Page 6 of Hunting Her
A bucket and a cloth are dropped beside me by one of his advisors—this one with midnight blue skin with cream markings, a perfect match to another one of the men. They must be twins.
I can tell them apart by their demeanour—the one who caught my blade earlier hasn’t stopped smirking since.
I reach in, finding the water to be warm. There’s a cloth waiting in it, and I use it to gently wipe the blood away from my arm so I can see the embedded piece of glass. I pry it out with a wince and place it on the coffee table beside the couch.
“What’s your name?” the king asks.
They’re all watching me keenly as I work on fixing my injuries. I would be worried about giving my name to a demon, but I already did when I made my first ill-fated deal. If I refuse to answer, they’ll only have to ask the Baron about it.
“Nova,” I say. “What should I call you?”
He’ll probably say ‘Your Grace,’ like everyone else has been calling him.
“Damek.”
I lift my gaze to meet his in surprise. “Is that your first name?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I call you that? Aren’t you the king?”
“If you lose the bet, you’ll be my wife. Of course I’ll have you call me by my first name. You’ll use the others’ first names too.”
My lips part on a gasp. “Yourwife?”
I must have misheard him. He probably means his courtesan or consort, some ranking that makes me a toy for him to use. Or maybe for demons, taking a wife isn’t significant. There’s a lot I don’t know about their culture, even though I’ve been trying to absorb everything I can.
Damek flashes me a grin. “Yes, love. My wife and my queen. Their queen, too.” He gestures to the other three men.
I scan them, each one eyeing me with potent interest. The intensity of the attention makes me shiver.
The twins are lithe, one slightly taller than the other. Damek points to the shorter, smirking one first. “That’s Izoran.” He switches to the taller of the two. “And Lorcan. They’re dukes of two major regions in the Underworld.”
Izoran is the most excitable of the group. I don’t think he’s stopped looking at me since the moment I tried to make my escape. Lorcan is calmer, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
Next, Damek gestures back over his shoulder to the imposing demon who always seems to hover near him. “Brellan is my principal advisor, duke of the capital.”
Damek is the most muscular, but Brellan isn’t too far behind—and he looks far more imposing, bordering on angry. I’d expect him to be more of a warlord than an advisor.
I look back to the king, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip nervously. “So, if I’ll be your wife, what will I be to them?”
“They’ll be your consorts.”
The piece of glass I’m holding pierces my finger when I grip it tighter in shock. I curse and drop it to the table, bringing my finger to my mouth to suck on it and quell the bleeding.
All four men look on—Izoran is especially interested in my bloodied finger. I taste copper in my mouth, but it’s quick to stop bleeding. Wiping the last drop of red on the cloth, I swallow hard.
“What do you mean, my consorts?” I ask.
Damek’s expression is lit with amusement. “They’ll serve you.”
“How?”
“In bed and in politics.”
I can’t help but look them over once more. They all look strong and capable. If they weren’t demons, I might actually be interested.
But they are, and they’re complicit in how I was manipulated, captured, and placed in this hell. I want my freedom. I want to go home.
