Page 12 of Prince of Demons
“A gift?” an outraged voice squawked. “What the hell do you mean, a gift?”
Kesh blinked, focusing on the human girl he’d barely noticed when the demon first entered. She was tall, for a human female, with unkempt dark hair, dark circles under her eyes and something between terror and fury plastered across her pale features.
“A gift?” he parroted, turning his attention back to the demon. “You demand an audience with the Prince of Demons to give me a human? Have you lost your mind?”
“She’s a Breeder, Highness,” the demon said. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you from your important work if she wasn’t in desperate need of your protection.”
Kesh blinked again, his gaze turning back to the female. “A Breeder?”
“Yes, my lord.” The demon pushed the girl forward, despite her obvious reluctance. “I… found her. She sees us for what we are.”
“And you didn’t keep her?” Kesh arched an eyebrow, but kept his gaze on the girl, who was staring back at him, chin thrust out in defiance despite her wide eyes betraying her terror.
“N-no, my lord. That would be treason. I would never?—”
Kesh silenced him with a raised hand. He knew the fucking laws—his brother had written them.
A Breeder.
He sent his Breeder sister-in-law a less than grateful thought. She might be the new queen, but she was also a gigantic pain in the ass. And the reason for the whole bloody war.
But of course, Selma was a Pure Breeder—the only human females capable of not only surviving sex with a demon lord, but also carrying his spawn. This sorry little thing might be exactly what he didn’t need to deal with right now, but at least she’d be out of his hands soon enough.
If she even was a Breeder.
“If you consider me worthy, Your Highness, I would be most grateful to be considered among her suitors,” the brawny demon said.
“I’m sure you would.” Kesh sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing his idiot brother hadn’t rewritten the laws concerning Breeders, and motioned for her to step forward with a flick of two fingers. “Come on. Let’s have a look, then.”
The girl didn’t move—only kept her blue eyes locked on him, the stubborn set of her chin wobbling.
Kesh narrowed his eyes at her disobedience. He leaned forward on the throne and ground through gritted teeth, “Come. Here. Now.”
She stumbled a step forward, as if jerked along by a chain, and Kesh leaned back, his smoldering temper calming ever so slightly.
The girl paused for a second, but the command in his gaze made her continue forward and up the dais, one hesitant step at a time until she stood in front of him. Her body shook ever so slightly as she stared at him, and her fear wafted against his nostrils, stirring a delicate sensation of unrest in his gut.
Ugh. Not a promising start.
Kesh pushed his foot off the armrest and reached for the girl. She might be taller than most human females, but she still only came to around eye-height with him when he was seated.
Her eyes went impossibly wider at the approach of his hand, and she tried to jerk away with a startled squeak, but she wasn’t nearly fast enough. Kesh wrapped his fingers around her throat and brought her closer, ignoring her clawing to get out of his grip.
He pushed his index finger up, forcing the girl’s head up and to the side, and buried his nose in her exposed neck.
Instantly, his senses were alight with a wash of scents, smells of other demons, hospitals. Human decay and chemicals clawed at his throat. But behind that…
Kesh closed his eyes and drew in another deep breath, his skin prickling with the sensation of her hair brushing against his face. Her fear was the strongest of the scents that belonged to her and not other pollutants she’d come across. It was thick and acrid and made him growl before he could stop himself.
She whimpered at the sound, and he huffed with irritation and breathed in again.
There was warmth underneath that fear. Something sultry and rich, tangled with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Mindlessly, he sniffed her again, pulling her closer to his body to find the source of that enthralling scent.
She whimpered again and pushed against him, babbled some unimportant words of protest, and he smothered his annoyance at her resistance by wrapping her closer to his body, quelling her squirming with the strength of his arm around her back.
She was soft and warm against his chest, the press of her breasts and the small gasps of her breath sending fissures of excitement through his skin. He breathed her in, taking in greedy gulps, wishing he could wash away her terror so its scent wouldn’t disrupt those beautiful notes underneath. It was disturbing, her fear—making unease spread from his gut to his blood, until all he could comprehend was how he needed her to be content.
“You’re safe,” he rumbled, his lips brushing over her skin and raising goosebumps along the slender column in his grip. Mindlessly, he loosened his grip on her throat, brushing his hand along her back to calm her.
