Claimed by a Demon King

by Felicity Heaton

  Thorne shut it out.

  She had initiated things. She had begged him to kiss her. He had merely complied.

  Loren held his hand up as Bleu went to speak. “King Thorne is correct and it should be Olivia who speaks with her. We have discussed this, Bleu.”

  Bleu’s violet gaze darkened and the pointed tips of his ears flared back against his head. “You spoke and I listened. There was no discussion.”

  “Bleu,” Loren snapped and Bleu lowered his head, locking his gaze on his boots.

  “Forgive me, my prince, I spoke out of turn.” Bleu pressed his hand to his chest, his skin pale against the black scales of his armour that covered him from ankle to neck and to his wrists, hugging his lithe muscular body like a second skin.

  Thorne wished the elves did not possess such armour. He had seen the way the female werewolves and mortals gazed upon them with desire in their eyes, clearly imagining they were nude.

  That Sable had been around this male while he had been dressed in such revealing armour disturbed him. His hands twitched, claws itching to rip the black scales from Bleu’s body and destroy them somehow, forcing the male to dress in less revealing clothing. His fangs lengthened and his horns began to curl around the arch of his ears, the pointed tips reaching their lobes before he drew in a deep breath and regained tentative control over his emotions.

  Bleu flicked him a glare, an edge to his eyes warning that he had detected his rising anger and would fight him if he dared to attack.

  Thorne wanted to provoke the male into attacking first. Only the fact that word would get back to Sable and she would be angry with him stopped him from fulfilling that desire.

  Loren sighed and placed his hand on Bleu’s shoulder, and spoke to him in the elf language. Thorne had tried to learn it. He had asked countless scholars about the language and none had been able to help him. The elves guarded it well, stopping any from outside of their species from knowing it.

  Thorne wanted to know what Loren was telling Bleu, because the elf prince’s expression was softening, the hard angles of his face becoming tinged with concern, and Thorne didn’t like it. If the male wasn’t telling Bleu that Sable was off limits to him, then he would come to blows with them both.

  Sable belonged to him.

  She had been born for him and him for her.

  “Are we hunting or not?” Kincaid called out, capturing Thorne’s attention and dragging it away from thoughts of accidentally swinging his broadsword at Bleu’s neck to eliminate his competition. “The cub is growing restless.”

  “I am not… and I am not a cub,” Kyal said in a bored tone and drummed his fingers on the wooden table, his bright blue gaze scanning the map before him. He pointed to something. “I just want to get out there.”

  Thorne ambled over to them and frowned at Kyal’s finger where it pressed against the map.

  The woods.

  The lad wanted to shift form and run.

  Thorne could understand that. Kyal had failed to cut his teeth in the battle yesterday. His pack members had beaten him to every demon, sometimes using rough tactics to ensure he didn’t reach any enemy before them. Wolves had tried to do the same to Kincaid when he had been young, but the male had bested many of them and had torn a few throats from their enemies.

  Kyal had tasted defeat, falling short of his father and likely his own expectations, and the sour look on his face said defeat tasted bitter.

  “The woods are a good choice. I have seen many animals there.” Thorne plotted a course with his finger, one that wouldn’t take them too far from the castle and would keep their scent away from any prey before it was too late for them to flee.

  “We hunt then.” Grave rested his hand on the long sword sheathed at his side. “The pup might not be restless, but I am. We stand here prattling like women when we should be out there, bloodying our fangs and claws.”

  Grave grinned, revealing those fangs.

  He had bloodied them enough yesterday at the battle and had sated himself with several of the court females too. Now he hungered to track and kill prey. The male was insatiable.

  “Come.” The dark-haired vampire motioned to the others.

  Kincaid rolled his golden-brown eyes before muttering, “The day I follow one of your orders is the day I have died, Bloodsucker.”

  Kyal smirked at the irritated glare Grave shot at Kincaid.

  “As you please, Dogs.” Grave stormed towards the door.

