Demon Lover by Bonnie Dee Page B

of his tall, lean body. Unmasked, there were no obvious chinks in his armor. There was no faintest softness to give her hope.
    As he came to a halt in front of her and peremptorily held out his hand, she realized what fascinated her about his fierce, compelling eyes. Not white or even pale gray. They were shiny black obsidian, as deep and fathomless as the night sky.
    With a gasp of loss, she swallowed down her longing—for the overworld, for him, she no longer knew which—and forced herself to lay her hand in his. His fingers, long and thin and white, closed around it, surprisingly warm. She shuddered as memory washed over her of those same hands touching her in her most intimate places, inducing mind-numbing pleasures that she’d never known since. His gaze never left her face. She felt as if he pierced her soul, as if this was the most momentous instant of her life. And yet, when he spoke in his deep, almost sepulchral voice, his words were soothingly mundane.
    “You must be hungry. Please, sit. Eat.”
    Trying to pull herself together, Gwyneth became aware at last of her surroundings, which had been completely overwhelmed by the vibrant presence of her host. Though not as large or as regal as Midas’s dining halls, this was a fair-sized and comfortable room. Paintings on feasting themes hung on the white-painted walls. A long table, which could have seated twenty people, was set for two at one end: one at the head of the table, the other to the right. A cozy, friendly dinner, with several steaming dishes already laid out. Gwyneth recognized the smells of fish and poultry, onions, herbs and vegetables. As everything was here, it was overlaid by the same smoky, earthy scent she associated with Svartan, preventing her from picking out, until now, the mouth-watering food smells.
    She let herself be conducted to the table, where Svartan held the chair on the right for her to sit before he took his own seat at the head of the table. It was all done without words or touching, which was a relief to her. She didn’t think she could bear the slightest physical contact. The anger and fear she felt toward him were still too confused with memory of her previous shameful surrender to his sexual advances, with everything he’d made her feel and enjoy.
    But she couldn’t think of that now. Brea was more important than all her fears put together. She had to concentrate on this one vital task—freeing her daughter from the demon.
    Her first association of this meal with other dinners she’d taken with another king determined to gain control over her, began to fade as Svartan wordlessly helped her to small helpings from each dish. She used the time to order her mind, to calm herself and to prepare to grasp whatever opportunities she could find.
    Buying more time, she at once pushed a forkful of fish into her mouth. Stunned all over again, her gaze flew to his.
    “This is delicious!”
    Her surprise pleased him as much as her approval. She caught it in the brief, triumphant gleam in his startling blue eyes before his hooded lids closed down and his black lashes swept over the white skin of his cheek. What’s more, he’d been watching for her reaction. As if it mattered to him.
    Intrigued, she swallowed the tender, tasty fish and collected a dainty forkful of vegetables.
    “Where does it come from?” she asked. “Up there?”
    “Down here. Fish is easy. It thrives in several underground streams and rivers. We always had a rich range of mushrooms. The other vegetables we’ve begun to grow quite recently. We need to create false sunlight, but we’ve managed to some degree. It makes for a more varied diet since trade with our world isn’t always easy.”
    “Why not?”
    He shrugged and poured her a glass of some pale liquid the color of white wine. “Our ancestors stole from yours. Your people have reason to mistrust and fear us.”
    She regarded him curiously. “But you trade. You’ve gained silkworms and other things in