Immortals After Dark 07 - Kiss of a Demon King

forward momentum sprayed the soot over the sisters' boots.
    Power sieved all around them. Sabine twisted toward the castle. Omort stood on the ramparts, with his
    mouth open, eyes maniacal, and palms raised. He had smote them all.
    Like all the warriors of the Pravus still standing, Sabine stared up at Omort in shock.
    Sudden silence reigned on the torn and bleeding battlefield. Wind blew her braids around her face, and she could hear nearby trees rustling in the breeze. Night birds sang in the distance.
    The ash scattered....
    Omort turned that murderous gaze on Hettiah. She fell to her knees, weeping.
    Lanthe stood by Sabine's side. "That's the being you want us to take on?"
    Sabine had told him she was going to the battlefield.
    He wanted to prevent her from riding out to meet those who would kill her. And to prevent her from slaying them-most likely his own people. He suspected that they'd learned of his capture and were rebelling.
    She is out there, unprotected. He wrenched his arms hard against his manacles in frustration, the healing muscles in his torso screaming in protest. Now that he was able to rise from the bed, they'd begun chaining his hands behind his back once more. Though the skin on his uncovered chest was newly mended, raised like a new scar, he still suffered pain whenever he stood or moved suddenly. He paced, willing her to return.
    I can change her. I can make her understand right from wrong. Once I escape . . .
    He was talking himself into the impossible, because he wanted his mate beyond reason. He recalled that
    dream of his. That perfect peace. He craved it like nothing before. He wanted the Sabine from their last night together, the woman who'd set his blood on lire.
    She's mine. For better or worse, she's my woman.

    Don't die . . . don't . . .
    When he caught her scent, his eyes briefly closed. Shortly after, she entered the cell, standing before him. She was out of breath, her breastplate rising and falling. She wore a spiked headdress connected to a collar, metal hose, and full-length gloves with razor-sharp claws.
    Her eyes were dilated and blue, and she bled from the corner of her lips. She'd come to him straight from the fray? He narrowed his eyes. She's shaken. Rydstrom knew what a soldier who'd had a near miss looked like. And she's come to me.
    When blood trickled to her chin, she swiped her forearm over it.
    So beautiful. So deadly. Mine. In an instant, he grew hard for her. No! How can I want her when she's fresh from a battle - with my own people?
    Yet when she ran for him, nothing could have stopped him from lunging forward for her. Her hands shot up to cup his face as she stood on her toes to kiss him. Her lips were so soft, trembling beneath his.
    He'd been out of his mind with needing to see her safe again, and showed her how much with his kiss. Relief. He took her with his tongue, savagely slanting his lips over hers, until she was clutching his shoulders. With a groan, he finally broke away. "What happened tonight?"
    Panting, she said, "Close call." She drew one glove down her arm, then the next, tossing them away.
    "I feared you were going to die."
    She unlaced her breastplate at the sides. "At one point, 1 was sure of it," she said, dropping the piece to
    the ground.
    Just when he felt her hard nipples brush against him, her hand began traveling down his body.
    "Unchain me, Sabine." His cock was straining for
    her touch.
    "I can't."
    "Let me protect you."
    "Kiss first; talk later . .."
    He shuddered when she dipped into his pants and brushed her fingers over the slick head.
    She took him in hand, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the crown in mind-numbing circles.
    Over. He inhaled sharply, groaning against her lips as he set back into their kiss. He was going to have her one way or another.
    Their breaths grew ragged, frenzied. He was dimly aware of the illusions of fire spreading around the cell.
    With her free hand, she unzipped his pants, giving them a shove so they fell to his ankles.
    Then she tugged on his cock, leading him to the
    bed.

    Still kissing as if their lives depended on it, both of them went tripping toward the mattress.
    With his wrists bound, he couldn't catch himself. At the last minute, he twisted so that he didn't crash on top of her.
    Between kisses, they maneuvered until she was on her
    back beneath him. Ignoring the pain, he levered himself up onto his knees. Yet then frustration rose in him. He couldn't shove her skirt up, couldn't rip off