"No. She's blood bound."

Pierre's look turned from disappointed to approving.

"Bien."

"I want real food," Sofia said with a sigh. Damian hadn't returned the night before after their last interaction. She wondered again whether or not he had a harem elsewhere. That thought coupled with her nightmare made her even angrier at not being able to eat.

"Go eat," Han grumbled.

"No."

"Fine. Let him sleep. He had a rough night anyway. I know you're mad at him and thought you'd like to pester him."

"Why was his night rough?"

"He had a run-in with a whole bunch of Czerno's goons."

Concerned, Sofia turned to face him. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Cranky."

"Then I definitely don't want to see him," she said, eyes going to the ceiling.

He'll be too sleepy to tempt me. If he doesn't refuse me because he's tired.

He promised.

She returned her gaze to the Pop-Tarts.

"Damn you all," she muttered and closed the pantry.

"Go. Eat."

She didn't acknowledge his order but headed toward the stairs. Her daily debate about drinking blood made her pace in front of Damian's room until he wrenched the door open and stared at her, bleary-eyed and bare-chested.

"Either come in, or go think somewhere else!" he snapped.

"Good morning, sunshine!" she said with false cheerfulness.

He muttered a curse and flung his door open. She smiled, pleased to see him as pissy as she felt. It was his turn to be ticked at the world-she was sick of being alone and angry. She closed the door behind her.

"Han said you were out doing battle last night," she said, noticing the shredded T-shirt on the floor.

"This world is so fucked up I don't know why I bother." He flung himself back into bed. Irritated, Sofia pulled open the curtains to his windows overlooking the bed.

"Sofia!" he snarled, burying his head under a pillow.

"You promised," she reminded him, enjoying his misery. "The kitchen is always open."

He flung out an arm.

"I'm not going to cut you," she objected.

"Then you're not going to eat."

"Fine. Your precious Oracle will just starve to death," she snapped and started toward the door.

"Stop!"

She turned to see him pull a knife from under his pillow. He rolled onto his side.

"C'mere."

"Did you win your battle last night?" she asked as unease swept through her again.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

She waited at the edge of the bed. He sliced his forearm and tucked the knife beneath his pillow once more, closing his eyes.

"Are you going to get up?" she asked.

"No."

The sight of him in bed made her blood surge. His head remained shoved under a pillow, and his body relaxed, as if he were falling back asleep. Turned on and starving, she gingerly crawled across the bed and settled beside him on her belly, pausing guiltily before lapping up the bubbles of blood. She drank until full.

"Thank you, Damian," she whispered and placed a small kiss on his elbow.

His other hand snaked out and rolled her onto her side beside him. He looped one leg across her hips so she couldn't move.

"Damian-" she protested.

"Hush."

The curtains closed at his silent command, and she lay still, waiting for him to make some move on her. He tucked her against him and fell asleep. The sense of peace descended upon her again, and she relaxed against him, content to her soul to be surrounded by his scent and heat.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Usually when he awoke with a hard-on and a woman in his bed, what happened next was pretty straightforward. He rolled onto his side, watching her sleep. Her cool beauty turned haunting in the moonlight that slid through the curtains. She lay sweet and vulnerable on her back, her lips parted and warm body tucked against his side. He touched her face and trailed a finger down her neck, between her breasts, and rested his hand on her stomach.

There were many things he thought of doing to her. He couldn't risk alienating the woman in his bed, partly because she was still too delicate, too new to his world to take the next step and partly because he was still leery of the powers of an Oracle.

"Damian?" Her voice, thick with sleep, ratcheted up his hormones another level.

"I'm here, kiri," he said. He brushed stray hairs from her face and replaced his hand on her stomach. The simple movement took discipline Dusty would be proud of.

"Do you think I'm a monster?"

"No, kiri. I think you're a lost angel."

"I know where I am," she said with sleepy stubbornness that made him smile. She roused herself and lay on her side, facing him. His hand shifted to her hip, and he felt the absence of her warmth to the bone. Her eyes glowed and spun. They gazed at each other for a long moment.

"You're always welcome in my bed, kiri," he said, satisfied when her pupils dilated and her face reddened. She looked away, embarrassed.

"You shouldn't say those things," she whispered.

"Why not? You're mine already. You just haven't realized it," he said.

She gave him an agitated look and rolled onto her stomach, twisting her head away from him.

"Will you answer something personal, Damian?"

"Shoot."

"What are you? And don't tell me a divine spirit of sorts. That doesn't make sense to me."

He pulled her into his body, even as she refused to look at him. She didn't resist his touch. She never did, and yet she never surrendered either. It was an odd mix that warned him she'd not yet accepted her place in his world.

