FIFTEEN
You can do this! Lila peered down at the bowl of . . . soup. She could swear this one was more animated than the last, but she needed the nourishment.
She’d been imprisoned for six days, had scratched as many slashes into a wall.
Trays of food appeared for each meal, always with demon dishes. The only good thing about her hunger and exhaustion: a subdued sex drive.
After her last encounter with Abyssian, Lila had berated herself for responding to a Møriør. For some inexplicable reason, she’d felt . . . chemistry with that crazy demon. Lots of it.
Far more than I felt with Saetth.
Just minutes ago, Abyssian’s roar had echoed over the kingdom again, though this one sounded more enraged than sexual. What had set him off this time? Would he take it out on her?
Anticipation of a blow could sometimes be as bad as the hit. She would know. Nightmares of the archer had plagued her since childhood—but never as badly as they had here.
If she could fall asleep. She often got the sense of being watched, keeping her on edge. Most nights, she huddled for warmth on the stone floor, listening to hell’s soundtrack. While spiders skittered inside the castle walls, dragon calls and the howls of distant hellhounds drifted in from the wilds.
Other times, she’d watched the dramatic storms. Last night, rain had poured while electric-blue lightning forked above the tops of nearby volcanoes. Lava had steamed in the downpour, solidifying into bizarre shapes.
None of the tales she’d read could convey how surreal Pandemonia was. . . .
During the days, Lila had paced along a narrowing trail between fire vines, conceiving and discarding escape plans. Despite all of her reading, she didn’t have enough knowledge about this realm to plot her exit from it. And she needed to build up her strength.
With that in mind, she sat on the edge of the fountain and dipped a spoon into the soup.
Though she hadn’t eaten since her last sandwich in the employee lounge, she’d lost zero weight. Was she so close to immortality that her figure had already frozen forever? Next would come tingling regeneration. Then she’d become bulletproof. Few things could kill her other than a beheading.
Stop stalling, Lila. Soup. She lifted the spoon. The dish smelled appetizing enough, but small creatures that resembled jellyfish fluttered in the warm broth.
How did one go about this? Swallow a jellyfish whole? Crush it up first?
Chew it . . . live?
She could drink the broth, but she needed protein. Scrunching her eyes closed, she eased the spoon toward her mouth. For good measure, she pinched her nose. She wavered when she heard a flutter and a tiny splash in her spoon.
The jellyfish wasn’t going down without a fight. Literally.
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 Møriør’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 her 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?”