Kiss of a Demon King iad-7 Page 7

  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.

  8

  When Sabine shot awake, she found her bed was sitting in the pouring rain and muddy field she'd been buried alive in all those years ago.

  She blinked her eyes, realizing this was a chimera scene from a dream. She'd always cast illusions when dreaming or in the grip of a nightmare. As she absently ran her fingers over the scar at her neck, the illusion faded, her bedroom revealed again. . ..

  This tower room was once supposed to have been the private chambers of Rydstrom. It was in the west tower, the one closest to the water, and had wall-size windows that she kept open to the ocean breezes. She'd redeco­rated it with flowing banners in scarlet and black that whipped in the wind.

  She knew going back to sleep would be impossible, since she'd scarcely managed to drift off the first time-

  "You didn't dream of your prisoner," a voice intoned from the shadows of her chamber.

  She jerked back to the headboard when she spied Omort's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

  After hastily covering her scanty nightgown with an illusion, she made the room appear to blaze with fluo­rescent light.

  This was why she could never sleep through a night. Omort could have bound her wrists behind her back, a simple move that would have blocked her ability to cast illusions-her only defense. "You've crossed a line by coming into my room, brother."

  "Wasn't that just a matter of formality? One soon to be done away with?" He was sending his mental probes out like sonar, but she'd learned to block them com-pletely. He often demanded others open their minds to him, but never Sabine-as if, deep down, he didn't really want to know her feelings about him.

  "What does that mean?"

  "With Rydstrom's capture, we are one step closer to ... the inevitable."

  How much longer can I put Omort off? His trespass in her room boded ill. Once she surrendered her virginity to the demon and bore the child, she would have no sanctuary to protect her. She hadn't thought he'd be waiting like a vulture, especially not with Hettiah to tide him over.

  When he approached the bed, she kept her demeanor composed. Barely. "What do you want?"

  "Your covenant is still intact on the east wall. It doesn't go well with your captive?"

  "He is as determined and strong-willed as you said."

  "Maybe I should go see-"

  "No! That's not possible. He doesn't need to be reminded of our connection," she said, then hastily asked, "How goes the search for an oracle?" They were caught in a vicious cycle, locating weaker and weaker soothsayers. Each one invariably made mistakes and was executed. Then an even weaker oracle replaced the dead one. "Finding any talent?"

  He gave her a look that let her know he'd allowed the change of subject. "I've selected one and dispatched fire demons to collect her."

  To collect her. Oracle Three Fifty-Six had been a volun­teer instead of an "acquisition" of Omort's. Some females stepped up for the position, no doubt thinking they'd be smarter, better, less expendable. They never were.

  "It's critical that we have one in place as soon as pos­sible," she said in a measured tone. Sabine had to tread carefully with this subject, for it was a potentially enrag­ing one for Omort.

  He'd once stolen the gift of foresight from an oracle'but had no talent for interpreting the visions he received. It had made him even more deranged before he'd been forced to relinquish the ability.

  "And we shall," he said absently as he crept around her room, inspecting her things, pausing to pick up a book here and there. Hundreds were stacked all over. Most were histories of this kingdom, of Rydstrom. She'd been studying him for years.

  "I hadn't known you were so well versed on my enemy."

  "I take this seriously-my opportunity to garner power for the Pravus."

  "Yes, I have studied him much as well. Rydstrom has long fascinated me." He carelessly flipped through an ancient tome, then tossed it away. "Does he believe you're his?"

  "I think so."

  Omort smiled, revealing flawless white teeth, but the expression never reached his cold eyes. "How disap­pointed the demon must be." He sat down on the bed beside her.

  Calm . . . calm . . . distract him. "What happened that night you faced him? When the kingdom fell? I've read what's been recorded, but the details are hazy."

  "I'd made a secret pact with the Horde king, Demes-triu. He aggressed Rydstrom, depleting his armies, then launched a surprise attack. Rydstrom was forced to jour­ney away to defend. That's when I captured Tornin. The castle was unprotected because Rydstrom's heir Cadeon refused his summons to defend the holding."

  "Why would he do that?" From everything she'd heard about the mercenary Cadeon, he was fearless.