"My father was the White God, the deity charged with safeguarding good and battling evil on behalf of all the creatures of the universe. My brother inherited the title when he died. I inherited it from him on his death," he started.

"You're a god?"

"Yeah. Cool, isn't it?" He rested against her, enjoying her scent.

"Why are you on earth? Shouldn't you be floating in the sky somewhere?" she asked skeptically.

He chuckled.

"A long time ago, there was a battle so horrible it threatened to destroy the whole universe. There are ... creatures older than me in the universe, and they were fighting a turf war over who ruled what part of the universe. The battle got so bad that the only way to prevent the annihilation of every being in the universe was to divide the physical and divine worlds. The Schism occurred, and some of us were exiled to the physical world-the human world-while the rest of my kind and the other creatures were confined to the divine world," he explained. "So, while I am a god, I have to stay here, where I'm preordained to fight Czerno, the Black God, for the fate of humanity."

As he spoke, memories streamed through his mind, memories of the universe before the Schism and afterwards, when he and a few others were cast alone onto earth. He thought again of the Watcher's latest warning, of there being a new god in town.

"Were there many Oracles before the Schism?" she asked.

"Oracles are rare but there was at least one every generation. When the kings of our people found them, they mated with them to bind them to them."

"Instead of blood binding?"

"Depended on the king and the Oracle. I would say it was a rough lesson in history when the kings of my time learned that killing a woman with the intent to bring her back as your servant doesn't really work as they'd planned," he explained.

"If you killed me, I'd make your life hell."

"Exactly."

"Who's Darian?" she asked and pushed herself up enough to look at him. Damian's jaw clenched. When he didn't answer, she continued. "I have dreams about him where he's sad and alone."

"Darian was my brother, Sofia," he said quietly. "He died a long time ago."

He met her gaze and saw her confusion. The tension between them was thick. He knew without touching her mind that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She cleared her throat and lay down again, facing away from him.

"I'm bound to you forever," she whispered.

"Yep. You're mine."

"Will you ... can you have a mate and an Oracle?"

He considered, smiling to himself. For her sake, he made an effort to behave, but he truly loved the openings she gave him.

"I can," he concurred. "Many times, a king will take an Oracle as his mate. But if you don't stop messing with my weak heart, I'll go elsewhere for a mate."

"You're a jerk."

"I'll say again: you're welcome in my bed, preferably naked, though this is good enough for now, I guess."

"Damian ..." She didn't finish. He understood. She was terrified of what she was, of his world, of him. He was a saint through and through for rubbing her back instead of seducing her. He liked that she needed the comfort only he could provide, trusted him on a level that seemed to him far more intimate than fucking.

Then again, he was a man, and he didn't pretend to understand a woman's mind. He'd never lie down in a woman's bed and expect to sleep when they were both horny. It was purely a woman thing.

"You must miss your brother," she said softly.

His thoughts turned dark. He didn't like that she was able to pull those memories free of the prison he'd sent them to. He released a small burst of power into her. She fell into a deep sleep. Damian wrapped his arm around her and held her close for a moment, torn between thoughts of her naked and thoughts of his brother's death.

A light knock at his door distracted him from both painful thoughts. He covered Sofia with a comforter and closed the door to his bedroom behind him.

"Come in," he ordered. The door opened, and he froze.

"Hey, love." Claire was as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her. With red hair, glowing skin, a voluptuous body he'd experienced many times over, and beautiful eyes, she was the epitome of beauty.

"Hello, Claire."

She closed the door behind her, dressed in clothing that accentuated her large breasts and tight body. His blood boiled more at the memories that pricked his mind. She looked at him with a coy smile before approaching. He didn't move, unable to determine if this was a dream or a nightmare. His slain brother's wife had always been a painful sight for him, the reminder of his brother and a happier time before the Schism. She leaned against him, her hand trailing down his chest and settling on his crotch.

"I see you remember the last time we met," she said, desire clouding her gaze. She kissed him, and he responded, his mind on her and Sofia. It would take Sofia awhile before she came to his bed of her own accord. Claire was ready for him now.

Her arms slid around him, and he pulled her against him, kissing her hungrily. She gripped his ass the way he liked. He kneaded her breasts, wanting nothing better than to suckle her until she cried out in ecstasy.

Sofia. He pulled back, breathing deeply.

"C'mon, love, I'm wet for you," she purred.

Shit! He wanted to fuck someone, and that someone was sleeping in his bed. There was a time when he didn't care who he slept with, when he was hard at the sight of any woman who would take him to bed.

"I can't, Claire," he said and pushed her away from him.