Текст книги "Prince of Demons"

Автор книги: Nora Ash

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

44

Kesh

The doors barely survived whens Kesh shoved them open. The corridor around him was empty save for the pounding echo of his footsteps. His magic clawed under his skin, demanding release, demanding blood—but he kept it leashed. Had to.

Until she was safe. Until she was back.

The two guards in the surveillance room jolted upright when he slammed inside, all heat and barely controlled rage.

“Footage. Storage corridor. Mallorn. Now.”

“Mallorn? Why⁠—?”

Kesh’s snarl cut off the demon unwise enough to question his instructions.

Fingers fumbled at keyboards. A monitor flickered. After a moment… there.

Mallorn, with her.

Something ached below his ribs, like a wound. He leaned forward on both hands and stared at the feed until they disappeared into an old office—one of the few rooms in the building with no camera.

On-screen, Mallorn stepped out again a few seconds later, alone. His face was blank. But not empty.

“Slow it down. Half-speed.”

The demon at the console slowed the feed. Kesh leaned closer. Mallorn’s mouth was flat, but there—left eye twitch. Eye ridge movement. Again.

Three glances.

To the side. As if checking something. Or someone.

And then⁠—

A brief moment with the guards at the exit. Mallorn approached without urgency. Said something too low for the cameras to catch. Tapped the clipboard Yerren held. Waited for a nod. Walked out.

He didn’t hurry.

Didn’t fidget.

Didn’t look back.

Kesh moved.

The hallway blurred past in peripheral streaks. The door to the old office cracked when he shoved it open.

Silence.

He stood on the threshold, breathing shallowly.

His power stirred, reaching without his command.

There was… something just beyond sensation. Like the edge of a dream. Like reaching in the dark for someone who had just left the bed.

Not scent. Not magic. Not memory.

Presence.

It wrapped around his ribs like the ghost of her body in his arms. She had been here.

He growled low, chest tight, then stormed out.

Outside, Yerren and the other guard jumped when Kesh approached.

“You let Mallorn pass. Despite my orders to let no one out,” Kesh barked. “Tell me why. Now.”

Both guards flinched at the barely controlled smolder of their prince’s volatile temper.

Yerren swallowed. “He claimed he had urgent business for Lord Kirigan. He said it had been cleared. W-was that not⁠—?”

Kesh didn’t let him finish. “Where did he go?”

“He walked straight out to the alley,” the second guard said quickly. “Got into his car. Headed east, toward the ninth turnoff.”

Kesh didn’t wait for further directions.

He reached the alley within seven seconds.

The air was thick with motor oil and old brick dust, but beneath it, beneath everything, was her. Twisted and fading, but real.

And Mallorn’s car had gone east.

Kesh’s breath stalled in his throat.

That route.

The route to Hell.

He took her back to the brothel.

Back to Jimmy.

Back to enslavement.

His Second. His most trusted.

The betrayal struck like a blade to the spine. Not just a theft. Not just treason.

He had delivered Georgia.

To that place.

To that fate.

The air around him crackled with his darkness.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed in blur that felt like drowning, then the doors to Hell were giving way beneath his hands, slamming open with a groan that echoed through the dark.

Kesh stepped into stillness.

No lights. No movement. No scent of blood or sex in the air. Just cold, abandoned silence.

But she had been here.

That tether deep inside him pulled taut. Not her scent. Not her magic. Something else. Like the memory of her fear stamped into the walls.

He forced down the rage clawing at his throat. If he let go now, if he gave in before he had her⁠—

She would be gone.

He moved deeper into the brothel, past empty booths and overturned beds. No bodies. No women. No demons.

Each step made it harder to breathe.

Then—

A sound.

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.

And if the auction began⁠—

He knew what they were like. The Europeans followed the old ways. A woman subjected to that would not come out the other side with the light in her eyes still intact.

Something broke inside him; dark and violent and powerful.

The ground shuddered beneath his feet, the floorboards splitting with a thunder crack. Jimmy’s scream cut off mid-breath as he disintegrated, body turned to dust in a flare of heat and raw energy.

Then the room exploded.

Not outward. Not upward.

Every atom of the building detonated in every direction at once.

The blast hit every surface; stone liquefied. Metal screamed. Fire rose in a column a quarter mile high.

Hell was gone.

All of it. Reduced to a crater still glowing at the edges, ash spiraling into the air like smoke off a funeral pyre.

At the center, Kesh stood alone.

Breathing.

Barely.

Eyes burning amber with only one thought left in his mind.

