Claimed by a Demon King (2 page)

Her hunters jolted to attention and nodded as one.

Sable just hoped that she could remember it. Whenever she thought about seeing Thorne again, she got the jitters. Stupid of her considering she had only met him once and for little more than a handful of hours. It hadn’t stopped her from desperately trying not to hang on every word whenever Loren had spoken of the demon king. It wasn’t like her, but she couldn’t help herself. Something fundamental inside her had changed the moment Thorne had barged into her life.

Thorne met often with Loren to discuss their arrival and arrangements, and to keep him abreast of the situation in the Third Realm.

Loren relayed everything to her.

It hadn’t satisfied her in the slightest. Loren never said how Thorne was coping with everything or how he seemed to him.

She wanted to know how he was doing and wanted to see that he was still well, and still the same brash male she had met a month ago. Of course, she refused to admit that to Olivia whenever her friend pressed her about Thorne, and her friend had pressed a lot over the long four weeks.

Sable had denied everything, refusing to admit that she couldn’t stop thinking about the demon king.

She couldn’t get that moment in the cafeteria out of her head. Thorne had teleported them back to Archangel after they had defeated Kordula, freeing Loren’s brother Vail from the bitch-witch’s spell. Thorne had stood with his hand on Sable’s arm, as if he couldn’t bring himself to let her go, and had stared at her for so long that she had ended up lost in his crimson gaze. He had opened his mouth to speak, had turned frustrated about something, and had teleported out of her life as quickly as he had come into it, leaving her confused and curious.

What had Thorne wanted to say to her?

Whatever had been balanced on those firm sensual lips, she wished he had just come out and said it because it had been driving her completely crazy. She had found herself pondering it at the strangest times. Dangerous times. A hunt was no place to lose track of your surroundings. That moment kept invading her head though, replaying in infinite detail, every shift in his body language and expression captured perfectly. With each replay, she found herself wanting to know more than ever what he had meant to say.

The first chance she had, she was asking him about it.

Sable grimaced and reminded herself again that she was going to Hell on a mission, not just to see Thorne. This was about the mission. This was about her future with Archangel. This wasn’t about the big, rough, demon male.

She jolted when someone took hold of her arm and looked up into Bleu’s eyes. Flecks of purple broke through the green, slowly taking over until not a trace of emerald remained. His violet gaze narrowed on her and he moved closer, towering over her, a vision of dark beauty and lethal grace. His lips parted, flashing white daggers at her. His fangs were down. The tips of his ears turned pointed. He had shaken off his mortal guise, revealing his true nature.

“Ready?” he murmured, his fingers lightly flexing around her arm and his gaze locked intently on her.

Sable blinked herself back the courtyard and nodded.

Her world disappeared in a swirl of cold black shadows. She closed her eyes against it. The heat of the sun on her skin gave way to the icy chill and then became a blast of moist warm air. The shrouding silence of the portal shattered under the explosion of grunts and roars and the metallic clang of weapons clashing.

The scent of morning became the odour of blood.

Sable snapped her eyes open and her heart leaped and pounded, quickening her blood and preparing her body.

The first thing she saw was Thorne shirtless and swinging his enormous broadsword at an equally massive bare-chested warrior. His opponent blocked with his own blade and growled, flashing huge fangs as he swung a meaty fist. The blow connected with Thorne’s right cheek and he stumbled, grunting as he struggled to regain his footing and ready his blade to defend himself.

Sable’s hand instantly went to the folded crossbow at her side and she flicked it open, pushing away from Bleu at the same time. Another immense demon attacked Thorne before he managed to right himself and the dagger sliced across the Third King’s thickly muscled right shoulder.

Thorne roared and finally launched himself at the males, taking them both on at once. They weren’t alone. The wide oval courtyard of the dark stone fortress was in pandemonium. Sable counted at least two dozen demons, all focused on him with their weapons drawn and at the ready. No other fought on his side.

The sight of him standing alone against so many adversaries, bleeding from multiple wounds on his torso and arms, brought a red haze down over her vision.

