Kiss of a Demon King (6 page)

5

C
ome see my new pet up close,” Sabine told Lanthe when her sister returned from court, inviting her to pull up a chair as they watched her servants stripping the demon.

Only Sabine’s most trusted attendants were here, Sorceri slaves that were known as Inferi—literally “those who dwell below.” She had dozens of males and females at her disposal.

“Quickly!” Sabine clapped at them. “Before he rouses.” Two removed his jacket while one built a fire in the cell’s grate. Still another poured sweet wine for Sabine and Lanthe. Out of habit the sisters both sniffed for poison before drinking.

“Did you tell everyone at court?” Sabine asked.

“I did,” Lanthe said. “Now, what happened here? And why is he still dressed?”

Sabine summarized the events, ending with, “After he tried to strangle me, I dosed him.”

“You’re a mistress of deception, and he got the drop on you?”

“He’s an exceedingly clever kisser,” she said defensively.

“You don’t seem too angry about this.”

“He only did what I would have done in the same situation. If anything, I was impressed that he’d been so ruthless,” she said, ignoring the measuring glance Lanthe cast her over the rim of her goblet. “This demon’s a tricky one,” Sabine continued. “I suspect that both his mind and desires are
complicated
.”

“No way. I can almost hear him saying,
Me big demon, me lusty!
”

Sabine shook her head. “No, he’s…different.”

“Try to get into his mind. Tap into his fantasies.”

“I tried. Typical demon had it blocked like a barricade.”

“Does he believe you’re his female?” Lanthe asked.

“I think he feels that I am but is in denial. He won’t be able to deny it much longer.” Which was important. Already she was running out of time. As a Sorceri female, she would repeat her reproductive cycle only every
two
months. And she was nearing the end of her fertile time.

To her attendants, she called, “Yes, put him on the bed now.”

Consisting of a mattress atop a titanium platform, the bed had manacles attached by chains embedded in the solid head and footboards.

“Be careful with his horns when you lift him,” she said, recalling that demons could emit poison from the points that could paralyze an immortal and kill a human. Once they’d situated him, she pointed to his feet.

As they yanked off his shoes, Lanthe said, “I still can’t believe he wouldn’t willingly do the deed.”

Sabine took a healthy swallow of her sweet wine. “Made some mention of obligations, responsibilities.”

“How could he expect you to believe he turned down sex with a nubile female who’s all but begging for it for
responsibilities
? I’ve never heard of anything like that. Could it be you’re losing your touch, old mum?”

“Suck off, fister. He just hasn’t had enough enticement.”

“You want me to give you some pointers?”

This was a tense subject between them. Once Sabine had realized that for centuries to come she’d never fully know a man, she’d assumed Lanthe would remain a virgin as well, in solidarity. When Sabine had mentioned that, Lanthe had laughed. Loud. More of a guffaw.

“I’m not without skills.” Though Sabine was hymenally intact, she’d made up with everything but.

“Ah, yes, Sabine, the Queen of Ill”—Lanthe paused—“icit BJs.”

They
were
illicit; every encounter of Sabine’s was. She’d long envied couples who lazed in bed all day, but she’d always had to worry about Vrekeners overhead or Omort discovering her.

Once the Inferi stripped the demon’s thin sweater from him, Lanthe whistled low. “Not an ounce of fat on him.”

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.

“In any case, just because I’m his, doesn’t mean he’s mine.” The Sorceri didn’t believe in fate, and so they didn’t believe in a fated mate.

Still, Sabine would be cautious with her quarry. Getting attached to him, or rather to his body or his tempting kiss, would make their situation…
unfortunate
when she was finished with him.

“Ready for the pants?” Lanthe slapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s see if the rumors about demon males are true.”

“Oh, they’re true. In fact, I think they’re underreported.” Sabine bit her bottom lip. He was still semihard, and she didn’t know if she wanted anyone to see him like that. To her attendants, Sabine said, “Leave us.”

When she and Lanthe were alone, Sabine grasped the waist of his low-hanging pants, but paused at the button above the fly. “Maybe I’ll keep these on him. For effect, when I take them off.”

Lanthe’s brows rose at Sabine’s proprietary behavior.

“What?” Sabine said defensively. “I merely don’t want him to get cold.” She began chaining his wrists above his head.

“Uh-huh,” Lanthe said. “I’ll be monitoring this situation closely.” She fastened the manacles at the foot of the bed around his ankles.

When he was secured, Sabine sidled up next to Lanthe, and they both gazed at the demon.

