His laugh was crystalline beauty, sharp and bright. “Truly, it is.”

“But … I’m not just dreaming about you being here. I mean, you came into my dream, like, um … a telepathy sort of thing, right?” The inexorable movement of his hand was making it tough for me to think.

He inclined his head slightly. “That is a reasonable analogy.”

I took an unsteady breath. “Look, even though this isn’t … um … real, I’m not sure I want to sleep with you again.”

“I respect that,” he said gravely. “Yet I would still freely give you pleasure if you would accept it.”

Just a dream. Safe. I swallowed, pulse galloping in an incredible combination of anticipation and apprehension. “Why? I mean, don’t get me wrong … but what are you getting out of this?”

He was silent for several heartbeats, a brief expression of sadness skimming across his face almost too quickly for me to register it. But when he lifted his eyes back to mine, there was only the deep and potent power in them. “I enjoy your company. I wish for you to trust me.”

Is he lonely? I wondered suddenly. Did Demonic Lords experience feelings of isolation? Okay, that’s just crazy. But he was watching me intently, and I found myself giving him a nod of permission.

He placed his hand in the center of my chest and gently pushed me to my back. He kept me pinned down lightly, and I knew he could feel the mad pounding of my heart beneath his hand. He slid his hand between my legs and began to slowly caress me. “There is much pleasure I can give you,” he said, voice like silk. “You are safe with me.” He slid a finger inside me, slowly working me with an expert touch. I dropped my head back, breathing unsteadily.

“Daaaamn.” There was no denying that he was good at this. He’d probably had centuries of experience. I groaned and clenched my hands in the sheets. “Holy shit … do you do this often?” I said with an unsteady laugh.

He didn’t answer, merely smiled and continued to work his fingers. He kept his other hand between my breasts, giving me just the lightest suggestion of being held down, without making me feel trapped or threatened. My climax began to build and I moaned, squeezing my eyes closed, insanely aroused. He expertly toyed with me, bringing me repeatedly to the point of climax, then slowing and allowing it to retreat until I was nearly screaming in frustration.

He brought me to the peak again when I was near mindless from wanting it, then abruptly stopped, fingers stilling within me as I throbbed and pulsed in need.

“This is not the only gift I could grant you.” His voice was soft but intense.

I let out a low whimper. I could feel the orgasm, see it just barely out of reach. All he had to do was flick his fingers that way.

I took a ragged breath. “Please … What do you want from me?”

“Call me, Kara.” He moved his hand, skillfully bringing me to my climax, working me perfectly as I cried out and arched my back in release, keeping me at the peak longer than I could have ever imagined possible.

I gasped unevenly as he finally slowed and gently withdrew his fingers. I opened my eyes and focused on him, with effort. He was watching me carefully, an unreadable expression quickly shifting to a brilliant smile as he met my eyes. He straightened. “Call me to you. I can give you so much more.”

The alarm clock shrilled, sending me fighting through the tangled sheets in shock. It took nearly half a minute of the familiar sound penetrating through the fog that filled my brain before I realized that Rhyzkahl was no longer in the room. I slammed my hand down on the alarm clock to silence it, still feeling the shimmering echoes of the orgasm. Light filtered through the blinds, but I fumbled the nightstand light on as well and looked carefully around the room.

He was most assuredly not there anymore. And a continued inspection of the room confirmed that my gun was still in its usual spot in my nightstand.

“That was … unexpected,” I murmured, frowning. So he could touch my dreams? I threw off the covers and stood, feeling a ridiculous urge to run through the house and turn each and every light on, unable to shake the lingering sense of disquiet. I didn’t feel tired, so whatever he’d done hadn’t robbed me of any sleep. In fact, I felt quite rested.

I worried my lower lip as I padded barefoot to the kitchen. But he can come to my dreams. That’s … fucked up. Even with a mind-scrambling orgasm. Or maybe because of it. I hadn’t expected to ever encounter him again, and yet he’d sought out my dreams just to … to what? Just to pleasure me?

I put on a pot of Café du Monde coffee with chicory, allowing my thoughts to ramble unchecked as it brewed. Call him. He wants me to call him. He’d said that several times. But what the heck was that supposed to mean? Did he want me to summon him again? He was out of his demon mind if he thought I was going to attempt a summoning of a Demonic Lord—especially after somehow fucking up a fourth-level summoning.

I groaned. I wasn’t at all willing to risk summoning him, but here I’d had a powerful arcane Demonic Lord in my dream and I’d completely missed my chance. I could have asked him about the traces and the symbol!

I sighed and poured my coffee, adding significant amounts of creamer and sugar to dull the bite of the chicory. I wonder if Rhyzkahl would really tell me what I want to know if I called him. Though it would probably help if I knew what this “call” entailed. He said “call,” not “summon,” I mused. What was the difference?

I took my mug out to the back porch and sat on the wooden swing. The view was limited to a small wooden shed and the woods that surrounded my house, but it was quiet and serene and usually allowed me to forget about the outside world. I didn’t maintain anything resembling a lawn around the house, and this time of year, wildflowers sprang up in chaotic arrangements anywhere there was enough sunlight. A mockingbird sang lustily from somewhere nearby, and I tucked my feet underneath me while I curled my hands around the mug, warming my hands against the morning chill and trying to settle my nerves.

“Right, settle your nerves by slugging down some double-strength coffee,” I muttered to myself. But coffee was one of my comfort foods, and next I’d go after the chocolate and the potato chips.

The memory of Rhyzkahl’s visit was vivid, unlike a dream, which would have faded to haziness by now. Had he merely touched my dreams? I had to admit, there was no physical evidence on my body or in the room, which would have been there had he been present in the flesh.

Justa dream. Justa strange and erotic and unsettling dream visit from a Demonic Lord with whom I had a one-night stand. Nothing at all to get worked up about.

I scowled and finished my coffee, then showered and dressed. And on the way to the office stopped and bought a half dozen chocolate doughnuts.

I spent the morning in my office on the Internet, running queries on absolutely everything I could think of, from demons, to symbology, to blood magic and anything else that popped into my head. By lunchtime, I’d come up with a ridiculous amount of useless information—most of it inaccurate—and had eaten all of the doughnuts.

I groaned and leaned back in my chair, feeling slightly ill from the massive quantity of sugar and fat slogging through my bloodstream and frustrated and uneasy about my lack of progress on the case.

Oh, yeah, and my dream visitor who sure as hell didn’t feel like a dream. That was just one more piece of fun to throw into the mix.

A dull headache began to pound behind my eyeballs. I sighed and rubbed at my temples, then on a whim leaned forward, pulled up a search engine, and typed in the name of the comic book that my aunt had shown me.