Free Come to Me by Lisa Cach Page A

forcing his voice to a calm steadiness he did not feel.
    She bared her teeth again in response, saying nothing.
    "Do you understand me?" No response, beyond a curl of her lip.
    "Can you speak?" he asked.
    Still nothing.
    He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and looking carefully at her. Damnation, had he gotten the wrong succubus? Maybe they all looked alike. "You
are
Samira, aren't you?"
    At the sound of her name, her curled lip relaxed a fraction.
    "Samira," he said again.
    She pushed herself up into a sitting position and turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and tucking her face down against them, her wings cradling her body. Nothing could be seen of her but black wings, red hair, and a strip of pale flesh down the center of her back. She looked for all the world as if she was sulking, feeling sorry for herself.
    He felt a flash of annoyance. He found no charm in human females who pouted, and he was damn sure not about to find it fetching in a demoness.
    So be it. She wasn't going anywhere, and a sulk was best left unrewarded. He would let her stew until she was ready to respond to him and behave in a civil manner. The last thing he was going to do was ask her what was wrong, or pretend to care about her.
    Her
. He'd graced her with a gender, when it would be more true to call her a thing. An
it
. A denizen of Hell, without a drop of mortal blood.
    He went back to his worktable and sat down, the muscles in his leg quivering along with the rest of him, and thanking him for the rest. He poured himself a glass of wine with a shaking hand and tried to concentrate on the open pages in front of him.
    From the corner of his eye, he saw a shudder run down Samira's back, almost as if she was weeping. He turned his head farther away, willing himself not to watch her or to feel pity. She was a demoness, a creature of darkness. She had no soul. He must remember that.
    The words on the page before him made no sense to his distracted mind, and he pulled a different book forward. He turned pages without seeing the script before him, while his ears strained to pick up each small sound of Samira's movement.
    He heard a few rustlings and shifts, and then nothing. Time crawled slowly by, his own breathing and the crackle of the fire in the iron brazier sounding so loud that he feared they would drown out any sound she made. An eerie certainty that she was staring at him made the hair stand upon the back of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, and then he began to imagine that a candle had gone out or the circle had not held, and she was standing right behind him, fingers curled into claws, ready to strike. He could almost feel her breath stirring the hairs on his head, and could all but see her hand reaching for him, toward his vulnerable, exposed neck.
    His muscles tightened in anticipation of her touch, and then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he spun about on the bench to stare at the circle.
    Samira stood motionless at its center, her wings folded behind her, her arms down at her sides. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes glowed with a furious blue intensity as she watched him.
    Gods above, what had he gotten himself into? He'd thought he could control this thing.
    He set his jaw against his doubts, determined not to show them. Surely she would take advantage of any weakness or compassion he showed. One could not deal gently with the denizens of Hell.
    "Good evening, Samira," Nicolae said coolly, with all the poise he could muster. "Welcome again to Lac Strigoi."
    "Why have you done this to me?" she asked. Her voice was as rich and smooth as cream poured across velvet. The sound of it sent licking tongues of desire over his skin, and once again Nicolae felt a deep arousal start in his sex, as if his body were a puppet under another's control. He strove to ignore the sensation, and to use his will to beat his arousal into submission.
    "I wanted to speak with you," he said.
Down, down,