  Thorne looked back down at the courtyard. They would have to pass through it to reach the outer courtyard and then the main gate. He didn’t want Grave passing Sable when the werewolves had fouled his mood. She was distracted, an easy target for the vampire’s barbs, and liable to retaliate if she felt threatened. Vampires were training in the inner courtyard too. If she attacked their commander, they wouldn’t hesitate to strike back at her and her men.

  “Lord Van der Garde,” Thorne called out and the male slowed before he had reached the door and looked back at him. “We will hunt, and I will lead.”

  The vampire’s lips compressed into a thin line and he forced a nod.

  Sable wasn’t the only one likely to attack the vampire commander today. If Grave gave him any trouble, if he so much as looked at Sable with the intent to hurt her in his icy blue eyes, or if he failed to follow Thorne’s lead, Thorne might just kill him.

  Thorne swept past the vampire, led the way through the stone corridor and down to the next floor, heading towards the courtyard. He kept his broadsword resting on his shoulder, on his white shirt. He had donned his spare pair of vambraces to protect his forearms. They were worn, weaker than the one that Sable now possessed, but they would protect him against their quarry.

  He stepped out of the dark interior of the castle and into the courtyard, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light. In Sable’s eyes, it was probably no brighter than twilight. She likely thought it dark and grim, as unpleasant as she had thought it at night when they had been on the balcony together.

  That night seemed like weeks ago now when it had been barely days. He felt as if she had been at his castle forever, her scent covering everything, filling his senses until all he could concentrate on was her.

  His little female.

  She pretended not to notice him but he was on to her. She had glanced his way when he had emerged from the castle and now appeared to be trying very hard not to look at him. Colour rose onto her cheeks and everything male in him demanded he go to her, gather her against him, and kiss her as he had last night before they had parted company.

  That kiss had melted her more than their intimate moment that had preceded it.

  He had felt her soften towards him and had sensed the rising tide of her emotions.

  Her gaze leaped back to him and she frowned.

  “Swap out,” she hollered at her team, turned on her heel and strode towards him, catching him at the gate to the outer courtyard. “Where are you all going?”

  She looked at each of his party in turn and then her golden gaze came back to him, the fiery edge to it and her emotions warning him that she had realised he had intended to leave her behind while taking all the other commanders with him.

  He wanted her safe.

  Protected.

  That meant ignoring the part of him that wanted her constantly at his side and in his field of vision and leaving her here at the castle.

  “You’re all dressed for battle… so I’m going to ask again… where are you going?” She wisely kept her eyes on him while she spoke of the other men, tempering his mood. If she had looked at them, he might have been unable to ignore his constant pressing urge to maim two of them.

  “We go to hunt.” Loren stepped forwards, coming to stand at Thorne’s side.

  Sable’s pretty face darkened. “Did I miss the memo… or was I not invited?”

  “It is only for leaders,” Grave snidely remarked and Sable shot him a deadly glare.

  “Bleu is attending and so is Kyal, and neither of
them are leaders… and I damned well am.” She swung to face the vampire and pointed at the two men in question.

  Thorne growled, unable to stop himself no matter how hard he had tried. Sable glanced at him and then turned her cheek to him, keeping her eyes on the men.

  She was mad at him. Punishing him by looking at other males. Because he wanted to keep her safe?

  Thorne realised his mistake.

  Because she thought he was belittling her.

  Grave did just that, grinning at her the whole time. “A leader of mortals. Remember that. What we go to hunt would likely kill you.”

  Sable clenched her fists at her sides and stood her ground, a dark look flashing in her eyes. “You’re just worried that my aim might be off and I might kill you.”

  The vampire didn’t even react. His expression remained emotionless and cold, his eyes as frosty as Antarctica as he held her gaze. “That is rather unlikely to happen. I doubt you could manage to hit me with one of your itty-bitty bolts.”