Sable launched herself into the fray just as one of the males attacked. Her heart raced, pumping adrenaline that made her feel high as she reached beneath her left arm, slipped her fingers into the rings on two of her throwing knives, and hurled them with deadly accuracy at the warrior. They nailed him in the left of his broad chest and his shoulder, and she didn’t give him a chance to recover his focus. She loosed a barbed dart from her crossbow at him, reloaded in the space of a heartbeat, and shot the other male now attacking Thorne.

The barbed dart embedded into the demon’s left thigh and he grunted, his eyes glowing crimson as he turned his attention on her. Good. She had to give Thorne a moment to recover his wits and get back in the fight.

The warrior stomped towards her, blood pulsing down his leg with each step, turning his black leathers slick and shiny. He growled, his top lip peeling back off his fangs, and shook his head. His dusky horns curled further, forming a loop and flaring forwards into twin dangerous points near his cheekbones.

Sable made a mental note to avoid them and drew the short blade strapped to her other thigh, ready to fight him. He swung the moment he was within reach and she ducked beneath the long silver blade, rolled forwards and came to her feet behind him. She slashed up his back, her knife splitting tanned flesh and scraping over bone, and grinned as he arched forwards and roared.

The thrill chasing through her blood increased, consuming her, driving her to keep going and embrace wildness it unleashed within her. She had been born to fight monsters and she felt it now more than ever as she faced off against the enormous demon males, swiftly calculating their every move before they could make it, ready for anything.

Sable grabbed a bolt with a thick cylinder on the end from her quiver pouch. Explosive dart. God she loved these things. She loaded it onto the small crossbow and swung to her left, aiming at the group of males storming towards her.

She grinned and pulled the trigger.

A large bloodstained hand clamped down on the weapon, grasping it and holding the bolt in place.

Sable growled in frustration and released her crossbow, leaving it in the demon’s hand. She thrust hard with her blade, blindly stabbing at her new enemy.

The huge male grabbed her wrist before she could drive the cold steel into his flesh. The tip pressed into his muscular chest and she froze when she realised it was Thorne frowning down at her, his rough masculine features crinkled in confusion.

“You seek to harm me, Little Female? I thought we had discussed this before?”

His deep gravelly voice washed over her and his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. Sable trembled. The hot shivery ache rolling through her increased in intensity as he tugged on her wrist, gently drawing her closer to him, his red gaze holding hers, commanding and powerful. She couldn’t break its hold on her. She tilted her head right back, lost in his eyes as he towered over her, making her feel small and weak, vulnerable to him.

Sable dropped her blade, the clang of it hitting the stone slabs beneath her feet jarring in the thick silence. She breathed hard, firmly under his spell and unable to form a response.

She had forgotten just how gorgeous he was and how his presence lit her up inside like fireworks on November fifth.

“Well?” Thorne cocked his head to one side and a hank of wild red-brown hair fell down onto his bloodstained brow.

Sable slowly shook her head and forced words up her dry throat and past her lips. “I was trying to help.”

A smile worked its way onto his firm lips and he flashed short fangs. “That is very kind of you… but I do not require your assistance to spar with my men.”

Spar?

Sable inched her gaze towards the demon males to her left. They had all stopped and were staring at her. She looked to her other side, at her team and the elves, and cringed. None of them had moved. She alone had leapt into the fray.

A blush burned up her cheeks before she could stop it. Thorne canted his head again, raised his free hand and lightly brushed the backs of his short claws across her left cheek. She shuddered under the gentle caress, her pulse quickening for a different reason as the heat burning inside her exploded into wildfire. She had to get a grip. This was a mission.

“Did you believe me to be under attack?” he husked in a low, quiet voice that sent a fierce shiver through her, cranking up her temperature another thousand degrees.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She nodded, and admitting it left her feeling like a fool.

“And you came to my aid?” Had he moved closer to her? His breath washed over her cheek, moist and hot, smelling faintly of something sweet and the coppery tang of blood.

Sable nodded again.