His broad shoulders seemed to take up the entire mattress, tapering beautifully to his narrow waist. The hair on his arms, chest, and the trail below his navel was black, but tipped with blond against his tanned skin.

“He’s…Abie, he’s
magnificent,
” Lanthe breathed. “Your own demon love slave here for you to use whenever you like. I want one, too!”

“Yes, but now I have to get him up to speed with his new role.”

Lanthe nodded thoughtfully. “One thing we never considered…what if he is the sole male we’ve ever encountered who continually puts his duty above his lusts? What if he keeps his promises without fail?”

“There’s no such male,” Sabine said without hesitation.

“I wonder. Maybe he’s so firmly on the side of good that someone from the Pravus
can’t
tempt him.”

“Are you doubting my skill as a seductress?” Hettiah had already publicly challenged her. “How about a side wager, then?”

“I’m game. If you can’t seduce him in the next week, then I get your finest headdress.”

Made of the rarest blue and white golds, Sabine’s most treasured headdress was winged, arching back over the ears, with gossamer strands of gold cascading over the front.

Sabine had stolen it from the Queen of Clairsentience, along with her ability to touch objects and read their history. It had been a root power, and they’d fought to the death for it. But ultimately, Sabine had given the clairsentience to Lanthe, admitting to herself that she’d truly only wanted the headdress.

The sisters didn’t wager gold lightly. Their mother had often rubbed sovereigns against her face as she lovingly said, “Gold is life! It is perfection! Band it in armor over thy heart and never will thy life’s blood part.”

But Sabine couldn’t lose this bet. She was Rydstrom’s fated female. “And when I win, you have to go without sex for a year. Maybe then you’ll have more sympathy for my plight.” At Lanthe’s disbelieving look, she said, “Yes, I said a
year
. You know that the piece is of equal value.”

Lanthe cast her a pained expression, but said, “Very well, you have a wager.”

Just then, Sabine’s captive muttered in Demonish, his firm lips parting around each rough syllable.

“Then run along. I want to be here alone when he awakes once more.”

When Lanthe had gone, Sabine climbed upon the bed beside his waist, tilting her head as she studied him up close. His horns fascinated her, how they curved back around his head and were mostly smooth, but had ridges toward the base. His thick hair could cover them almost completely, so he would be able to go out among humans, where many demons couldn’t.

Recalling how much he’d loved her touching them, she ran her fingers along them. He shuddered even when unconscious.

Next her eyes flitted over his face. He had chiseled good-looks—a strong nose and squared chin—marred only by his deep scar. The wound had obviously been severe, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.

She eased her gaze lower. This demon had a body like she’d never known.

Sabine had always preferred more dapper physiques. The men she was attracted to were almost always of the Sorceri, rarefied smooth operators. Rydstrom was no smooth-talking sorcerer—he was raw masculinity.

This didn’t mean she was eager to bed him. Historically, she’d proved averse to being bitten, and demons marked their females upon claiming them. And a demon’s very looks changed during sex with a mate, his features becoming sharper, his skin deepening in color, his upper and lower fangs growing.

What would it be like to have Rydstrom turn fully demonic, growling and thrusting over her? To have this powerful body working hers to orgasm? She drank deeply of her wine.

Sabine hadn’t been lying about wanting his pants to remain on for effect—naturally, she planned to take his zipper with her teeth—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see him, or, rather…
it
.

She set her goblet on the bedstand, then slowly unzipped his pants. What was revealed made her bite her bottom lip.

A pattern of scars ran along the length of his thick shaft. Though he wasn’t now, he’d once been
pierced
.

Sabine had heard rumors of archaic male rites of passage among many of the Demonarchies, but she’d thought the rage demons had done away with them eons ago.

Maybe Rydstrom had decreed it so—he had been in the position to, after all.

So the demon wore a permanent armband over his bicep, and he’d been tattooed and pierced. It seemed that Rydstrom Woede was the type of male whose outward appearance indicated nothing about what might be hidden under his clothes.

As she carefully zipped his pants back up, Sabine grinned.
What a surprise.

6

R
ydstrom woke…consciousness slow to come. In that dim twilight, he vaguely comprehended that he was lying on a bed.

“You’re waking, after a mere half hour,” Sabine said to him. “You’re a strong one, demon.”

Rage coursed through him with his dawning comprehension.
She drugged me.
He couldn’t lift his limbs or pry open his eyelids. Though he scented her nearness, her voice seemed to come from miles away.

I’m not wearing a shirt?
What the hell—

“It might be a few moments before we can resume physically, so I thought we’d talk about your meeting with Groot’s emissary.”

What did she know? He cast his mind back, but memories proved elusive.

