Page 16 of The Demon's Due
Síofra recoiled, disgust flitting across her face. “You have a harem?”
Morgan muttered, “‘Had’ being the operative word. He has been gone so long, they have all probably died from old age. Explains why he’s so grumpy-probably been making do with his right hand for centuries.”
Ashmedai hissed, affronted. “They were traitorous fools. They betrayed me to the human king. They must have been dealt with by my left hand… yes,” he admitted with a huff.
Morgan smirked, unrepentant.
Síofra pressed her lips together, pushing past the insanity of it all to the heart of it. “What do you really need to return to the Undercroft?”
Ashmedai sobered. “I require three relics. A lock of hair from Stheno, Medusa’s sister. The sword of Freyr, buried in the catacombs. And…” He glanced at her, as if unsure about the next part. “ We have to find the Mistress of Portals to open the doorway.”
Ashmedai’s golden eyes burned brighter, fixing on her with unnerving intensity.
Heat pulsed between them in an unrelenting wave as Síofra felt her body respond.
“And you,” he whispered. “You will be my queen, flame-haired enchantress. You were part of the summoning, though you do not yet understand. You are mine as much as the vessel is mine. Together we will rule.”
Morgan took a tentative step towards Síofra, his body jerking with the effort of fighting both wolf and the demon. “No! She’s not yours. She’s my mate.”
Ashmedai tilted his head, studying them both with that unblinking golden stare. “Mate? Then so be it. She will belong to us both. And you better hurry it along. She is not going to wait long.”
Morgan’s head snapped toward her, his own voice breaking through in a hoarse snarl. “What did I tell you? I get you what you want and you leave us alone.I told you she is off limits. And I did request politely to keep your mouth shut! Otherwise you are going to understand what exactly a couch potato is over the next seven days while I wait for you to disappear.”
“I… am no shadow to skulk in the dark. I am Ashmedai, King of Demons. Your fear, my queen is mine as is your pleasure. Ah, sweet. I can taste it. Mine.”
Síofra’s throat felt parched. Her nails dug into the wall behind her as her name rolled in a heavy and ancient intonation.
Morgan’s jaw clenched. “Shut. Up.” He forced the words out, breath strangled. “Get back in. Now.”
For a moment the air shivered with resistance, smoke curling from the demon’s lips-then, abruptly he retreated, his claws shredding Morgan’s shirt on his way in.Suddenly there was silence. The frost cleared from his eyes. He staggered, bracing a hand against the wall.
“The arse…” He dragged a breath, then forced out, “This was my favourite shirt!.”
Morgan turned, fingers hooking under the hem of his shredded shirt. He pulled the fabric over his head to check his torso.
Síofra’s breath hitched. Black ink-like lines ran down his spine, glowing faintly, etched into flesh like brands. She knew she should be afraid but all she could do was stare at the sheer breadth of him. Broad shoulders tapering into the sculpted plane of his back. The grooves of muscle flexed under skin, begging for touch.
Her pupils blew wide as an image blazed across her mind: her tongue tracing those runes, following them all the way down.
Morgan’s head turned slightly to meet her eyes over his shoulder. He caught the look, and hunger flickered in his gaze.
He turned back and closed the distance between them. His palm came up, cool against her forehead.
“You’re burning up, love,” he muttered.
She weakly swatted his hand. “Don’t.”
“You’re going into heat,” he said flatly.
Her mouth fell open. “Heat?” It came out in a dazed, almost breathless bimbo-stammer.
“Yes,” Morgan said, his voice lowering, roughening. “My wolf has recognised you,remember. So your body is getting… ready to receive me.”
Her eyes widened. “But-I’m human.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Not… completely human,” the demon crooned, his voice curling back into the room. “Mortal… but not.”
