length of the blade until she heard his quick intake of breath. She looked up, and the heat of his gaze nearly singed her.
She had to try twice before she could find her voice. "How do they work?"
"They morph into the real thing when I need them to. My mother, Sekhmet, has a bad temper, which makes for many enemies. For her, every day has the potential to be a battle, and she doesn't believe in going unprotected. She wanted me to always be prepared, so she made me a gift of these tattoos."
"Do they hurt?"
"You mean when they morph and become real? No. I hardly notice it."
She picked up his arm, wanting a closer look at the dagger. As she moved it this way and that, she was barely aware of how intimately she was touching him.
"Do you want to hold it?" he asked her, his voice sounding strained.
Her gaze snapped to his, wondering if he was actually referring to the dagger-or to something else. She decided it was only her depraved mind that gave the question double meaning.
"Yeah," she replied, unable to keep from sounding just a little breathless.
He chuckled at her reaction and placed his hand over the handle of the dagger. She noticed that the air above it shimmered slightly right before the image sharpened. Then he was suddenly holding the actual dagger in his hand. He flipped it around and handed it to her.
Its weight surprised her. Flipping it over, she watched the light play off the metal blade. It was as real a dagger as she'd ever seen, representing lethal power, danger and excitement all in one. Just like the man.
She knew it was the influence of the full moon making her all too aware of the man, but that didn't mean she could stop noticing.
She handed the dagger back and watched as he touched it to his skin, where it shimmered and faded until it was the tattoo once more.
"What exactly is that dragon on your chest?" she asked, when her gaze traveled over the small tattoo. "I think it scared Paddy sober." She gave a small laugh, but then saw him looking down at her with slightly raised eyebrows. "Okay, okay. It scared me too," she admitted. "A little. What is it?"
"It's Fury."
"Excuse me?"
He smiled. "That's what I call him." He turned toward her so she could get a closer look at the tattoo. Sitting this close to him, she was overwhelmed by his strength, his vitality-in short, by him.
She tried to hide her reaction by examining the tattoo. Looking closer, she was impressed with its detail. Even when it was small like this, no bigger than the size of her closed fist, it was intimidating.
"It's a demon."
Her eyes snapped up to his face in surprise. "A demon?"
"His real name is Fuhramek. He's the last of the Bocca demons. About six hundred years ago, he was terrorizing one of the Immortal realms, so I went to get rid of him. We were locked in battle for close to a year."
"What? Do you mean you fought off and on for a year?"
"No, I mean we fought-no breaks, no food, no
sleep, no nothing-for a solid year."
"But how can that be? Without food or water
you'd..." She suddenly realized how it was possible.
"You were both immortal, so you couldn't die."
"Being immortal doesn't mean that by the end of a year of fighting we weren't in bad shape. We became too weak to fight any longer. We agreed on a temporary stay so we could recuperate, after which time we would return to resume the fight."
"You trusted him to show up?"
Darius smiled. "The Bocca demons aren't like typical demons. They lived by a very strict code of ethics. If Fuhramek said he'd be back, then I knew he'd show up." His eyes took on a distant look. "I left-went home, ate, slept and regained my strength. When I went back to resume the fight a year later, I found Fuhramek looking worse than I'd left him. He told me that when I left, the portal had shut, and because it had been created from the energy of living magic,
he-a death-magic creature-couldn't open it without expending great energy-which he didn't have. He'd been stuck there the
She had to try twice before she could find her voice. "How do they work?"
"They morph into the real thing when I need them to. My mother, Sekhmet, has a bad temper, which makes for many enemies. For her, every day has the potential to be a battle, and she doesn't believe in going unprotected. She wanted me to always be prepared, so she made me a gift of these tattoos."
"Do they hurt?"
"You mean when they morph and become real? No. I hardly notice it."
She picked up his arm, wanting a closer look at the dagger. As she moved it this way and that, she was barely aware of how intimately she was touching him.
"Do you want to hold it?" he asked her, his voice sounding strained.
Her gaze snapped to his, wondering if he was actually referring to the dagger-or to something else. She decided it was only her depraved mind that gave the question double meaning.
"Yeah," she replied, unable to keep from sounding just a little breathless.
He chuckled at her reaction and placed his hand over the handle of the dagger. She noticed that the air above it shimmered slightly right before the image sharpened. Then he was suddenly holding the actual dagger in his hand. He flipped it around and handed it to her.
Its weight surprised her. Flipping it over, she watched the light play off the metal blade. It was as real a dagger as she'd ever seen, representing lethal power, danger and excitement all in one. Just like the man.
She knew it was the influence of the full moon making her all too aware of the man, but that didn't mean she could stop noticing.
She handed the dagger back and watched as he touched it to his skin, where it shimmered and faded until it was the tattoo once more.
"What exactly is that dragon on your chest?" she asked, when her gaze traveled over the small tattoo. "I think it scared Paddy sober." She gave a small laugh, but then saw him looking down at her with slightly raised eyebrows. "Okay, okay. It scared me too," she admitted. "A little. What is it?"
"It's Fury."
"Excuse me?"
He smiled. "That's what I call him." He turned toward her so she could get a closer look at the tattoo. Sitting this close to him, she was overwhelmed by his strength, his vitality-in short, by him.
She tried to hide her reaction by examining the tattoo. Looking closer, she was impressed with its detail. Even when it was small like this, no bigger than the size of her closed fist, it was intimidating.
"It's a demon."
Her eyes snapped up to his face in surprise. "A demon?"
"His real name is Fuhramek. He's the last of the Bocca demons. About six hundred years ago, he was terrorizing one of the Immortal realms, so I went to get rid of him. We were locked in battle for close to a year."
"What? Do you mean you fought off and on for a year?"
"No, I mean we fought-no breaks, no food, no
sleep, no nothing-for a solid year."
"But how can that be? Without food or water
you'd..." She suddenly realized how it was possible.
"You were both immortal, so you couldn't die."
"Being immortal doesn't mean that by the end of a year of fighting we weren't in bad shape. We became too weak to fight any longer. We agreed on a temporary stay so we could recuperate, after which time we would return to resume the fight."
"You trusted him to show up?"
Darius smiled. "The Bocca demons aren't like typical demons. They lived by a very strict code of ethics. If Fuhramek said he'd be back, then I knew he'd show up." His eyes took on a distant look. "I left-went home, ate, slept and regained my strength. When I went back to resume the fight a year later, I found Fuhramek looking worse than I'd left him. He told me that when I left, the portal had shut, and because it had been created from the energy of living magic,
he-a death-magic creature-couldn't open it without expending great energy-which he didn't have. He'd been stuck there the
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