Demon Lover (18 page)

Midas frowned. “You choose the questions? And you decide if the answers are right or wrong? How is that fair?”

“Three questions you agree to and the answers will be written down and kept in a sealed box.” She gestured at the opulent room around them. “You’re already wealthy, Highness. You have little to lose and even more to gain.”

Midas rested his chin on his hand and tapped a finger against his lips, considering. Gwyneth was sure she’d struck the correct chord here. He loved people to notice and comment on his wealth. Her one anxiety was that he’d degenerated so far in recent months that he hadn’t actually noticed how little he had left. Surely it couldn’t be much.

Midas lifted his gaze. “Treble the riches and you and the child both return to the palace for a month.”

“Not Brea. Only me.” She wouldn’t use her daughter as a bargaining tool, not even when she was almost certain she would win the bet. “And we get the house and servant.”

He raised a hand. “Very well. Now, as to the questions…”

Gwyneth presented the three questions she had in mind and, after thinking about each one, Midas scoffed. “No man could answer such drivel. Only the first has an obvious answer. I’ll give you that, because the others are so stupid I know he won’t know the answers.”

Thank God for the man’s overwhelming greed that eclipsed his reason and for his low opinion of her mental faculties. It was astonishing he would accept her questions, but evidently she’d baited her hook carefully enough and now she must reel in her fish.

When Gwyneth’s answers were locked in a box, it was time to summon the man who knew her better than anyone on this earth…or below it. She hadn’t spoken his name aloud since she’d left Elohim, although she’d thought it often enough. Now she prayed the summoning power would work.

“Ragnorak, I need you,” she whispered softly.

The air sizzled and, with a crack of thunder, Ragnorak appeared in their midst.

Chapter Nineteen

He heard his name murmured in his ear like a quiet caress, and Ragnorak knew instantly who called him. Gwyneth needed him. Perhaps she was in danger. Maybe Midas had changed his mind and thrown her into one of his dungeons to punish her for the gold-spinning lie. Or maybe, just maybe, she was pining for Ragnorak. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t deny her call…and wouldn’t have even if he’d had a choice. Like a magnet drawn to steel, he must go to Gwyneth though rock, fire, space or time itself might separate them.

He arrived in the throne room of the palace—thankfully clothed this time—to find it occupied only by Midas, his steward and a few guards, and Gwyneth. She was clothed in sky blue that made her astonishing eyes even brighter and her hair glow more golden than ever. For a moment, Ragnorak blocked all the other people in the room from his mind and concentrated solely on her. She smiled at him, and his blood burned like molten lava through his veins.

“You came.” He’d forgotten how musical and sweet her voice sounded.

“Of course.” Ragnorak bowed. “What do you need from me, my lady?”

She gazed fiercely into his eyes as if willing him to understand her as she proposed the terms of another contest. “My lord Svartan, I’m not pleased you’ve had to sacrifice your kingdom’s resources in order to preserve my freedom. I’ve suggested to King Midas he wager what you’ve promised him against the possibility of an even greater boon.”

Ragnorak frowned and looked toward Midas, certain he’d put her up to this. “I’m satisfied with the terms we set.”

“
I’m
not.” Gwyneth said forcefully and took a step toward him. “I want my freedom free and clear or not at all.”

“What do you propose, madam?”

“You will respond to three questions, the answers to which are in the sealed box which Wallace now holds.” She indicated the steward. “If you answer correctly, Midas will release you from your debt, sign a permanent peace treaty between the upper and lower worlds, and write a binding promise that Brea and I will be forever free.”

“And if I should answer incorrectly?” Ragnorak was already rejecting the plan in his mind. “What does he demand then?”

Descending the steps from the dais on which his throne stood, the king spoke at last. “Three times the yearly allotment you’ve promised and Gwyneth will return to the castle.”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I stand by the previous bargain we struck. The answer is no.”

“Svartan,” Gwyneth spoke his name sharply, instantly drawing his attention back to her light. “You
must
make this deal. I have full confidence in your ability to answer the questions correctly. I’m staking my life on it.”

“It’s too dangerous. I would not put you at risk,” he argued.

