Claimed by a Demon King

by Felicity Heaton

  If she had to guess based on the data they did have, she would place the man somewhere between two hundred and three hundred years old. He was much younger than his closest companion and far older than his appearance.

  The rough older man beside him appeared closer to mid-forty, his golden-brown eyes flashing with warmth and laughter curving his lips as he spoke to another male.

  The two vaguely resembled each other, sharing the same rich brown hair streaked with gold, but the younger male’s piercing blue eyes set them apart. Were they related?

  The older male was a good two inches shorter too but he was broader, with a dusting of dark chest hair visible between the undone buttons at the top of his black shirt and stubble coating his jaw. He also looked as if he had lived through countless more fights too. Someone had busted his nose, leaving a kink in it.

  The younger male continued to stare at her, scrutinising her in a way she didn’t like, and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his black jeans. The action caused his muscles to flex beneath his tight khaki t-shirt. Some of the female hunters close to her twittered in response to the sight. Sable merely looked away.

  She glanced back again when a feral snarl erupted and a booming male voice followed it.

  “Calm, Kyal.”

  The older male had hold of the younger one’s arm, pulling him back. A blond male flashed fangs at the werewolves, his dark-haired companion backing him up. Sable held her breath. Thorne had certainly gathered himself a motley crew and she felt certain it was about to backfire on him.

  The werewolf, Kyal, jerked his arm out of the older male’s grip and stood his ground, every honed muscle tensed in preparation and his gaze pinned on the blond vampire. He bared his own fangs on a low growl.

  The older werewolf snapped, “Enough.”

  He stepped around Kyal, shoved him back towards the group of werewolves and turned on the vampires, snarling at them and revealing his fangs.

  The vampires backed off and turned away, moving into the crowd.

  “They will not dare to fight. The demons will quell any scuffles that may break out and Thorne will not tolerate them. Any who fight will end up in the dungeon.”

  Loren’s announcement didn’t reassure her or make her feel any less on edge around them. It seemed a war might erupt in the castle at any given moment rather than outside in Thorne’s kingdom. She had heard about the ‘scuffle’ last night and how bloody it had been, ending with several men taken to the infirmary.

  “It was a tragedy what happened to his sister’s family,” a man whispered as he passed and she frowned, turning her head to follow him.

  Whose family?

  The two men looked over towards the werewolves. Her gift said they were both of that species too. Talking about one of their kind behind their back?

  Sable shifted closer, curious now and wanting to know who they were talking about.

  The other male sipped his drink. “I heard she lost her entire family because of a pack feud.”

  The first male shook his head, causing his loose black locks to curl around his forehead. “I heard it was because her mate’s cousin wanted her for himself.”

  A third, older male shoved the first one in the back of his head, startling him. “It’s all just speculation. No one will ever know the truth. It’s buried too deep now… centuries of conspiracies and theories covering everything up. The never caught the culprit… Kincaid searched for decades but turned up nothing. They say he gave up when Kyal was born and his mother died, and he needed to look after the boy.”

  Kincaid? Was that the older male’s name? Both of them had been present in the meeting today but she hadn’t learned anything about them.

  He was Kyal’s father, even though they looked barely ten years apart in age.

  A dark-haired female with bright green eyes stopped beside the group of three males and whispered, “I heard that every cub was killed before her eyes and that she has never met Kyal because she can’t bear to see him after everything she lost.”

  She shuddered and the older male wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to him. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “It would never happen to our cubs. I swear it.”

  His words didn’t seem to comfort his mate. She burrowed deeper into his embrace and Sable dragged her gaze away, wanting to give the female some privacy and unable to imagine what she must be feeling. She had never wanted kids herself, and had never intended to have a family. She couldn’t imagine having a mate, let alone bringing children into her dangerous world.

  Some of the court whores passing by ran their gazes over Kyal and called to him, flashing flesh his way and telling him that they couldn’t wait to see him fight.

  Sable glared at them and hated the whispered words that ran around her mind whenever she saw them. Had Thorne used these females as the other males were? She had witnessed several demons and some males of the other species sampling their wares and luring them away to dark corners where they thought no one would notice them.

  Had Thorne done such things with them?

  She shoved that thought away, her stomach turning, and focused on Kyal.

  He was handsome and looked the part as he winked at the whores, throwing them a sexy grin, but there was something off about him. He might look good and honest, but she could feel the darkness within him, and it was as strong as the darkness within the vampire everyone liked to mutter about too.

  Lord Van der Garde.

  Her stalker.

  She had caught him watching her several times tonight already. He never looked away either. He just raised his glass at her and then sipped the contents, leaving his lips bloodstained.

  She palmed the blade strapped to her thigh whenever he did that, smiling at him, hoping he could see her every thought as she imagined using it to dissect him.

  Apparently, he had a nickname, although everyone who had used it had whispered it, as if fearing he would hear them.

  King of Death.

  Sable had wanted to walk up to the vampire and ask about that, but her preservation instincts ran as deep as her marrow and she didn’t fancy losing her head to his claws.

