Page 10 of Demonic Prince

Hunger sharpens in my stomach. I breathe in the wind and detect a hint of rabbit, but the aellurium dulls my senses. I scratch at the collar with my blunt human fingernails, the cursed metal sleek and unyielding.

“I smell rabbit,” I say.

Rook looks sideways at me. “Where?”

I point upwind. “That way.”

He glances at me, grumbles some profanity I don’t understand, and takes a loop of rope from the saddle. He knots one end around my ankles, then ties the other to a tree near Bolt.

“Stay,” Rook says.

I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or his horse. He slings the crossbow from his back, loads a bolt, and disappears in the direction of the rabbit. Hobbled, I sit in the meadow and shred the grass one blade at a time. It’s not worth trying to escape again. Not tonight.

A rabbit’s death cry cuts the silence.

Bolt pricks her ears. My stomach growls like a wolf. An eternity later, Rook returns with the dead rabbit and a bundle of firewood. My mouth waters in anticipation of fresh meat.

I catch his eye. “Do you have a firesteel?”

He grunts and drops the wood for the campfire. “Yes.”

I hold out my hand. “You want cooked rabbit or raw? I could eat it whole if I were a dragon, but here we are.”

He gives me the firesteel.

While Rook guts and skins the rabbit, I gather dry grass and cattails for kindling. After I strike the firesteel, sparks leap into beautiful flames. I feed the fire and watch it devour the wood. The blaze mesmerizes me. Rook skewers the rabbit on a spit and roasts it over the fire.

I groan. “I’m ravenous.”

Rook says nothing, the flames reflected in his demonic eyes.

“Fuck me, this is torture. That rabbit smells good.”

He glances at me. “Swearing won’t make it cook faster.”

“Swearing makes everything better.”

His cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “You prefer rabbit? Rather than the meat of men?”

I arch my eyebrows. “What kind of meat are we talking about?”

“Charred.”

I lock eyes with him and refuse to look away. “Why don’t you free me? I promise I won’t burn you alive.”

He snorts and turns back to the fire.

I’m failing as an evil temptress. I can’t stop glancing at him like I’m obsessed by the very shape of him. I wish he didn’t make me feel so weak, as if I would obey in a heartbeat if he took out his cock and told me to spread my legs.

At least he doesn’t know I’m in heat. Thank God for that.

“Are you celibate?” I ask, trying to pretend I don’t give a fuck. “Married?”

“Neither. I have morals.”

“Morals?” I scoff. “What does that make me? A whore?”

“Someone whose freedom I control.”

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