by Kresley Cole
He shuddered as if in ecstasy.
"Kiss me, demon." She gave a firm tug to lead him down to her, and he finally bowed his head. When their lips met, he groaned from deep in his chest.
-". . . connection with her, maybe the connection."-
Yes, already he sensed what she was to him. Now he'll
come to heel.
He began taking her mouth, twining his tongue against hers slowly. She got the impression that he was endeavoring to be gentle for her. He probably feared he'd scare her off. But when she met his tongue and gave it teasing laps with her own, his hands landed hard on her ass to rock her against his sizable erection.
So the rumors about demon males weren't exaggerated.
When she felt him subtly thrusting that shaft against her, she thought, This is better. Once males got to this state, they ceased to think.
As she relaxed somewhat, she began to find his kiss enjoyable. He tasted good, his lips were firm, and he knew how to use them. More of his delving kisses, more squeezing and exploring her body.
But when heavily aroused, Sabine unwittingly cast illusions of fire. If he saw them, he could guess her identity. Just when she began to worry that her reaction to him might get that intense, he broke away from her.
"I . . . can't do this now. I have to meet someone. Much rides on this."
Was he serious? "Make love to me," she whispered, now sidling closer to him. "Here. Under this tree, in the moonlight. I'm aching for you." And that might actually be true.
"No. I have obligations." His voice was rough, his thoughts in turmoil, blasting past his own blocks.
-". . . she's so lush . . . cock's throbbing for her . . . horns straightening . . . No! The kingdom's needs always come before the king's."-
Yes, Rydstrom was supposed to be patient and wise. Apparently, she could add selfless to that list.
When he backed away, her lips parted in wonderment. He's going to deny me. She'd offered up her body, all but begged him to take it, and he'd declined.
How surprising. The only thing Sabine loved as much as a good juicy plot was a surprise. He'd resisted her-his own female. "Then you leave me no choice, Rydstrom."
Just when he frowned, no doubt wondering how she knew his name, she began withdrawing her illusion. The road and the moonlit night gradually disappeared, revealing the sealed and locked cell. As he twisted around, his eyes narrowed with recognition.
"You're Omort and Groot's sister, Sabine, the Queen of Illusions."
"Very good, Rydstrom."
The brows-drawn look of desire from before vanished'. Now he appeared disgusted with her. "Show me your real form."
"This is." She smoothed her palms over her breasts and lower. "I'm so pleased by how much it arouses you." But it hadn't enough. . . .
Clearly struggling to control his temper, he asked, "Why have you done this to me, Sabine?"
She motioned toward the bed now revealed in the center of the cell-the one with chains at the head and foot. "Isn't it obvious?"
3
"No, it's not obvious." Rydstrom glanced from the bed back to the sorceress before him.
Thoughts ran riot in his mind-suspicions arose and were dismissed. A bed and chains. She'd failed to seduce him to willingly bed her. Was she now intent on taking what she'd wanted?
When he felt a confusing surge of lust at the idea, he realized she must already be enthralling him. Of course she was. He'd seen the road disappear, had seen the bridge abutment move. She had unthinkable power, and for some reason she'd targeted him.
He surveyed the dimly lit space. She'd lured him directly into a large dungeon cell. And one he recognized, because he'd kept prisoners here when he was master and king of Castle Tornin.
She's trapped me in my own goddamned dungeon.
When he faced her once more, she met his gaze. Her eyes were unusual-with light amber irises surrounded by a ring as dark as coffee. He couldn't seem to look
away from them. "You've brought me back to Tornin, so I assume you're working with Omort."
"That's correct." Her voice was a purr.
I'm in my own dungeon, a prisoner of my worst enemy. Between gritted teeth he said, "And when will I get to face him?"
"You will not. You need not. All you need is me."
"Explain to me exactly what you plan," he demanded, cursing his reaction to her. He'd never responded so strongly to any woman before her. He'd been kissing her, lost in pleasure, actually thinking, She might be my queen.