  Sable unleashed a noise of sheer frustration and turned on Thorne. She stepped up to him, small yet fierce, determination written in every line of her face and the taut curves of her body.

  Curves he had possessed, had claimed with his hands, skin-to-skin.

  “I am going on this hunt.”

  Thorne stared down at her, her fury and the fiery look in her striking eyes heating his blood until he burned for her. He wanted her to demand other things of him, wicked things, in that same vicious and commanding tone. He wanted her to press him to the wall as she had last night, seizing control of him, and do it all over again.

  His horns curled.

  Sable didn’t seem to notice his growing desire for her, or if she had, she did a good job of hiding it. Not a hint of pink touched her cheeks.

  “I’m coming with you whether you like it or not. I’m a hunter,” she barked and turned her glare on all the men present, a challenge in her golden eyes. “I can handle myself. I’ll bag the biggest, baddest monster you’ve ever seen.”

  Kincaid muttered, “You already have.”

  Kyal snickered.

  Thorne kept staring at her, transfixed by her beauty and strength, and her determination to prove herself. She tossed a scowl at the two werewolves and turned back to him, pinning him with a black look that warned him not to refuse her.

  “I’m coming too.”

  He imagined she might have stomped her foot had Grave not been present and ready to mock her.

  Thorne nodded. “Very well.”

  Bleu opened his mouth and Sable held her hand up, cutting off his protest before he could voice it.

  “Save it, Bleu.” She turned away from him and stormed towards the arched wooden doors to the outer courtyard, her black leather boots loud on the flagstones, leaving Bleu staring after her with his mouth hanging open.

  Thorne growled at him, baring his fangs, warning the male to take his eyes off her.

  Bleu snarled back at him, green-purple light flickered over his black skin-tight armour, and he disappeared. Thorne clenched his molars together and turned in time to see the elf male reappearing right next to Sable.

  He growled again, under his breath, silently detailing all the ways that he was going to destroy Bleu for daring to continue his pursuit of Sable.

  Thorne stomped after them, tempted to unleash his darker nature and to provoke Bleu into a fight by telling the male that he had tasted twixt Sable’s thighs and heard her cry his name as she climaxed. She belonged to him now. Her essence was within him and the bond was growing stronger. He would claim her and would have his greatest victory.

  She would love him.

  First, he would ensure she had eyes for only him.

  He would beat Bleu to their prey and prove himself the best hunter.

  He would show his female that he was the best male for her.

  The only man she needed.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sable followed the men across the black ground outside the castle, Loren at her side. Thorne kept glancing back at her, his crimson gaze dark with emotion that she pretended she couldn’t sense in him. She had made a wise bolt for Loren the moment they had reached the outer courtyard, leaving Bleu at the front of the pack with Thorne. She had tried to avoid angering Thorne and giving the two men reason to fall back on trying to outdo each other.

  Her plan hadn’t worked quite the way she had envisaged it.

  Thorne and Bleu were determined to pick up the scent trail of some prey, both clearly wanting to beat the other to it. They bickered at times, the outbreak of angst between them always causing Loren to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. It amused the werewolves and the vampire.

  It grated on her nerves.

  Would they have behaved like this if she hadn’t come?

  They seemed to be getting along until she had gone to them and insisted she joined the hunting party.

  Now it felt as if they were showing off and she was growing tired of the testosterone-fuelled display of masculinity they were both putting on for her.

  She really had no interest in cockfights.

  Sable focused on tracking the prey alone, looking for signs of life on the dark rocky barren ground. Plenty of boot prints but no animal ones.

  A quarrel broke out in the demon language ahead of her. Thorne and Bleu were at it again.

  Loren barked something in elvish and Bleu reeled in his idiocy, falling back and breaking away from Thorne, placing some distance between them. It seemed she wasn’t the only one they were pissing off. Loren looked ready to slap Bleu.

  Sable sighed and glanced ahead of them.

  Her eyebrows rose.

