Kresley Cole - Kiss of a Demon King

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 their 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.