“It’s my risk to take. In fact,” she narrowed her eyes and spoke slowly, “
I
will make this bet. You promised once I could request any of the riches of your kingdom. Now I demand you fulfill that promise, but only if you lose the bet—which you won’t.”

“Gwyneth, you’re being unreasonable.” He strode toward her and stopped short of grasping her arms and shaking her. “There is no point to this bet. I’m satisfied to give Midas a little gold each year to keep you safe.”

“There is a point.” Her voice was quiet now, meant for his ears alone. “To prove how well you know me, like no other person ever has. We’re meant to be together, Ragnorak, and after you answer these very easy questions, we’ll find a way to arrange it. Both of us together. No more protestations that you’re pushing me away for my own good as if I was some child.”

Her eyes blazed the bright blue of lapis lazuli as she gazed into his. “Equals. Man and woman, husband and wife. We will find common ground and have our happily ever after. I insist on it.”

At that moment, Ragnorak realized Gwyneth was a much more powerful being than he with all his rock shifting, air bending abilities. She was a goddess and he, her humble servant. But he didn’t have to be happy about it.

He scowled. “Very well. Pose your questions.”

Midas clapped his hands together. “Excellent. The bargain is struck. Begin.”

Gwyneth folded her hands over her skirt, modestly covering the junction of her thighs as she asked a most immodest question. “What brings me to climax most quickly?”

A plethora of images flashed in Ragnorak’s mind: Gwyneth with her head thrown back and her tender throat exposed, her face contorted in ecstasy, her pussy flushed and glistening before him, her hips thrusting, body rising and her cries as she achieved her goal. She was absolutely right. This was an easy question. He was surprised Midas had allowed it.

The king snorted. “I give you this one, Ragnorak. The answer is so obvious.”

Ragnorak spoke over him, offering his answer. “My tongue on your clit.” In case her answer was more general, he amended, “Oral sex.”

“Wrong!” Midas crowed with delight. “Every man knows women want only one thing in bed. Cock. That was so easy. I can’t believe you missed it. Read the answer aloud, Wallace.”

“Yes,” Gwyneth agreed. “Break the seal and read the answer after each question rather than waiting until the end. Let there be no misunderstanding or reinterpretation of what was said here today.”

Wallace swallowed hard as he opened the box and drew out the paper inside. From the grimness of his expression, Ragnorak guessed the man already knew the answer was correct—which said a little something about Wallace’s prowess in the bedroom.

The steward cleared his throat before stammering, “The answer given is…oral s-sex.”

“What? Let me see that?” Midas charged across the floor and snatched the paper from Wallace’s hand. As he read, he frowned. “Ridiculous!’

“Your Highness, return the paper to Wallace,” Gwyneth demanded boldly. “This is a fair contest. No lying or cheating on either side. To break the bargain would bring doom on the head of the person who dared interfere with the code of honor.”

Midas’s scowl deepened, but he thrust the paper back at the steward.

“My next question is this,” Gwyneth continued. “What is the most precious thing between a man and a woman?”

“Hah! Not so easy now, is it, my would-be brother?” the king gloated. “Who knows what a woman imagines is important? It could be anything, their thoughts are so irrational.”

Ragnorak considered. Midas was correct in that the question was a bit more challenging this time. Then he remembered lying quietly with Gwyneth after sex and simply breathing as they gazed into each other’s eyes. He remembered the long talks and arguments they’d had, their shared laughter and their common worry over Brea’s health when the baby had struggled for each breath. Remembering those moments made the answer quite obvious.

“Intimacy.”

Absolute silence followed his pronouncement. The expressions on Midas and Wallace’s faces—as well as the guards loitering near the door—were comical in their incredulity. Ragnorak nearly smiled, especially when he saw the twinkle in Gwyneth’s eyes that let him know he’d answered correctly.

The nervous fear that had constricted his throat and made his heart pound began to alleviate as Ragnorak realized for the first time he had nothing to fear. He couldn’t lose this bet. Gwyneth might as well have rigged it for she asked questions he couldn’t get wrong—not with the way he knew the inner workings of her mind.

And also for the first time, he began to believe there was hope for a future for them together. She was right. They could find common ground, a way to make their worlds accommodate each of them.

When Wallace read the answer, “Intimacy,” Midas stomped his foot on the floor.

