Wicked Abyss
Page 31
What did that mean? Sighing, she stood and returned to her tower. Inside, she drew up short. New things filled one of the rooms!
She rushed closer. He’d given her a mattress with luxurious bedding. A rug warmed the space, and a mirror hung on the wall. A gift box sat atop the new bed.
She knew all this had come because she’d handed back her pomegranate. Tricksy, tricksy demon.
The point wasn’t lost on her. Give a little to get.
But what else did he want her to give?
Glancing around at the inscriptions on the chamber walls, she frowned. Of all the rooms Abyssian could have chosen—such as the fellatio room or the “wheelbarrow” one—he’d picked for her the room that celebrated a demon’s claiming bite.
He, for one, believed they had a fated connection. So why wouldn’t he cop to it?
Atop the gift box lay a note, handwritten with a bold scrawl:
Join me for dinner at nightfall.
A
This must be more trickery, a trap of some sort. But if knowledge was her only weapon, seeing more of the castle would benefit her.
She opened the package, finding a gown of dazzling gold silk. It was strapless, with a stiff, low-cut bodice. Goldwork embroidery adorned the wide ballroom skirt. Maybe the gold thread had been spun from straw.
Also in the package were matching pumps, a corset, hose and garters, toiletries, and a bathrobe.
Would the king expect to sleep with his dinner date? What if those twelve concubines were in attendance?
She could skip dinner, using the bedding material to shield her skin as she climbed down the fire vines.
Or she could accept the invitation . . . and carry out her escape. She surveyed all the gifts—her new arsenal. Oh, Abyssian, you just fucked up royally.
Lila grinned. She would join him for dinner, on her way somewhere else.
TWENTY
Determined not to watch her in the mirror, Sian roamed his castle halls. The echoing sound of his boots seemed to mock him. Absolute power boring me absolutely.
At least Calliope made his life unpredictable. How bloody long until dinner?
He’d decided to invite her simply to discover more about his mate’s current life. He would order Sylvan dishes for her and a sweet wine to loosen her tongue.
If he could keep his temper—and lust—in check, he would compliment her and make her more comfortable.
His only concern: that he would be seduced again, softening toward her. Earlier, they’d had an almost normal conversation, and damn him, he’d enjoyed it.
Merely sitting next to her had soothed his anger. He’d experienced an acute satisfaction to gaze out at his lands with her.
As she’d surveyed his realm, there’d been no distaste in her expression—more like curiosity. He’d imagined her looking at his body in a like manner. Seeing it anew. Accepting it.
If she could grow used to hell, could she possibly grow accustomed to him?
Sian was hell; hell was Sian. . . .
Maybe he should call for a concubine to while away his time. Strange that he hadn’t even considered that option when he’d brought himself release earlier. Fresh from visiting his mate, he’d come with a shock wave’s intensity, biting his arm bloody to muffle his destructive roar.
His concubines had written, beseeching him to join them in their tower. But he preferred females who would lie with him because of desire—not royal duty. Which meant he’d been with few females in general since he’d started changing.
He’d told himself that he’d diluted his memories of his mate with each female he bedded, but who was he kidding? He’d never taken another without fantasizing his mate’s trembling body was beneath him.
In his dark imaginings, she’d wrung every culmination from him for ten thousand years.
If Calliope was the key to his pleasure, would he make do with lackluster substitutes for the rest of his life? Before, he’d had no choice because he’d lost her. Now . . . how could he discard her when she was in his keeping?
He’d have to. Even if she could somehow see past his “repulsive” looks, he could never accept her as his queen and the mother to his heirs. Fey and demon parents begat banebloods—creatures whose very blood was poisonous.
No, Sian wanted Calliope only to break his demon seal. Afterward, he would send her away to another prison, far from him.
Then he’d make some demoness his queen and have a hundred red-blooded heirs with her.
Damn it! The prospect of a substitute left him cold.
Yet so did the prospect of a future with her. He could never forget how skillfully she’d manipulated him into offering up hell’s weaknesses.
Kari’s kingdom had desired slaves. Her father had learned from her where and how to get them.
Because of Sian, scores of demons had lost their freedom forever. His fists clenched, his lifeline of hatred firmly in hand, his crimson filter at the ready.
Again Sian’s mind turned to seduction. Why should he deny himself sport with Calliope? He was king of this realm; if he was to be cursed in form, he might as well revel in his power here.
He traced back to his tower and grasped the hand mirror, calling up her new room. He’d chosen a chamber devoted to a sex act he’d not yet enjoyed, an inside joke—with Calliope on the outside.
He frowned at her expression. The female had a cagey, foxlike look about her. Up to something.
Her gaze bounced from the wall mirror to the rug to the bed. Then she began to move with such speed that he could barely follow her actions. . . .
She broke the mirror, using a shard to cut the rug. She set up another shard to refract sunlight toward a runner of fire vine. She ransacked the bedding and pillows, then tore apart her new corset to get to the boning.
When he realized what she was planning, the unfamiliar urge to laugh nearly overtook him. “Wily little fey.”
What a . . . surprise.
Calliope was already matching wits with him. In spite of all he’d told her about the dangers of hell, she was still going to attempt an escape.
He couldn’t decide what aroused him more: the fact that the firebrand was using all those gifts against him or her stubborn bravery.
Her preparations complete, Lila collected her toiletries and hurried into the bathing chamber.
Brushing her teeth proved to be a religious experience; her shower with scented bath oil was a sensual indulgence.