  Thorne had been right and there were trees yonder from his castle.

  She smiled, remembering how mortified he had looked when he had first used that word around her and she had teased him for it. He had used it again since, and she found it a little charming, especially when he had looked uncertain, bracing himself as if he feared she would laugh at him again.

  The trees resembled tall pines. They towered high on the hills, swaying in the breeze, shadowy and grim against their equally shadowy and grim backdrop.

  She was beginning to miss blue skies and stars, but she felt no pressing need to leave this strange realm yet.

  It fascinated her.

  The pines were darker than those in her world. A product of their environment?

  The wind came again, tousling her ponytail, and she tucked a few rogue strands back in place and surveyed the landscape surrounding her. She wanted to see more of this weird new world.

  She couldn’t fathom where this world was in comparison with hers and didn’t want to think that it might really be beneath the mortal one, within the planet. It freaked her out whenever she contemplated it. Loren had told her that it was in a way, but not in others. That it existed on a different plane from her world but was connected to it via a series of pathways, and was beneath her world but not at the same time.

  It was a mind fuck.

  Sable frowned at her feet. There was grass. She scuffed it with her boots, amazed by it. Like the pines, it was darker than the grass in her world, verging on black. But it was definitely grass.

  “Is it still bothering you?” Loren said beside her.

  She turned her frown on him. “The grass?”

  His black eyebrows knitted to mirror her expression. “No. Your wrist.”

  He nodded towards it and she realised that she had been rubbing the leather cuff around it while walking.

  Sable shook her head and then admitted, “A little.”

  She followed the party up an incline, heading towards the treeline, and held her wrist. The urge to tell Loren about what had happened welled up within her and she squashed it, fearing the questions he would ask if she said anything.

  Her gaze sought Thorne. He led the pack again, speaking with Kincaid. He fell quiet and looked over his shoulder at her, his crimson eyes questioning as he frowned. She smiled to allevia
te his concern but he didn’t go back to speaking with the werewolf leader. His gaze held hers and then fell, following her arm to her hand where it clutched her wrist.

  He stopped and turned back and she shook her head and let go of her wrist, afraid he would come to her and make a fuss of her in front of the others. It would only lead to questions and she wanted to avoid them for as long as she could.

  He hesitated, the soft look in his eyes telling her that he wanted to ignore her request and come to her anyway, and then heaved a sigh and continued up the hill, entering the forest with Kincaid at his side. Grave looked back at her, his icy eyes locking on hers, a calculating edge to them. He said something to Bleu.

  Bleu instantly teleported.

  Grave grinned.

  Bastard.

  He was trying to stir up trouble again.

  Bleu reappeared right in front of her and she had to stop dead in her tracks to avoid colliding with him.

  “Are you unwell?” he rushed out, concern warming his purple eyes as he ran them over her.

  “I’m fine. The bloodsucker is just yanking your chain.” But it was nice that Bleu had come running the moment he thought there was something wrong with her.

  Sable frowned. There was something very wrong with her. She didn’t want Bleu’s attention, and she shouldn’t find it endearing when he rushed over to her. He wasn’t serious about her. She knew that deep in her heart. Olivia was right. He just wanted a little one-on-one action with her.

  It had been Thorne who had noticed she was missing in the battle and had searched for her.

  It had been Thorne who had bravely risked his life to teleport her back to the castle.

  It had been Thorne who had kissed her with so much affection and tenderness that she had wanted to melt into a puddle.

  It was Thorne who had stopped ahead of her now and was looking back at her with love in his eyes, with hope and fear, and everything that she felt colliding within her too.

  “Bleu, I was speaking with Sable,” Loren said and Bleu’s gaze darted between them, eventually settling on his prince. “We were discussing something delicate. She is touched by your concern about her welfare, but she is well and would rather the hunt continued. You are placing her under scrutiny and exposing her to vile rumours, both from her peers and from the other species, including our own. Please return to the hunt and tracking our prey.”