Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (4 page)

She stared up at him as he moved up her body
and reared over her, his sex, hard and thick at her entrance. When he drove it
forward, she could feel a slight sting as her sex adjusted to his manhood.
Staring deep into her eyes, he thrust deeply. She opened her lips to cry out,
from pain, from pleasure, but he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, stifling
her cries until she moved with him, lost in the passion of him. He was in her,
on her, claiming her as his woman. He growled in her ear, clutched her breasts
and pinched her nipples hard as he came until finally slumping over her.

Shifting aside, he lay
beside
her, partially covering her naked body with his leg and arm.

Staring at him, she stroked his cheeks, her
sensitive fingers feeling the barbs of his beard. He turned to face her and
gently kissed her lips. “This time we have together is precious.” His lips
curved as his eyes held hers. “From the moment I first saw you, I thought about
you. How I could have you. How I could make you mine. Remember all I am to you
and all you are to me.”

When he said the words she fought apprehension
that they wouldn’t have time together. He was preparing to leave her and go to
his father. There had to be a way to delay him because deep inside, she feared
he would not come back.

He bent his head and his lips grazed hers, but
she took his cheeks and kissed him hard. “Don’t go, my lord. If your father
only has days, wait until he passes and take your army into the city.”

"That is not honorable. I must be by the
king's side at this serious time. I am his son." He moved down to her
neck, his lips nipping along the pulse of her throat as if testing the rush of
blood beneath and soon she was lost in the thrill of it. A shiver of delight
made her run her hands along the ridged muscles of his back. Agrat kissed her
throat,
then
suddenly nipped the delicate area where
her shoulder met her neck.

She squealed.

He rubbed his lips gently over the bite so the
little tingles of pleasure followed the pain.

“Oh,” Phoebe sighed. She hadn’t expected to
enjoy the dual sensation. Just the feel of his lips kissing her throat, then
moving downwards to her breasts delighted her.

His hands were hot and he had a way of caressing
her nipples that made the place between her legs throb. She was aching for his
touch. Everywhere, even though she was tender from the first time.

He pulled back from her and took his penis in
his hand. Leaning on one elbow, he rubbed the head of his velvety cock over her
entrance and up to her clitoris.

Phoebe groaned and thrust to meet his rhythm.
“I want you. I want you so much. Stay with me.”

“I must go.”

“Your father will punish you for taking me.”
She would lose him forever.

“He is close to death. I will ask his forgiveness
for taking you. What use can he have of another woman now?” He kissed along her
neckline.

She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of
the head of his sex rub gently over her clitoris. Her hips jerked. She strained
and arched her back wanting more.

He pressed harder this time, moving his cock
rapidly up and down.

The rush that hit her when she came surprised
her. He inserted his fingers into her, finding her tender place and she
crunched down on him as he rubbed her clitoris with his thumb. It sent her
soaring, until a groan started deep inside her, forcing its way out, the
sensation of his cock and fingers exquisite. He knew exactly how to please her
;
could tease and play her body like it was a sensitive
instrument under his fingers.

Agrat moved over, but pulled her close by
holding her around her waist.

For quite some time she lay in his arms, her
body replete, drifting in the warmth of his arms. When he went to move away,
she tightened her grip on him. Inside her, cold, hard fear replaced the heady sensations
of lovemaking.

“I have to leave. I must be at my father’s
side to claim my birthright.”

Phoebe’s eyes flicked open and she stared at
him. “You are the eldest son. Surely your people expect you to inherit.”

Agrat pushed himself to a sitting position. "I
am told that the queen, mother of Galaden, sits by father’s bed, weaving
enchanted spells so that her son will inherit the throne.

The Prince rose, walked over to the ewer of
water, spooned some into a basin and washed himself.

Phoebe followed him, took a linen cloth from a
shelf, wet it and washed the prince’s neck and shoulders. He was hard,
magnificent and a tremor of fear passed inside of her. She would never see him
again. “You go to fight for your inheritance.”

