dying monarch butterfly. There should be no more this late in the year, but seeing the fading of what must be the last butterfly in the area brings a sudden pain to my heart for reasons that I don’t understand. I blink back the unwelcome prickle of tears and sit back to smile up at him.

“I cannot move many things in this world, but this I could pick up,” he murmurs. “Such beauty in a finite, fading life. I wanted to share it with you before that life departed.”

Sure enough, before my eyes, the wings slow and the butterfly tips at an angle in his hands, it reedy legs going lax. I feel a tear roll down my cheek and clear my throat.

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