Save her.

45

Georgia

The royal palace was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comforted. The kind that made it hard to breathe. The velvet runner underfoot swallowing the sound of their steps, as though sound wasn’t allowed in this place.

Georgia walked between her kidnappers. Aragalan on her right. Mallorn on her left.

She kept her eyes on the floor. The hallway stretched ahead, a gallows walk, an endless runway of opulence and excess. The contrast to Kesh’s casino was stark enough to register through her numb horror as she was marched through the palace.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, once the realization finally set in that there was no way out, her mind had slipped from raw terror into the kind of cold, creeping dread that settled in bone. No more bargains to be made, and no rescues to be had. Kesh wasn’t coming to get her.

Her heart gave a dull throb deep behind her ribs. How she was still capable of feeling something as ridiculous as heartbreak amid the despair, she didn’t know. Mallorn had fooled her so easily, because he’d known exactly where to twist the knife: he’d fed her stupid heart hope, and she’d leaped at the chance to believe that Kesh loved her after all, despite all the proof to the contrary.

But now?

Even if he did care, he wasn’t going to save her. Not this time. She was deep in enemy territory, and the cost of retrieving her was not justifiable to a prince with subjects and territory to protect.

She wasn’t worth the price.

“I can still smell it,” Aragalan’s voice was almost soft; a velvet caress laced with poison. He didn’t look at her, but his hand constricted slightly around her upper arm. “The sadness. The fear. I believe I have made myself clear that I do not tolerate pheromone manipulation, Breeder.”

“I can’t control my smell.” In the past, she would have apologized, cowered. That girl would have done everything in her power to diffuse his anger, to make herself as small a target as she could.

That girl, who still thought there might be way to lessen the horrors that lay ahead, was dead.

“In that case, I’ll make sure you stop stinking of fear myself. There are ways, even if I can’t yet twist that pretty little ring Jimmy said you’ve been fitted with,” the prince said, almost lightly. “We’ll make sure you enter your auction with the sweet smell of submission staining your skin instead.”

Georgia didn’t respond, couldn’t. What was there to say? No pleas would spare her, so she said nothing.

They stopped in front of a set of towering double doors, carved from some ancient black wood and inlaid with a sigil she didn’t recognize. Two guards stood on either side, unmoving, weapons held at rest.

Aragalan let go of her arm and turned slightly toward Mallorn. “You’ll be introduced,” he said to Mallorn, still without looking at Georgia. “Father will recognize your part in securing a Pure. That kind of loyalty does not go unrewarded.”

Mallorn gave a short nod, nothing more.

Aragalan didn’t wait for a response. “Stand aside,” he said to the guards.

They obeyed immediately, stepping back in perfect sync.

The doors opened without a sound.

The room inside was vast, but not grand. Dim, quiet. No court. No ceremony. The king was seated behind a desk of black stone, but Georgia barely registered him. Her gaze was drawn to the woman on his lap.

She was naked. Still. Her body draped across his thighs with practiced ease, as if she’d spent centuries being positioned exactly like this. His hand moved gently between her legs, toying with the gleaming band of metal encircling a swollen red clit, elongated from years of misuse, but the woman's face didn’t so much as twitch. Her eyes were open, but vacant—so utterly hollow it made Georgia's stomach turn.

There was no rage in her expression. No resistance. No shame.

Just the kind of silence that came after a mind broke and never came back.

Georgia froze, breath locked behind her ribs.

“Father. Mother. I bring good tidings from the Americas.” Aragalan’s voice was smooth. “The Pure Breeder was successfully secured.”

Mother.

This… this was the King’s mate.

A Breeder. Like her.

Georgia’s stomach twisted. Her lungs felt too tight to draw breath. Her legs wanted to move—forward, backward, anything to get away—but she stayed rooted. There was nowhere to go, and nothing to do but stay and look upon the future that awaited her.

Kesh’s anguished voice, as he told the story of his mother taking her own life, echoed back to her with blinding clarity. This was why, she realized as she looked at the King’s mate’s vacant eyes. To escape, because death was the kinder choice than what it truly meant to be mated to a creature of pure darkness.

The King didn’t look up. He continued working his fingers between his mate’s legs, idle and absent, as if she were no more than a fidget toy. She didn’t move. “How was the crossing?”

“Uneventful,” Aragalan replied, his posture loose, casual. “Our new allies ensured a smooth transfer.”

“Excellent.” The King finally lifted his gaze to Mallorn. “And this is the one responsible for extracting our golden goose?”

