most treasured headdress was winged, arching back over the ears, with gossamer strands of gold cascading over the front.
Sabine had stolen it from the Queen of Clairsentience, along with her ability to touch objects and read their history. It had been a root power, and they'd fought to the death for it. But ultimately, Sabine had given the clairsentience to Lanthe, admitting to herself that she'd truly only wanted the headdress.
The sisters didn't wager gold lightly. Their mother had often rubbed sovereigns against her face as she lovingly said, "Gold is life! It is perfection! Band it in armor over thy heart and never will thy life's blood part."
But Sabine couldn't lose this bet. She was Rydstrom's fated female. "And when I win, you have to go without sex for a year. Maybe then you'll have more sympathy for my plight." At Lanthe's disbelieving look, she said, "Yes, I said a year. You know that the piece is of equal value."
Lanthe cast her a pained expression, but said, "Very
well, you have a wager."
Just then, Sabine's captive muttered in Demonish, his firm lips parting around each rough syllable.
"Then run along. I want to be here alone when he awakes once more."
When Lanthe had gone, Sabine climbed upon the bed beside his waist, tilting her head as she studied him up close. His horns fascinated her, how they curved back around his head and were mostly smooth, but had ridges toward the base. His thick hair could cover them almost completely, so he would be able to go out among humans, where many demons couldn't.
Recalling how much he'd loved her touching them, she ran her fingers along them. He shuddered even when unconscious.
Next her eyes flitted over his face. He had chiseled good-looks-a strong nose and squared chin-marred only by his deep scar. The wound had obviously been severe, and she wondered how he'd gotten it.
She eased her gaze lower. This demon had a body like she'd never known.
Sabine had always preferred more dapper physiques. The men she was attracted to were almost always of the Sorceri, rarefied smooth operators. Rydstrom was no smooth-talking sorcerer-he was raw masculinity.
This didn't mean she was eager to bed him. Historically, she'd proved averse to being bitten, and demons marked their females upon claiming them. And a demon's very looks changed during sex with a mate, his features becoming sharper, his skin deepening in color, his upper and lower fangs growing.
What would it be like to have Rydstrom turn fully demonic, growling and thrusting over her? To have this powerful body working hers to orgasm? She drank deeply of her wine.
Sabine hadn't been lying about wanting his pants to remain on for effect-naturally, she planned to take his zipper with her teeth-but that didn't mean she didn't want to see him, or, rather .. . it.
She set her goblet on the bed stand, then slowly unzipped his pants. What was revealed made her bite her bottom lip.
A pattern of scars ran along the length of his thick shaft. Though he wasn't now, he'd once been pierced.
Sabine had heard rumors of archaic male rites of passage among many of the Demonarchies, but she'd thought the rage demons had done away with them eons ago.
Maybe Rydstrom had decreed it so-he had been in
the position to, after all.
So the demon wore a permanent armband over his bicep, and he'd been tattooed and pierced. It seemed that Rydstrom Woede was the type of male whose outward appearance indicated nothing about what might be hidden under his clothes.
As she carefully zipped his pants back up, Sabine grinned. What a surprise.
6
Rydstrom woke . . . consciousness slow to come. In that dim twilight, he vaguely comprehended that he was lying on a bed.
"You're waking, after a mere half hour," Sabine said to him. "You're a strong one, demon."
Rage coursed through him with his dawning comprehension. She drugged me. He couldn't lift his limbs or pry open his eyelids. Though he scented her nearness, her voice seemed to come from
Sabine had stolen it from the Queen of Clairsentience, along with her ability to touch objects and read their history. It had been a root power, and they'd fought to the death for it. But ultimately, Sabine had given the clairsentience to Lanthe, admitting to herself that she'd truly only wanted the headdress.
The sisters didn't wager gold lightly. Their mother had often rubbed sovereigns against her face as she lovingly said, "Gold is life! It is perfection! Band it in armor over thy heart and never will thy life's blood part."
But Sabine couldn't lose this bet. She was Rydstrom's fated female. "And when I win, you have to go without sex for a year. Maybe then you'll have more sympathy for my plight." At Lanthe's disbelieving look, she said, "Yes, I said a year. You know that the piece is of equal value."
Lanthe cast her a pained expression, but said, "Very
well, you have a wager."
Just then, Sabine's captive muttered in Demonish, his firm lips parting around each rough syllable.
"Then run along. I want to be here alone when he awakes once more."
When Lanthe had gone, Sabine climbed upon the bed beside his waist, tilting her head as she studied him up close. His horns fascinated her, how they curved back around his head and were mostly smooth, but had ridges toward the base. His thick hair could cover them almost completely, so he would be able to go out among humans, where many demons couldn't.
Recalling how much he'd loved her touching them, she ran her fingers along them. He shuddered even when unconscious.
Next her eyes flitted over his face. He had chiseled good-looks-a strong nose and squared chin-marred only by his deep scar. The wound had obviously been severe, and she wondered how he'd gotten it.
She eased her gaze lower. This demon had a body like she'd never known.
Sabine had always preferred more dapper physiques. The men she was attracted to were almost always of the Sorceri, rarefied smooth operators. Rydstrom was no smooth-talking sorcerer-he was raw masculinity.
This didn't mean she was eager to bed him. Historically, she'd proved averse to being bitten, and demons marked their females upon claiming them. And a demon's very looks changed during sex with a mate, his features becoming sharper, his skin deepening in color, his upper and lower fangs growing.
What would it be like to have Rydstrom turn fully demonic, growling and thrusting over her? To have this powerful body working hers to orgasm? She drank deeply of her wine.
Sabine hadn't been lying about wanting his pants to remain on for effect-naturally, she planned to take his zipper with her teeth-but that didn't mean she didn't want to see him, or, rather .. . it.
She set her goblet on the bed stand, then slowly unzipped his pants. What was revealed made her bite her bottom lip.
A pattern of scars ran along the length of his thick shaft. Though he wasn't now, he'd once been pierced.
Sabine had heard rumors of archaic male rites of passage among many of the Demonarchies, but she'd thought the rage demons had done away with them eons ago.
Maybe Rydstrom had decreed it so-he had been in
the position to, after all.
So the demon wore a permanent armband over his bicep, and he'd been tattooed and pierced. It seemed that Rydstrom Woede was the type of male whose outward appearance indicated nothing about what might be hidden under his clothes.
As she carefully zipped his pants back up, Sabine grinned. What a surprise.
6
Rydstrom woke . . . consciousness slow to come. In that dim twilight, he vaguely comprehended that he was lying on a bed.
"You're waking, after a mere half hour," Sabine said to him. "You're a strong one, demon."
Rage coursed through him with his dawning comprehension. She drugged me. He couldn't lift his limbs or pry open his eyelids. Though he scented her nearness, her voice seemed to come from
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