As she braided locks atop her head, she automatically started to cover her ears. She grew giddy when she realized she didn’t have to.
She rushed closer. He’d given her a mattress with luxurious bedding. A rug warmed the space, and a mirror hung on the wall. A gift box sat atop the new bed.
She knew all this had come because she’d handed back her pomegranate. Tricksy, tricksy demon.
The point wasn’t lost on her. Give a little to get.
But what else did he want her to give?
Glancing around at the inscriptions on the chamber walls, she frowned. Of all the rooms Abyssian could have chosen—such as the fellatio room or the “wheelbarrow” one—he’d picked for her the room that celebrated a demon’s claiming bite.
He, for one, believed they had a fated connection. So why wouldn’t he cop to it?
Atop the gift box lay a note, handwritten with a bold scrawl:
Join me for dinner at nightfall.
A
This must be more trickery, a trap of some sort. But if knowledge was her only weapon, seeing more of the castle would benefit her.
She opened the package, finding a gown of dazzling gold silk. It was strapless, with a stiff, low-cut bodice. Goldwork embroidery adorned the wide ballroom skirt. Maybe the gold thread had been spun from straw.
Also in the package were matching pumps, a corset, hose and garters, toiletries, and a bathrobe.
Would the king expect to sleep with his dinner date? What if those twelve concubines were in attendance?
She could skip dinner, using the bedding material to shield her skin as she climbed down the fire vines.
Or she could accept the invitation . . . and carry out her escape. She surveyed all the gifts—her new arsenal. Oh, Abyssian, you just fucked up royally.
Lila grinned. She would join him for dinner, on her way somewhere else.
TWENTY
Determined not to watch her in the mirror, Sian roamed his castle halls. The echoing sound of his boots seemed to mock him. Absolute power boring me absolutely.
At least Calliope made his life unpredictable. How bloody long until dinner?
He’d decided to invite her simply to discover more about his mate’s current life. He would order Sylvan dishes for her and a sweet wine to loosen her tongue.
If he could keep his temper—and lust—in check, he would compliment her and make her more comfortable.
His only concern: that he would be seduced again, softening toward her. Earlier, they’d had an almost normal conversation, and damn him, he’d enjoyed it.
Merely sitting next to her had soothed his anger. He’d experienced an acute satisfaction to gaze out at his lands with her.
As she’d surveyed his realm, there’d been no distaste in her expression—more like curiosity. He’d imagined her looking at his body in a like manner. Seeing it anew. Accepting it.
If she could grow used to hell, could she possibly grow accustomed to him?
Sian was hell; hell was Sian. . . .
Maybe he should call for a concubine to while away his time. Strange that he hadn’t even considered that option when he’d brought himself release earlier. Fresh from visiting his mate, he’d come with a shock wave’s intensity, biting his arm bloody to muffle his destructive roar.
His concubines had written, beseeching him to join them in their tower. But he preferred females who would lie with him because of desire—not royal duty. Which meant he’d been with few females in general since he’d started changing.
He’d told himself that he’d diluted his memories of his mate with each female he bedded, but who was he kidding? He’d never taken another without fantasizing his mate’s trembling body was beneath him.
In his dark imaginings, she’d wrung every culmination from him for ten thousand years.
If Calliope was the key to his pleasure, would he make do with lackluster substitutes for the rest of his life? Before, he’d had no choice because he’d lost her. Now . . . how could he discard her when she was in his keeping?
He’d have to. Even if she could somehow see past his “repulsive” looks, he could never accept her as his queen and the mother to his heirs. Fey and demon parents begat banebloods—creatures whose very blood was poisonous.
No, Sian wanted Calliope only to break his demon seal. Afterward, he would send her away to another prison, far from him.
Then he’d make some demoness his queen and have a hundred red-blooded heirs with her.
Damn it! The prospect of a substitute left him cold.
Yet so did the prospect of a future with her. He could never forget how skillfully she’d manipulated him into offering up hell’s weaknesses.
Kari’s kingdom had desired slaves. Her father had learned from her where and how to get them.
Because of Sian, scores of demons had lost their freedom forever. His fists clenched, his lifeline of hatred firmly in hand, his crimson filter at the ready.
Again Sian’s mind turned to seduction. Why should he deny himself sport with Calliope? He was king of this realm; if he was to be cursed in form, he might as well revel in his power here.
He traced back to his tower and grasped the hand mirror, calling up her new room. He’d chosen a chamber devoted to a sex act he’d not yet enjoyed, an inside joke—with Calliope on the outside.
He frowned at her expression. The female had a cagey, foxlike look about her. Up to something.
Her gaze bounced from the wall mirror to the rug to the bed. Then she began to move with such speed that he could barely follow her actions. . . .
She broke the mirror, using a shard to cut the rug. She set up another shard to refract sunlight toward a runner of fire vine. She ransacked the bedding and pillows, then tore apart her new corset to get to the boning.
When he realized what she was planning, the unfamiliar urge to laugh nearly overtook him. “Wily little fey.”
What a . . . surprise.
Calliope was already matching wits with him. In spite of all he’d told her about the dangers of hell, she was still going to attempt an escape.
He couldn’t decide what aroused him more: the fact that the firebrand was using all those gifts against him or her stubborn bravery.
Her preparations complete, Lila collected her toiletries and hurried into the bathing chamber.
Brushing her teeth proved to be a religious experience; her shower with scented bath oil was a sensual indulgence.
As she braided locks atop her head, she automatically started to cover her ears. She grew giddy when she realized she didn’t have to.
