“How well you adapt won’t matter if you get attacked by any of the beasts out there. What if history repeats itself and you die before you become immortal? Even if you avoid pregnancy, you could still be killed. And that ring can’t heal a lethal wound.”

She wanted to scream, Your archer buddy will sink an arrow into my heart! Instead she said, “You’re right. I should just sit here and starve. Or wait for a maniacal demon to come be my reaper.”

“I told you I won’t kill you.” He gazed out at the mountains. “Perhaps I’m done punishing you. Maybe I got the worst of my anger out of my system.” He slid her a sideways look. “Plus evidence begins to suggest you are not a spy. I’m not convinced, but for now I’ll withhold judgment on that count. For the rest, imprisonment will suffice.”

“Now I feel so much safer. I’ll sleep like a babe tonight the second my head hits the pillow. Oh, wait. I don’t have a pillow. But as long as I’m not being punished . . .”

A clean breeze blew over them, toying with strands of her hair. She lifted her head to take in the new scents. “There’s a sea nearby?” Even the sea breeze carried a hint of fire.

The air smelled like Sylvan in the fall, when gardeners used to burn leaves. All around the castle, plumes of smoke would funnel upward. That night there’d be an autumn feast.

Will I never return home?

His gaze took in her face. “The Mercury Sea. The shore is on the other side of the castle.”

Shore. She felt another pang. She used to love swimming in Sylvan’s streams and ponds. When she’d lived in Florida, the land of easy swimming, she’d never been able to risk revealing her ears.

“My chambers overlook the water.”

Must be nice. “How did the sea get its name?”

“When calm, the silver water reflects the sky. On stormy days, it looks like mercury.”

It sounded spectacular. “You’re proud of your home.”

He grated, “There is much to be proud of.” His wings unfolded, drawing her attention.

Both times he’d closed them around her she’d been too freaked out to register how they felt.

“Never seen wings before? The demon slaves in Sylvan must be wingless breeds.”

“They’re not slaves. They’re serfs.”

“Are you jesting?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess.”

Lila had been exiled young. Had her understanding of the fey realm been skewed?

Frustration clear in his expression, he asked, “Why do you have such strong mental blocks?”

“So crazy demon kings can’t tap into any more of my nightmares and make them come true—”

Her stomach growled; he stiffened at the sound.

“I won’t be endlessly entertaining to you when I curl up on the ground from weakness and never get up. Is that what you planned?”

Seeming to make a decision about her, he said, “Perhaps not.” He raised his palm, twirling his other hand over it. An orange appeared!

As he peeled it, her mouth watered at the scent, her gaze following his fingers. They were surprisingly dexterous, but those claws . . . Could he retract them even more? How did he touch females?

He caught her gaze. “What would you do for this?”

She gave him her most arrogant smile. “Not a fucking thing, demon.”

Had his lips quirked? Seeming pleased by her answer, he held out the orange atop his flattened palm—as she’d once fed deer.

Now she was the creature being coaxed closer. When she swiped the orange, their fingers brushed, and a current seemed to pass between them. Hell demons must give off sparks. “Is it poisoned?”

“If you doubt it, return it.”

MINE. With her first bite, she rolled her eyes with pleasure. Even her taste buds were becoming more sensitive. “Thank you,” she said between bites. As she ate, energy poured into her, her headache fading.

When juice dripped onto one of her boobs, his gaze grew heavy-lidded. In Demonish, he said, “I find myself desperately craving orange juice.”

She reminded herself to act as if she didn’t understand him. “It’s bad manners to speak a different language in front of those who don’t know it.” Once she’d finished her orange, she asked, “Do you eat fruit?”

“Demons need meat.” With a significant look, he said, “But I’m also tempted by sweet things.”

Changing the subject . . . “How much magic do you wield?”

He hiked his broad shoulders. “In this plane, I can do nigh anything.”

“You have power over everything here?” Such as my life . . .

He exhaled. “Total and utter.”

“You sound as if you regret that fact, which confuses someone like me—who has zero power.”

“Life is long without a challenge,” he said. No wonder hers had sped by! “And you do wield power. It can reside in beauty and desire. You possess the former, eliciting the latter from me.” He openly admitted to desiring her?

Before she could reply, he conjured a pomegranate. She caught herself grinning at his magic. “Those are my favorite.”

He used a claw to slice it open, then handed half to her. “I know. You loved them in the distant past.”

How many people loved pomegranates above every other fruit? She’d been able to dismiss his knowledge of her spider phobia, but not this.

Taken with those rumors of her reincarnation, it might be time to accept the evidence.

Weren’t reincarnates usually brought back to right some wrong? So why would Lila have been reborn?

Maybe to bring down the Møriør.

She believed in fate; the idea of a greater cosmic purpose for her existence appealed to her in so many ways. . . .

She scooped out the seeds from one of the sections, moaning with delight. Yet then he gestured for her to return it.

But . . . but . . . She gazed from the fruit to the demon.

He had a tricksy look in his eyes, as if he’d just made a chess play and was wondering if she could predict all the moves ahead.

He didn’t expect her to hand it back to him. So she forced herself to.

His lips curled. Then he hurled the fruit toward the Styx.

“Hey! Nooo.” She glared at him. “Dick.”

“Am I?” He traced away.