His dark eyes held
a
coldness
she had never seen and his sensuous mouth had formed a grim
line. “I go to fight for my life.”

Chapter 2

Agrat stood at the foot of the
bed, conscious of his father’s penetrating gaze. Even the scent of incense
couldn’t hide the fetid smell of approaching death in the air. A slave wiped
the perspiration beading on his father’s forehead as he stared at his son, his
face grim. “You seek the crown before I am dead, demon son of mine,” said the
king.

Agrat
sucked in a deep breath. The demon insult thrown by his father was a knife
wound to his heart. Fighting to show no emotion, he knelt and lowered his eyes,
conscious of the constant murmurings of Galaden’s angel-faced mother who stood
on the king’s right hand side. He doubted her prayers were for the king’s soul,
more likely chants designed to weave around the king’s fevered mind like vines,
poisoning him so that her angel son would be shown favor. On the king’s left
stood his half-brother, Galaden, once his friend in the nursery, now a
contender for the throne. Galaden’s blond hair was feathered around his face
giving him a boyish look, but Agrat was not fooled, his eyes were as hard as
crystals.

“Forgive
me, Sire. As your eldest born son, I seek the crown once you have entered great
Yahweh’s house. Not before,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Stripped of
his weapons before entering the king’s chamber he saw that Galaden had his
golden sword sheathed at his side. As the older and stronger brother he had
bested Galaden when the brothers had trained as youths; but the angel son was a
man now, strong in the ways of his mother’s folk and their corruption had spread
through his veins. He would obey his father and king without question as male
angels were bred to protect their creator and follow their lord’s wishes, even
if that meant taking off his brother’s head.

The
king shifted in his bed, his face grimacing in pain. The sweet, sickly smell of
a wound that could not be tempered wafted from under the linen sheets toward
Agrat. “You have committed a crime punishable by death. You have stolen my
concubine.”

Sweet
Phoebe. Her face flashed in front of his eyes. His father must have spies in
his compound. Phoebe’s life would be forfeited if he
was
not alive to protect her. He knelt and bowed his head. “I beg your forgiveness,
Father.”

The
king beckoned him to stand. “Speak your reasons.”

When
Agrat
rose
he saw his brother’s hand hover over the
hilt of his sword. “All my life I have served you as both son and general,
protecting you, your people and your lands. You are a just king. I ask on the
eve of your life that you show mercy, forgive me my one mistake of loving the
princess.”

His
father struggled to a sitting position though, from the sheen on his forehead,
the movement cost him dear. The linen sheets fell forward exposing his shift.
Watery blood stained the linen and death scented the air. The king pulled an
ornate ring from his forefinger, the Ring of Kingship, held it in the palm of
his hand then closed his fingers over it. “Love? What would the son of a demon princess
know of love? You were bred for war. By stealing my concubine, you move to take
my kingdom before I am dead.”

His
father valued his skills as a warrior above all else, directing his son in
warfare from the moment Agrat had been old enough to hold a weapon. Even his
wet nurse had been ordered to show him no affection so that he would grow
warlike. Agrat could bear it no
longer,
his need to
love and be loved rose up, choking him. “Not so, father. I have wed the
princess but wish to continue in my duties as loyal son and soldier. I beg of
you, forgive me this one thing.”

The
old king turned to stare at Galaden. “What fools I have bred for sons who think
to marry their own choice. Did you not learn from Galaden’s mistake? Love and
obedience is in his nature. I have forgiven him, but he has been well
punished.”

Galaden
raised his chin and stared straight ahead but his jaw tightened. Did his
brother miss Rachael, the flame-haired merchant’s daughter with whom he had
fallen in love? Agrat had not heard of his brother seeking a paramour since. It
was hard to tell with his sibling who, like Agrat, had learned that to show any
form of emotion in front of their father was seen as weakness.

No,
Galaden had hidden his suffering well until the king had ordered the woman’s
death for tempting the angel. It was the only time Agrat had ever seen his
brother show pain; pain so raw that he had keened with misery and the life glow
that radiated from all angels had ebbed from his body, leaving him a stern
shell, his skin white like alabaster.