  “Kincaid is Kyal’s dad?” Sable said to Loren and he nodded.

  “Kincaid is a respected leader of the werewolves. This is Kyal’s first battle. The werewolves will hold a ceremony for him before his first fight… as a rite of passage.”

  “Like walking on hot coals or something?”

  Loren shook his head. “He will be expected to best the ten finest werewolf warriors, sinking his fangs into their napes before they can sink theirs into his.”

  It sounded brutal, and stupid. “So they plan to injure their ten best fighters and possibly Kyal too just before a battle?”

  Bleu nodded. Sable rolled her eyes.

  “Are all traditions in your world as stupid as the ones I’ve been hearing over the past day?” Before Loren could respond, she jerked her chin towards the vampires. Thorne had moved away. Where had he gone? She refused to look for him. He wasn’t looking at her, that was for sure. “So, what’s his deal? Mr King of Death.”

  Loren frowned now. “He is grave.”

  Sable muttered, “He does seem a little grim and serious.”

  Loren shook his head again. “No, you misunderstand. His name is Grave. Grave Van der Garde.”

  Sable couldn’t believe that and she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up her throat. She stared at the brunet vampire and he looked her way, a corona of red around his pale blue irises. Sable darted her gaze back to Loren.

  “He’s really called Grave?” It was too funny to be true. Loren had to have somehow grown a sense of humour.

  Loren nodded, his expression deadly serious. She looked at Bleu, wanting to make sure she wasn’t having the wool pulled over her eyes by his prince.

  Bleu’s gaze met hers.

  A low growl curled over the crowd and Sable’s gaze leaped straight to Thorne, as if she had instinctively known where he was all a
long. His eyes locked with hers, dark and commanding, and a blush crept onto her cheeks. She tore her gaze away and cursed herself for reacting to him, giving him what he wanted—her attention on him and him alone.

  “He has a brother with an equally unfortunate name,” Bleu said, his tone dark now and menacing, laced with the anger he radiated.

  She didn’t want to incite anything between him and Thorne, but she didn’t want to ruin their tentative friendship by ignoring him and didn’t want Thorne to think he could control her either. She bravely looked up at him.

  “A worse name than Grave?”

  He nodded and Loren did the same.

  Oh, it only got better. No wonder the vampire had a problem with the world and everyone in it. She turned to Loren. “Lay it on me, Big Guy.”

  “His younger brother is called Night… although he does have an older brother called Bastian.”

  Olivia stifled a laugh.

  Sable giggled. “Did his parents lose a bet? Grave and Night? Seriously… what were his parents on?”

  Loren’s expression remained grim. She glanced at Bleu and he didn’t look amused either.

  “Do not mention his name or show your amusement, Sable,” Bleu said and she sobered immediately. He had never sounded so serious before. “He is a male afflicted with bloodlust… a terrible rage and thirst for violence and death. Do not forget that.”

  Sable swallowed hard and nodded. She felt so safe around Loren and Bleu, and Thorne, that it was easy to forget that the other men were dangerous and powerful, and taunting them might be the last thing she did.

  She glanced at Grave.

  A hot shiver tripped through her, ratcheting up her temperature again, making her burn so fiercely that she longed to step out onto the balcony and catch some air. Thorne.

  Her gaze sought and found him with Fargus. He said something to his commander, nodded and walked away, heading for the arched doors onto the balcony.

  He looked troubled again.

  Sable’s feet were moving before she even considered what she was doing.

  She couldn’t ignore her compulsion. She had to go to him.

  She couldn’t let him bear the weight of his thoughts alone.

  CHAPTER 9

  Thorne wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Sable had looked at twenty-three other males so far in this gathering alone and had looked at some of them several times. Her golden eyes had settled on the young werewolf, Kyal, eight times, and on Kincaid at least four times. She had looked at Lord Van der Garde more times than those two males combined.

  Not to mention how many times she had looked at or spoken with Bleu.

  He despised that male and cursed his name, choosing the vilest one available.

  It was growing impossible to keep his cool and he had sworn to himself that this evening would pass without incident. It had started off well. With a single look into Sable’s eyes, he had seen that she had dreamed as he had, sharing the vision of them making love. He had wanted to go to her, to draw her into his arms and kiss her as he had in that dream, but he’d had business to attend to with the vampires.

  He had meant to go to her immediately after he had finished speaking with the vampire commander, but had ended up remaining at a distance, observing how she interacted with her friends and how her gaze would roam the room, bright with curiosity. It was the fact that it only held curiosity that had spared every male she had looked at. Had she shown any hint of desire, of interest, he would have slaughtered them.

  Her gaze drifted back to Grave and he growled under his breath, gaining a concerned glance from Fargus.

  He was beginning to consider killing Grave and it was hard to ignore that pressing desire. Bleu first. Then Grave. And then every other male she had gazed upon this eve.

  No. He clenched his fists at his sides and growled again. He needed these men. He needed every single person in this room with him in battle. He couldn’t risk driving any away, especially those in command.

