Page 11 of Prince of Demons
The demon grimaced, showing off sharp fangs. “Fuck your brother. Come with me, now.”
Georgia blinked. “What? No! That was the deal—you can’t do anything to me until he’s healed!”
He scoffed and stepped into the room, clawed hand outstretched to grab her. She shrank back from him, eyes widening when it dawned on her that she had no way of forcing these monsters to stick to the contract. They could tie her up in one of those awful booths, and there would be nothing she could do about it. How could she have been so stupid to trust they’d honor their word?
“Breeder.” Irral’s voice was a low growl, frustration mixing with impatience. But much to her surprise, he stopped his advance. “If you don’t come with me, you’ll spend the rest of eternity with your legs spread, wishing your brother had never been born. His death is nothing compared to what awaits you here. I promise you that.”
“Are you…” She frowned when it dawned on her what he was doing. “You want to break me out of here? Now? Why? I thought—” She stopped as the memory of Jimmy telling Irral he’d get to have ‘a go’ with her flashed through her brain. How he’d seemed perfectly okay with her fate. “This is a trick? Is that it? You are going to lure me out of here so you can take what you want without your boss interfering?”
Irral bared his fangs in another grimace. “Of course not! You’re a Breeder. I may be Jimmy’s man, but what he’s got planned for you… It isn’t right. Your destiny is to birth us sons—not to lie bound on your back, servicing unworthy scum like a common whore.”
“And being a broodmare is better?” She didn’t try to keep the indignation, the horrified incredulity out of her voice.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, but the look on his face as he stared at her made her swallow thickly. He might be a demon, he might be lying to her face for all she knew, but the tightness around his eyes suggested otherwise.
Georgia drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her reeling mind. She wanted to escape what Jimmy had in store for her more than almost anything. And no doubt, even if Irral planned to squirrel her away to breed her, escaping him would likely be easier than Jimmy. But…
“I can’t go with you until I know Larry will be okay. Perhaps after?—”
“Once he’s been healed, I won’t be able to get you out. The second the contract’s complete, Jimmy owns you. There is no escaping him after that. So we go—now—or you will have to stay here. Forever.” Irral held out his hand toward her, his frightening features softening into something like a plea. “Trust me when I tell you that no one is worth the fate that awaits your here, Breeder. Not even this brother of yours.”
Her pulse throbbed in her throat as she stared at his offered hand. She couldn’t choose her own life over her brother’s. It felt… so wrong to even contemplate it. But the horror creeping up her spine at the demon’s plea was hard to push down.
“Look, I am taking you to the Prince of Demons. He is the strongest of our kind on the Eastern Seaboard, and he will make sure you are protected. You can bargain with him for your sibling, if you must,” Irral said, urgency coloring his words. “But you cannot stay here. Come with me.”
6
Kesh
“There’s a demon at the gates who insists on seeing you. Says it’s urgent.”
Kesh sighed deeply, pulling his attention from the war map he’d been trying to update with the latest news of their enemies’ movements.
“More urgent than stopping the Europeans from taking Maine?” Kesh asked, his voice deceptively gentle.
Mallorn, accustomed to his lord’s ways, took a slight step back, bringing him out of arm’s reach. “I said you were busy. I more than hinted at what happened to the last underling who claimed an emergency and found you disagreed. He still insists.”
Kesh growled, scrunching the map in his fist as irritation flared hotly. “Do these fools not realize the importance of what we’re doing? How fucking close we are to annihilation? Why must they pester me with their petty squabbles? Who do I have to disembowel to get some peace?”
“Weight of the crown, I’m afraid,” Mallon said, infuriatingly uncowed by his lord’s anger. “He’s waiting outside the throne room.”
Kesh shot him a glare and straightened up. “Fine. Take five troops to Maine. Tell our warriors I’m sorry I can’t help take down the invaders—I have a fucking contract dispute to settle, or whatever the hell it is this time.”
The throne room still looked like the casino it had been up until recently. His men had done a decent job at taking out the gambling tables and slot machines, but the bar still remained along the eastern wall, and the stains of alcohol and stench of desperation weren’t coming out of the carpet no matter how many times Mallorn had had it dry cleaned.
Kesh strode to the throne—and imposing chair bolted to the hastily constructed dais—and slung himself down, propping a foot on one armrest as he drummed his irritation into the other.
This was the part of the job he hated the most. If he’d known how much time he’d have to spend playing referee for minor demons bitching about someone screwing them over in contract negotiations, or listen to some lord or another wax poetic about how he thought the Kingdom should be run—or, stars forbid, try to curry favor with the prince—there was no way Kesh would have helped his brother claim the Americas.
“Right. Send him in,” he growled, motioning for the man guarding the door to open it.
The guard obeyed, pulling the painted-over glass door open with more pomp and circumstance than the situation required. Kesh swallowed his annoyance—the guy was doing his job. Ceremony was part of the illusion needed to claim a kingdom.
The man who entered looked like your standard low demon, more muscle than true power. Not exactly known for their interest in contracts. And one hundred percent not capable of having the sort of problems that’d be worthy of Kesh’s attention.
“What do you want?” Kesh growled, staring holes through the demon’s skull as he imagined hanging him from the rafters by his tongue.
“I… I bring you a gift, your Highness.” The slight quake in his voice betrayed his unease at standing before the prince.
