Page 45 of Prince of Demons
“She’s a Breeder?” Georgia said again, the question mark perfunctory. His silence had already confirmed it, and from the empathy now in her eyes, her curious gaze had found something he’d rather not acknowledge was still there.
“Yes.” He dropped his hand from her chin and stepped back, pulling his arm out of reach. “She was. Draw me a bath. I smell like Eurotrash.” Without another look at the Breeder, he pulled off his arm guard, then began working on the other.
Hesitating, she asked, “Was? She died?”
“Yes, she died. She took her own life because no amount of gilding could make her accept her cage. Which is why, Georgia, I tell you to abandon your human notions of what your life is supposed to look like. If you accept the reality of what awaits you, and if I make sure you aren’t mated to a monster as brutal as my father, perhaps you won’t slice your wrists just to escape. That is my job. That is my responsibility. And yes, that is why I am careful with you. Why a whole fucking war has to be put on the back burner so that I may prepare you to spread your legs without fear.
“You are incredibly valuable—we need your womb to strengthen our numbers, or we are fucked. The Europeans, the gods… If we don’t have the men to fight them, we will be exterminated.” Angry, with only a diffuse sense of why, he finally managed to wrest the last arm guard off and tossed it on the floor. “Now do you have any more questions before you fulfill the bargain you were so keen to strike? Please, don’t hold back;. I’m fucking dying to sate your inane curiosity.”
Only silence answered him. When he shot her a glare, she averted her gaze and finally moved toward the bathtub. Cowed by his burst of temper.
Good.
He stared at her back, silently daring her to turn around and continue testing her luck, but she didn’t. She pulled a stool to the side of the tub and kept her focus on the rising water, not daring to so much as look at him.
Why was she so fucking meek when it came to fighting her own battles? She’d run onto a battlefield to save that spawnling. She hadn’t hesitated to defy him then. But herself? There was no fire to be found when it came to protecting her own interests.
A fine quality in a Breeder—biological instincts to protect younglings; trained subservience to a dominating force. She’d make one of his men a perfect mate.
There was no reason whatsoever for the guilt-laced frustration simmering in his gut at the sight of her cowed posture.
Breeders and their fucking pheromones.
Determined to push down the idiotic response his wiring had to her, he kicked off his steel-enforced boots and pulled off his leather pants, intent on the bathtub. She wanted to fulfill their deal so she could convince herself she’d be allowed to bargain herself, yet again, some other time? Fine. He wasn’t about to feel fucking guilty for it.
“There’s a sponge, soap, and oils in the bathroom.”
"Right, I’ll just get—Oh, what the fuck, what… What is that?!”
The Breeder’s sudden, and borderline-hysterical, screech sent a wave of adrenaline through his body as his biology prepared to defend the terrified female. But when he jerked his head up to see what had scared her, her eyes were glued to his crotch.
22
Georgia
Frowning, the demon prince looked down at himself. “That’s my dick.”
“That is not a… a penis!” Georgia sputtered, withdrawing several steps as she stared at the monstrosity between his powerful thighs.
From the smooth, blackish-red scales covering his body, a dark, tubular mass of flesh hung from where his man-parts should have been. But that? There was absolutely no way something that thick and… ridged was supposed to be used to make love. Even for a huge demon, that was going too far!
“Don’t tell me you’re a damn virgin,” the asshole demon said, having the audacity to sound exasperated. “Yes, it’s a dick. Would you like to get better acquainted, or can I get in the fucking tub?”
Georgia took another swift step backward, unable to look away from the ridiculous thing. It twitched at her attention. “No! No, get in the tub!” Jerking her attention away, she swiveled on her heel and darted for the bathroom.
Relief flooded through her when, only a moment later, the sound of water sloshing indicated that the prince had climbed into the bath. Thank God.
She rested a hand on the vanity, trying to collect herself. She’d been thankful for his insistence that she wouldn’t survive sex with him before, even if she hadn’t fully understood why. Now, however, she was infinitely more grateful he didn’t have plans to put that medieval torture device inside her.
But… did all demons have members like that? With her newfound knowledge of their reproductive organs, repeatedly being called a ‘Breeder’ painted an even grimmer picture of what was already an uncomfortable moniker.
Surely, they couldn’t all be like that? It would injure a human woman to take that, possibly even kill her. Lesser demons had to be more… reasonable. Probably not pleasant, but… manageable. Yes. That had to be the case.
An echo of the tormented cries of the poor women forced to serve in the demon whorehouse made her shudder and force her focus to gathering the bath supplies. At least she’d been spared that fate. There would only be one monster using her, not a legion.
The prince was in the tub when she returned to the bedroom, resting against the back of it. His long horns curved up behind him, obsidian black and strong. They were oddly beautiful in their animalistic quality and almost managed to make the sharper, scaled protrusions along his shoulders look natural—as if every jagged edge and rough texture on his body was perfectly blended to compliment his hulking frame.
Gathering her courage, she stepped up to the tub and pulled the nearby wooden stool to its side so she could sit. He’d given her the choice to back out of the bargain. She’d insisted because, so long as he held her fate in his hands, she needed a way to be able to sway him. Which meant keeping him open to the possibility of future bargains.
