Kiss of a Demon King (Immortals After Dark 7)

Or maybe she and Lanthe should ally with Rydstrom? Sabine had told him she'd always be on the winning side, and now the tides were turning. Rydstrom looked like a warrior king who could defeat Omort. If the rage demons could get the sword, the balance could swing decidedly in their favor.

But if Sabine allied with Rydstrom, there would be more to deal with than mere war and destruction. The demon wanted her . . . affection.

He wanted a future with her-her entire future. This eternity idea had her spooked. She hadn't even been out on a real date, had never seen the same male twice, and now she was supposed to promise her eternity to a demon she'd known for only weeks?

There were actually times that she'd been tempted to. When she recalled those interludes in the wild when he'd caressed and licked her body, teasing her to a fever pitch again and again, she no longer grew outraged- she grew aroused. She longed for him to touch her, even to bed her again.

And then, over the last two nights when she'd woken alone, sleepily hunting for his big warm chest, she'd thought, Why not try whatever he was offering? So what to do? What to plot!

Just then, Sabine realized that Rydstrom caught sight of her. As if he sensed she was considering running, he'd had his gaze on her all morning. His brows were drawn, a question in his eyes.

In answer, she gave him a lewd hand gesture. He grinned.

Oh, my. Sabine had never seen him smile. And it was divine. She frowned down at her chest. What was that? Why, that might have been a tender feeling.

He started toward her, and she couldn't say she was broken up about that. When he reached her on the bluff, he sat beside her. "It will soon be time to leave, Sabine," he said. "I never formally asked you before, but will you come with me to my home-our home-in Louisiana?"

"Do you have gold there?" she asked. "No, but I could get some." "Are you rich?"

"In that realm, if you're an immortal, you'd have to be an idiot not to be."

"Is your house nice and big?"

"Our house is a showplace, a mansion built centuries ago in a district known for its gardens. I've always taken pride in it-it's one of the most expensive and coveted in the city." He seemed eager for her to see it.

"You're not used to having to ask for things," she observed. "Is it difficult to ask me to come with you?"

He shook his head. "It might have been. If I didn't want you to so damned badly."

Sabine had once heard that Cadeon was the smooth talking brother of the two, but she thought Rydstrom's gruff admissions were much more intense and meaning­ful than any smooth talking could be.

"Why do you want this so badly? Because I'm fated to

be yours?"

"No, because I know we can have something more

between us."

She gazed into his green eyes and saw honesty-and desire. He wanted her, and he wanted her to see how much. She couldn't seem to look away.

"If you come with me, you won't regret it."

And if she didnt see where this could lead with Ryd-strom, she might wind up regretting it for the eternity he wanted from her.

"I will, then," she finally said. "But I have some conditions." When he waved her on in that kingly way of his, she said, "The parity is done. We start this as

equals."

"Agreed. As long as we start this."

"And I will only commit to six days with you. After that we'll reconvene."

"Why only six days?"

"Six is my favorite number," she lied.

"No, it's not."

"You're right. But it's still my condition."

"Anything else?"

"We never speak of Omort during this time."

After a hesitation, he nodded, then said, "I have some as well. You'll have to be honest with me."

"I will be, as much as I can."

"Sabine . .."

"Look, that's a really big concession for someone like me to make."

He exhaled. "You have to give this thing between us a fair try. Can you do that, cwena?" He stroked his thumb over her cheek.

Sabine frowned just as he grinned. She hadn't flinched.

36

New Orleans, Louisiana

"We have to walk?" she murmured, exhausted from the rough crossing.

The coordinates Rydstrom had given the portal jockey hadn't gotten them directly to his house.

"It's not far. Just six houses down."

She could tell he was anxious for her to like his home. She admired what she'd seen of the posh neigh­borhood, but she was too tired and chilled to be excited for him.

The portal they'd just come through had felt as if it had been hacked through space. Compared to it, Lanthe's thresholds were seamless masterpieces. No wonder she could only create one every so often.

"Are you sad about Puck?" he asked.

"Just tired." In truth, she might like to see the little punk again. He'd been bawling for her. Which shouldn't have shocked anyone.

"Chin up, demon boy person," she'd told him with an awkward pat on his head. Then she'd given him a note that she'd had translated into Demonish. When he'd read it, his eyes had lit up, and he'd nodded gravely.

"What did the note say?" Rydstrom had asked.

"It said that if he is bad enough, they will send him to come live with me."

Rydstrom had given her that look-the cross between perplexity and bewilderment, the one she believed he used only for her. The one that said, "Surely, you're kid­ding. I really want you to be jesting."

"Here it is," he said when they came upon an estate with towering wooden gates and stone walls covered with ivy.

The grounds were immaculate, the mansion stunning with its Corinthian columns and wraparound veranda. The effect as a whole was opulent but tasteful. The sul­try air was redolent with the scent of gardenias.

"How big is this place?"

"Plus or minus twenty-thousand square feet." At the front entrance, he said simply, "I want you to like it here."

"I'm sure I'll love it if the inside is anything like the outside." So tired. Sabine shivered.

He held her hand as he opened the door. At once, the smell of sour beer and cigars wafted over them. She put her free hand over her mouth.

"What in the hell?" he muttered as they journeyed deeper inside.

In the sitting room, beer-soaked Playgirl magazines lay over clearly expensive antique furnishings. Cartons

from drink mixers were strewn over a wooden floor. Two empty kegs floated in barrels of melted ice-atop luxury ous oriental rugs.

She followed Rydstrom's gaze up. Above them hung a resplendent bronze d'ore chandelier with chains of rock crystal gracing filigree arms. From one of those arms dangled a ... thong.