  The instinct to claim and protect his fated one was fierce though and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could deny the dark urges that claimed him whenever Sable looked at another male.

  He had paced his room before coming to attend the gathering, thinking over everything he had seen in his dream of Sable and had learned about her from Loren. He was still none the wiser about how to woo her. He only had his memories of his father and mother to go on when it came to love, and a smattering of information from some of his mated warriors.

  His chest ached as his thoughts returned to his mother. He had fond memories of her, ones that had only grown stronger in their centuries apart and had comforted him during the darkest times of his life. She had raised him while his father had tended to the kingdom and she had indulged him. When he had matured, she had been the one to keep his hopes strong, speaking of his fated one and encouraging him to search for her and to never give up.

  She had told him that her beautiful son would have the most beautiful eternal mate the demon world had ever seen and that she would be everything he desired and all he deserved.

  Thorne watched Sable speaking with Loren, studying her pale beauty and the inner strength that always shone through, keeping her back straight and head held high even when nerves flickered in the depths of her golden eyes.

  His mother had been right.

  Sable was the most beautiful female he had ever beheld.

  She was strong, clever, amusing and caring—everything he desired and so much more.

  He took a mug of grog from a passing servant and turned it in his hands. He wished his mother could have met her. She would have loved Sable. His father would have been proud.

  Thorne sipped the drink, savouring the warmth it spread through him, and closed his eyes, losing himself in his thoughts.

  He spoke of Sable to his parents whenever he visited their temple to bring them offerings and ease his mind. He told them much in those quiet times, lightening the burden on his heart and his shoulders, sure they were listening and offering him the comfort and strength he needed.

  Thorne opened his eyes, needing the comfort that washed over him whenever he looked at Sable. He growled at the sight of her gazing at Bleu again.

  “How long have you known?” Fargus said in their language and Thorne flicked him a glance.

  “Known what?” Thorne knew what the male was asking and he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Fargus sipped his own drink, a glimmer of nerves entering his dark eyes, and then cleared his throat. “The mortal appears to be your fated one.”

  Thorne told himself not to answer. If he told Fargus of his worries, the male would try to find a way of fixing them, and Thorne didn’t think his friend’s methods of wooing would secure him Sable.

  His heart had a different idea to his head and he said, “Since I met her in the mortal world one cycle of the moon ago.”

  Recognition dawned in Fargus’s deep crimson eyes. “She was present in the demon-hunter’s building when you met with Prince Loren after we had spoken with the magic bearer. Now that you mention it, I recall seeing her before you sent us away.”

  When he had returned to the Third Realm, Fargus had thoroughly berated him for sending him and his two other commanders away, leaving him vulnerable to the hunters and the elves. He had done what was necessary to gain Loren’s trust and didn’t regret his actions, and not only because he had been able to spend time with Sable.

  Thorne growled when she looked at Bleu again and her gaze leaped to him. Colour climbed her cheeks and she quickly looked away.

  He did not understand her. He had tried to learn the intricacies of courtship, but still knew little of what she expected or how to gain her affection, or whether he was even supposed to care about her affection and expectations.

  Was he just supposed to claim her?

  It was the way of most of his kind. When they found their eternal mate, they would attempt to secure her love, would quickly grow bored of trying and would simp
ly claim her. His father had done such a thing to his mother and they had turned out well. He had never seen another pair of mates who were as loving and affectionate as they had been.

  Thorne shoved aside thoughts of claiming Sable against her will. She might like it when he was rough and commanding with her, but she would hate him if he imposed a claim upon her, making her immortal without her consent.

  “The female is aware that she belongs to you?” Fargus said, cutting back into his thoughts.

  “She is not… or perhaps she is. I told her that she was mine.” And he had kissed her, and then she had slapped him and threatened to leave. All in all, that encounter had not been a success.

  “You have not stated your intention to claim her, and you allow unmated males to speak and show attention to her. Do you not want to claim the female?”

  Thorne’s lips peeled back on a snarl. What he wanted to do was remove Fargus’s head from his body. How dare he berate him about this? He pulled the reins on his temper before it slipped beyond his control and he ended up doing something he would regret. Fargus only meant to help him with his problem.

  “I wish it more than anything, but I am… she is… difficult. I do not think a normal courtship would work on her.”

  Mostly because a normal courtship often ended with the demon male imposing a claim and bond upon their female, binding them in restraints if necessary and doing it by force. If he did that, Sable would seek his head and he would gladly give it to her, unable to deny her anything.

  Her gaze went back to Lord Van der Garde.

  Thorne’s temper frayed and the tethers holding his anger at bay snapped.

  “I need air,” Thorne said and was crossing the room towards the doors to the balcony before he did something stupid, fighting his urge to divert his course and head towards the vampire instead.

  He had warned everyone that he wouldn’t tolerate violence amongst the species and Grave was the commander of over one hundred men. Men that Thorne needed. If he attacked the vampire, he would leave and his men would go with him.