Immortals After Dark 07 - Kiss of a Demon King

erupted-the groaning of metal, the shattering of glass. Smoke tendrils snaked upward, and gaskets hissed. The previously shining black car was totaled.
    "Did you have to make him crash that hard?" Lanthe asked, piping her lip to blow a black braid from her face. "He won't likely be in the mood for love now."
    "You were the one in my ear, yelling that he was getting away."
    Earlier, when Sabine had heard the smooth purr of an engine in the distance, she'd made Lanthe invisible, then she'd cast an illusion of a vehicle on the side of the road, stalled with the hood up.
    The damsel in distress. Unable to fix her own engine. A ridiculous cliche. But necessary.
    When he hadn't slowed, she'd waved her arms, and still he'd continued speeding along.

    Refusing to let him slip past her, she'd cast forward an illusion of herself, directly in his car's path. He'd swerved to avoid her likeness.
    "Besides, he's a demon," Sabine continued. "Demons are both tough-and lusty." When his door shot open, she said, "See?" But he hadn't yet exited.
    "What's taking him so long?" Lanthe asked, switching to telepathy, biting her nails as she silently talked. "What if we draw the Vrekeners?" Even after all these years, those fiends continued to track the sisters' heavy sorcery.
    "We've got time yet," Sabine said, though she was growing impatient to see the male she'd be giving her' self to-and anxious to get a glimpse of one of the most well-respected leaders in the Lore.
    Of course, Sabine had read all about Rydstrom and knew details of his history. He was fifteen hundred years old. He'd had five siblings, with two sisters and one brother still living. He'd been a warrior long before he'd unexpectedly inherited the crown of Rothkalina.
    And she knew details of his appearance: a large male with a battle scar on his face and intense green eyes that would grow black with fury-or desire. As a rage demon, his horns would flow back instead of jutting for-ward. One of his had been damaged before he reached his immortality.
    Horns. And she'd be taking this demon into her body in mere moments, if her plan worked.
    If not, she had her poison ring. Under a ruby was a sleeping powder prepared by the Hag in the Basement, their resident poison and potion preparer. Demons were highly susceptible to both.
    Drugging Rydstrom wasn't Sabine's preferred plan, but if it came down to it, she would use all means necessary to get him into the dungeon cell they'd prepared for him-one he couldn't break free from despite his demonic strength.
    It was mere feet from them.
    Directly within the cell, Lanthe had created the seamless portal that opened up to the road. To conceal it, Sabine had woven one of the largest, most intricate illusions of her life, making the dungeon look just like a part of the scenery along the road.
    It seemed an eternity passed before Rydstrom finally lurched from the smoking wreck. She released a breath she hadn't known she held.
    And there he was.
    He certainly was big-approaching seven feet tall with broad shoulders. His hair was as black as night. His horns curved out from just past his temples to run along the sides of his head, their shell-like color stark against his thick hair. Indeed, one was damaged, the end broken off.
    Though he reeled a couple of steps, he didn't look too injured. No visible blood.
    Sabine arched a brow just as Lanthe silently said, "Your demons just. . . fearsome-boking."
    She was about to correct Lanthe and say, "Not my demon." But the male before them would indeed be hers. For a time. "He is a fearsome male, isn't he?"
    From his appearance, Sabine would have guessed him to be an assassin or cutthroat criminal of some sort. How odd, since he was supposed to be a bastion of reason, a wise leader who liked to solve conflicts and discover solutions to complex puzzles.

    Rumor in the Lore held that a lie had never left Ryd-strom's tongue. Which must be a lie in itself.
    "Are you going to try to seduce him first or just spring the trap?"
    "Seduce him first. He might go demonic over his capture." She smoothed her hands down her pale blue
    dress
    "You look good," Lanthe said. "Sweet. Nothing says
    'darnel' like pastel."
    "That's just unnecessary, Lanthe." Since Sabine hadn't wanted him to know she was a sorceress, she'd worn an elegant but conservatively boring gown. She'd thought it wouldn't hurt to appear virtuous, which she assumed a good demon king would prefer.
    He had better like her shuddersome new look. Except