Claimed by a Demon King (8 page)

Thorne growled low in his throat and she realised she had been staring at his mouth, nibbling on her lower lip, while she had been lost in her thoughts. His dusky brown horns had curled again and he looked as though he was thinking about kissing her too, and she couldn’t have that in front of all these people.

Sable dragged her gaze from his and focused on her food. Someone filled her clay mug with an amber liquid and she ate a bite of food and then lifted the drink to her lips to wash it down. She took a great gulp and her eyes instantly watered.

Fire blazed down her throat and combusted in her veins. Her mouth burned like acid and fumes shot up her nose, causing her to choke as she tried to gasp for air.

Whatever it was, it was stronger than the Hellfire she had tasted at Underworld, a fae-demon club in London.

She coughed, struggling to breathe, and slammed her hand on the table.

Thorne curled his hand around her left shoulder, pulled her against his side and raised another cup to her lips. She tried to refuse, didn’t want more of the demon booze, but he tipped her back, forcing her to drink.

Cool water rushed past her lips, quenching the fire in her mouth and her stomach, and she lay there in his arms looking up at him, drinking it down and grateful for it.

Another memory of that night at Underworld overlaid onto the present, a moment when Bleu had held her like this while Olivia had given her water to wash away the fire in her throat. Guilt curled its claws around her heart and she wasn’t sure why. She had never led Bleu on or given him the impression that she wanted him. He had been a fantastic sparring partner and a wonderful source of information, and she liked him as a friend, but he clearly thought something more could happen between them.

Thorne took the cup away, a beautiful look of concern softening his face, and she didn’t stop him when he rubbed his thumb across her chin, catching the stray drops of water there.

“Thank you,” she whispered, lost in his crimson eyes and the tenderness in his touch.

He smiled and he was devastating, setting fire to her blood again and making her insides flutter with need. She looked up at him, trying to force herself to focus on his ridged horns and the fangs that were a constant reminder that he was a demon, hoping they would quench the fire in her heart as the water had cooled the heat in her belly.

They didn’t.

He righted her, stabbed a piece of vegetable on his claws and offered it to her. Sable leaned forwards and took it out of politeness, her head a little fuzzy from the grog. He offered another bite, his eyes brimming with curiosity and bright with interest. She took that one too, and the next, and then her reservation melted away and she began to enjoy the way he would carefully select each bite for her, mixing up what he offered, fussing over her.

He offered a smaller scrap from the plate. Sable went to take it and ended up brushing her lips over his fingertip.

He growled and her eyes leaped up to his. His gaze burned into her mouth and he looked torn between venturing further with his finger and removing it so he could kiss her.

What was she doing?

Her head twirled as she turned towards her friend and her gaze locked on Bleu. He scowled in her direction. Olivia gaped at her.

Sable blamed the booze. One mouthful had her tipsy and lightheaded, but not drunk enough.

She grabbed her mug and took smaller sips this time, hiding in it to avoid everyone.

It was empty before she knew it.

She stared into the bottom of the clay cup and then looked around the room. Everyone was eating and talking.
Boring
. This was meant to be a feast. She had always imagined they were jovial affairs, with much laughter and dancing.

Dancing. She could dance. She wanted to get up on the table and dance to the music floating around the room.

Music? She didn’t recall there being music before. She looked for the musicians and found none.

Someone touched her arm and she twisted to look at them. The room whizzed past her eyes, spinning in the opposite direction to her head and her stomach, and she wanted to vomit.

She needed some air.

Sable shoved her hands onto the table, pushed herself up and turned around. She fell over her chair, landing in a twisted heap.

Thorne shot to his feet, darkness flowed into her head and ebbed away again, and she felt as if she was flying.

She opened her eyes but it wasn’t the burly demon king looking down at her, gently cradling her in his arms.

Bleu.

He muttered soft things in his language while his eyes spoke volumes about murder.

Sable wanted to tell him not to be angry with Thorne but darkness swallowed her.

