Kiss of a Demon King

7

"Are you beginning to believe I'm yours?" As he'd done a few times before, the demon met her gaze steadily with his inscrutable obsidian eyes, but he said nothing. Sabine realized he did this when he was tempted to lie. Most people looked away in the same situation, but his eyes challenged hers.

She leaned forward. "I can't imagine how frustrat­ing it must be not to spill your seed. Sex must be so diminished. I bet you constantly wonder what it would be like to mount a soft, writhing female and pour your seed into her."

At her words, his brows drew together as if in pain, his lips curling back from his fangs.

"Now you can stop wondering. Say a few words, and I'll climb atop you and feed you into my body. I'll ride you so hard, demon, until you can't come anymore." She wanted to-she was nearly as aroused as he was.

To know this at last . . . she'd never imagined that he'd deny her this final step.

The crown was now slick all over. As they both stared, she was finally able to read one of his thoughts, because he was silently commanding her.

Run your tongue over the head! hit her mind like a blast of heat.

"Do it, tassia," he rasped aloud.

"What does that word mean?"

"Wicked female, because that's what you are. Now taste what you've wrought from me."

"I want to," she murmured in truth as she leaned down, lower, closer. Her breasts ached, her nipples swelling into tight points. "I will."

She knew exactly when he could feel her breath on his flesh; his every muscle tensed in anticipation.

"Say the words, Rydstrom. Make me your queen."

"Lower . . . put it in your mouth!"

He's going to bloody do it again. Deny me. She drew back and coldly said, "Your vow, demon. Or I go." , "Never!"

As she rose up, releasing him, she snapped, "You can't win this-you only waste my time!"

His hands fisted above the manacles. "Finish me!"

"Just a few words away!" She cast an illusion over her­self of the dress she'd worn earlier. "Maybe next time."

He reverted to his demon tongue, which she didn't have to understand to know he was cursing her vilely. No matter. She turned for the door, leaving him digging his heels in the bed and thrusting that great shaft into the air.

Outside, her ubiquitous assistant was waiting, ready to take direction. Sabine just called her "Inferi." She called all of them Inferi.

Though Sabine was still humming from her encoun­ter with her captive, she attempted to sound calm as she gave out instructions.

She ordered that he be sedated once more, then made to clean himself and see to his needs for the night. After that, he was to be secured to the bed with a collar at his neck, and then have his wrists bound behind his back-just in case he decided to release any steam.

Sabine figured that if he got aroused enough, even a "little bitch" like her would begin to look like a

Pollyanna.

Deep in thought, she left the dungeon, trudged to her tower, then began the six flights of stairs to her room. She knew she should be more alert to danger-Omort had cornered her on her way to her room often enough-but she couldn't get her mind off Rydstrom's body.

She'd never expected to be so affected by him. She'd been taught to think of herself as better than demons, and had seen this "breeding" as a mere play for power.

But aside from his inexplicable bent toward good- and the fact that he was their blood enemy-Rydstrom called to her. He was so different from the men she'd known and fraternized with that he intrigued her.

How had he gotten the scar on his face? And the ones along his shaft? Now that she'd seen most of him, there was no erasing the vision of his chest and those long, brawny arms. She'd run her greedy gaze over his large sex. . ..

Sabine sighed. Tonight, she was going to have to make a date with B.O.B.-her battery-operated boy­friend.

Once she crossed the threshold to her chamber and bolted the door behind her, she relaxed marginally and cast off the illusion of her dress. She was tired, but then, she was getting home from a full day of work.

She gazed into her gilded mirror. Her career was everything to her.

Plots and subplots. Sabine was notorious for them, and she was in deep with one right now.

Omort, Sabine, and Lanthe alone knew the real truth behind Rydstrom's capture. The demon's heir wasn't needed to quell rebellions but to unlock the mysterious Well of Souls in the center of Tornin's court. Sabine didn't know how the prince would release the power of the well. Only that he would.

But what Omort didn't know was that Sabine would see that her son unlocked it for her-alone. She was going to usurp the power from the Pravus. From Omort himself.

Sabine planned to take the kingdom of Rothkalina and turn it into a queendom.

