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the middle of one was a drawing: a naked female with spread black wings. Before she could make sense of what that might mean, Nicolae touched the page with his fingertips, and suddenly Samira felt a powerful jolt of his sexual desire, the same as had drawn her to him in the first place.
    "Good Christ!" he gasped.
    Samira looked quickly at him, and found her gaze met by his own wide-eyed one, his face gone pale and frozen as he stared at her. She jerked back, a small shriek escaping from her lips as she realized he could see her.
    "What
are
you?" he asked again, his voice hoarse and fearful this time.
    She backed away from the table, with his eyes following her every move. Fear coursed through her, chills washing over her skin in waves. He wasn't supposed to be able to see her, not while fully awake. This should not be happening. It
could
not be.
    "Succubus," he said, the word as much a statement as a question.
    She gathered what remained of her courage and lifted her chin. Could he hear her as well? "Samira!" she said, throwing out her name in frightened defiance. She would not be a
thing
. She had a name. She tossed her head, her crimson hair moving aside to reveal her full breasts.
    His gaze dipped to them, and she felt the force of his desire pulse higher. In a desperate bid to use his weakness, to gain control, she reached up and rolled one of her pink nipples between thumb and forefinger. His lips parted, and he stared at her moving fingers as if in a trance.
    "Samira," she said again, firmly this time. She was an individual, not just another demon. Even as the force of his desire ran through her, bringing every inch of her to involuntary, tingling arousal, it was her name on his lips that she wanted most.
    "Samira," he echoed, granting her wish as if he'd felt her demand.
    She sucked in a breath, going as motionless as he was, her nipple in mid-roll. He'd heard her.
    Good gods of the night, he'd
heard
her.
    Nicolae lay his weak hand on the book and lifted the strong one, reaching across the table as if to touch her, almost as if he had no choice in the matter, feeling as drawn to make contact with her as she was to him. "Samira."
    She swayed toward his outstretched hand and took one step toward him, drawn by her name spoken so irresistibly in his deep, mortal voice.
    He saw her. He knew her name. He spoke to her.
    His fingertips were inches from her skin. If she took one more step, he'd be able to reach her. She remembered what had happened last time.
    "You can't," she said on a weak breath, even as she could not stop herself from taking that final step toward him.
    And again the lightning bolt of energy blasted her away from him, his emotions and memories storming again through her mind. She tumbled, hitting up against the stone wall and falling half through it before she could stop herself. She crawled back out of the dull ache of solid matter, her vision clearing to see Nicolae sprawled on the floor.
    She whimpered deep in her throat. Was he dead? The river of energy had been cut off again.
    She launched herself from the wall and with one awkward beat of her wings landed beside him, her whole body shaking with weakness and shock. She squatted down and peered at Nicolae's face, then at his chest. There was a slow rise and fall of breathing. Inside herself, she felt a faint beat. It was an echo of his own heartbeat, she realized with wonder. She had never felt such a thing before, from any man. Was it that lightning jolt of energy that had done it?
    His heart might not beat much longer if he received another jolt such as that, she realized. A sense of shamed responsibility for his injury washed through her. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, had only wanted to touch him.
    She fluttered up into the air, hovering in the center of the room, not knowing what to do next. Stay or go? Fear, shame, and an unnamed longing—for what? for his attention?—did battle within her.
    She should make up for what she'd done to him. It would