Kiss of a Demon King (Immortals After Dark 7)

He nibbed his face against hers, inhaling her scent. "I've never felt things like this, and I want more," he growled at her ear. "You are my obsession, Sabine. I've heard every male has one in his life. And you are mine."

"Release me!"

"Surrender to me. ..."

Between gritted teeth, she said, "If you don't let me go, I'll hate you. I vow I'll kill you!"

He dragged her down to the pallet. "Ah, but my beautiful captive doesn't keep her vows."

29

Would you care for any child of ours?" he asked her when he had her clasped in his arms, ready for sleep in the chill night. His hand slipped under the tunic and inside her skirt to rest on her flat belly. "Demon or no?"

She drowsily murmured, "Unless he was a miserable tool like you." Then she drifted off.

Miserable tool. What if he were killing something between them with each of his actions? Do nothing irrevo-cable. And yet tonight she'd screamed, "I hate you. ..."

Over the long hours that he'd teased her, keeping her on the brink of release, she'd never surrendered to him.

She'd been out of her head, her body writhing in a frenzy. She'd rolled her hips, enticing him to break his vow. When he'd beheld her beautiful sex, glistening to be filled ... nothing had ever excited him more.

But now the two nights were done. Tomorrow, he'd get her to surrender completely, and he'd take her once more. Then he would get control of himself. He had to.

Troubled and plagued with uncertainties, he finally fell asleep.

Toward dawn, Rydstrom blinked open his eyes and found himself deep within an illusion. Sabine was cast­ing chimeras in her sleep. Were these her dreams?

"Heat it, stroke it, beat and grow it. Rub it, twist it, love and kiss it," a woman chanted as she ran a fistful of gold chains against her cheek. This was the female voice from the night before-now he could see her.

She wore a silk mask around harried blue eyes. Her headdress stretched out behind her head a foot on each side, the extensions like wings, each crammed with sap­phires. Her jet-black hair was tangled beneath it.

"Gold is life. It is perfection. The element exists solely for us." Once she dropped the chains into a laden chest on her dresser, she dug her hands down into piles of coins, letting them pour through her fingers.

When she turned to the mirror, Rydstrom could see two girls in the reflection, one with red hair, and one with black. They were Sabine and Melanthe, both so young, watching her in wide-eyed fascination. This woman was their mother. And she was clearly mad. . . .

"Band it in armor over thy heart, and never will thy life's blood part. Gild your hair and face and skin, and no man breathes that you can't win. Never too much can a sorceress steal, those who defend"-her face went cold-"she duly kills."

The Sorceri worship gold, Sabine had told him. He'd thought it had been an excuse for greed, but she believed it was more. Recalling her look when he'd

thrown her headdress into the water, he ran a hand over

his mouth.

I will buy her new ones, buy her thousands of them . . .

When Sabine's eyes darted behind her lids, and she made faint cries, Rydstrom reached for her shoulder to wake her, but drew back his hand as a new scene appeared.

A nightmare. Literally.

On a blustery night, Sabine was standing at the edge of a pit, with women lined up on each side of her. She looked to be merely fourteen or fifteen.

A male in black robes stood before her, flanked by followers with pitchforks. He asked her in Latin to recant her evil ways.

Donning the smirk Rydstrom knew so well, she spit in his face. The man backhanded her, hurtling her into the pit-no, a grave.

My gods. The followers stabbed the other women with pitchforks until each one had fallen atop her. Shovelfuls of earth began to build, the weight crushing her. She couldn't get enough air....

An eternity seemed to pass before a dim voice called from the surface. Her sister. "Rise up, Abie! Climb and

heal!"

Bile rose in Rydstrom's throat as Sabine mindlessly dug past the bodies, blindly climbing for that voice until her sister could pull her free of the grave.

No wonder Sabine was so hard. He'd only thought about her treacheries, never comprehending that she'd been dealt with in kind.

If she hadn't been hard, she would be . . . dead. And

then he wouldn't have her with him now. Would he curse the very traits that had kept her alive to be with him?

No. No longer.

In the illusion, the rain poured as she fell to her knees, vomiting earth. Lanthe knelt beside her, rubbing her back. When the rain washed away the filth from Sabine's hair, Lanthe picked up the new white lock and wept....

His fists clenched as a seething fury rose in him. He needed to fight for Sabine, to defend the girl who would grow to be his woman. / would give anything to go back and spare her that-

Suddenly, his ears twitched at an unidentifiable sound. He inhaled the night air and caught foreign scents nearby. He finally heard footfalls rushing toward them, but when he scanned the area, all he could see was her dream. "Sabine!" He shook her. "Wake up!"

He was blinded to reality by her illusion. "Sabine,

damn you, wake-"

Sabine woke to a roar as a battle hammer connected with Rydstrom's skull.

The demon flew back, blood spurting from his head, At least seven armed Teegloths were attacking, gro-tesque half-man, half-beast beings with protruding bot-tom fangs and reptilian skin.

She lunged to reach Rydstrom, but one tossed her across the clearing. Dazed on the ground, she rubbed her eyes on her shoulder, blinking repeatedly. She was complefely vulnerable, couldn't protect herself with her illusions. Couldn't help Rydstrom . . .

He was still conscious! As he struggled to rise, one told him, "We take the female now." He spit the words.

"Not while I live." Rydstrom had maneuvered closer to her. "Get behind me."

She rose unsteadily, tripping toward him. She didn't reach Rydstrom before they descended on him.

As he dodged their swinging battle hammers, they drove him back to the cliff's edge. A cudgel connected with his arm, crushing it. The pick end of another ham-mer slashed over his thigh.

When his leg buckled, and his knees met the ground, the edge began to crumble, the rock splintering beneath him.

Just before it collapsed, he caught her eyes. "Coming

for you."

In a rush of dust and spraying rock, he disappeared.

"Rydstrom!" she screamed, rushing to the edge. Oh, gods! Too dark . . . can't see him!

But she reminded herself that he was a formidable demon-not a Sorceri. He could live through this and more.