“A lucky guess! But there’s no way you’ll know the answer to the last question. Even if she’d mentioned it before, you wouldn’t remember such a foolish detail. No man would.” The king didn’t sound at all certain this time, and he made eye contact with the guards by the door.

Seeing the possibility of a double cross, Ragnorak casually moved closer to Gwyneth so he could grab her hand and take her with him if things went badly. The guards couldn’t touch Ragnorak, but Midas might have instructed them to seize Gwyneth and use her as a tool to control him.

“My last question is silly yet simple.” His lady smiled, and he knew he was home free. “What is my favorite kind of bird?”

Her laughter as she’d described her ongoing battle with the birds that lived under the eaves of her father’s house rang in his head. He could hear her laughing, but couldn’t for the life of him remember the type of bird. Mourning doves? Sparrows? Robins? Woodpeckers? His palms began to sweat and he clenched his fists by his sides. She should know he had little experience with birds, having lived his life underground.

But he looked into her eyes and Gwyneth’s smile never faltered. She trusted him to remember. She believed he’d saved and stored every detail of their time together, every moment of conversation as well as every kiss. And, once more, of course she was right. Ragnorak delved deeper into his memory. He closed his eyes and relived the conversation they’d had as they strode the pathways of the Purple Caverns.

“One thing I miss down here—and I can’t believe I’d ever miss them,” she’d said, “is the horrible birds that used to leave their droppings on the floor of the porch back home. I don’t know how many hours of my life I’ve spent, scrubbing those floorboards clean.” She’d laughed. “Even so, I miss those wrens with their pretty red breasts and their annoying ‘beeps’—such an unmusical bird call. But they were tiny and adorable and they had a nest of hatchlings every spring, which were amusing to watch.”

“Wrens,” Ragnorak nearly shouted. “Red breasted wrens are your favorite bird.”

Gwyneth beamed while Wallace read in a faint voice, “Wrens
is
the correct answer, sire.”

Midas howled in fury. His face went bright red and twisted into a horrible mask of rage. He stomped his feet like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum and screamed, “It’s not fair. He knew the answers already.”

“You agreed to the questions,” Gwyneth answered calmly. “The bet was fair and the results are binding. No more underworld riches for you to squander and no further contact between us.”

“Guards!” the king yelled and the uniformed men moved forward.

Ragnorak reached for Gwyneth’s hand, ready to whisk them both away, but he hesitated. A man who would break a deal, a man with a temper like Midas’s, would never let the matter go. Gwyneth and Brea would be hunted. Elohim would be threatened. The people of the upper world would continue to suffer as long as Midas reigned. It was time to eliminate the problem.

Ragnorak strode toward his half-brother, took him by the hand and shook it firmly. “The deal is done. The bargain sealed. Truth and justice are revealed.”

It was a simple incantation, but extremely effective. As Midas continued to stomp his feet against the floor, Ragnorak clung to his hand and pushed the power out of himself and into the very stones of the castle floor. In a mindless fury and seemingly unaware of the change in the air around him, Midas ranted and pounded his heels on the flagstones, which began to crackle and shift.

A glance at the guards told Ragnorak they’d fallen back, prudent self-preservation triumphing over obedience. The guards and the rat-faced steward remained in the room, silent witnesses to the king’s destruction, but they looked ready to run out the door if necessary.

Ragnorak turned his concentration back to Midas. Neither judge nor executioner, he was merely a conduit for allowing the balancing power of the universe to bring Midas to his appropriate fate. He released the man’s hand and watched as the evil king cursed and screamed at the guards to do his bidding, while continuing to jump up and down like a madman. With every stomp, the stones beneath his feet crumbled further, and suddenly they disintegrated completely. A pit opened. Deep within glowed orange flames which Ragnorak recognized as the molten lava of the earth’s core, but knew the topsiders would perceive the fires of hell. It certainly didn’t hurt to have humans fear the underworld in this way.

Awakening from his frenzy of fury, Midas stumbled backward, but it was too late. The vortex pulled at him with the suction of a tornado. He met Ragnorak’s gaze for a fraction of a second. “Demon!” he shrieked and the word trailed away in a long, thin wail as he tumbled into the earth.