Kiss of a Demon King

quickly.'

'And you let me think you might be carrying?

Another lie!'

'Why wouldn't I let you think that? I had no idea what your plans for me entailed!'

'Every day you teach me not to trust you.'

'You know what? You had better keep me bound, because if I get free I-will-take-you-out! I am done. You're going to have to carry me because I'm not moving.'

'You think I won't?' He yanked her up.

'I'm sick of you!' she yelled in his face. 'Sick of being treated like this! And to think I'd worried-' She bit her tongue.

'To think you'd done what? Ah, sorceress, were you worried about me?' he asked in a scoffing tone. Then his eyes narrowed as he studied her face. 'You were.'

'Ha! I was only worried about my own skin,' she said, but she'd darted her gaze. Damn him, he knows I'm lying. So she kicked him. 'Now let me go!'

He tangled his hands in her hair, grasping the back of her head. They were both still out of breath. She was staring at his lips, licking her own. When she took her gaze off his mouth, she found his eyes were focused on her own lips.

They were about to do that frantic kissing thing again, and she didn't know if she was strong enough to fight it-

'Hello!' a voice called from a distance. 'Is someone out there?'

The refugees had found them.

30

 Rage demons were everywhere. By sunset, she and Rydstrom had followed a pair of demons-camp guards-until they'd reached a bluff overlooking a sea of tents spread out below.

When the guards had come upon them earlier, the two had wanted to know what they were doing outside the boundaries 'when there are beasties about.'

Rydstrom had merely demanded to be taken to who­ever was in charge. He'd been shirtless and still had blood on him, but he was outwardly-if not calm- then at least stable.

Now, as she and Rydstrom trailed the guards down into the camp, through a crowd of what must be hun­ dreds, Sabine stared around her.

The demons stared back. Whispers sounded, females glaring at her lack of clothing. The women here appar- ently favored excessive clothing-unnecessarily long sleeves and skirts.

A lesser sorceress would have been discomfited by

the fact that she wore a swath of cloth, a micromini, and sand-and had her hands tied. Sabine glanced around, her demeanor bored.

When males leered at her body, Rydstrom's hand fisted on her arm, his horns already straightening.

As she surveyed her surroundings, Sabine had to exhale in exasperation. Medieval castle, and kingdom, and people. Why should she be surprised that this place looked to be straight out of a Renaissance fair?

The 'housing' consisted of pavilion tents, each with elaborate valances hanging from the roofs and topped with pennants flying aloft. She recognized several of the noble families' colors. These demons had come from all over the kingdom.

The guards took them to a sizable round pavilion. Inside, well-dressed males milled about, clearly noble­ men.

One asked Rydstrom, 'What were you doing outside the boundaries? Everyone has been informed of the dangers of this place.'

'We aren't part of this group. We came from out­side.'

'Well, we've no more room here,' the man said. 'We can barely feed everyone as it is.'

'Make room. I'm Rydstrom, your king.'

Instant silence was followed by an uproar.

-'Rydstrom hasn't been back to this plane in centu-riesr

-'But the scar . . . ?'

--'There were rumors he'd been captured by a sorcer­ess.'

Sabine said, 'Only a sorceress? Try the sorceress-'

'I am your king,' Rydstrom spoke over her. 'And I grow weary of this.'

'It's true,' a woman's voice said from the back. 'He's Rydstrom.' A demoness strode forward. She was beauti­ful, with long chestnut brown hair and petite horns that shone with health. Ah, but she was a pastel-wearer. She was forever dead to Sabine.

Rydstrom narrowed his eyes at the female. 'Do I know you?'

She seemed taken aback. 'I . . . yes, you do. I'm Durinda. I was a lady-in-waiting to one of your sisters at Tornin.' A young demon boy of maybe six years peeked out from behind her roo-long skirts. 'And this is Puck.' She ruffled his blonde hair. 'He was my best friend's son.'

Puck was missing a baby fang, and he stared at Sabine with owl eyes. Which seemed to distress this Durinda, because she sent him outside at once.

Sabine had just become the pink elephant in the room. When their gazes fell as one on her, Rydstrom said, 'My prisoner, Sabine. From Castle Tornin.'

Jaws dropped, and another uproar sounded.

-'Omort's sister?'

-'The Queen of Illusions?'

-'She'll kill us all in our sleep!'

Sabine jerked her chin up at Rydstrom. 'So now I'm only your prisoner? Why didn't you introduce me as-'

'Silence.' His grip on her arm made her wince and keep her mouth shut, for now.

Rydstrom asked the apparenr lead noble, 'Is this where the portals off-plane will open?'

'Yes, my liege,' the man answered. 'In four days.'

Sabine noticed then that Durinda seemed spellbound by Rydstrom's muscular chest. There was something in that demoness's eyes that made Sabine step closer to him, leaning her body into his so much that he frowned down at her.

Sabine might not be keeping her husband, but for now, Rydstrom was hers, and Sabine had never learned how to share.

Durinda said, 'I'm sure you're fatigued from your journey, my liege. You can have my tent, and we'll find a place for ... her.'

'She stays with me,' he commanded.

Durinda's face paled at his fierce tone. 'O-of course.'

Sabine said, 'Durinda, we accept your hospitality.' As our due.

Though the demoness's shoulders stiffened, she showed them to a spacious tent. The canvas was col­ored a subdued blue with a steel gray fringe on the valances. Tracery scrolled over the sides. The effect was striking-and denoted wealth.

Inside, the color scheme continued. A pallet in the corner was gray, with lush quilts in blue. Paper lanterns decorated with matching tracery hung from the roof supports.

Sabine's pavilion would be bold crimson and jet with a gold fringe. Real gold. Because I'm worth it.