Page 18 of To Sway a Demon Heart

“Who?” I repeated, cupping his face with my hands as I pushed myself up to sit before him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, catching my hand and kissing my wrist. “I just wanted to warn you. In case—”

“Every inch of you is perfect,” I declared, climbing into his lap so I was straddling his thighs. “I want every inch, and every scar, and you can tell me whenever you are ready.” I ran my hands lightly over the scars on his chest, the firm curve of every muscle marred by welts and divots. “Do they hurt?”

“No,” Tyr said, sliding a hand beneath me to cup my rear and pulling me closer until I could feel the hard press of his length against my center. He groaned a little, and I nipped his lip playfully. “No, they don’t hurt.”

“Then let me see,” I begged, determined to accept all of Tyr without hesitation. I found the laces of his trousers again, waiting for him to give me permission. His jaw was tight, but he nodded, his green eyes fixed on mine.

Tyr’s body was beautiful and tragic, his form one of strength and athleticism and terrible pain. Scars ran the length of his thighs, down his calves, across his stomach and back and buttocks. I wanted to rage and weep for what had been done to my tortured mate, and I couldn’t help the tears that welled as I met his eyes.

“It was a long time ago,” he reassured me, brushing a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I will hurt whoever did this to you,” I declared, feeling the righteous fire of vengeance rise in me. “I will make them bleed as they have made you bleed.”

“You can’t, Brigid,” Tyr said, cupping my face and brushing away another tear. “He’s long dead.”

“Your father?” I asked, putting my hands on his shoulders as I studied his face. His slight nod spoke volumes, and I vowed that the memory of that wretched male would not haunt my mate in this moment.

I kissed him, wrapping myself around his scarred body until there was no part of me separated from him. He pulled me to him eagerly, his tongue sweeping over mine as if he could devour me again and make me a part of him.

I lowered myself onto him, his length stretching and filling me with delicious fullness and just the barest edge of pain. One hand went to my hips as the other wrapped around my waist, bracing me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking anxiously into my eyes. The single candle that had been lit when we had entered my room had long burned low, but I could make out the lines of his face clearly in the moonlight through the stained glass window.

I nodded, kissing him again. “Better than alright,” I whispered, letting the words hover between us as I lifted myself slightly. We groaned in unison as I lowered again, the move torturously slow and sensual. “I’m home.”

The words broke the spell of his restraint, and Tyr finally allowed himself to come undone beneath me. Our hips met in a frenzied rhythm, nothing graceful about the frantic need that rose between us as we chased release. He pulled me closer, thrusting in harder each time until I thought I might split in half from the pleasure and the fullness.

One hand cupped my breast, playing with the tender nipple there as the other kneaded my backside, and suddenly I was coming apart around him just as he had desired. Tyr barked out a startled cry, his release finding him sooner than he had anticipated, and we fell back together in a tangle of sweaty sheets and slick limbs.

Words failed us both as our hearts beat in tandem, a steady thump that repeated the words: I’m home.

Chapter 11

“Willyoutellmenow?” I asked, my head resting on Tyr’s scarred chest as he toyed with my hair.

We had made love twice more, the Pull riding both of us hard as it pushed us to finalize the mating bond between us. I wasn’t sure how things were done in the Court of Blood, but there were traditions in Sun that would have to be followed before anything would be official, and the Pull seemed to know that it wasn’t done yet.

“I’ll tell you anything you ask of me,” Tyr replied, his voice rough and deep with the lateness of the hour and the strain of our passions. I enjoyed the rumbling of his voice against my cheek as I lay against him, my own hands exploring the many ridges of his scars across the strong planes of his chest.

We were in my bed, the sheets a mess around us and his scarred legs pinning mine in a way that the Pull liked very much.

The scars were oddly beautiful, a map of his torment and a testament to his strength. Demons were hard to scar, as our magic worked to heal us quickly. Scars like Tyr’s would have to have been repeated injuries, or irritated in some way to force them to scar.

“You don’t have to,” I said, tilting my face to try to see his in the darkness. “You hid them before. In Oneiros.” I stroked a gentle finger over one particularly deep gash, and Tyr sighed.

“A glamour,” he said, running the hand that wasn’t pinned beneath my body down my arm. “I—” he cleared his throat, as if trying to force the words out. “You’re the first to see them. Like this, I mean.”

“As a lover?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat unbidden. Ridiculous, considering we were mates.

Tyr nodded, frowning down at me. “I don’t want you to pity me,” he said, a little hesitantly. “I’ve already had my revenge. I don’t want to be a victim again.”

“Why show me now?” I asked, still tracing the ridges across his tanned chest. It wasn’t pity I was feeling, but rage. “Why not continue glamouring them?”

“You’re my mate,” he said simply, as if that were answer enough. He kissed the tips of my fingers as he settled back into the pillows. “My father was a cruel male. A harsh male,” he said. “It started when I was very young. Too young to really understand why he was hurting me, except to know that I had displeased him.”

I bit my lip, determined to not interrupt despite my desire to comfort my mate.