"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 would be cautious with her quarry. Getting attached to him, or rather to his body or his tempt' ing kiss, would make their situation . . . unfortunate when she was finished with him.
"Ready for the pants?" Lanthe slapped her hands and rubbed them together. "Let's see if the rumors about demon males are true."
"Oh, they're true. In fact, I think they're underre-ported." Sabine bit her bottom lip. He was still semihard, and she didn't know if she wanted anyone to see him like that. To her attendants, Sabine said, "Leave
us."
When she and Lanthe were alone, Sabine grasped the waist of his low-hanging pants, but paused at the button above the fly. "Maybe I'll keep these on him. For effect, when I take them off."
Lanthe's brows rose at Sabine's proprietary behavior.
"What?" Sabine said defensively. "I merely don't want him to get cold." She began chaining his wrists
above his head.
"Uh-huh," Lanthe said. "I'll be monitoring this situ-
ation closely." She fastened the manacles at the foot of the bed around his ankles.
When he was secured, Sabine sidled up next to Lanthe, and they both gazed at the demon.
His broad shoulders seemed to take up the entire mattress, tapering beautifully to his narrow waist. The hair on his arms, chest, and the trail below his navel was black, but tipped with blond against his tanned skin.
"He's . . . Abie, he's magnificent" Lanthe breathed. "Your own demon love slave here for you to use whenever you like. I want one, too!"
"Yes, but now I have to get him up to speed with his new role."
Lanthe nodded thoughtfully. "One thing we never considered . . . what if he is the sole male we've ever encountered who continually puts his duty above his lusts? What if he keeps his promises without fail?"
"There's no such male," Sabine said without hesitation.
"I wonder. Maybe he's so firmly on the side of good that someone from the Pravus can't tempt him."
"Are you doubting my skill as a seductress?" Hettiah had already publicly challenged her. "How about a side wager, then?"
"I'm game. If you can't seduce him in the next week, then I get your finest headdress."
Made of the rarest blue and white golds, Sabine's 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 Clairsen-tience, 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 bedstand, 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