Kiss of a Demon King (Immortals After Dark #7)(19)
Author: Kresley Cole

"The people wouldn’t accept a female here. I wonder if I’d be kept alive long enough for another go?" A lock of his thick black hair fell over his forehead, but he could do nothing to move it from his eyes.

"I’m fated to conceive and deliver a healthy boy for your heir."

"A son." Had his voice roughened? "One I’ll never see if you have your way. Never to teach or protect."

She fell silent. Contrary to popular belief, Sabine didn’t relish hurting those who’d never done anything to her. But she didn’t rule the world-yet-and so she couldn’t change the outcome of this situation. For her and Lanthe to be safe at last, a demon was going down. This demon beside her.

He was collateral damage that couldn’t be helped.

"Wait… if you know you’re going to have a healthy boy, then you could assassinate me as soon as you find out you’re pregnant."

She’d camouflaged her face and expression with an illusion, so he never saw her glance away.

"I won’t leave behind my child to be raised here, in blood and hatred. I’ve heard the rumors of depravity going on in Tornin. Blood sacrifices and perversions. In my home."

"Omort does so enjoy his blood sacrifices."

The demon’s lips parted. "Listen to yourself! You’re so inured, you can’t even realize how sick your world is."

She narrowed her eyes. ]ust because I don’t flinch doesn’t mean I’m blind.

Sabine knew how sick it was all too well. That was why she was determined to get above it.

"You’ll never get my vow, sorceress."

"I won’t stop until I do."

"Are you going to keep me chained the entire time? I know better than most that this cell is inescapable."

"Security isn’t the only reason I’ll keep you bound. I want to be certain you don’t release any steam we build together, so you’ll be in a bad way." When she traced a finger down his chest, the muscles in his torso con­tracted in response. "But it occurs to me that if you’re so adamant about not wanting your offspring here, then you must be accepting that I am yours."

"Have you ever thought about what that would have meant for you? If you hadn’t resorted to this?"

"You mean if we’d met under different circumstances? Would you have been good to me? True to me?" Her tone was amused. "If I hadn’t been called to capture you this eve, I’d thought about setting myself up as a waitress at your favorite restaurant. I would have been the winsome but down-on-her-luck Lorean, who wears dresses with floral patterns and who needs just one little break to beat the rat race-or a male to save her." She chuckled at that. "I’d planned to serve you pie and let you peek up my skirt."

"If I hadn’t known differently, then, yes, you prob­ably would have found yourself with an honorable male who would’ve been true and good to you."

"They say a lie never leaves your tongue."

"You sound disbelieving."

"Because I am. I’ve never known a male who didn’t use the truth as it suited him, bending it and changing it at will."

"I don’t."

"Then tell me, am I everything you’d hoped for physically?"

He did that silent challenge thing with his eyes, then said, "Morally you’re not. I hadn’t expected to be saddled with one of the most evil females in the Lore."

Omort’s words from earlier resonated within her. How disappointed the demon must be . . .

"One of the most? Not number one?" She pouted. "Well, everyone needs aspirations. Interestingly, I’ve never considered myself eeevil. Just because I occasion’ ally steal."

When he scowled at that, she amended, "Or kill someone who gets in the way of my stealing."

"Why do you have to steal?"

She blinked at him. "How else would I get gold? Join the typing pool?"

"Maybe you could do without."

"Impossible. You must have gold." Gold is Ufe . . .

"You’re hated by more than can be imagined."

"Do you hate me?" she asked.

"I don’t yet, but I believe that it’s inevitable."

She laughed softly. "Hating me is like hating a

sharp sword that cuts you. It can’t help the way it was formed."

"A sword can be refashioned, shaped anew."

"Only after it’s broken down. Imagine how painful the forge fire and hammer blows would feel-as ter­rible as when it was first fashioned. Why repeat all that pain?"

"To get it right this time."

She let that drop. "Tonight, you called me tassia when I was in the midst of exquisitely fondling you. If it means wicked female, is there no male equivalent?"

"You don’t know this? You can’t speak Demonish?" he asked, incredulous.

"It’s considered uncouth to learn that language, and it’s forbidden to be spoken in the castle. I already know five other languages, anyway. Five is my limit; the slate is full."

"So you didn’t understand me when I was cursing you?"

"Not at all. But you’ve called me evil and bitch enough times in English that I can glean-"

The castle bells tolled then, ringing out in the dis­tance.

"They ring at midnight and three now?" His tone was laced with disgust. "Why three? Does that mean you have a malevolent god to go worship? One greedy for those blood sacrifices?"

"Should I worship reason? Like you do?"

"You could do worse."

"Do you want to know a secret, Rydstrom?" she said. "I worship Illusion."

"What does that mean?"

She reached for his forehead, stroking his hair to the side. "Illusion is Reality’s coy lover who cheers him when he is grim. Illusion is cunning to his wisdom of ages, sweet oblivion to his knowledge. A bounty to his lack. That is what I hold sacred."

"You see yourself as Illusion?"

She gave him a slow grin. "Do you want to be my Reality?" When his piercing green eyes dipped to her lips, she said, "Are you musing about our kiss, demon? I hope so, since I keep thinking about it. I liked the way you kissed me."

The line between his brows deepened. "Why did you come here tonight?"

To dilute the disgust Omort makes me feel. "To warn you. I’m going to be taking off the gloves for our next encounter." Or, rather, putting them on. "I will show you no mercy the next time I come here." She couldn’t, since every day that passed made it more unlikely that she’d conceive.

The Sorceri simply weren’t a prolific species like oth­ers in the Lore.

The demon was studying her face, intently, as if try­ing to delve beneath the mask of her illusions. "Sabine, I don’t believe you’re as bad as you seem."