On
the day Agrat heard that Galaden had not fought for his lover’s life, he lost
all respect for him.

“I
love too.” The words left Agrat’s lips through gritted teeth. It struck him
that he would do more than fight for this woman; he would kill for her.

Galaden’s
hand gripped the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white. "Your love is
treacherous."

"Silence!
I have not given you leave to speak," the king said.

Galaden's
mouth snapped shut but his eyes blazed with hatred at the demon prince.

“Let
me see the woman who turns this son to a fool.” The king snapped his fingers.

The
evil monkey-faced demon, Snarcus, brought Phoebe in, holding her by the arms.
Though her face was bleached with fear she walked with dignity, her eyes
vulnerable, wide like an animal’s when the blade was pulled for sacrifice. Her
long blond hair flowed over her shoulders, her white robe was dusted with red
desert earth and her feet were bare. Even disheveled, her beauty shone like a
lamp drawing all eyes in the room, but she only looked to Agrat.

Even
Galaden straightened and Agrat noticed him take in the curves of her body. It
was not in the angel’s nature to covet another man’s woman but Phoebe was
mesmerizing, and as Galaden looked from Agrat to Phoebe he seemed moved.

“You
risk your throne for a goddess, but she is flesh and blood and will wither and
die. No heir of mine can afford the luxury of marrying for love. My second son
understands this,” the king said.

“I
marry who I choose,” Agrat said. He thought of Phoebe’s gentle hands upon his
body and the look in her eyes as she gave herself to him. No woman had ever
gazed upon him like she had. Hatred for his father rose up so that his throat
clogged though he knew emotion would weaken his mind powers. His heart thumped
and his muscles twitched, priming for a fight. Phoebe was his. His gaze flicked
over her, taking in the way her body strained toward him. Snarcus would regret
his treacherous role in bringing Phoebe here.

The
king’s face darkened at his son’s rebuttal. “Kill her,” he ordered Snarcus.

With
lightning-like reflexes, Agrat withdrew the dagger hidden under his robe and
threw it. It gleamed as it flew through the air before embedding itself into
Snarcus’s throat. Black blood sprayed from the demon’s throat as he clutched it
and he dropped to the ground. A flash of fire rose where Snarcus had stood as
hell reached out to welcome him back to the fold.

Phoebe
cried out and ran to Agrat.

Within
a second he had pulled her behind him and conjured a red fireball in his hand
as a warning, should anyone try to approach him.

Galaden
drew his sword, making a swishing sound as it left his scabbard.

“Traitor!”
the king cried. “You dare to use your evil powers in my chamber?”

Agrat
backed toward the door, determined to shield Phoebe, cloaking her with his body
and his mind powers, a move that left him exposed to the angelic
fire-power
of his brother. “I will harm you not, Father.
Only let us free,” he said to the king, determined to leave the chamber before
Galaden struck. Focus. He needed to focus. He could dematerialize without
Phoebe in an instant, but it would take intense concentration to vanish with
her.

“You
would lose the right to the kingdom over a woman?” the king said.

Black
hatred filled his mind as he thought of the tale of his mother, as told to him
by his nursemaid. She had cried out for him as she was dragged to her death by
this king. Would this become Phoebe’s story, too?

Galaden’s
angel mother unfolded her wings and wrapped them around her body, so that no
weapon could penetrate her shield. Her chanting rose and the king’s breath grew
labored.

“I
never had it,” Agrat answered, his voice bitter. “Not from the moment you
murdered my mother and married the fallen angel who chants for your death.”

“Cursed
son, she prays for my life.”

“No,
Father, the angel whore is not the only one who can mesmerize a human with mind
powers. I also have those powers as you well know, but I would never use them
on you. I can hear your heartbeat. It grows weaker by the moment, your mind and
blood poisoned by her words.”

“You
dare mock my beloved?” the king roared.

Blood
trickled from the king’s nostrils, mingling with his beard.