“What do
I
know?” she asked, reading his mind, incensing him.

“I know why you were rushing off to New Orleans this evening, and why you were so intent that I had to wreck your pretty car just to get your attention.”

He was supposed to meet his brother tonight. Cadeon would be wondering where he was. When Rydstrom felt her join him on the bed, he slitted open his stinging eyes, but couldn’t make out more than a vague shape.

In his ear, she whispered, “I know that Groot has forged a sword that you believe will destroy Omort.”

He jerked from her, then bellowed at the sound and feel of chains. “You’ve…chained me?” The bitch had bound him to the bed with those manacles around his ankles and wrists.

I will kill her so slowly.

She ignored his question. “In payment for the sword, Groot has demanded the
Vessel
—a female who will beget a future warrior of either ultimate evil or ultimate good.” Depending upon the father’s inclination. “But wherever will you find one?”

He felt her probing his mind once more, but he had his defenses in place. “After all, demon, Vessels are born only every five hundred years.”

And yet Cadeon already has one.
Unfortunately, Cadeon’s fated female—the one he’d spent over a year pining for—
was
the Vessel. A woman named Holly Ashwin was the payment Groot wanted.

Once Rydstrom’s vision cleared, he focused on Sabine as she sat on the side of the bed, grinning at him over the rim of a wine goblet. He was relieved that she’d covered her chest. Then he frowned. Her top was white and so small and tight that he could see the bottoms of her breasts. Hadn’t he ripped that one from her?
Losing my mind…

“What I don’t know is if you gave your tosser brother enough information to send him on this fruitless quest.”

Groot had established parameters to make the trade, a system of checkpoints, with each supplying additional details about how to find his hidden lair. In their phone call, Rydstrom had given Cadeon enough information to make it to the first checkpoint and continue on the mission.

“Not fruitless,” he said, but with Rydstrom missing and unable to send word, was it even
possible
that Cadeon would do what was right?

“Even if your brother somehow managed to find the Vessel and locate Groot’s secret fortress, the sword just won’t
work
. The Sorceri worship metal, and Groot the Metallurgist forges and enchants it. That makes him very powerful. But not enough to give death to the deathless.”

As Rydstrom began to regain his strength, he struggled against his bonds.

“You can’t break them. They’ve been mystickally reinforced.”

“Release me, Sabine!”

“But I’ve just
caught
you,” she said in a pouting voice.

His gaze darted, scanning for a means to escape. She’d trapped him in the largest cell. When he’d ruled Tornin, he’d used this jail for political prisoners. Inside were a sink and facilities, a small bed stand, a rug on the floor, and hearth tools by the fire. Nothing to aid him.

But then, he well knew…
No one escapes the dungeons of Tornin.

“It looks like it’s time to get back to the business at hand.” She set her goblet on the bedstand.

“Business at hand? Still haven’t come to your senses?”

“No, I’m even more determined than before. I don’t lose, Rydstrom.”

He lunged up against the bonds, snarling, “You are about to.”

“Ah, here’s that notoriously strong will of yours. Almost as strong as your rational mind and your sense of right and wrong. But then, was it
right
to strangle me as you did?”

“You’re an enemy to me.” The maddening tension from before redoubled. “An enemy I’ll kill at the earliest chance.”

His words were now strong, his tone lethal. Yet he alone knew how close he’d been to continuing his exploration of her, to wringing an orgasm from her responsive little body. Every inch of her had been more exciting to him than the last. “Do you have no hesitation being used like this? As a tool for Omort?”

“You seem to think me either cowed by Omort or suffering qualms about screwing someone for reasons other than pleasure or love. Neither is true of me.”

“So you’re just a cold, heartless bitch.”

“As much as you’re a self-righteous, miserable prick.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have something meaningful between us.”

He kicked his legs and thrashed his upper body.

“You need to understand that you’re not getting away. It’s impossible.” She crawled on her hands and knees toward him, giving him a view of her cleavage. She noticed his hard-eyed staring, and suddenly the top disappeared, revealing breasts that would bring a lesser demon to his knees.

The garment had been a mere illusion. And now her stiffened nipples were an inch from dragging across his chest.

In a breathy voice, she said, “Do you want our skin to touch, Rydstrom?”

When she leaned down and grazed the peaks against him, her lids went heavy, and he had to bite back a groan. He renewed his struggles, which only increased the contact.

“These chains are reinforced, as is the cell door. Accept it, Rydstrom, you’re
mine
.”