“You are but a little mortal female… yet you desired to fight all these demon males in order to protect me?”

When he put it like that, she couldn’t stop herself from blushing harder. She had reacted on instinct but the tone of his voice and the way he drew her closer still, until she could feel his heat rolling off him and over her, told her that he thought she did it because she felt something for him.

Desired him.

She cleared her throat, finally locked down her emotions and found her voice again, and even the courage to lift her gaze to his. “Not out of favouritism or anything. I’m here on a mission and that mission entails protecting you and your kingdom from demons. I saw you battling a score of demons and I did my duty.”

She twisted her hand free of his grip and hated the sharp disappointed edge his eyes gained. It made her feel like a bitch. She grabbed her blade from the dark stone pavement and jammed it into its sheath, and then snatched up her crossbow and checked it over, taking her time about it, stewing under the intense heat of his gaze.

Sable kept her head bent and holstered her crossbow and the unused explosive dart. Thorne continued to stare at her. So did everyone else. She was not going to blush. She racked her brain, trying to think of something to say to make everything go back to normal, and diligently kept her gaze away from Thorne.

She had also forgotten how impossibly tight his dark mahogany leather trousers were. They clung to his muscular thighs, stretched over them like a second skin, held closed by criss-crossed lacing over his crotch.

Not staring. Not staring.

Her eyes betrayed her, leaping to the impressive bulge in his trousers, and she forced it upwards before anyone noticed. Thorne’s gaze locked with hers again, holding her immobile.

“I’ll need my blades and bolts back now,” she muttered, not quite with the world or aware of what she was saying.

Thorne nodded. “Of course.”

He signalled his men and Sable realised just what she had asked, and felt dismal as the men immediately tore the barbed darts and throwing knives from their flesh without giving a single grunt or revealing a flicker of the pain they must have experienced.

They came forwards and placed the weapons into Thorne’s outstretched hand. He wiped the blood off them on his leather trousers and then held them out to her.

Sable swallowed her guilt and took them from him. She slipped the blades away beneath her arms and put the darts back in her quiver. The silence in the courtyard thickened again. She wasn’t sure what to do. She had made one hell of a first impression—on her team, on the elves, on the demons.

On Thorne.

She wanted to groan and bury her head in her heads.

She needed a do-over on everything after she had appeared in the Third Realm. It really hadn’t gone as planned.

Sable tossed Olivia a look and her friend wiped the smile off her face and nudged Loren. The tall, slender elf prince looked down at his mate, his black eyebrows pinned high on his forehead. Olivia gave a subtle jerk of her chin towards Sable. Loren looked her way and understanding dawned in his purple eyes.

“King Thorne.” Loren broke away from his legion and Olivia, and crossed the short distance to the demon male.

Thorne’s gaze finally left Sable. “Prince Loren.”

Sable seized her chance to slink back unnoticed to her team. Some of them gave her funny looks. She ignored them and Bleu’s inquisitive stare and checked her team over, making sure they had all arrived safely.

Thorne’s focus landed back on her. She could feel it whenever it happened. A shockwave of heat rippled through her, awareness so intense that she could almost pinpoint how far he was from her and could visualise the way he was looking at her. Whenever he looked away, returning his attention to Loren, cold stole through her, fierce and frigid.

She rubbed her wrist, her actions mimicking the light stroke of Thorne’s thumb over her tattoo. It ached and burned. Had she hurt it in training? Or was it a response to the way Thorne had caressed that patch of skin?

She gathered herself, squared her shoulders, turned on the spot and calmly strode back to Thorne and Loren.

The two tall men looked at her. Their height and fangs were the only things they had in common. Loren was unnaturally beautiful, lithe and held an air of darkness around him that stemmed from more than just his black hair and obsidian armour. Thorne was rugged, immense and had an aura of danger surrounding him that warned even her away.

His gaze held darkness as he finished discussing the war with Loren.

She had the answer to one of her questions at least. Thorne was troubled. The war was taking its toll on him, pushing him to his limit, wearing him down.