Page 31 of Prince of Demons
Kesh stared from the quiche to her knife, smearing dairy over the bread. The tightening in his tailbone rose higher. “Is what I have provided not satisfying, Breeder?” he demanded.
She jolted, eyes darting to his. “O-of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. This is wonderful.”
Great. And there was the smell of her fear again, clawing at his brain to make her happy. Furious with his own idiotic instincts as much as her for sparking them, he glared at her until she reached for the quiche with mildly shaking hands, cut a piece and ate it.
“It’s really good,” she lied. “Thank you.”
Kesh closed his eyes, tempering his urge to coo at her until she calmed down again. “One thing you should know, Georgia—you can’t lie to a demon. We can smell it on you.”
It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, an awakened Breeder who attempted to lie gave off a distinct scent, but Georgia had yet to receive the mark that would temper her resistance to their magic. Sure, if he buried his nose in her neck, his powers were strong enough he’d be able to scent her deceit, but mostly, the lie was written all over her face.
Georgia blanched. “I’m not—it isn’t bad. I like it.”
He arced an eyebrow.
“I just… really like homemade baked goods, especially quiches and pumpkin pies. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply this isn’t good. It is! More than good. No one’s ever made me a brunch spread like this, and I mean—you’re a demon. You don’t even eat food. Expecting you to bake was silly. I’m sorry. I’m still a little out of it, after…” She swallowed nervously, cheeks flushing a delicious pink as she quickly looked down at her plate. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s a lot better than what that asshole Jimmy gives women to eat.”
Kesh rested his elbows on the countertop and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew a Jimmy—a slimy demon who ran a popular brothel down in the industrial quarter. As good a reminder as any that he needed to pay the guy a visit and discuss his unfortunate decision to put a contract on a Breeder. Yet another distraction from the war he should be focusing on. “That the guy who tried to whore you?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Place called Hell?”
She darted another look at him. “You… go there?”
“You mean, do I fuck chained-up whores on my days off?” The memory of how she’d assumed he brought women home to rape them made his stomach tighten with an unreasonable sense of injustice. He knew several of his men frequented ‘Hell’ on a regular basis—and he’d occasionally bought them a night there as a reward for diligent service. Georgia assuming he bedded prostitutes himself wasn’t that outlandish. Still. Her barely concealed horror at the idea prodded at his stupidly flaring instincts. A fact he didn’t appreciate.
“I-I’m sorry.” By his side, Georgia shrank into her seat, the scent of her fear intensifying. “I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“I swear on the fucking sun, if you apologize one more time—” Kesh cut himself off, as stunned by his growled outburst as her wide eyes suggested she was. Meekness and subservience were treasured qualities in a Breeder. Georgia defaulting to ridiculous apologies to placate him shouldn’t grind against every nerve in his body—if anything, that is what should make him hard, not watching her bite into a piece of fucking fruit. By all the dead stars in the sky, this girl was going to be the death of him.
“I’m s?—”
“No.” Narrowing his eyes, he pointed at her plate. “Just eat. Once you’ve regained your strength, we begin your training.”
14
Georgia
Training.
Not the least ominous sounding word when coming from an enormous demon who insisted on calling her Breeder.
Georgia picked at her breakfast, not in any rush to find out exactly what the brutish prince meant by that. It only served to irritate him more.
“Eat.”
She jolted at the snarled command, daring a look at the demon by her side. He was glaring down at her as if her very existence offended him on a personal level, arms folded across his massive chest. Despite his anger at her apologies, she had the distinct impression he was still offended by her lack of enthusiasm for the damn quiche.
“I’m eating, I’m eating.” She stabbed a piece of scrambled egg on her fork and popped it in her mouth with what she hoped was suitable appreciation. But when she put the fork down next to her plate while she chewed, the prince picked it back up, wrangled another forkful of egg, and, without ceremony, brought it to her mouth.
“Wh—” Georgia’s surprised protest broke off on a cough when he shoved the fork between her lips. She barely managed to chew before he forced another mouthful in. And another. Crisp slices of bacon followed the eggs, and then several olives, a buttered blueberry muffin, and a handful of grapes that he pushed against her lips one at a time, gaze heating when her tongue flicked against his fingertips.
The demon prince clearly had a feeding kink.
Great. Just great.
But still, it beat Jimmy. By a wide margin. At least for now.