“Yes,” Aragalan said. “He served as Second to the imposter prince, but found his allegiance… shifted, once he realized the true deceit his former master is capable of, even toward a loyal servant.”

“Ah. Yes. Their entire bloodline is incapable of loyalty. You will find I have no such confusion. You have brought us a Pure, and your reward will be as promised: the next non-Pure Breeder we source will be gifted to you. As a thank you for your invaluable assistance.” The King’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Assuming, of course, you remain loyal.”

Mallorn gave another nod. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The King leaned back slightly, fingers retreating from his mate’s clit at last, resting instead on her thigh. “And the other one?” he asked, eyes flicking back to Aragalan. “The one who’s already shipped his whores to Monti and given the palace guards a free night as a welcome bonus... Jimmy, was it? Where is he?”

Aragalan’s jaw twitched with faint distaste. “He made his own travel arrangements. There were some last-minute financial arrangements he wanted to square off with the father before taking his exit, but I suspect he won’t want to linger longer than necessary. According to Mallorn here, Kesh was…attached to the Breeder. No doubt he’ll be looking for her with some intent. Which reminds me—we need to do a pregnancy test on her before the auction. I’m not interested in raising a spawn from the traitors’ bloodline.”

The King waved a hand dismissively. “There’s no way of knowing if she’s carrying until the fetus disables her blinding mark, and the auction is tonight. When you win her, if she sees through the disguise within 2 weeks, we’ll test for paternity, once she’s given birth. If it’s not yours, kill it and breed her again.”

Bright fear struck through her numb horror at the casual cruelty. No. No, that was too much. Even for these creatures. Surely no, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t⁠—

Her eyes fell on the King’s mate, still draped over his lap. Her body and blank face had the same ageless appearance as her captor, but the signs of wear were unmistakable: stretch marks from births—multiple, from the looks of it—bruises on her hips blooming in shades of fresh purple to faded yellow, and puffy nipples from too much attention. Mercifully, her sex was currently shielded from view by her thighs, but it was more than obvious that here she would be a vessel only. And they would treat any baby she may have conceived with Kesh with even less regard than they would her. Of course a child produced from her womb, not of their lineage, would be considered nothing but a faulty product.

“Mallorn, please.” Her voice came out as a strained whisper, fear for a child she that may not even exist overriding her numb acceptance that there was no way out.

He ignored her. They all did.

Georgia choked back the sob threatening to spill out and pressed her hands to her lower abdomen, not to shield a fetus that might not even be there, but to hold in the gut-splitting terror. “Mallorn… you can’t let them do this. Please. Please.”

No one so much as looked in her direction.

“We have much to prepare for tonight,” the King continued, as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Show our new friend to his suite, then prepare the Breeder for her auction. We can’t have her reeking of fear when our allies come to make their bids—we need them in a good mood to ensure they take the other news… with the correct understanding. If their attention is on the possibility of a submissive little mate, the peace treaty I’ve brokered with Kirigan should sound… more like victory than compromise.”

Kirigan?

No. That couldn’t be right.

She must have misheard. Misunderstood. The name echoed again—clear, deliberate—and the cold started at her fingertips this time, creeping up her arms like frostbite.

Not Mallorn.

Not Jimmy.

Kesh’s father.

“I still don’t understand why he would offer this deal,” Aragalan said, gaze sliding to Mallorn. “Offering the Breeder, agreeing to limit Kain’s territory to North America. They have one of our Stones of Power, the other is gone… We’ve lost two lords in direct combat to the younger son. Without this auction, if we didn’t secure a victory within the year, our support might have begun to slowly dwindle. So what incentive did he have to suggest giving us not only a ceasefire, but a Pure Breeder as well?”

“He offered for the same reasons I accepted. Kirigan is only a few centuries younger than I,” the King said, turning his black eyes to the broken woman on his lap. “I fought him at your mother’s auction, and even then, no lack of cunning, merely his youth that ensured my victory. Had he been older at the time, stronger… he might have taken her. He is… clever. The costs on both sides are already racking up, and no matter who wins in the end, this conflict depletes our numbers.

“The gods are watching us. Waiting. The second they see their chance, they will strike. Whoever is left standing will be wiped out. So, in the end, this is better for us all. Especially for you. Now go—take your mate-to-be to recover from the journey. She will need all her strength for tonight. Her submission underneath you after you win will be a beautiful seal to our new peace treaty.

Georgia barely registered the large hand curling around her arm and pulling her out the door. Acid shock churned through her system as the full scale reality of what he was saying sank in.

