Page 33 of Chained to the Devil's Daughter

“Oh, trust me, I’ve been trying to forget!” Filaris scrunched her nose and laughed along. “I can’t believe you’d all been eating that way, for centuries! That’s when I knew there was something very wrong in Hell.”

“Yes. Thank our lucky stars that you showed up.” I gazed at my friend affectionately. “Salt. So simple.”

“So good.”

“Mmm, ohh,” the sound of intense male pleasure perked my ears. I turned to see Ash’ren at the foot of the dais, on the closest possible chair to mine. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Filaris and I exchanged a glance and then burst into laughter loud enough to turn heads.

“What?” Ash’ren asked with a one-sided shrug when he noticed we were laughing at him. “Even without salt, this would be a finer meal than grains.” To demonstrate, he took an overflowing bite and let his head drop back. “Ahhh.”

My cheeks heated, my body recognizing the sounds in the far reaches of my soul.

Filaris snorted. Embarrassed, I pointedly ignored making eye contact, but I could see her head shaking.

“Don’t. Forget.”

“Iknow, I know.” I swallowed a sigh and returned to my plate without another glance at Ash and his masculine moans that were threatening me with a sudden case of sitophilia.

∞∞∞

After a final hug and hushed warning, I watched from my bedroom’s balcony as the carriage carted Filaris away. Devil’s pentagilaire—the demon lords that made up his advisers—all scrambled to get their word in about my former suitor, with encouraging words about the wealth our arrangement would bring to Hell. It was, after all, the wealthy who stood to benefit from my match to a Fyre demon. Or to any demon other than Ash, really.

When I’d first begun to take suitors, Devil had assured me it was my choice. My heart was to have the final say. Of course, it wasn’tentirelyup to me, for I could only vote yes or no on the candidates of his choosing.

My gaze naturally floated to Ash’ren in the public garden. Even with the alterations, his brocaded tunics strained at the seams to contain his impressive muscle mass. He was scribbling away in a notebook while chewing a stick of pyro oak for its slightly mind-altering sap. The notebook hung loosely in his hand while he paced, pyro stick rolling between his lips as he mumbled to himself.

He was not the same demon I’d grown up loving. He’d come to the palace as a messenger. An orphan who couldn’t read or write was the perfect choice for weaselly council members from Fyre with nefarious dealings with my father. I was a lonely, sheltered girl. He was a troublemaker and my very first friend.

I learned to give him small pieces of myself, usually pieces I didn’t know existed until he brought them out of me. After delivering his messages, the spirited demon would wait until the cover of night to sneak into the palace gardens, climb thedragoncherry tree, and lean against the outer wall as I read to him. He’d never known the wonders of the written word, and it was almost all I’d ever known. We were quite the pair, the secluded princess and her fearless friend.

Now, his pen swished and swirled as he scrolled. I wondered if he’d had writing tools, if he’d written to me like the letters I kept in a box in my closet. They would never see the light of day. No matter. They would only bring fresh pain, and I was done grieving him, for he was right before me.

Ash’ren came to a halt and tilted his head back, eyes closed. The sun highlighted the smooth planes of his face and the arrogance simmering under his serene expression. His beauty was blinding. His chest rose slowly, and when he exhaled, he opened his eyes, finding mine immediately.

Lustily, he winked, and my rational mind was done for. Even with a whole garden between us, the familiar feel of his fire wracked me in a whole-body shiver. When my eyes fluttered open again, he was gone. The feeling in my chest remained.

Silk shushed through my fingers as I fiddled with my skirts, and the feeling grew. And grew. I really shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.

I flaming shouldn’t.

18

Searra

Despite my bellowing conscience, I pulled the bell string to summon Fara. My door opened moments after. Whatever she saw on my face had her wringing her skirts in worry.

“Yes? My lady, what is it?”

I pet my velvet choker so aggressively it might go bald. My pits were damp, my cheeks numb. One could easily mistake my symptoms for anxiety, but I’d never been more sure of something in my life.

“Tor'cha. She must prepare a Naming banquet. Volcanic bonbons, thunder orange duck cakes, the works.”

Fara’s hands flew to her mouth with a squeaky gasp. Fumbling back, she flounced onto a loveseat. “Miss. Are you saying. . . What are you saying?”

“I must follow my instincts, right? Yes, I do. It’s the right thing to do. I know it!” Fara shook her head wildly, jaw on the floor. I laughed. I was downright mad. “Fara, nothing has felt so right in a long time!”

“Eeek!” my attendant squealed, rushing to grab my hands. “This means we haven’t seen the last of her?”

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