Page 91 of Prince of Demons
Small. Muffled. From the back of the building. Jimmy’s office.
Kesh stilled.
Heat bloomed under his skin, quiet and lethal.
He turned toward the door. And walked in.
* * *
The office door, unlocked and undefended, creaked open under Kesh’s hand. Inside, Jimmy stood with his back turned, crouched over his desk. A large suitcase lay open on the floor, glittering with jewels, and gold, and something small and wrapped in velvet that glinted in his hand—an artifact, maybe. Irrelevant.
The demon froze when he heard the door. Turned.
“Your Highness,” Jimmy said, too quickly. “I didn’t expect?—”
Kesh’s hand closed around his throat before the last syllable hit the air.
The room lit up with magic, raw and scorching. Power curled through his fingers like black fire given shape.
“You get one chance,” Kesh said, voice low and lethal. “Where. Is. She?”
Jimmy’s eyes bulged as he clawed at Kesh’s wrist. “Wait—wait, please—just listen—” The velvet-wrapped artifact clattered to the floor as he thrashed. “I didn’t hurt her! I didn’t touch her—I swear on my blood?—”
Kesh said nothing. Just watched. His grip didn’t tighten, but the magic did. It seeped through Jimmy's skin like acid, slow and deliberate. The pimp gasped as steam curled off his neck. The skin around Kesh’s hand began to blister, then split. Muscle smoked.
The stench of charred flesh filled the room.
Jimmy screamed.
“I’ll talk—I’ll talk, please?—”
Kesh tilted his head, his fury held perfectly still in the iron grip of his hand around the slithery demon’s oozing neck.
“She’s gone,” Jimmy sobbed. “Europe. Prince Aragalan. He’s taken her back to put her up for auction for the lords who support the old royal bloodline?—”
More skin peeled away beneath Kesh’s palm. Jimmy shrieked.
“Please! It wasn’t my plan! It was Mallorn—Mallorn brought her to me. Said you were going to kill me for whoring her, kill him for challenging you. That this was our only way out?—”
Kesh’s magic surged, and Jimmy choked on his own scream.
“Where?”
“Rome! To the palace! She’ll be mated before nightfall tomorrow. Please, just—just let me?—”
The words dissolved into howling when the magic dug into his flesh, flared like a pulse.
Kesh’s breath stuttered in his throat.
Rome.
The palace.
Not just enemy territory. The poisoned, beating heart of the enemy that wanted him, his family destroyed.
Auctioned.
They wouldn’t delay; they would want her secured to one of their supporters as swiftly as possible. No time for strategy. No window for siege.