Rydstrom had worried what such a beauty would think about his scar, about how much larger he was than she. For her, he'd tried to gentle his touch and kiss. All the while she'd been luring him into a trap.
"I plan," she began matter-of-factly, "to become pregnant with your heir."
His lips parted. Her very words made his shaft shoot hard as steel as every primal demon instinct inside him seemed to stir to life. This female with her plump breasts and sweet lips desired his seed, wanted to mate with him.
She's spellbinding me. She must be.
He'd studied Omort's family, had read about hundreds of his half siblings. Omort had murdered most of them after stealing their powers. But a few he kept close.
What have I read about this sorceress?. She was aptly called the Queen of Illusions. Rydstrom had just fallen prey to one of remarkable detail. Though she looked to be in her early twenties, she would have to be centuries old.
She was reputed to be even more diabolical than Omort.
Grappling for patience, he grated, "Sabine, let's discuss this like rational beings." Rational was the last thing he felt. "What do you hope to gain ?"
"With me in control of your heir, the last of the rage demon rebellions will be quelled."
The idea that the rebels amounted to even a thorn in Omort's side was heartening. Rydstrom had thought that the sorcerer's sadistic regime had broken any true momentum. "There are two flaws to your plan."
"Enlighten me, demon."
"First, my body won't . . . give up seed." A rage demon could take release in sex, but could never spill his seed until he'd claimed his female, and the seal was finally broken. "Not for any but my fated one-"
"I am yours." Her eyes held his, and he realized that she, at least, believed what she'd said. Omort had ora-cles, basically his own Nïx at his beck and call.
Sabine could know more than I do. . . .
Rydstrom shook his head hard, even as his mouth went dry. In fifteen hundred years, he'd never felt so attracted to another female. What if she were his? To find his queen after waiting so long? To find her as Omort's sister? "No, fate isn't that cruel."
She quirked a brow at that. "Fate is indifferent."
"What are the odds that my woman is related to my worst enemy?"
"Omort's sire lived for millennia and begot hundreds of daughters." She sidled around him. "Five centuries ago, a soothsayer told Omort that his own half sister,
the Queen of Illusions, would be your fated mate, and that she would bear your heir in a time of war. After the foretelling, Omort searched for me specifically because of what I am to you. And then I merely waited here at Tornin for the right time."
"Why now? Why do this now?"
She tilted her head. "I was going to seduce you slowly. But we learned of a plot between you and Groot. I had to prevent you from joining forces with your brother, Cadeon the Kingmaker."
Did Sabine know the specifics of their plans? Tonight, Rydstrom had told his brother that should Omort learn of his quest to get the sword, he would stop at nothing to thwart them. Rydstrom hadn't known his enemy had a sorceress like this aiding him.
"What do you know about a plot?"
"More than you think," she replied. "I always know more than men think."
Did she know that there was at last a weapon to kill Omort? That Rydstrom had been intent on speeding to meet Cadeon so they could go barter with the psychotic Groot for the weapon? She must.
Cadeon would be at th
eir meeting place right now, wondering where in the hell his older brother was. The brother who was never late, who never missed a meeting.
"Even if you are fated to be mine, Sabine, I'll never
have you."
"Oh, you'll have me." Her lips curled in a knowing, sexual grin that made his heart pound. "Again and again until this deed is done."
Again and again. Taking her soft body, learning that perfect pale flesh ... No! Resist her.
"Tell me the second flaw." She lowered herself to the large bed, sitting gracefully on the side. Her mane of glossy red hair tumbled forward, and her scent swept him up. "You've raised my curiosity."
He inwardly shook himself. "For my heir to be legitimate, you have to be my queen by marriage."
"I know." She ran her fragile-looking hand over the sheet. "We will wed."
She talked of marrying him as if it were an afterthought, while his mind was reeling.
Because he was drawn to her as no other woman before. And there was only one way to determine if she was truly his.