  "Who can understand demons? I find great pleasure in knowing that Rydstrom blames Cadeon for turn­ing his back on his kingdom. What Rydstrom doesn't understand is that I well knew the importance of Cade-on's presence in the castle. That's why I had five hun­dred revenants waiting to ambush the prince. If Cadeon had obeyed his brother, he and his guard would've been slaughtered."

  Interesting. "And you personally faced Rydstrom."

  "He's the only being I've ever fought that lived. Instead of merely burning him to ash, I played at honor,

  facing him in a sword duel in one of his strongholds. He beheaded me-the blow was true, and deadly for any other. But I rose. He used his brute strength to topple the roof, trapping me inside, and was able to escape."

  Omort's hand was inching closer to her covered ankle. "Sabine, how much can I trust you?"

  "Probably not as much as you can Hettiah. Shouldn't you be with her now?"

  "She doesn't understand things as you do. And as much as I will it differently, she is a pale comparison to you. A dim shadow to your light."

  "Did you come into my room just to state the obvi­ous?" Her brother's attraction to Sabine wasn't fueled only by her looks. She believed Omort secretly hun­gered for death. In lieu of that, he hungered for her, a woman who knew death so intimately.

  When he grazed his forefinger over her covered ankle, his eyes slid shut and drool collected at the cor­ner of his lips. Stifling a shudder, she hastily rose, then crossed to the seaside balcony.

  This place always calmed her, like a balm for her mind. During most of her sleepless nights, she stood out here, watching the sea.

  Omort moved behind her, not touching her, but standing far too close. No warmth emanated from him. He was cold and deadened like a corpse.

  Rydstrom had been all inviting heat.

  "You should go, brother. I have a challenging day tomorrow. I'll need to be on top of my game to be the first to break the iron will of Rydstrom."

  "I'm glad that you've ceased underestimating him."

  When she could feel his cold breaths on her neck, she whirled around, hastening to her chamber's drink service. She poured sweet wine-only for herself-then held up her goblet to Omort. "Brother, do be a dear and poison me."

  Every month, Omort gave her and Lanthe the mor­sus, literally the "stinging bite poison." The power of the morsus was that it didn't cause pain upon ingestion but upon withdrawal.

  Weaning from the poison was supposed to be so excruciating that she and Lanthe were considered per­petually "condemned." Without an antidote, the pain would be so great they'd eventually die from it.

  The morsus kept them from leaving Omort and from rebelling. For the most part.

  He exhaled as if she were putting him out, then rotated the thick ring on his forefinger. As he snapped open the jeweled covering of his poison cache, she stared at the ring. It held so much significance for her. It was the source of life, the enforcer of her obedience.

  And the ring told her when Omort lied, as he'd unconsciously rotate it.

  When he poured the black granules into her wine, a hiss sounded and smoke tendrils seeped upward. But once it settled, it would be odorless and tasteless to those who weren't trained to detect it.

  Ages ago, he'd slipped the morsus into their wine before they'd learned to identify potions by smell and taste-and before they'd learned to create their own to counter him.

  Sabine nonchalantly held up the goblet. "Slainte." She drained the contents. "Now, I really need to get some sleep. Remember, Omort, I'm doing this for us. And I know you want us to succeed."

  "Very well, Sabine." With a last lingering gaze, he finally exited, but not before she heard him murmur, "Soon."

  Alone once more, she returned to the balcony. As she surveyed the tumultuous sea and breathed deep of the salt air, she mused over her current situation.

  Plots and subplots. She wanted Tornin for herself and for Lanthe. Yet after tonight, she suspected Omort would try to force her to surrender before she ever even got a chance to make her play.

  She shivered. He'd been emboldened to come into her room, bringing with him coldness and misery hang­ing over him like a cloak. She felt pensive, unclean.

  For the first time ever, Sabine's gaze wasn't held fast by the sea. She turned to the south, toward the dungeon tower.

  The demon was such a force of nature, she imagined herself getting lost in him. Ultimately, she found her feet taking her in his direction, her heart aching for ... something.

  9

  Without a word, Sabine climbed into bed with the demon.

  Though she sensed his instant tension, she lay on her back beside him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat from his big body.

  For long moments, they lay side by side in silence, as if they'd called an uneasy mice. They both stared at the ceiling, so she made it appear to fade away, revealing the night sky.

  He tensed even more. "Your power is great." His voice was rumbling.

  In the dark, she seemed to feel it. "It is."

