Page 6 of Madness of Her Mages

Shut up,he answered back.

Some days he truly resented this cursed creature that possessed his body. Samael was nothing like his old demon, so volatile and stubborn.

And to think, he’d allowed Samael to possess his body for Flora. He’d burned the world down for her. Where was his reward? Where was her appreciation? No, she was too busy mooning over her fated mate. Thorin should’ve killed Lord Derrick when he’d had the chance. No doubt Derrick was the reason she didn’t write. Derrick had never been kind to him, looking down his nose at Thorin as if he wasn’t fit to lick hisboot. He probably forbade Flora from talking to other men. Bastard.

But Derrick wasn’t too proud to ask for help when they needed Thorin’s skills. And right now, Flora needed him. And fool that he was, he couldn’t refuse the only woman he’d ever loved. Now he had to convince his mistress to let him go. If only he knew her demon name, he would be the one controlling her, not the other way around. He’d secretly been trying for years to discover it to no avail. All he’d learned was that she was a lamashtu, a rare form of powerful demon, a devourer of bodies and souls and creator of other demons.

She had somehow survived the goddess Maiadra’s purge a half a millennium ago by hiding deep underground. Then after Maiadra’s passing, she began creating her demon army by possessing humans and Fae with demon spirits, the same way she’d made Thorin. She now had a network of demons working for her in the human and Fae lands. Thorin wasn’t sure what she hoped to achieve, but he suspected his mistress would settle for nothing less than world domination. Then what would happen to him? What would happen to Flora?

Releasing a slow breath, he tapped on his mistress’s bedchamber door, then slowly swung it open, cringing when he heard water splashing. Ignoring the trembling slaves/meals chained to her walls, he crossed the threshold of her bedchamber, the bones of his mistress’s previous meals crunching beneath his feet. Despite the crude coverings on the floor, his mistress had an eye for fine furnishings, mostly things Thorin had stolen for her, from the four-poster mahogany bed and the silk tapestries hanging from the cavern walls to the iron dresser with the gilded mirror.

He stopped at the partition that divided the tub and hearth from the rest of the room, summoning the nerve to speak. Hercackling voice was like a bludgeon to his skull as she sang a wicked tune.

“A mother’s womb

A child’s feet

So many good parts to eat

A farmer’s hands

A maiden’s eyes

Makes delicious human pies

A trollop’s breasts

A sailor’s cock

Tender meat to fill my pot”

Mm, now I’m hungry,Samael whispered.

Thorin ignored his demon. Despite his mistress’s grating voice, she had a bit of a lilt in her tone. No doubt the young pregnant mother she’d fed on had put his mistress in a good mood. Still, he’d keep his request brief and to the point. No use invoking her temper. He swallowed back bile before stepping around the partition, looking at the back of her hunched shoulders and black, feathered wings that hung over the side of the tub. “Mistress?”

A splash and then a curse. “Who goes there?”

“It is I, Thorin.” He fought the urge to run when she turned around. Crimson liquid dripped off her saggy, shriveled breasts and clung to her beastly snout and furry throat. He’d seen her naked too many times when he’d been forced to pleasure her, but he still fought the urge to cry out in terror at the sight of his mistress bathing in blood.

She bared sharp fangs. “What is it that you must disturb my bath?”

He tried not to look into her three crimson eyes or stare overly long at her ugly face. “Flora calls for me.”

She let out a grating laugh. “Your demon is not ready.”

“She needs me.” He winced at the note of desperation that slipped into his voice.

Samael’s laughter echoed in his skull.

He averted his gaze when she stared at him a long moment. “What spell does she cast over you that you come running like her dog whenever she calls?”

“It is not a spell.” His anger flared, tightening his chest as he fought to keep his tone even. “It’s love.”

She dismissed him with a wave like she was shooing a fly. “I do not pretend to understand this concept of love, but I do believe that what you feel is an obsession, not love.”

“Please, Mistress.” He didn’t care when his voice cracked. He was that desperate. What would he do if she didn’t let him go?

“What does she want?” she slurred while sinking low in the tub.

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