Claimed by a Demon King (41 page)

It wasn’t. She wasn’t.

She kept telling herself that, trying to shake off the bad feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach when Thorne had announced they were going out to meet the army of the Fifth King head on. That feeling weighed her down, impossible to ignore and difficult to deny. It had hold of her, placing dreadful images in her mind, visions of Thorne falling on the battlefield before she could save him.

Sable clenched her hands at her sides and closed her eyes, reaching for the link between them that was now so strong she could almost pinpoint Thorne’s location within the castle.

It was good to feel him, to know that he was safe for now, close to her even if she couldn’t see him.

She smiled at the sensation of warmth that travelled outwards from her heart, unravelling along her limbs until it reached her fingertips and her toes, and left her feeling calm at last. Thorne. He was reaching for her too and it made the link stronger than she had ever felt it before, even more powerful than shortly after they had sealed their bond and had become mates.

Mates.

She still hadn’t absorbed that or what it meant. She was immortal now, like Olivia. She would be queen too, if Thorne had his way. She wanted to know what lay ahead of her, needed to know the rest of what Thorne had been saying before the alarm had sounded, interrupting them. She would just have to make sure that both she and Thorne survived the coming battle so he could finish what he had been telling her.

A passing group of bare-chested demons halted their conversation and bowed their heads, lowering their gazes at the same time. They weren’t the first to greet her in such a manner. Word had certainly spread quickly through the ranks of Thorne’s men. She doubted there was a demon in his realm who didn’t know that he had claimed her and that she would soon be their queen.

That was still a royal mind fuck.

Queen Sable.

She shook her head, pushing that thought out of it. She didn’t want to be queen, but she didn’t think she was going to get a choice in the matter. She had mated with Thorne, had bound herself to him, and had vowed to embrace all that he was, and that meant accepting the responsibilities that came with it.

Like being queen to a horde of demons.

Was a time when she had been happy killing their kind. Now she was going to be responsible for taking care of them.

A royal mind fuck.

A hot shiver went through her, raising the hairs on the nape of her neck, and she swung her gaze towards the source of the sensation.

Thorne strode through the massive archway that led to the great hall, his broadsword balanced on his shoulder, his bare chest shifting sensually, enticingly with each step. His focus was on Loren, Kincaid and Grave as they walked beside him, his expression locked in dark grim lines. Discussing battle plans without her?

She had half a mind to have it out with him, but she could sense his strain and the underlying current of fear that flowed through him. He wouldn’t appreciate her teasing him at a time like this, when he felt the fate of his kingdom hung in the balance.

“Weapons check,” she hollered to her hunters and Evan and the other two men she had placed in charge of the divisions began barking instructions.

A few of the female hunters kept glancing towards the werewolves. The shifters had been a distraction ever since they had strolled into the courtyard to prepare themselves for the battle ahead. It seemed that werewolves preferred to go into battle half-naked, dressed in just loose shorts, and were flashing an obscene amount of muscle while they waited around for Kincaid. They were worse than the demons.

Sable had diligently kept her eyes off them, even when Kyal had come to discuss tactics with her. The younger wolf was itching for a fight, eager to get out onto the battlefield and sink his fangs into some demons.

Thorne halted and spoke with some of his men, and Sable couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked magnificent in just his tight black leather trousers, his heavy boots, and his thick leather vambraces strapped to his forearms. All of the demons were bare-chested and she had figured out why. It gave their opponents less to grab hold of during the fight, making it easier for them to escape any grip or avoid being caught altogether, and also made it easier for them to make use of their wings, unleashing them or hiding them as necessary.

Thorne ran a hand over his left horn and glanced her way, and then his gaze slowly edged back to her. She smiled at him. A flutter of warmth danced in her stomach when he smiled back, flashing the tips of his fangs. The marks on her neck tingled and the ones hidden beneath her black t-shirt on her breast joined them.

His dark crimson gaze brightened, he said something to the men without taking his eyes off her, and then he was striding towards her, his long muscular legs eating up the distance between them. Clearly, it wasn’t quick enough for him.