“Do
not look to Galaden to hold your kingdom,” Agrat said. “He obeys orders like a
whipped cur.”

“My
angel son was bred for loyalty,” the king said. He coughed and blood sprayed
across the bed sheet.

Agrat
was too
far gone
to care. “Loyalty?” He turned to his
brother. “You watched when our father ordered a soldier to cut Rachael’s
throat. You did not raise your sword to save her though she begged you to. I
heard she died calling your name. She should have called you coward. It is
fitting.”

Galaden
looked as if he’d been punched. Raw pain followed by anger spread across his
features. “A soldier slit her throat? A soldier! No matter how many times you
wash your hands, they are stained with her blood,” Galaden said. He raised his
sword and a white fireball grew in his other hand.

“Do
not blame your wife's death on me, coward.” Agrat’s flame-red fireball flared.
"I was not present when Rachael died."

The
angel prince's eyes blazed with hatred for his half-brother. "You lie. You
murdered her. You will die for this."

“Stop!”
The king showed his fist. “You think to wage war in my chamber? I took your
demon mother to my bed to breed a warrior. I bred a demon traitor. And you, my
angel son, will not draw your blade in my quarters unless I bid you to do so.”
With trembling fingers, the king opened his hand. On his palm sat the golden
Ring of Kingship. “Wretched demon son of mine. I curse you to turn to stone.”

Agrat
knew the ring had the power to control all living creatures. Along the king’s
roads stood statues of his enemies; twisted stone prisoners with anguished
faces, delivering a stern warning to others. As the ring glowed in his father’s
hand, his first thought was of Phoebe and how to get her from the room, but he
couldn’t move. Already his legs and arms were hardening. All he could feel was
the heat and trembling of Phoebe’s body behind his. The guilt of what he had
brought upon them overwhelmed him like a dark cloud, leaving his heart as heavy
as the stone it would soon become. The fireball he held in his hand
extinguished as his powers dissolved, leaving him at the mercy of his father.
“Punish me Father, but let my woman live,” he cried, his voice hoarse.

“No,
Agrat.” Phoebe moved in front of him, wrapping her arms around him.

“I
love you. I’ll always love you.” Already, speaking was an effort as Agrat's throat
hardened and he fought for breath.

The
king’s face showed no mercy, but Galaden sheathed his sword. Perhaps his
brother knew he had won because there was pity on his face that made Agrat want
to kill him.

“I
curse you, demon son, never to have this woman. And you, faithless concubine,
if Agrat should escape his stone prison and come to you, it will mean your
death. Galaden, faithful angel son of mine, you will enforce this curse after
my death.
 
You will kill Agrat and
Phoebe if they ever meet again.” Near the end, King Sol’s voice quavered.

Galaden's
gaze was filled with loathing and fixed on Agrat. "Gladly father. I was
born to do your will. If Agrat escapes his stone prison, I will kill him. If
Agrat seeks out Phoebe, she too, will be killed."

A
low moan of pain, of anguish, left Agrat’s throat as his brother strode over
and dragged Phoebe from him.

"It
is fitting that I take your woman so that you know the pain of losing the one
you love, since you killed my wife, Rachael," Galaden said, his voice
musical with satisfaction.

"No.
Didn't kill her." Agrat struggled, his mind in agony while his body
hardened, forced to watch as his brother bound Phoebe in his arms, his gaze
triumphant from his win of the kingdom and Agrat’s woman.

Phoebe
fought to get back to him, crying out as tears streaked her face. She scratched
the angel, her nails raking Galaden’s bare chest, drawing blood.

“Do
not fear. You are mine now. I will look after you,” Galaden said, his voice
melodic as if he had just won a new plaything. His brother fisted her hair,
closed his wings around her and bent his head to kiss her.

Would
Galaden rape Phoebe until she could stand it no more? Phoebe had become his
property and having her was his right. Agrat summoned up every speck of fiery
energy from his life essence, enough to pierce his triumphant brother’s heart.
The red fireball zapped across the room and Galaden’s wings exploded into
flame.