THIRTY-NINE
Lila crossed to the terrace railing, unable to summon a flicker of worry about Abyssian’s kingdom concerns; she knew he would take care of any trespasser. Only an idiot would attempt to breach this castle.
The sea serpents had returned to frolic in the waves, their scales aglow in the setting sunlight. She’d witnessed fiery sunsets in Florida, but this was ridiculous. Feverish red and orange battled to steal the sky, the sight mind-boggling.
And I’m queen of this place. . . .
Eager to try out her new closet again, she headed back inside, replaying the way Abyssian had kissed her palm earlier. What had that look in his eyes promised?
Though they’d almost had sex, she wasn’t ready for more of that. Yet. But oral? Sign me up.
At the fireplace, she drew up short. The Lôtān head was gone.
Her gaze took in the bare stone above the hearth. The spot where the Lôtān had hung was darker than the rest. That thing must’ve resided there for eons.
Yet Abyssian had removed the sacred demonic trophy. For her.
Pang.
An existence here would be far different from her dream existence in Sylvan, but what if two beings as dissimilar as she and the demon could eke out a future together? If she could manage his moods . . .
Getting attached to him wasn’t the smartest thing she could do—not with her background—but she couldn’t just turn off her feelings, despite how little she knew about him.
I know him as well as he knows me. A sobering thought.
She meandered down the hall toward her wardrobe, but two gold doors past her own beckoned. Feeling like Bluebeard’s wife, she opened the first one. Abyssian’s dressing room.
Inside, she found pairs of his usual leather pants and boots, and a few more formal garments. Several white tunics had fastenings on the back to accommodate his wings.
Along the farthest wall, he’d organized swords and other medieval weapons, but an ax held a place of honor among the rest.
Abyssian Infernas’s legendary battle-ax.
No one would ever believe how close she’d gotten to it. She tentatively touched the dark metal. As cool as he was warm. She sensed the history of this weapon, but couldn’t imagine how many lives it’d taken.
She traced the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness. Blood rose along a thin slice. Regeneration began to tingle.
Immortality had its perks.
What would she find in the other room? Bluebeard’s wife wanted to know. Lila might no longer be in hell as a spy—she’d fulfilled her role—but she still had a fey’s curiosity.
She exited the dressing room, then tried the second door. Open.
His study! She breezed inside, raising a brow at the Lôtān trophy hanging on a wall. Better here than in the bedroom. She made a face at the monster head.
Atop a large stone desk were stacks of papers. An antique hand mirror served as a paperweight. Why would he have a mirror like that on his desk? She couldn’t see him gazing at his reflection.
Going through Abyssian’s things might jeopardize their fragile new start . . . but his papers were on top of his desk, weren’t they? She wouldn’t go digging to get to private stuff or anything.
Of course, he would feel comfortable leaving everything out in the open because he didn’t know she could read Demonish. She was going to have to tell him about that soon.
She sifted through his letters, all handwritten—because the Internet didn’t exist here. A definite strike against Pandemonia.
E-mail vs. sea serpents . . .
Several letters were in languages she’d never seen. She’d have to ask Abyssian how many he knew.
A note with dainty writing caught her attention. Definitely a woman’s hand. But Lila couldn’t make out the language.
When she thought of all the females he’d been with over his lifetime, the sheer number, jealousy scalded her.
She recalled her emotionless mother telling her that Saetth would keep a mistress after the wedding, because “that’s what kings do.”
Through calm, logical reasoning, Lila had concluded that his keeping a mistress wouldn’t work for her; in her mind, a king and queen needed to be a unified front—without others’ interests coming between them.
When Lila imagined Abyssian with other females, nothing felt calm or logical.
A scroll of paper caught her attention. She removed the ribbon and unfurled the page, finding Demonish written in another woman’s hand.
Lila read:
Felicitations on your marriage to your fey mate, my great king. Your harem humbly beseeches you to visit the Tower of Lusts in order to begin seeding your line of succession. The Infernas Dynasty awaits its illustrious continuation.
Tower of Lusts? How freaking cute. The joke was on them; he still had his demon seal.
Once he was free of it, would he go back to his harem? Though she’d become convinced of his growing attachment to her, Lila couldn’t give him red-blooded heirs.
He’d said he wanted pups but would never father a baneblood. She gazed down at her ring. It wasn’t a wedding band; it was a contraception method.
Not only that, he’d warned her that he liked challenge and variety. He’d point-blank told her he intended to keep a queen and a harem. That’d been last night.
Her eyes widened. He hadn’t been speaking hypothetically! He’d known she was his mate from the start, so he’d been referencing her as the queen in question.
She’d been so confident when she told him that hell would freeze over before she became one among his other females. As of today, he might have put her into the rotation. He could be in the Tower of Lusts with one—or more—of them right now.
Inhaling a deep breath, she rolled up the page and returned the ribbon. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Having never felt jealousy before, she had no idea how to handle it.
Be logical, Lila. But logic backed up her conclusions! How many warrior kings would go without heirs? Why would Abyssian stop seeing professional lovers who kept him “very satisfied” and catered to his “every filthy desire”?
He had a freaking tower in his castle devoted to lust!
His dynasty did await, and once he lost his seal with Lila, he could—as he’d put it—plant his seed in every field but a fey’s. Her field. Again, he’d known she was his at the time.
She imagined him having young with those twelve females and grew queasy. Abyssian would never let her sleep with another male, much less have a baby with one. Would she be forced to live in a castle with all her husband’s children—and none of her own?
Fuck that. The need to lash out at him burned inside her. Perhaps she could use her newly discovered power over him. . . .
You can look, demon, but you can’t touch.
She hastened to her dressing room. The closet produced one brazenly sexy dress after another.
She settled on a scandalous number, a backless ruby-red gown with a halter top. The material of the halter was no mere silk. . . .
After bathing, she drew on black hose and red garters, then slipped on the gown. She wore her hair up. He seemed to love nuzzling her ears, so she accentuated them with dangling onyx earrings.
What would he think?
Half an hour later, he appeared in the bedroom, freshly showered and formally dressed.
She purred, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
His sharp exhalation was worth any embarrassment.