CHAPTER 5

Y
ou allowed her to get drunk and now she is in need of her own kind.

Those words taunted Thorne, spoken with contempt and truth that had stung him. A growl curled up his throat as an image of Bleu holding Sable in his arms, his slender female out cold, tormented him. Fury had driven him to lash out at the elf for daring to speak in such a manner to him and for daring to touch his female, but the male had clung to her, and he hadn’t dared risk it in case he hurt her by mistake.

Thorne had spent the rest of the night lost in thought, his mind with Sable and his heart compelling him to go to her. His pride and sense of duty had kept him at the feast, overruling his desire to see that Sable was well, and that the bastard elf wasn’t anywhere near her.

When the banquet had ended, the last guests stumbling their ways back to their rooms, Thorne had remained.

He paced the raised platform, his wings furled against his bare back, his boots heavy on the stone floor.

He should have known better than to let her partake of their mead.

He had been doing well and she had been responding to his kindness, and then she had drunk herself into oblivion. Why?

He growled and his horns curled around in front of his pointed ears.

The six guards near the main entrance of the great hall kept their eyes fixed ahead, gazes locked beyond him, as though they did not see their king in turmoil before them, his heart ripped open by a slender, small female, bleeding into the cavity of his chest. That cavity had felt empty before the night he had set eyes on her and had been a source of constant pain since.

What was he supposed to do now?

He couldn’t think straight. The whole feast had been a disaster. He had attacked Bleu. Sable had passed out. On top of both of those things, another fight had broken out towards the end of the banquet, this time between the vampires and the elves.

Three vampires and one elf were now in the wing of the castle currently acting as a hospital. One table and eight chairs were also casualties of the battle and his staff were not impressed. They had limited furniture in storage and the feasts were using most of it in order to seat the visiting armies. It was a headache he didn’t need. Finding quarters to house the thirteen hundred and fifty men and women, while keeping species separated and keeping the mortals safe had been difficult enough. Many of his men had had to take up residence in the outer courtyard in tents in order to accommodate their guests.

Thorne shoved his fingers through his hair. This was going to end in disaster. He was going to lose his female and then the war and his kingdom.

The doors opened and he growled, feeling sure it was the elf. The last thing he needed was Bleu coming to confront him, to blame him for Sable’s poor condition and sickness.

He turned to face the bastard.

It was the prince’s female.

She looked as fiery and dangerous as Sable often did and he could sense her anger as she stormed towards him, but with each step it drained a little, and by the time she reached him, she had lost her spark.

“How does Sable fare?” he asked, afraid of the answer to that question but needing to know.

Olivia stared at him in silence for long seconds, her glare cutting, and then her shoulders sagged. “She’s sleeping off the booze.”

“Is she sick?” He couldn’t hide his fear that she was.

She shook her head, causing her wavy brown hair to dance across her shoulders. “No. The elves gave her something to settle her stomach.”

Thorne growled. Why hadn’t he thought of that? She might have smiled at him again if he had. He had taken his cue from Prince Loren at the feast, feeding his female vegetables more suited to her delicate palate. That had worked in his favour.

He stepped down off the platform, moving closer to Olivia. “I desire to see her.”

“It might be wiser to wait until she’s awake and feeling less foolish.”

This female made as much sense as his did on occasion. “Why would she feel foolish?”

Olivia sighed. “On top of everything else… well… she embarrassed herself by getting drunk. Feeling like a fool around everyone the morning after is a natural human reaction.”

“I will order all in this castle not to look upon her in such a fashion.”

The petite female smiled. “That isn’t quite what I meant. It will be Sable who is looking upon herself like a fool and I don’t think you can order her to feel any other way.”

No. He couldn’t. He had already decided that orders didn’t work on Sable and her friend was right in her observation that you could not order someone who felt foolish not to feel that emotion. He felt like a fool too and could not stop himself.

