Immortals After Dark 07 - Kiss of a Demon King

slaughtered."
    Interesting. "And you personally faced Rydstrom."
    "He's the only being I've ever fought that lived. Instead of merely burning him to ash, I played at honor,
    facing him in a sword duel in one of his strongholds. He beheaded me-the blow was true, and deadly for any other. But I rose. He used his brute strength to topple the roof, trapping me inside, and was able to escape."
    Omort's hand was inching closer to her covered ankle. "Sabine, how much can I trust you?"
    "Probably not as much as you can Hettiah. Shouldn't you be with her now?"
    "She doesn't understand things as you do. And as much as I will it differently, she is a pale comparison to you. A dim shadow to your light."

    "Did you come into my room just to state the obvious?" Her brother's attraction to Sabine wasn't fueled only by her looks. She believed Omort secretly hungered for death. In lieu of that, he hungered for her, a woman who knew death so intimately.
    When he grazed his forefinger over her covered ankle, his eyes slid shut and drool collected at the corner of his lips. Stifling a shudder, she hastily rose, then crossed to the seaside balcony.
    This place always calmed her, like a balm for her mind. During most of her sleepless nights, she stood out here, watching the sea.
    Omort moved behind her, not touching her, but standing far too close. No warmth emanated from him. He was cold and deadened like a corpse.
    Rydstrom had been all inviting heat.
    "You should go, brother. I have a challenging day tomorrow. I'll need to be on top of my game to be the first to break the iron will of Rydstrom."
    "I'm glad that you've ceased underestimating him."
    When she could feel his cold breaths on her neck, she whirled around, hastening to her chamber's drink service. She poured sweet wine-only for herself-then held up her goblet to Omort. "Brother, do be a dear and poison me."
    Every month, Omort gave her and Lanthe the morsus, literally the "stinging bite poison." The power of the morsus was that it didn't cause pain upon ingestion but upon withdrawal.
    Weaning from the poison was supposed to be so excruciating that she and Lanthe were considered perpetually "condemned." Without an antidote, the pain would be so great they'd eventually die from it.
    The morsus kept them from leaving Omort and from rebelling. For the most part.
    He exhaled as if she were putting him out, then rotated the thick ring on his forefinger. As he snapped open the jeweled covering of his poison cache, she stared at the ring. It held so much significance for her. It was the source of life, the enforcer of her obedience.
    And the ring told her when Omort lied, as he'd unconsciously rotate it.
    When he poured the black granules into her wine, a hiss sounded and smoke tendrils seeped upward. But once it settled, it would be odorless and tasteless to those who weren't trained to detect it.
    Ages ago, he'd slipped the morsus into their wine before they'd learned to identify potions by smell and taste-and before they'd learned to create their own to counter him.
    Sabine nonchalantly held up the goblet. "Slainte." She drained the contents. "Now, I really need to get some sleep. Remember, Omort, I'm doing this for us. And I know you want us to succeed."
    "Very well, Sabine." With a last lingering gaze, he finally exited, but not before she heard him murmur, "Soon."
    Alone once more, she returned to the balcony. As she surveyed the tumultuous sea and breathed deep of the salt air, she mused over her current situation.
    Plots and subplots. She wanted Tornin for herself and for Lanthe. Yet after tonight, she suspected Omort would try to force her to surrender before she ever even got a chance to make her play.

    She shivered. He'd been emboldened to come into her room, bringing with him coldness and misery hanging over him like a cloak. She felt pensive, unclean.
    For the first time ever, Sabine's gaze wasn't held fast by the sea. She turned to the south, toward the dungeon tower.
    The demon was such a force of nature, she imagined herself getting lost in him. Ultimately, she found her feet taking her in his direction, her heart aching for ... something.
    9
    W
    ithout a word, Sabine climbed into bed with the demon.
    Though she sensed his instant tension, she lay on her back beside him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat from his big body.
    For long moments, they lay side by side in silence, as if they'd called an uneasy mice. They both stared at the ceiling, so she