Kirigan hadn’t brokered peace with diplomacy.

He’d traded her for it.

46

Kirigan

Kirigan had liked the city, once upon a time. The noise and human decay had proven decadent hunting grounds and, as all demons, he’d been happy to indulge.

Nowadays, it was all static. Relentless impressions against his fraying mind.

He didn’t sit as he stared out the window at the bustling life outside, at the humans going about their lives. He hadn’t sat for hours. Not because he was tense. He didn’t feel tension. He simply didn’t trust what might surface if he allowed his body to relax. Right now, there was no room for the madness. No room to lose his grip on the carefully laid dominoes, lest one fall over too soon and spoil the picture.

Governor Maell entered behind him. No fanfare. They hadn’t bothered with that in centuries.

Kirigan didn’t look over. “I’ve heard what I needed to.”

Maell stepped further into the room. “They’re unified. Lords who haven’t been able to share a battlefield now trade intelligence. Half the court is tapping surveillance webs that haven’t been touched in years. Even the Lord of Nevada is in.”

Kirigan’s jaw flexed once. His gaze tracked a mother pushing a stroller on the pavement below, unaware she was passing so close to a demonic court.

Maell poured a drink from the dusty cart by the wall. “The Breeder was a catalyst. They’ll follow Kain blindly now. Whoever took her did more for your son’s consolidation of power than a decade of rule.”

Kirigan kept still. The darkness tightened around his spine. “Convenient.”

Maell watched him over the rim of the glass. “Yes. Almost suspiciously so.”

The mother disappeared around a corner. Kirigan finally turned around to look at the governor. Flat. Unblinking.

Maell didn’t press it, only leaned back against the edge of the bar cart. “I suppose, even if she were to turn up somewhere… unfortunate, say, mated to one of our enemies… she would be out of reach for good. This would likely keep them united under Kain’s rule. He did offer her to them, after all. If someone managed to sneak her out under their collective noses, Kesh can’t very well be blamed for losing her.”

Kirigan didn’t respond. The silence sank between them. Then his phone buzzed. The screen lit up.

Kain.

He extended a hand. “Leave me.”

Maell didn’t argue. He studied him for half a second too long, then slipped from the room.

Kirigan answered, pressing the phone to his ear. “Kain. You have heard—the Pure Breeder has been⁠—”

“Kesh is gone.”

Kirigan’s breath stilled.

Kain’s voice was taut, clipped. “He’s already in the air. Headed for Rome. He took a jet, shot me a text from over the Atlantic. The Europeans have her. They’re gonna auction her tonight. I called, told him to wait, to let us plan… He said ‘no’, then hung up. Hasn’t picked up since.”

A silence settled. The kind that didn’t hum, didn’t echo—just expanded.

Something unfamiliar tightened in Kirigan's chest.

He hadn’t planned for this.

He’d expected Kesh to be furious, for his instincts to send him into a frenzy. But once the trail turned cold and his hormones had burned out, He would return to his duties.

The carefully aligned dominoes hadn’t been laid out with this outcome as a possibility. For his son to act as if the Breeder was…

No. It couldn’t be love. That would make the risk incalculable. That would mean… he’d gambled his youngest son’s life in exchange for his eldest’s.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Kain continued, voice rougher now. “I’m going to get him, before it’s too late. I need you to take over all official duties until I’m back. Tomren will help with all administrative tasks. I’ve already briefed him⁠—”

“No.” His voice cut through with enough snap to make Kain stop talking. No. No, no, no. The tightness in his chest clenched at his lungs, and something cold crept up from his tailbone. Not one son’s life gambled. Both. “You can’t⁠—”

“I’m coming with you." It was Selma's voice now, coming from close to Kain. "If you go alone, you’ll die, too, and I’m not about to let that happen. Besides, I owe Kesh for helping me save you last year. So yes, I’m going. You need me, you need my magic, and you need my Stone of Power.” Her voice was bright and razor-sharp, and had a tone of ruthless commitment Kirigan had heard before.

“Selma—” Kain began.

“Enough.” Kirigan barked. “You will both stay where you are. I will retrieve Kesh. Alive. You have my word. Do not follow. Do not abandon your responsibilities here—or your child. I will fix this.”

“Kiri—”

He hung up before Selma could finish her protest.

He would. Fix it. The mistake of not accounting for the true strength of Kesh’s attachment to the Breeder was his.

The dominoes were already falling. But he’d lay down another path—bend the line back, if he had to. He wasn’t about to let either of his sons die for his miscalculation.