By capturing the demon, she'd finally seized the means to do so. Now if she could just get him to bed her.

Rydstrom had never known such a pain existed. His cock was still in agony. He tried to ignore the pressure within it, tried to ignore the chains that bound him, but the manacles cleaved into his skin.

The indignity of this burned him inside like acid.

His mind was in turmoil, questions surfacing end­lessly. Would she return tonight? How long would she leave him bound? How had Sabine learned so much about Groot's bargain?

How long had this capture been planned?

He had to get free-but how? No one escapes the dun-geons of Tornin . . . He'd need to use Sabine as hostage. Unless she could be turned against Omort. How much loyalty did she have for her brother?

The benefits of winning a sorceress like her over to their side would be incalculable.

He tried to remember what he knew about the Sor-ceri in general. He recalled that they were greedy for wealth, merry hedonists who lived their lives in pursuit of pleasure-and gold. But they were also secretive and paranoid, suspicious of strangers who arrived at their doorstep. Most tended to live in the farthest reaches of the earth.

Yet they weren't an inherently evil race. You're just thinking this way because you want her. Maybe, but the fact remained that it was a possibility. Right now, it was the only one that seemed viable.

He was still in disbelief that she possibly was his. The Accession often brought pairs together, seeding fami­lies. He'd secretly entertained the faintest hope that maybe he could find his other half during this one. Over the years, he'd fantasized about his female constantly, wondering if she'd have a throaty laugh. Smooth skin. A body he could lose himself in.

Rydstrom struggled to recall a single thing he'd change about Sabine physically. Her skin was glowing, her cheeks rosy. Her glossy hair had shone in the fire­light. Not a single mark marred her skin.

When her eyes had shimmered a bright metallic blue with her desire ... she couldn't feign that. Nor her

body's reaction. Her sex had been wet, the soft lips bare. His claws sank into his palms.

After the last few weeks, this was just fuel on a blaze. There were too many conflicts within him. His mind simply didn't work like this. Usually potential decisions unfurled in precise tree diagrams, with clear choices and predicted outcomes. Normally, he was rational, and liked things straightforward, needed them to be so.

Yet now little was as it seemed, or if it was, it was utterly wrong. He had returned home but as a prisoner. He might have found his fated queen, but she was con­niving, cutthroat, and amoral. Until he could escape, his fate and the fate of his people rested in Cadeon's hands-and that was a tenuous position to be in.

Especially now, when Cadeon had with him the woman he'd once drunkenly called "the highlight of my existence."

Rydstrom had been there the first time Cadeon had seen Holly Ashwin, and he had sensed an energy between them. Yet Cadeon had been unable to attempt her because he'd thought she was a human.

Now Cadeon had learned Holly was actually a Valky­rie. So nothing stood in Cadeon's way of having her.

How could Rydstrom expect his brother to not only deny himself his female but also to turn her over to Groot, a psychotic murderer who only wanted to breed with her?

The last time the kingdom had needed him, Cadeon had turned his back on Rydstrom and their family. Why would this time be any different?

Thinking of Cadeon and Holly made another suspi­cion creep over him. The two of them were complete opposites. Cadeon, a slob and a cold-hearted mercenary, had found his woman in a glasses-wearing, genius math­ematician with a fixation on cleaning.

The obsessive-compulsive scholar and the rolling-stone soldier of fortune. A completely unexpected and absurd pairing.

Rydstrom was known as upstanding and good, Sabine as treacherous and evil. It didn't seem to matter. He couldn't ignore how his body had reacted to the sor­ceress. Instinctively he knew that should he sink into her, the seal would be broken. He would at last know the feeling of releasing his seed, and would be able to forever after.

Recently, he'd consulted the soothsayer Nïx about his future. She'd replied with a grin, "It's a doozy." She'd seemed secretly amused, as if from some kind of irony.

Nothing could be more ironic than Sabine being Rydstrom's queen. This situation was precisely what Nïx would find amusing. The Valkyrie worshipped fate like a religion.

And they were the first to admit that fate was a fickle bitch.

I can deny it. . . .

The cell door groaned open and servants entered. "We're to get you ready for this eve." Again powder stung his eyes.