When Darkness Ends (Guardians of Eternity #12)(95)

His gaze remained attached to her breasts. Had he never seen a pair before?

“I could prolong your life . . . at least for a while,” he said, his arrogance great enough that he assumed she would be willing to trade her body for a few measly days of life.

“If I pleased you,” she murmured.

He inched closer, his foul smell making her shudder. “You’re a very beautiful female.”

“Do you think so?” Her hands burned against the side of her leg, the magic ready to destroy the bastard just as soon as he got close enough. “I’m a demon.”

“My father seemed happy enough to bang a fey.” An ugly expression hardened his features. “In my mother’s bed. Maybe I should see what the fuss is about.”

Was that why he hated demons?

His father had a fey lover?

Ridiculous.

“What would you demand of me?” she forced herself to ask.

“Nothing too painful.” His gaze moved to her unmarred neck, perhaps seeking signs of Cyn’s feedings. Fallon felt her gut twist, wishing her neck did carry the mark of Cyn’s fangs. “Although a princess who chooses to take a vampire lover must enjoy it rough and dirty.”

“Sometimes.” A secret smile curved her lips as she recalled her berserker’s tenderness. It still amazed her that a warrior so large and fierce could touch her as if she were some fragile treasure. “Of course, I do like a man who can be . . .” She struggled for a provocative word. Dammit, why wouldn’t he touch her already? “Inventive. You’ll need to show me what you like.”

He sucked in a slow, shaky breath, his rounded cheeks flushed with his rising lust.

“You are a tempting witch.”

“Not witch . . . Chatri.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip. “Touch me.”

His brows drew together, his hands curling into tight fists as if barely resisting the urge to give into her soft command.

“Why?” he rasped.

She arched her back. “I want to feel your hands on my body.”

He hesitated, his breath rasping between his teeth. “I suppose you also want me to remove your cuffs?”

“Not yet.” She rattled the chains while managing to keep her hands hidden. “I think we could have fun like this. Don’t you?”

“Ah.” He shuddered, clearly excited by the thought of keeping her shackled while he . . . well, whatever the hell he was fantasizing doing to her. Creep. “I knew that your sense of self-preservation would encourage you to play nice.”

“Come here and let me show you just how nice I can play,” she urged.

For a breathless moment he swayed forward, his hand lifting to touch her cheek. Fallon tensed, her muscles coiled to lunge forward the second he came within touching distance.

Then, as if he were deliberately trying to torture her, he was surging to his feet and shaking a pudgy finger at her.

“Naughty fey. First comes the spell,” he muttered, turning to head back to the altar. “And then the pleasure.”

Shit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

For once, the always confident—some might say arrogant—Prince Magnus wavered.

A part of him wanted to demand that Tonya form a portal and return to Styx’s lair.

She still looked far too pale, and there were several small wounds that had yet to heal on her arms and legs. She needed a warm bath, a soft bed, and plenty of nectar to finish healing.

But a much larger part of him selfishly wanted her near.

If he wasn’t keeping an eye on her, how could he be certain she wasn’t in danger? Or that she was taking proper care of herself.

It was at last the impatient sound from the waiting gargoyle that made up his mind.

He’d nearly lost her.

There was no way in hell he was going to let her out of his sight.

Reaching out, he firmly gripped her hand, pulling her with him as he followed the gargoyle through the narrow opening between the standing stones.

There was a cool brush of power as they stepped through a magical barrier, then, without warning, there was the unmistakable stench of death.

Instantly he was shoving Tonya behind him as he swiftly surveyed their surroundings.

The inner sanctum was larger than he’d expected, with a stone altar set in the middle of a floor that had been worn smooth over the centuries. Along the edges were several small tables that held piles of dried herbs and spices as well as bottles of potions. There were no visible weapons, but he caught the unmistakable scent of gunpowder, which meant there was at least one firearm in the vicinity.

It was the three druids, however, that captured his attention.

They were currently crouched near the altar where a corpse was sprawled on the hard floor.

Even from a distance, Magnus could tell the dead man had been one of the druids. Not only did he wear a similar robe, but the smell of magic clung to his body.

He wrinkled his nose as his gaze took in the deep slash across the front of his throat.

“Was this the druid who trapped us?” he demanded.

The chosen speaker gave a shake of his head as he straightened to face Magnus.

“No, this was our brother.” A deep sorrow was threaded through his voice. “Anthony has used him as a sacrifice.”

Magnus arched a startled brow. Humans were often violent toward one another, but to choose one of your own brothers as a sacrifice . . .