Page 11 of Stolen By the Demon

“Walpurgisnacht?”

I nodded. “It’s the night the dark realm opens to the world, and the witches celebrate on top of the mountain.”

“Why would they want me there?” I should have known better than to think she would let it go. I figured, though, that she could handle the answers as long as she kept asking questions.

“You were supposed to mate my father there.”

“Mate your father?” I still felt sick when I thought about what they had in mind for her. For my sweet, innocent Blanche. She, who could never hurt anybody.

“As in marry him?”

I shook my head and waited for her to form her own conclusions. “Your father wanted me to… lie with him?”

I smirked. Wherever she had been these last four hundred years, she hadn’t been exposed to the world.

“And my father was alright with this?”

I hated to hurt her. She told me a long time ago that her and her father had a strained relationship but that she was trying hard to be the good daughter and make him see that she was worth his love.

“My father promised yours incredible power, something he wasn’t able to resist.”

“What kind of power?”

“The kind that would have made him King of the World,” I answered honestly.

“Who is your father?” Came the predictable question.

“The Devil.”

“No, I mean… you are being serious?” Her eyes widened, “So it wasn’t a dream or a hallucination… you really are… a… a… demon?” She crossed herself. I had forgotten this about her. There had been times when I called her Saint Blanche because her belief in God and all the priests’ teachings could sometimes be… aggravating. Now, it made me smile.

“Demon prince if you want to be precise,” I corrected her. “Demons are more my father’s… minions.”

“Oh, forgive me,” she declared sarcastically. There she was, my little flame. As sweet and innocent as she could be, she also had a temperamental side, which I loved to tease out of her. When she forgot for a minute that she was a lady and devout, my little flame could turn into an inferno that burned so hot I melted in her arms. My cock stirred at the memories of all the times I turned her unladylike.

“Sorry for the interruption, boss, but we have company.” Brock entered, interrupting our little tête-à-tête.

“Who is it?”

“A very pissed-off man who says he’s her father, a Sir Jonathan Montfort.”

“My… father?” Blanche rose, her pale complexion turning even whiter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll—”

“He’s not alone.” Brock interrupted.

I arched an eyebrow at him.

“He brought a small army, all armed to the teeth.” He said with a smirk and a wink.

“How many?” I bit out.

“Around fifty.”

“Next time, lead with that,” I scolded, and he shrugged. Not much fazed him since he had been turned into a demon.

My mind furiously worked. It was still daytime.

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