Kiss of a Demon King

Imagining the power struggle between them, the complication of it . . . Fantasies arose in his mind, thoughts he usually buried at once. Secrets long kept- and forever denied. 'Then all you're doing is wasting my time,' he said, but his voice was roughened.

'What makes you so confident that I can't make you say or do anything to be inside me?'

Because so much is at stake. Never had Rydstrom been this close to all he wanted.

He had to escape to get to his brother before he did something monumentally selfish. Cadeon was a cut­ throat mercenary who had just come into possession of what he'd yearned for most in the world. 'You couldn't tempt me from my duty before-and I didn't even know who you were then.' Bravado, Woede.

She stood, her shoulders back. 'You haven't seen everything I have to tempt you with,' she said, pull­ing a ribbon at her bodice. The gown slid over her pert

nipples down her narrow waist and shapely legs to pool at her feet.

All that remained on her exquisite body was a sheer scrap of white silk covering her breasts and the tiniest panties he had ever seen.

His lips parted, and his cock felt like it could rip through his pants. With her eyes flashing, she raised her chin, well aware of her effect on him and prideful of it.

If this female weren't so evil, she'd be glorious.

In that instant, he decided, I'll claim her as my war prize when I escape.

And he would use her to get free.

L anthe shuffled to court, listening to her iPod, deep in thought.

A few months ago, she'd been off-plane, sitting in an electronics store watching coveted cable. She'd caught a show about dolphins in captivity.

When the animals got lethargic and bored, their trainers would put fish into a container so that the crea-tures would have to work to get them, figuring out how to open it.

Lanthe remembered likening Sabine to one of those burned-out dolphins who couldn't swim freely or hunt for their meals.

Sabine had been made a killer but had no one to destroy, a survivor with no calamity to endure. Which made her a burned-out sorceress. She had been for centuries.

Yet tonight when Sabine had locked her gaze on the demon, Lanthe had realized her sister had just been given a demon-size container of fish. Finally . . .

To get from the dungeon to court, Lanthe had to walk outside, and the night sky above seemed to mock her, rekindling old fears-

What the hell was that? She'd thought she'd heard something swooping over her music.

With her gaze darting, she snatched her ear buds free, then froze for several heartbeats. Only silence. Losing it.

Her nerves were getting to her-that had to be it. It hadn't helped that the shuffle function had selected songs like 'Don't Fear the Reaper' and Jem's '24.'

'The sun's setting gold, thought I would grow old, it wasn't to be. ...'

She'd been pensive for weeks, fearing that Thronos would find them every time they'd gone off-plane. Or, gods forbid, he'd discover a way to cross over into the plane of Rothkalina.

When Sabine had created that extensive illusion tonight, Lanthe had wondered how it couldn't have drawn the Vrekeners.

Though her sister responded to fear with anger, Lanthe just got scared. Something was on the horizon for her, and she sensed her outlook wasn't good.

Once she reached the main hall, she hurried toward the entrance to court. There, two revenants stood guard outside the towering double doors. As she approached, they mindlessly opened them for her.

She hated going to court almost as much as she hated staying away from it. As she passed members of the Pravus, they whispered about her behind their hands, treating her like an outcast, though she was a blood relation to Omort.

Lanthe was a princess of the realm, and one of the six great towers of Castle Tornin was her own. Still, they followed her half brother's lead in deciding how to treat

her.

The Invidia-with their wild antler headdresses, whips on their belts, and star patterns over their nipples- laughed at her. The Undines, evil nymphs with paint dusted bodies, openly scorned Lanthe.

The Libitinae, four raven-winged bringers of death, frowned at her with tilted heads. For fun, they forced men to self-castrate or die. They simply couldn't com-prehend Lanthe's need for male companionship.

Lanthe supposed she hadn't helped her respect quo­tient by doing ninety-four-point-seven percent of all the males present, excluding the revenants that lined the walls, of course. Mathematically, this meant that Lanthe was the equivalent of the high school slut.

She'd never been to high school, but she'd watched movies like Grease, The Craft, and Varsity Blues-and they all dealt with school sluttitude. I'm your girl.

She'd liked none of her ex-lovers, but she loved sex, I lots of it, and well, call her crazy but once a male stole her sorcery when she was in the throes, she didn't let him hit it again.

Sabine had begged her not to sleep with Sorceri, but vampires only wanted her blood, and demons and cen­ taurs were considered animals. The rest of the breeds here? Creeeeeepy.

She passed the enigmatic vampire Lothaire, who served as a general in their army, commanding a regi-ment of vicious fallen vampires. Known as the Enemy of

Old, he was a chilling sight, from his white-blond hair to his eyes that were more pink than red to his impas­ sive face.

He was one of the few vampires she'd encountered who might actually be interested in sex in addition to blood. But he could scarcely be arsed to give her the time of day.

There'd only been one male in her entire long life who'd ever looked at her with affection and perfect acceptance. Lanthe feared-and her precious self-help books indicated-that she bedded one male after another because she ached to see that look once more.

Contrary to what Sabine believed, the night of their parents' murder hadn't been the first time Lanthe had encountered that Vrekener boy.

But Thronos had grown up to be her worst enemy....

From his throne, Omort caught sight of her and glowered. Lanthe didn't know what she'd done to incur his lasting animosity, but it had become a fact of life for her. Sabine had said that he innately feared Lanthe. After all, if Lanthe could ever regain her ability, she could command Omort to lose his mind, to forget how to wield his powers.

Oracle number Three-Oh-Eight had told Lanthe that a 'perilous inciting incident' would spark her per­suasion once more. Lanthe waited impatiently as nearly half a millennium passed by.

'What news?' Omort said when she reached the steps to the dais. As usual, Hettiah simpered by his side-a pale imitation of Sabine. Though her features

and Sabine's were similar, Hettiah's coloring was tepid in comparison to the glamorous and beautiful Sabine.

Lanthe cleared her throat. Sabine went demon-hunting and bagged a two-pointer! No, too blase. 'Our sister was successful,' she said instead. 'She's taken the demon

captive.'

At her words, Omort's fingers went white clutching the arms of the throne, bending the gold. Hettiah noted the reaction with a doleful look.

His eyes darted to the east wall of the throne room- which was covered with stone tablets. They were covenants, tablets made with the blood of those enter' ing into any of a variety of dark pacts, with the terms inscribed in the stone for all to see.

The four main players of the Pravus had signed one, vowing allegiance to each other-Omort, Lothaire, the