He dropped into a dark patch and she gasped as a breeze flowed across her back and his hands claimed her shoulders. He spun her to face him and before she could utter a word, his lips descended on hers, searing them with a passionate kiss that demanded all of her focus, chasing away the world around them.

Sable slipped her hands around his neck and returned the kiss, biting back a moan when his tongue tangled with hers, hot and insistent, and his fangs scraped her lip.

He drew back and the quip she had lined up on her tongue disappeared, forgotten as she stared into his striking scarlet eyes.

“Missed you,” he husked, drawing another smile from her, and she twined her fingers in his hair, curling it around their tips. “Miss me too?”

She nodded and he righted her, stepped back and kept his hands on her shoulders. He looked her over, his assessing gaze falling on the blades sheathed by her ribs and then the crossbow and short sword that hung from her belt.

“You do not have enough weapons.” He scowled at what she did have and she sighed.

“You have a single sword and you say I don’t have a big enough arsenal?” She rolled her eyes. A frown creased her brow. “Where is your sword?”

Thorne shrugged.

Sable looked back over her shoulder to search for it and couldn’t see it anywhere. She locked gazes with Thorne again. “You did that teleporting thing with it.”

He nodded.

“But you don’t know where it is?” She had always figured that he sent it somewhere, like the elves did with their possessions, returning them to their world.

“Demons are of the earth, are born of it, and so when we teleport we travel through it, returning to it.” Thorne cocked his head and stared at the stone flags beneath her feet. “When I have no need of my sword, it too returns to the earth.”

Sable frowned harder and dropped her gaze to her feet too. “So it’s down there somewhere.”

“Yes,” he said and she tried to get her head around that, and failed.

Hell was under her world and not at the same time.

Thorne’s sword existed when it was in his hand, but when it wasn’t, when he sent it away, it became one with the ground.

Did that mean when he teleported, dropping into the dark circle upon the ground, that he was becoming one with the earth too?

She really didn’t want to think about that.

“You are to remain here with the others.” Loren’s voice caught her attention and she scoured the courtyard for him, finding him a few metres away with Bleu and Olivia. Both elves wore their skin-tight black scaly armour. It covered Loren from neck to wrist, but Bleu had his helmet in place and his armour over his fingers, transforming them into vicious serrated claws.

Olivia glared up at Loren, her hands firmly planted on her hips, fingertips pressing into her dark blue jeans. “Why?”

Loren sighed and reached out to her. Olivia swatted his hand away.

“You’ll need a medic on the battlefield.” Her friend’s expression darkened, echoing her anger. Sable could understand her upset. She would hate it if Thorne dared to tell her to remain in the castle. She wanted to support her friend and back her up, but Loren was right.

“We need a medic here, Sweet Ki’ara.” Loren tried to reach out to touch her again and she huffed and slapped at his hand.

“Don’t you ‘sweet ki’ara’ me. You need me out there.”

“No,” Loren said, his voice falling to a whisper. “I need you here, where I know you are safe and protected. I would die if anything happened to you, my love.”

“I’m immortal now, I can—”

“You can still die,” Loren interjected, his eyes flashing bright purple, and clenched his fists at his sides. The pointed tips of his ears extended, flaring back against his wild blue-black hair, and his fangs flashed between his lips as he quickly spoke. “I will hear no more on this matter. You are needed here to aid any who return injured and to set up the infirmary. This army is relying on you and others to support it, to save lives bravely given to defend this kingdom. Do you understand?”

Olivia bowed her head, her long lashes shuttering her dark brown eyes, and meekly nodded. She closed her eyes and sighed, her eyebrows pinching together, and then looked at Loren’s hands. She slowly reached out and slipped her fingers into his left one, her thumb brushing his, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice and her eyebrows furrowed. She stepped closer to Loren and raised her other hand, sweeping it across his cheek as he stared down into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to push… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The elf prince closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, swallowing hard at the same time. “I could not bear to lose you.”