“Sabine, you fucking unchain me—”

“Shh, demon.” She placed her forefinger over his lips, and yanked it back just in time to miss his snapping teeth. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’ll say that I had better release you this instant, or you will throttle me or some such promise of violence. And then you’ll pepper that with a threat about the future. Maybe something with a qualifier like ‘when I get free.’”

She’d shushed him?
“You see, my darling demon? We’re so in tune, you don’t even need to voice your thoughts to me.” She gave him a smart-ass grin. “It’s like we’re already one.”

“A threat about the future?” He raised his head, baring his lengthening fangs. “I won’t just hurt you, Sabine. I’ll kill you.”
So much at stake.

Another futile attempt to power free from the chains left the manacles cutting into his skin, blood dripping.

He was truly trapped. Which meant he couldn’t get to his brother. To the sword.

To be this close to what he wanted, prevented by bonds even his strength couldn’t break…

This sorceress had stopped him—
she
’d done this to him. She was the obstacle standing in his way. One small female would undermine centuries of toiling, of warring.

“You’ll kill me?” She lightly raked her nails from his chest to his navel, then sifted them through the trail of hair running down from it. He just stifled a shudder of pleasure.

With her, his skin seemed a thousand times more sensitive, his body hungering for release like never before. And yet at the same time, he felt on the verge of rage, beginning to turn demonic.

Though his breed of demon was prone to mindless rages, he’d always kept them at bay. Now being with her was making him crazed, making him lose reason so easily. “Yes, kill you,” he grated. “You Sorceri are physically easy to destroy. If I strangle you long and hard enough…”

“Just as you had begun to do. Know this, demon, nothing makes me more cross than attempts on my life. I have a particular aversion to being murdered.”

What in the hell was she talking about?

Kneeling between his legs, she leaned over him, placing her hands flat on his shoulders. As she lowered her head, she said, “Besides, would you really want to kill the mother of your future offspring?”

“You little bi—” Her tongue on his chest silenced him, the words dying in his throat.

Inhaling deeply, he wrestled for control. He’d begun turning, his rage building in time with his sexual hunger. Never had he felt both the turning and lust at the same time.

What is happening to me?

She began kissing down his body, her silky hair trailing over his heated skin. He needed to bury his face in her long hair. Why hadn’t he done that before? No, he needed to kill her.

A ticking bomb.
And she’s just returned it to her lair.

She raised her gaze to his but continued to dip licking kisses to his torso, like a creature drinking from a pool. Then her hands were on his pants.

As they stared at each other, she slowly lowered his zipper, the sound so loud in the silent chamber. Against his will, his hips rolled with his need.

“You felt how wet I was,” she whispered, giving him another lick. He could feel her breaths hot on his skin, traveling lower. “Wouldn’t you want to sink
this
into me?”

Just as she was baring his cock, he bucked his hips. “Release me!”

Scenes of things he wanted to do to her flashed in his mind.
Pin her to the ground and shove into her.
Pumping his seed into her pale body again and again.
Till she begs me for mercy.
More fantasies, more rage tangled in his mind.

Her eyes widened at his shifting visage, at the demonic changes he could feel. She finally drew back.

He twisted around, driving his horns into the chains over his head, gouging his arms in the process.

“Calm, demon,” she murmured, her mesmerizing voice washing over him. But he fought her pull—

She took his cock in her firm grasp; he jerked in surprise. He’d been getting himself off for so long, the softness of her hands stunned him.

She began working him steadily, and thrashing his body only made his cock shove in and out of her fist.

Fighting, twisting,
hating
her, even as she continued stroking him. Blood poured from new wounds at his wrists and ankles—

Like a lightning bolt, a shock of pleasure shot through him,
unfamiliar
pleasure. Dazed, he lowered his eyes.

Moisture had beaded on the swollen crown, and she’d blown on it, cooling the hot pre-semen that had collected there.

When his shaft pulsed in her hand, seeming to strain toward her parted lips, she stared with eyes shimmering once more. She was excited, her breaths panting, reminding him again of how aroused she’d been before, how she’d wet his fingers. “I can
see
it throbbing, demon.”

He believed her—he had never felt this kind of aching pressure in his entire life.

Confusion welled, because he craved feeling her gaze on him, wanted her to lust for what she saw. He wanted her to desire him, even as he needed to kill her. The conflict within him grew stronger.

She dabbed her tongue to her bottom lip. “I think you want me to lick you there. To close my mouth over the head and suckle you.”

As he groaned at her words, his cock jerked, and another bead arose. When he arched his back from the astonishing pleasure, she murmured, “Only your female can bring forth your seed. Have you ever been this close?”

I…haven’t
.