Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(65)
Author: Gena Showalter

He crossed his arms over his massive chest.

She sighed. Knowing men as she did, she knew he was done answering that type of question. Oh, well. She could have convinced him otherwise by annoying him until he caved, but she didn’t want to put the work in.

“So what do you do for fun around here?” she asked.

“I destroy demons.”

Like you, she finished for him. But he’d already said he had no intention of killing her, and she believed him—how could she not? That voice… “So you don’t want to hurt me, you don’t want to touch me, but you do want me to live here forever.”

“Yes.”

“I’d be an idiot to refuse such an offer.” That she sounded sincere was a miracle. “We’ll pretend to be married and spend the nights locked in each other’s arms, kissing and touching, our bodies—”

“Stop. Just stop.” And, drumroll please, that muscle began ticking under his eye again.

This time, there was no fighting her grin. It spread wide and proud. That tic was a sign of anger, surely. But what would it take to make that anger actually seep into his irises? What would it take to break even a fraction of his iron control?

“Show me around,” she said. “If I’m going to live here, I need to know where my walk-in closet is.” During the tour, she could accidentally-on-purpose brush against him. Over and over again. “Do we have cable?”

“No. And I cannot give you a tour. I have duties. Important duties.”

“Yeah, you do. My pleasure. That should be priority one.”

Teeth grinding together, he turned on his heel and strode away. “You will find it difficult to get into trouble here, so I suggest you do not even try.” His voice echoed behind him.

Please. She could get into trouble with nothing but a toothpick and a spoon. “If you leave, I’ll rearrange everything.” Not that there was any furniture to be seen.

Silence.

“I’ll get bored and take off.”

“Try.”

It was a response, at least. “So you’re seriously going to leave me? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Yes.” Another response, though he didn’t stop walking.

“What about that bed you were going to chain me to? Where is it?”

Uh-oh, back to silence.

“You didn’t even tell me your name,” she called, irritated despite herself. How could he abandon her like that? He should hunger for more of her. “Well? I deserve to know the name of the man I’ll be cursing.”

Finally, he stopped. Still, a long while passed in silence and she thought he meant to ignore her. Again. Then he said, “My name is Lysander,” and stepped from the cloud, disappearing from view.

CHAPTER THREE

LYSANDER WATCHED AS TWO newly recruited warrior angels—angels under his training and command—finally subdued a demonic minion that had dug its way free from hell. The creature was scaled from head to hoof and little horns protruded from its shoulders and back. Its eyes were bright red, like crystallized blood.

The fight had lasted half an hour, and both angels were now bleeding, panting. Demons were notorious for their biting and scratching.

Lysander should have been able to critique the men and tell them what they had done wrong. That way, they would do a better job next time. But as they’d struggled with the fiend, his mind had drifted to Bianka. What was she doing? Was she resigned to her fate yet? He’d given her several days alone to calm and accept.

“What now?” one of his trainees asked. Beacon was his name.

“You letsss me go, you letsss me go,” the demon said pleadingly, its forked tongue giving it a lisp. “I behave. I return. Ssswear.”

Lies. As a minion, it was a servant to a demon High Lord—just as there were three factions of angels, there were three factions of demons. High Lords held the most power, followed by Lords, who were followed by the lowest of them all, minions. Despite this one’s lack of status, it could cause untold damage among humans. Not only because it was evil, but also because it was a minion of Strife and took its nourishment from the trouble it caused others.

By the time Lysander had sensed its presence on earth, it had already broken up two marriages and convinced one teenager to start smoking and another to kill himself.

“Execute it,” Lysander commanded. “It knew the consequences of breaking a heavenly law, yet it chose to escape from hell anyway.”

The minion began to struggle again. “You going to lisssten to him when you obviousssly ssstronger and better than him? He make you do all hard work. He do nothing hissself. Lazy, if you asssk me. Kill him.”

“We do not ask you,” Lysander said.

Both angels raised their hands and fiery swords appeared.

“Pleassse,” the demon screeched. “No. Don’t do thisss.”

They didn’t hesitate. They struck.

The scaled head rolled, yet the angels did not dematerialize their swords. They kept the tips poised on the motionless body until it caught flame. When nothing but ash remained, they looked to Lysander for instruction.

“Excellent job.” He nodded in satisfaction. “You have improved since your last killing, and I am proud of you. But you will train with Raphael until further notice,” he said. Raphael was strong, intelligent and one of the best trackers in the heavens.

Raphael would not be distracted by a Harpy he had no hopes of possessing.

Possessing? Lysander’s jaw clenched tightly. He was not some vile demon. He possessed nothing. Ever. And when he finished with Bianka, she would be glad of that. There would be no more games, no more racing around him, caressing him and laughing. The clenching in his jaw stopped, but his shoulders sagged. In disappointment? Couldn’t be. Perhaps he needed a few days to calm and accept.

HE’D LEFT HER ALONE for a week, the sun rising and setting beyond the clouds. And each day, Bianka grew madder—and madder. And madder. Worse, she grew weaker. Harpies could only eat what they stole (or earned, but there was no way to earn a single morsel here). And no, that wasn’t a rule she could overlook. It was a curse. A godly curse her people had endured for centuries. Reviled as Harpies were, the gods had banded together and decreed that no Harpy could enjoy a meal freely given or one they had prepared themselves. If they did, they sickened terribly. The gods’ hope? Destruction.

Instead, they’d merely ensured Harpies learned how to steal from birth. To survive, even an angel would sin.