There had to be a way to smooth things over between him and Sable, and have her smile at him again. He wanted her close to him, as she had been while he had been feeding her.

“Will she be hungry when she wakes?” Food was all he knew as a method of pleasing her. Perhaps it would work again.

“Probably.” Olivia shrugged. “She’ll be hung over.”

Thorne frowned, already putting a plan into motion in his head. “And there is a cure for this… hung over?”

The female nodded. “Bad food.”

That did not make sense to Thorne. Were all human females as confusing as Sable and Olivia?

“Food she does not like or food that is decomposing?” His frown hardened. “Is this some sort of self-punishment? Because I will not allow it.”

“Ah, no, you misunderstand…
again
.” Olivia smiled, her brown eyes twinkling with it. “I mean food we think is bad for us. Like bacon, eggs, sausages and fried food.”

He had heard of some of those things but didn’t know what they looked like. That would not deter him though. His female’s friend had given him a way of regaining her smiles and her kindness, and he would not fail in this mission. He focused on his wings, forcing them away, and then his horns. It was shameful to hide them, but he didn’t want to cause a stir. They shrank into his head and he hoped his guards hadn’t noticed. The last thing he needed was them talking about how their king had concealed his horns.

He stepped onto the semi-circular platform and picked up his white shirt from the table.

“We have not these things, but I will see to it. Thank you.” He focused on the ground at his feet and dropped into the black vortex that swirled below him, catching Olivia’s gasp as he disappeared.

Thorne reappeared in the mortal world in the middle of the city they called London. The bustling metropolis was dark, the streets emptying. He slipped his white shirt on and walked along the rows of bright shop fronts towards a store at the end of the road. He had visited this place in the past, when Fargus had desired what the mortals called chocolate. Thorne had tasted the sweet confection the male had purchased. It was not pleasant.

Fargus’s mate craved the dark bitter variety of it and the male always found time to bring her back some whenever they made a trip to the mortal realm.

Thorne would do the same for Sable if she asked it of him. He would travel to the ends of the Earth to bring her whatever she desired. He hadn’t understood Fargus’s deep desire to please his female until now. He had his own female to please.

His own female to claim.

He waited for the glass doors of the brightly lit store to open and allow him entrance, and then stalked in, a demon on a mission. Mortals milled around the large shop, some in groups and others alone, pushing carts up and down the aisles. He hunted for the cold section, knowing he would find meat there. Fargus had told him that his female had not desired meat when he had pointed it out as a more suitable present for him to give to her.

The male had spoken of the things his human mate liked. Thorne tried to recount them, desiring to bring them to his female. He should have paid more attention but he had been eager to reach the magic bearer, Rosalind, and hear the future of his kingdom.

Coffee. That had definitely come up.

He racked his brain while loading his arms with the things he did know. Bacon. Sausages. Eggs. Bread. Those were easy enough. Coffee.

Fried foods?

He looked down at his bounty.

Were these fried foods? He should have asked Olivia for more information.

A brunette female passed him, dressed in an impossibly short grey skirt, heeled shoes and a tight white blouse. She glanced at him, raking her gaze over him in a way that made him want to growl at her. He hated it when the court females looked upon him in such a manner.

“Lost, Handsome?” She turned towards him and fluttered her eyelashes.

“No. Merely pausing to reflect upon what other food items constitute a cure for… hung over.”

She sidled closer, clutching a basket in both hands before her. His gaze scanned the contents. Wine. Sable did not require that. Chocolate. What was it with mortal females and that infernal sweet?

“I tell you what I love to eat when I’m hung over… let’s see. Fried bacon and eggs, which you happen to have right here.” She stroked the packages in his arms and brushed her fingers across his skin too. Thorne barely resisted flashing his fangs at her. “Sausages are good. I love a big sausage.”

He surmised that was a euphemism for a part of his anatomy. She tried to brush her leg against his and he backed off a step. It failed to deter her.

“Waffles with chocolate sauce, cream and strawberries.”