Kiss of a Demon King

'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 Clairsen-tience, 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

Rydstrom 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 Ryd-strom 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.

J 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, Cade-on'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 bot-

toms 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