  "Is this all illusion or did you make the ceiling disap­pear?"

  "My vanity tells me that you're impressed with my goddesslike gift and curious about it. Experience tells me you want to learn my strengths and weaknesses so you can kill me."

  "I'll spare your life, if you free me now," he said.

  "You've served me ill. But you've done nothing irrevocable yet."

  "Demon, give me time." How could he be so warm? Unbelievably, she felt herself growing relaxed. "To answer your question, all is illusion. Optical and auditory."

  "You can't make others feel things?"

  "I have no tactile illusions. Not yet. Which is a shame because I could decimate an army with anows I imagined. But I can make others feel things, just the same."

  "Like what?"

  "I can make you see your worst nightmares or your most coveted dreams. And I can control them."

  "Do you have other abilities?"

  "Dozens," she lied. The only other one was Lanthe's birthday gift from so long ago-communicating with and mesmerizing animals. "I wield many."

  He seemed to take that in. Finally he asked, "Have you thought about what you seek to do? What it would be like to bear and raise a demon child?"

  In truth, she hadn't thought much about that what­soever. She didn't allow herself to imagine her preg­nancy, delivery, or the upbringing of a demon prince. If she ever began wondering what their halfling would look like, she forced herself to think of something else.

  The agenda had been set, the plot hatched. The rest was just details.

  But Omort's visit was throwing a kink in her plans.

  She answered the demon's question with one of her own. "How do you know that I don't already have a lit­ter of demon children?"

  "Do you?"

  "No, I have no offspring."

  "What if you bore a female? The kingdom of Rothka-lina is patrilineal."

  "Don't remind me. You know, in the Sorceri sept, females can inherit the crown. Morgana is the current Empress of all Sorceri." Sabine turned on her side, and he did as well, his arms still chained behind his back.

  "The people wouldn't accept a female here. I wonder if I'd be kept alive long enough for another go?" A lock of his thick black hair fell over his forehead, but he could do nothing to move it from his eyes.

  "I'm fated to conceive and deliver a healthy boy for your heir."

  "A son." Had his voice roughened? "One I'll never see if you have your way. Never to teach or protect."

  She fell silent. Contrary to popular belief, Sabine didn't relish hurting those who'd never done anything to her. But she didn't rule the world-yet-and so she couldn't change the outcome of this situation. For her and Lanthe to be safe at last, a demon was going down. This demon beside her.

  He was collateral damage that couldn't be helped.

  "Wait... if you know you're going to have a healthy boy, then you could assassinate me as soon as you find out you're pregnan
t."

  She'd camouflaged her face and expression with an illusion, so he never saw her glance away.

  "I won't leave behind my child to be raised here, in blood and hatred. I've heard the rumors of depravity going on in Tornin. Blood sacrifices and perversions. In my home."

  "Omort does so enjoy his blood sacrifices."

  The demon's lips parted. "Listen to yourself! You're so inured, you can't even realize how sick your world is."

  She narrowed her eyes. ]ust because I don't flinch doesn't mean I'm blind.

  Sabine knew how sick it was all too well. That was why she was determined to get above it.

  "You'll never get my vow, sorceress."

  "I won't stop until I do."

  "Are you going to keep me chained the entire time? I know better than most that this cell is inescapable."

  "Security isn't the only reason I'll keep you bound. I want to be certain you don't release any steam we build together, so you'll be in a bad way." When she traced a finger down his chest, the muscles in his torso con­tracted in response. "But it occurs to me that if you're so adamant about not wanting your offspring here, then you must be accepting that I am yours."

  "Have you ever thought about what that would have meant for you? If you hadn't resorted to this?"

  "You mean if we'd met under different circumstances? Would you have been good to me? True to me?" Her tone was amused. "If I hadn't been called to capture you this eve, I'd thought about setting myself up as a waitress at your favorite restaurant. I would have been the winsome but down-on-her-luck Lorean, who wears dresses with floral patterns and who needs just one little break to beat the rat race-or a male to save her." She chuckled at that. "I'd planned to serve you pie and let you peek up my skirt."

  "If I hadn't known differently, then, yes, you prob­ably would have found yourself with an honorable male who would've been true and good to you."

  "They say a lie never leaves your tongue."

  "You sound disbelieving."

  "Because I am. I've never known a male who didn't use the truth as it suited him, bending it and changing it at will."