Page 28 of Satanic Shadow

He grimaces. He’s so, so close. I can feel each breath between us. “You humans are strange.”

I turn away from him again. “You’re about to be surrounded by billions of us. Get used to it.”

“I can assure you that I willnotget used to it. Now, tell me. Who is Peter Pan? Does he wield the power of shadows too?”

Fighting a laugh, I tighten my fist in the duvet. “Go to sleep, immortal creature.”

He chuckles deeply, and it rushes straight down my spine and gathers between my legs. He might as well have run his tongue against my core before plunging it inside me.

“Please keep your thoughts to yourself.”

I pale, all the blood draining from my face. “It was—”

“In the moment. Yes, you seem to have that a lot.”

Blushing, I bury my face in the pillow.

And for the first time in weeks, I fall into a peaceful sleep, where I dream of myself dancing in the rain and laughing with friends; a young man with dashing green eyes introducing himself in my diner as he orders a milkshake and waffles. He hands me his bank card to swipe his order, and the spark is instant when our fingers touch.

When I wake through the night, a heavy arm is snaked around my waist. Our bare legs are intertwined, and Dane Dalton, in only his briefs, is attached to me like a sloth to a tree.

The shadows and silhouettes swim around my room, but instead of searching for something, looking for their source and savior, they’re calm.

At peace.

9

Itry to push the duvet off me, but it seems to have gained a few pounds overnight.

I shove it again, but nothing happens. My eyes are closed, my brain foggy from just waking up, and I’m hot. Really, really hot. A thin layer of sweat covers my skin, and when I try to sit up, so I can go wash my face in the bathroom, an immovable object stops me.

Said object being the heir to the Shadow Realm. No age. No patience. Someone who doesn’t know when to leave a woman’s bedroom.

His arm is heavy, and I turn my head to find his face is relaxed, lips slightly parted as he sleeps. Cute yet handsome. From this angle, I catch a glimpse of a scar on his neck, as if someone once tried to cut it open.

Knowing him, he probably can’t die. Or won’t.

I scowl at him before shouldering into his chest.

He groans, his already closed eyes screwing tight, but his face relaxes and he’s asleep once more.

I do it again. Harder.

“Insufferable,” he mutters. “We have eighteen minutes left. Stay quiet and pretend I’m not here.”

“Pretend you’re not here? You’re like a man-sized heat pack!”

He groans again. “Stop yelling.”

There’s silence for a beat, then he lifts his head. “Is a heat pack something I should be aware of in your world?”

I try not to giggle, my body trembling when I fail. “What do you do if you have a stomach ache?”

“Pain is a sign that I’m alive. When one feels such—”

“Oh my God. Stop. Let’s go back to being silent.”

He drops his head onto the pillow, getting comfortable behind me. The duvet shifts, then Dane, being the pain in the ass he is, yanks it off the bed completely.