Inhale. Exhale. Here goes. Her hand trembled. With a whimper, she parted her lips, only to gag--
Her ears twitched. She sensed another presence, heard heaving breaths. Her eyes flashed open, her spoon clattering back into the bowl.
Abyssian had appeared not twenty feet from her, looking as demonic as ever. His longish black hair was tousled, his fangs bared. His wings unfurled behind him. He wore only low-slung leather pants and scuffed boots.
Her heart sank. What impossible task would she face today? Moving an ocean with a leaky cup?
She abandoned her attempt at lunch and stood, conscious of her own clothing--underwear so ripped and frayed the material bordered on transparent.
When she tugged up her bra, he watched her movements avidly, then seemed to shake himself. "Are you with young, female?"
What a random question. "Why would you ask me that?"
"ANSWER ME!"
She swallowed. "Not that I know of."
Some of the tension left his lean muscles, but then his masked eyes narrowed again. "Could you be?"
"No."
He waved a hand, and a gold ring appeared between his thumb and forefinger, looking minuscule in his grasp. "I will tolerate no disobedience from you," he told her in his rough voice. "Remember that you are to obey all my commands, such as the one I now give you: don this ring without argument."
He tossed it to her. Her hand shot out reflexively to catch it. "What is this?"
"It is the ring your king commanded you to wear. You will do whatever I order, whenever I order it. You have yet to understand your place here."
"My king is Saetth of the Sylvan fey." Unless he screwed me over.
"That arrant coward?"
He was a lot of things, but she didn't think he lacked courage. Everyone was always talking about his skill with a sword. "He's no coward."
"Then why won't he answer Rune's challenges?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The Morior's archer has challenged Saetth to a sword fight, one on one--even though a sword is not Rune's weapon. If Saetth wants to save his line, then why not fight to rid his people of the fey-slayer?"
Saetth had told her, If there were any alternative, I would undertake it. Had there been? "Rune must be older and stronger. Hardly fair."
"They're near in age and half brothers. There is no better-matched fight."
"Brothers?" For fuck's sake, am I related to Rune??
"They share a father."
Then half related at worst. And generations must separate her and the archer.
"Rune destroyed Saetth's sword recently--when your spineless king chose to target Rune's female in a sneak attack."
"Why should I believe anything you say?" she asked, though she couldn't come up with a reason why Abyssian would lie about that.
"Don't give a damn if you do or don't." He jerked his chin at her hand. "The ring, princess."
She stiffened. "Why would you call me that?" Oh, gods, had he figured out her true identity?
"In your previous life, you were a fey princess of Sylvan."
Could Lila truly have been reborn into the same royal line? Fate wants me to be a queen. At least the demon still didn't know she was a princess now as well. She wasn't in the archer's sights.
Yet.
"In my alleged previous life." She sat again and gazed at the ring, assessing its power. Most fey possessed innate--but rarely developed--magic. She could sense a spell attached to this band. "I won't put it on until you tell me what you've bespelled it to do."
His fangs sharpened at her impertinence. The broad planes of his chest swelled, drawing her gaze to his pierced nipples. His golden markings began to glow. Against his red skin, those coiled patterns looked like . . . flames.
Hypnotic.
"Wrong answer." Before she could blink, he'd traced to kneel beside her. "I'll force it on your finger if I have to. Though I'll probably break something of yours in the process."
"No!" She made a fist around the band, shoving her hand behind her back.
With a growl, he leaned forward, arm snaking around her waist, wings all but enclosing her.
His scent surrounded her. He smelled like a sun-warmed evergreen that had just caught fire. She hadn't imagined the heat of his skin before; it seemed to sear her.
Right in front of her mouth was one of his piercings. When she turned her head away, he leaned over her even more. His rippling chest rubbed her breasts. A gasp left her lips when that piercing raked across her own nipple.
His breaths grew ragged, tickling the tip of her sensitive ear, and she nearly moaned. She had the insane urge to snatch his long black hair and yank him down for a kiss.
What is happening to me?
She was so distracted by these sensations that he easily snagged her hand. He sat back on his haunches, dragging her fist to his chest. Prying open her fingers, he retrieved the ring. Yet then he stilled, seeming transfixed by their hands. Hers looked small and pale next to his huge claw-tipped one.
Breaking his stare, he tried to shove the band onto her finger.
She struggled. "Stop it, you brute! I don't want it!"
"You'll wear whatever I command you to," he said, his voice even huskier than usual.
He flattened her hand against his chest, straightening her fingers. He didn't seem to notice that he'd placed her palm right over a nipple. Her lips parted, her attention dipping.
His impossibly large dick was hard again. Stunned by the sight, she stopped fighting for just a moment; he slid the ring on, and it tightened around her finger.
"Damn you!" She'd never be able to remove it.
Pinning her gaze with his own, he shifted her hand on his chest. And again. Oh, yes, he'd noticed the placement of her hand, and now he was forcing her to pet him.
Her overstimulated body responded, loving the feel of his chiseled muscles. No, he was a monster! "I don't want to touch you."
He peered at her stiff nipples straining against her threadbare bra. "Do you not?" How could three words sound so arrogant? Smirking, he rubbed his tongue over one fang; his tongue was pointed! He looked like he was about to lean in and suckle her.
She'd never had h
er nipples kissed before. Her breaths shallowed as she imagined what his lips would feel like closing over a peak. His mouth would be so hot. His pointed tongue would flick the tip, circling it. . . .
"Hmm." The satisfied sound rumbled from his chest, doing strange things to her belly. "I think in this context, you would very much like to be my plaything, Calliope."
Gripping her wrists with one hand, he lowered his other to rest upon one of her thighs. He inched it higher . . .
Higher . . .
She bit back a whimper, battling the urge to rock her hips in invitation. "Never."
"Then why do I scent your arousal, little female?"
SIXTEEN
Her body needs mine! Sian wanted to bellow with triumph. The first time he'd ever elicited her arousal scent, and he was in this form!
The mouthwatering honey of her sex would've maddened a lesser demon. Blood rushed to his groin, swelling his cock till he thought it'd rip free of his pants.
Her mismatched irises began to glow, both turning a bright, shimmery teal. He'd never seen them change color before! But surely she must have felt some kind of sharp emotion around him during the four months he'd been in Sylvan.
Her thigh trembled beneath his palm, her breasts rising and falling with her panting breaths. Her hard nipples begged for his attention.
His tongue flicked in his mouth. He'd fantasized infinite times about sucking her breasts, rubbing his stubble over them, tonguing her nipples till she came for him.
Was he about to have his fantasy?
I could cover her right now. His gaze flashed to her supple neck. Could he possibly resist marking this female as his own?
She raised her chin. "If I am aroused, it isn't for you, beast. Never for you. I'd had stirring thoughts before you arrived."
His excitement dimmed to nothing. He'd been enjoying the effects of her impending transition and nothing more.
Of course.
He gazed at his large demon hand upon her thigh. His black claws were stark against her alabaster flesh. Before he could choke back the words, he'd asked, "Then what does arouse you?"
"At the bottom of my turn-ons list: fuckface demons who abuse me."
With a harsh curse, he released her and traced to the other side of the tower, willing his erection to wane.
Another loss of control, another close call. He'd nearly rutted her on the floor.