Immortals After Dark 07 - Kiss of a Demon King

only did what I would have done in the same situation. If anything, I was impressed that he'd been so ruthless," she said, ignoring the measuring glance Lanthe cast her over the rim of her goblet. "This demon's a tricky one," Sabine continued. "I suspect that both his mind and desires are complicated."
    "No way. I can almost hear him saying, Me big demon, me lusty!"
    Sabine shook her head. "No, he's .. . different."
    "Try to get into his mind. Tap into his fantasies."
    "I tried. Typical demon had it blocked like a barricade."
    "Does he believe you're his female?" Lanthe asked.
    "1 think he feels that I am but is in denial. He won't be able to deny it much longer." Which was important. Already she was running out of time. As a Sorceri female, she would repeat her reproductive cycle only every two months. And she was nearing the end of her fertile time.
    To her attendants, she called, "Yes, put him on the bed now."
    Consisting of a mattress atop a titanium platform, the bed had manacles attached by chains embedded in the solid head and footboards.
    "Be careful with his horns when you lift him," she said, recalling that demons could emit poison from the points
    that could paralyze an immortal and kill a human. Once they'd situated him, she pointed to his feet.
    As they yanked off his shoes, Lanthe said, "I still can't believe he wouldn't willingly do the deed."
    Sabine took a healthy swallow of her sweet wine. "Made some mention of obligations, responsibilities."
    "How could he expect you to believe he turned down sex with a nubile female who's all but begging for it for responsibilities? I've never heard of anything like that. Could it be you're losing your touch, old mum?"
    "Suck off, fister. He just hasn't had enough enticement."
    "You want me to give you some pointers?"
    This was a tense subject between them. Once Sabine had realized that for centuries to come she'd never fully know a man, she'd assumed Lanthe would remain a virgin as well, in solidarity.
    When Sabine had mentioned that, Lanthe had laughed. Loud. More of a guffaw.
    "I'm not without skills." Though Sabine was hymen-ally intact, she'd made up with everything but.
    "Ah, yes, Sabine, the Queen of III"-Lanthe paused- "icit BJs."
    They were illicit; every encounter of Sabine's was. She'd long envied couples who lazed in bed all day, but she'd always had to worry about Vrekeners overhead or Omort discovering her.
    Once the Inferi stripped the demon's thin sweater from him, Lanthe whistled low. "Not an ounce of fat on him."
    When Sabine crossed to the bed for a better look, Lanthe eagerly followed.
    The demon seemed to be all latent strength, with rises and falls of long, strapping muscles.
    But he wasn't bulky-thankfully not a no-necked bruiser.
    Above his corded bicep was a wide band of matte gold. The piece was permanent, and he'd likely been wearing it for centuries.
    "Look at the tattoo." Sabine pointed to a spot low on his side where jet-black ink marked his flesh. "It continues on." When she shifted him to peek at his back, she found an image of a dragon that appeared to wind around his torso.
    Basilisks, ancient dragons, were reputed to live in the plane of Rothkalina in a region called Grave Realm. Demons held them sacred.
    Tattoos were common among demon males, but she hadn't expected Rydstrom to have one.
    When Sabine grazed a finger along the image, the rigid muscles beneath it flexed to her fingers.
    "Your gaze looks covetous, Abie."
    "So?"
    "So ... if you're his female, maybe you feel drawn to him as well. Maybe you could fall in love," she said, her big blue eyes wistful.
    Lanthe was a contradiction-an evil sorceress who longed for love. Sabine had never known anyone so desperate for it as her sister. Ever since Lanthe was young, she'd seemed to be searching for it with her entire being. She read self-help books by the dozen and devoured tragic love stories on DVDs.
    "The only love I'm capable of is sisterly," Sabine said. "Count yourself lucky."
    If a romantic attachment hadn't happened in five centuries, Sabine didn't see it forthcoming.
    She'd long suspected that any part capable of loving a man had expired forever with one of her deaths.

    Besides, she could never trust anyone but Lanthe, and according to popular wisdom and her sister's books, one couldn't have love without trust.
    "In any case, just because I'm his, doesn't mean he's mine." The Sorceri didn't believe in fate, and so they didn't believe in a fated mate.
    Still, Sabine