"You'll give your vow to me, demon. And I'll accept it."
The vow-the recitation that would bind a rage demon king to his queen. No ceremony, no witnesses, just a pact between two to become one. He would vocalize his claim on her, and if she accepted his right to her, then she would forever be his queen. "My people will never recognize a marriage coerced by sorcery-or a conception fueled by your notorious potions."
"Rydstrom, let's just be frank here. Considering your reaction to me"-she delicately pointed to his erection-"do you really think I'll need to use sorcery on you?" He clenched his jaw, unable to deny what was so obvious."
"Of course you'd kill me after our babe is born?"
Our babe. He'd never said the phrase in his life. Even she tilted her head at the words.
But then she slowly smiled-and it was beguiling and took his breath away. Had she noticed? "Well, I wouldn't be a very good evil sorceress if I allowed you to live."
"Then there's one thing I can assure you. You will
never get my vow from me."
"Then, Rydstrom, I can't let you have me without it."
At that, everything became clear. She would tease him, sexually tormenting him until he gave up the words. Why did the thought make blood surge to his groin?
This creature taking him to the brink, over and over.
Imagining the power struggle between them, the complication of it . . . Fantasies arose in his mind, thoughts he usually buried at once. Secrets long kept- and forever denied. "Then all you're doing is wasting my time," he said, but his voice was roughened.
"What makes you so confident that I can't make you say or do anything to be inside me?"
Because so much is at stake. Never had Rydstrom been this close to all he wanted.
He had to escape to get to his brother before he did something monumentally selfish. Cadeon was a cutthroat mercenary who had just come into possession of what he'd yearned for most in the world. "You couldn't tempt me from my duty before-and I didn't even know who you were then." Bravado, Woede.
She stood, her shoulders back. "You haven't seen everything I have to tempt you with," she said, pulling a ribbon at her bodice. The gown slid over her pert
nipples down her narrow waist and shapely legs to pool at her feet.
All that remained on her exquisite body was a sheer scrap of white silk covering her breasts and the tiniest panties he had ever seen.
His lips parted, and his cock felt like it could rip through his pants. With her eyes flashing, she raised her chin, well aware of her effect on him and prideful of it.
If this female weren't so evil, she'd be glorious.
In that instant, he decided, I'll claim her as my war prize when I escape.
And he would use her to get free.
L anthe shuffled to court, listening to her iPod, deep in thought.
A few months ago, she'd been off-plane, sitting in an electronics store watching coveted cable. She'd caught a show about dolphins in captivity.
When the animals got lethargic and bored, their trainers would put fish into a container so that the crea-tures would have to work to get them, figuring out how to open it.
Lanthe remembered likening Sabine to one of those burned-out dolphins who couldn't swim freely or hunt for their meals.
Sabine had been made a killer but had no one to destroy, a survivor with no calamity to endure. Which made her a burned-out sorceress. She had been for centuries.
Yet tonight when Sabine had locked her gaze on the demon, Lanthe had realized her sister had just been given a demon-size container of fish. Finally . . .
To get from the dungeon to court, Lanthe had to walk outside, and the night sky above seemed to mock her, rekindling old fears-
What the hell was that? She'd thought she'd heard something swooping over her music.
With her gaze darting, she snatched her ear buds free, then froze for several heartbeats. Only silence. Losing it.
Her nerves were getting to her-that had to be it. It hadn't helped that the shuffle function had selected songs like "Don't Fear the Reaper" and Jem's "24."
"The sun's setting gold, thought I would grow old, it wasn't to be. ..."
She'd been pensive for weeks, fearing that Thronos would find them every time they'd gone off-plane. Or, gods forbid, he'd discover a way to cross over into the plane of Rothkalina.
When Sabine had created that extensive illusion tonight, Lanthe had wondered how it couldn't have drawn the Vrekeners.
Though her sister responded to fear with anger, Lanthe just got scared. Something was on the horizon for her, and she sensed her outlook wasn't good.
