When Sabine crossed to the bed for a better look, Lanthe eagerly followed.
The demon seemed to be all latent strength, with rises and falls of long, strapping muscles. But he wasn't bulky-thankfully not a no-necked bruiser.
Above his corded bicep was a wide band of matte gold. The piece was permanent, and he'd likely been wearing it for centuries.
"Look at the tattoo." Sabine pointed to a spot low on his side where jet-black ink marked his flesh. "It continues on." When she shifted him to peek at his back, she found an image of a dragon that appeared to wind around his torso.
Basilisks, ancient dragons, were reputed to live in the plane of Rothkalina in a region called Grave Realm. Demons held them sacred.
Tattoos were common among demon males, but she hadn't expected Rydstrom to have one. When Sabine grazed a finger along the image, the rigid muscles beneath it flexed to her fingers.
"Your gaze looks covetous, Abie."
"So?"
"So ... if you're his female, maybe you feel drawn to him as well. Maybe you could fall in love," she said, her big blue eyes wistful.
Lanthe was a contradiction-an evil sorceress who longed for love. Sabine had never known anyone so desperate for it as her sister. Ever since Lanthe was young, she'd seemed to be searching for it with her entire being. She read self-help books by the dozen and devoured tragic love stories on DVDs.
"The only love I'm capable of is sisterly," Sabine said. "Count yourself lucky."
If a romantic attachment hadn't happened in five centuries, Sabine didn't see it forthcoming. She'd long suspected that any part capable of loving a man had expired forever with one of her deaths.
Besides, she could never trust anyone but Lanthe, and according to popular wisdom and her sister's books, one couldn't have love without trust.