“I know. I couldn’t bear losing you either and that’s why I wanted to be out there, with you.” She tiptoed and placed her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her. He lowered his head and settled it in the curve of her throat. His hands claimed her hips and drew her against him, his fingertips digging into her back. Olivia stroked the back of his head. “I’ll stay here. Someone has to make sure everyone is taken care of and everyone here is safe. Right?”

He nodded but remained with his head buried in her fall of dark hair.

Olivia looked over at Sable.

Sable offered her a smile, hoping it would soothe her friend, and mouthed, “We’ll take care of him.”

She understood her friend’s need to be with her mate, but Olivia’s training was still in the early stages and that made her a liability on the battlefield, more of a nuisance than a help. They needed her in the castle, safe and protected, ready to tend to anyone who came back injured.

Sable would make sure that Loren was safe and made it through the battle, and she wouldn’t be alone. She met Bleu’s gaze, seeing the steadiness in it, the determination to protect not only his prince, but her and others too.

“Disgusting,” Grave muttered as he strolled past with three of his men in tow, heading for Sable and Thorne, all four vampires wearing the standard black long jacket, trousers and riding boots of the Preux Chevaliers corps.

Loren lifted his head from Olivia’s neck and hissed, his pointed ears flattening against the sides of his head as he bared his fangs. He growled something in the elf language that sounded dark, menacing, and a threat.

Bleu said something too, a wicked tilt to his lips that turned his visage cruel, revealing the other side of his nature that the elves often hid so well.

Grave glared at both of them, his pupils stretching thin in the centres of his ice-blue eyes, and then seemed to reconsider whatever course of action he had been preparing to take. He huffed, tilted his nose up and kept walking. He settled his hand on the hilt of the elegant sword sheathed at his waist and shoved a couple of the younger werewolves out of his way. Neither dared to growl at him. They slinked back into the pack, scowling at the dark-haired vampire as he passed with his entourage.

“Just as charming as ever,” Sable muttered as Olivia, Loren and Bleu joined them.

“Keep away from him in battle, Little Female.” Thorne squeezed her hand and she squeezed back to let him know that she wasn’t foolish enough to fight anywhere near Grave.

He had almost lost his head to bloodlust several times when they had been here in the castle, in peaceful situations. She didn’t want to imagine just how insane he would be on the battlefield.

“Is everything prepared?” Loren said, a picture of composure again, and Thorne nodded.

“I will leave men with experience in dressing wounds here at the castle with Olivia and the others. Rosalind will remain here too. She has vowed to help in any way that she can, including patching any holes in our defences if the witches at the Fifth King’s disposal do attack the barrier she placed over the castle.”

Sable could sense Thorne’s relief about that. Keeping the people who remained in the castle safe meant a lot to him. It wasn’t only civilians who would be left here while they headed out to meet the Fifth King’s army. Each species were leaving a portion of their men behind, a second wave of fresh soldiers that she had no doubt they would need and who would give others a chance to rest and recuperate enough to go on fighting.

“Rosalind also informed me that the Fifth King’s numbers are great, outweighing ours. It will be a difficult battle.” Thorne paused and looked down at her.

Sable met his gaze, keeping her heart steady and her body still, refusing to let the flicker of nerves within her show in any way he could detect. The subtle tilt of his lips said that he was on to her and knew both her fear and her reason for hiding it from him.

“I would not dare hold you back from battle, my female. I do not wish to find myself castrated or stabbed.” His smile grew and she pushed his arm, rolling her eyes at the same time.

Olivia looked as if she wanted to snipe about being held back from battle but kept quiet. Sable gave her a smile and silently promised to increase the difficulty of her training sessions. She would make a warrior out of her friend yet.

“My men are prepared,” Kincaid said close beside her and she looked across at him.

Kyal stood at his side, his blue irises already transforming into their golden wolf-state. Eager as ever. She didn’t know why he always wanted to rush into battle. Kincaid and the others had said he was young, calling him a cub more than once much to his chagrin, but something in his eyes said differently.