Once she reached the main hall, she hurried toward the entrance to court. There, two revenants stood guard outside the towering double doors. As she approached, they mindlessly opened them for her.
She hated going to court almost as much as she hated staying away from it. As she passed members of the Pravus, they whispered about her behind their hands, treating her like an outcast, though she was a blood relation to Omort.
Lanthe was a princess of the realm, and one of the six great towers of Castle Tornin was her own. Still, they followed her half brother's lead in deciding how to treat
her.
The Invidia-with their wild antler headdresses, whips on their belts, and star patterns over their nipples- laughed at her. The Undines, evil nymphs with paint dusted bodies, openly scorned Lanthe.
The Libitinae, four raven-winged bringers of death, frowned at her with tilted heads. For fun, they forced men to self-castrate or die. They simply couldn't com-prehend Lanthe's need for male companionship.
Lanthe supposed she hadn't helped her respect quotient by doing ninety-four-point-seven percent of all the males present, excluding the revenants that lined the walls, of course. Mathematically, this meant that Lanthe was the equivalent of the high school slut.
She'd never been to high school, but she'd watched movies like Grease, The Craft, and Varsity Blues-and they all dealt with school sluttitude. I'm your girl.
She'd liked none of her ex-lovers, but she loved sex, I lots of it, and well, call her crazy but once a male stole her sorcery when she was in the throes, she didn't let him hit it again.
Sabine had begged her not to sleep with Sorceri, but vampires only wanted her blood, and demons and centaurs were considered animals. The rest of the breeds here? Creeeeeepy.
She passed the enigmatic vampire Lothaire, who served as a general in their army, commanding a regi-ment of vicious fallen vampires. Known as the Enemy of
Old, he was a chilling sight, from his white-blond hair to his eyes that were more pink than red to his impassive face.
He was one of the few vampires she'd encountered who might actually be interested in sex in addition to blood. But he could scarcely be arsed to give her the time of day.
There'd only been one male in her entire long life who'd ever looked at her with affection
and perfect acceptance. Lanthe feared-and her precious self-help books indicated-that she bedded one male after another because she ached to see that look once more.
Contrary to what Sabine believed, the night of their parents' murder hadn't been the first time Lanthe had encountered that Vrekener boy.
But Thronos had grown up to be her worst enemy....
From his throne, Omort caught sight of her and glowered. Lanthe didn't know what she'd done to incur his lasting animosity, but it had become a fact of life for her. Sabine had said that he innately feared Lanthe. After all, if Lanthe could ever regain her ability, she could command Omort to lose his mind, to forget how to wield his powers.
Oracle number Three-Oh-Eight had told Lanthe that a "perilous inciting incident" would spark her persuasion once more. Lanthe waited impatiently as nearly half a millennium passed by.
"What news?" Omort said when she reached the steps to the dais. As usual, Hettiah simpered by his side-a pale imitation of Sabine. Though her features
and Sabine's were similar, Hettiah's coloring was tepid in comparison to the glamorous and beautiful Sabine.
Lanthe cleared her throat. Sabine went demon-hunting and bagged a two-pointer! No, too blase. "Our sister was successful," she said instead. "She's taken the demon
captive."
At her words, Omort's fingers went white clutching the arms of the throne, bending the gold. Hettiah noted the reaction with a doleful look.
His eyes darted to the east wall of the throne room- which was covered with stone tablets. They were covenants, tablets made with the blood of those enter' ing into any of a variety of dark pacts, with the terms inscribed in the stone for all to see.
The four main players of the Pravus had signed one, vowing allegiance to each other-Omort, Lothaire, the viceroy centaur, and the king of the fire demonarchy.
But now, Omort's gaze was fixed on Sabine's tablet. It was a Sanctuary-an ancient Sorceri covenant that ensured as long as she kept her body "pure," no male could "taint" it. For centuries, she'd suffered her virginity instead of any intercourse unwanted or unnatural.