Come to Me by Lisa Cach Page A

conjuration?
    He might truly hold a demoness in his power. A flush of excitement washed over him, making his skin prickle. This could be the beginning. He might finally be on the way to regaining all that he had lost—and wreaking his revenge upon the man who had brought him to this nadir of existence.
    A trickle of practical doubt invaded his thoughts.
    And what if the spell really did work? What use had he for a succubus? She would be the most useless sort of demon for what he needed to accomplish. He hadn't wanted any sort of demon at all when he began his research. It was only desperation that had made him open this book.
    It was raw power he needed, not soulless sex and damnation.
    The thought brought back the shadows of the melancholy that had haunted him ever since his father had banished him to this ruin. He stood and went to the window embrasure, looking out at the sky, the first hints of dawn lightening it to a soft charcoal blue. Daybreak was a bitter reminder of another night passed without accomplishment, of another day that he would spend in this godforsaken ruin in the middle of a swampy, mosquito-laden lake.
    He turned away from the offending dawn and went back to his worktable, which was scattered with useless books and questionable potions.
    He looked at the drawing of the succubus and reconsidered his doubts. One minor demoness was better than none. She might lead to stronger otherworldly forces that he could then draw under his command, until he had an entire army of demons at his beck and call.
    And with a little creative thought, there might even be use for a pet demoness who made sexual prey of men.
    A vivid memory of Samira's body suddenly filled his vision. Full, high breasts. Hair like liquid rubies, sliding over her snowy skin, and over those pink, erect nipples, one of which she had so wickedly rolled between her fingertips, as if offering a newly ripe cherry for his taste.
    His body reacted to the thoughts, his loins stirring once again.
    God's blood! She truly was a devil.
    He fought to control his body's reaction and failed, the image of her hand on her breast forcing its way into his vision, each pinch of her fingertips acting like a touch upon his own manhood. And then, for what reason he did not know, he suddenly envisioned her lying beneath him, her legs around his waist, her sex wet and warm against the head of his cock. He groaned and shook his head, hard, as if he could shake the unwelcome vision from his mind.
    It had been two years since he'd let himself feel any physical passion. Two years since he'd paid the least attention to his base and lecherous desires. He would often wake with his manhood engorged but had known it to be the meaningless habit of a male body, the same as since he'd been a boy. The engorgement never came with an accompanying lustful hunger, nor thoughts of nubile young women—or at least, none that he allowed himself to acknowledge.
    He had reasons for blocking those thoughts out, harsh lessons that had taught him not to let such desires interfere with the pursuit of his goals. He would control himself, at all costs, until he achieved his ends.
    It was going to be dangerous to try to capture Samira. He didn't want to end up one of those listless men described in the book, sucked dry by sex with a minion of Hell. Nor could he let his judgment be clouded by desire, as he had once before, and with such nightmarish consequences.
    A twinge of pain went through his left arm, and he rubbed it, feeling the thickness of scar tissue and the wasted weakness of the muscles, which were only now beginning to regain some of their former mass. The slowly healing injuries were a reminder of all the reasons he had been banished to Lac Strigoi, and a reminder of all he was intent upon achieving despite—or because of—that banishment.
    Again he saw the succubus in his mind's vision, and saw the strange and fearful longing in her brilliant eyes. Again, he heard her saying her own