Page 50 of Demonic Prince

The dire wolf cocks its head, its eyes glinting with intelligence. It noses the lock on the cage before gnawing on the iron. If it tries the bars of the cage, which are thinner than the lock, it might be able to break them. Their jaws have the strength to snap bones.

Maybe I don’twantto be freed.

The dire wolves must be able to detect the scent of a dragon on me. But once they see that I can’t transform, nothing will stop them from tearing out my throat.

The wolf sniffs at me again before trotting over to one of the dead knights. It snarls at its packmates, driving them away, before chewing on the armor, cleverly starting with the leather straps. The other wolves begin to tear apart the fallen knights. They excel at butchering meat. The iron scent of blood taints the air.

I dig at the chains binding me until my skin turns raw and red. The magic keeps the dragon trapped deep inside me.

Then, from the trees, a silvery melody flows through the Thornwood.

It’s simple yet entrancing, the music cascading like a waterfall. Shivers run down my spine. Perhaps someone playing a harp? What bard would be foolish enough to wander into the Thornwood?

I cling to the bars of my cage. The dire wolves prick their ears and stand frozen.

A man with wicked horns walks from the shadows. His fingers dance over a golden lyre; his claws pluck the strings.

Rook.

The demon looks at me, his red eyes glowing, before returning his attention to the dire wolves. He doesn’t even glance at the corpses scattered on the ground, though his boots tread the bloodstained earth.

My throat clenches with fear. It’s hard to breathe past the sensation. I fight the urge to scream at him to run. He’s a monster hunter, so he’s not stupid. Otherwise, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Still playing the lyre, Rook advances on the dire wolves. One of them yawns, its tongue curling, and another lies down with its head on the ground.

The music. It’s lulling them to sleep. The lyre must be enchanted.

He keeps playing until each dire wolf closes its eyes, then slings the lyre over his shoulder. Silently, he inspects the lock on the cage. Brave of him to turn his back on sleeping dire wolves. My heart is pounding so hard that surely they must hear it.

Rook pantomimes turning a key in the lock. I shake my head. He waves at the dead knights.

“No,” I whisper. “The key is gone.”

A dire wolf flicks its ear before it growls in its sleep. I hold my breath until my lungs burn, though none of the beasts wake.

Rook grabs the cage in both hands. His muscles flex as he tries to push the bars apart, but they don’t budge.

“Pyrah,” he murmurs. “Kiss me. Let me feed.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

I flatten myself against the cold iron. He reaches for the hollow of my back. He slides his hands under the hem of my shirt, grips my bare ass, and lifts me to meet him.

Our mouths collide. He kisses me hard. His fangs test my lower lip and demand that I open myself to him. I swallow a gasp, terrified of waking the dire wolves, thrilled by the sensation of his body against mine. It’s raw and so much realer than the dream ever was.

Rook drinks from me with his devouring kiss. Shivering, I let him hold me while my knees betray me with weakness. God, I don’t want him to stop. I’m tempted to grind against him even though it’s hardly the best time.

The incubus breaks the kiss. His eyes smoldering, he forces the bars apart. The cage yields to him like butter. I slip through and fall against him.

Without hesitation, he scoops me into his arms and carries me past the dire wolves. I hook my hands behind his neck, holding on for dear life, while he brings me deeper into the Thornwood.

“We lost them?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

A wave of utter relief crashes over me. Fuck. Now I’m crying. I can’t stop the tears from spilling out of my eyes. When I bury my face against his chest, he just holds me tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he says, with gravel in his voice. “I couldn’t find you faster.”

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