Claimed by a Demon King (9 page)

Chocolate again. Perhaps it was a way into women’s hearts.

“Toast with butter and jam.” The female seemed to eat a lot when hung over, or she was just listing things to keep him around and keep him distracted from his mission. She edged closer again and looked up into his eyes. “You could cook it all for me tomorrow morning after we party tonight.”

Insidious female. He scowled at her. “I mean this cure for my female, not for you.”

He turned on his heel and stomped away from her, going in search of everything she had mentioned. When he had more than he could carry, he took it to a register, carefully bagged each item and paid for it with one of the bank cards he had teleported from his room.

Demons had long ago adjusted to travelling in the mortal world, depositing gold into the banks as they had been formed. Apparently, his people had a healthy amount of money. Unfortunately, the side effect was that banks often sent letters to the mansions he owned in England and Switzerland, desiring to meet with him to discuss better accounts, stocks, and other boring matters. He had no time for fawning mortals.

Thorne picked up the white plastic bags and carried them out into the street, checked no one was around to see him, and then dropped into the black portal that appeared beneath his feet. He rose out of it in the castle kitchen, set the bags down on the solid stone rectangular island in the middle of the large room, and let his horns back out before any of the servants could notice he had hidden them.

“Cook these items.” He pointed to the bags, drawing the attention of the three young males to them.

They immediately came forwards, removed his purchases and spread them out on the counter.

And stared at them with their eyebrows pinned high on their foreheads and an increasing amount of fear in their eyes and their scents.

All three of them glanced at him and then they began whispering to each other. Thorne sighed. They did not know how to cook the food. This was a problem he had not anticipated.

“Leave,” he ordered and they hurried out of the room. He approached the counter, picked up one of the packages, and read the label. It couldn’t be that difficult. After a minute, he put it back down.

He was going to need help.

This food seemed to require someone with expertise and knowledge, and he had never cooked anything in his long years.

He called his portal and dropped into it, this time appearing in the elf prince’s room. Bleu was there and said something about battles to Loren. Thorne spared a second to toss a vicious growl at the elf before he grabbed Olivia and teleported with her.

She gasped and shoved out of his arms as they appeared in the kitchens, turned on her heel and slapped him.

He was growing tired of females slapping him.

Loren appeared between them before Thorne could apologise and explain, his black sword drawn and at the ready, his fierce purple eyes warning him that he had made a grave mistake by taking his female.

Thorne raised both of his hands. “I am sorry for my methods but my cooks do not know how to make this ‘hung over’ food and I seek Olivia’s assistance.”

The female’s gaze shifted to the goods laid out on the smooth stone counter and her lips curled into a smile that spoke of amusement but also pleasure. She was pleased that he had gone to the mortal world to gather food for Sable. It boded well. Sable may feel the same as her friend when she saw what he had done.

Loren sheathed his sword and leaned against the dark stone island. “This should be interesting.”

Thorne didn’t like that Bleu had remained above and knew that he would seek to visit the sleeping female.

His sleeping female.

Olivia moved forwards, distracting him from his dark thoughts, and he did his best to listen to her instructions as she opened the food and explained how to cook the items. The kitchen wasn’t equipped to cook some of the items in the way she knew. He had none of the electrical appliances she asked him about because his castle and kingdom did not have the necessary power for such things. Not yet, anyway. He was working on it.

He set a broad pan over the fire and fried the bacon and sausages, eating whatever he burned by mistake, desiring to know its taste. Bacon was good. He took a small piece of the eggs after they had ‘scrambled’ them and set them on the bread Loren had helped to lightly toast on the flames. Thorne did not like the fruits they had prepared, but noted that mortal females seemed to enjoy them when Olivia cut them up into pieces and stole some when she thought he wasn’t looking.

When they had finished, he set everything onto a large wooden tray and teleported to Sable’s room.

Bleu was not there. That pleased him greatly.

Sable gasped.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She scrambled to cover herself with the furs and looked as pale as they were.

That did not please him.

Thorne wasn’t sure what to say so he presented her with the food and waited. She stared at the tray for an excruciating length of time before raising her golden eyes to his.

“This is for me? You had this made for me?” Her gaze darted down to the food and then back to him.

“I made this for you,” he rumbled and his left hand twitched against the tray, eager to stroke his horn on that side. He drew in a steadying breath instead, calming his nerves and hoping she hadn’t noticed them.

Her eyes widened and a small smile touched her lips. “You made this?”

He puffed his chest out. “I gathered items Olivia said you would desire and made this ‘hung over’ food so you would feel better.”

Sable smiled fully. “It’s called a hangover. Don’t demons get hangovers?”

He frowned and shook his head. “No.”

He had consumed a whole barrel of mead once and had woken with a clear head the next day.

“Lucky bastard,” she muttered and then froze and slowly raised her hands to her hair. She patted the tangled mess of black, her eyes grew large and she quickly raked her fingers through it. She pulled her hair back, took a piece of elastic from her wrist and tied it into a ponytail. “Do I get to eat it?”

He nodded and approached her with the tray. She shuffled backwards and settled against the pillows. When he placed the tray down on the furs covering her lap, she looked as if she might sigh.

Thorne ran an assessing gaze over the contents of the tray. A plate with the scrambled eggs on toast, sausages and bacon. A bowl with mixed fruit. Another plate with toast, next to which was a pot of jam and one of honey. Waffles with chocolate sauce. Something was missing. He growled as it struck him and teleported back to the kitchen.

The prince and his female were feeding each other fruit. He had done such a thing with his female. A bolt of pride went through him. He snagged the drink they had made and returned to Sable with it.

She gasped as he appeared in her room again, a piece of bacon hanging from her lips. Lips he had kissed. He growled low in his throat over the memory of how she had tasted and how she had responded to his kiss. She quickly pushed the bacon into her mouth, chewed and swallowed it.

“We did not have a suitable pot.” He presented her with a roughly hewn jug and a clay mug.

She looked wary until he poured it. Her eyes lit up.

“Coffee?” She snatched the cup from his hand, brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. Her shoulders relaxed and she closed her eyes and sighed.

His female liked coffee very much.

He would order his kitchen to bring more from the mortal world and learn how to brew it correctly so she could have it whenever she desired.

She sipped the drink, set it down on the tray and began to eat. She paused a moment later and looked up at him.

“Are you just going to stand there watching me eat?”

She meant for him to leave. Thorne could understand why and wouldn’t refuse her request, even though he didn’t want to leave. He sighed and tried to ignore the lead weight dragging his insides down, making his heart heavy. Her fine eyebrows drew together and then she did something wholly unexpected.

She patted the bed beside her. “At least sit.”

She did not mean for him to leave?

He sat at the edge of the mattress before she could change her mind, a curious light feeling swirling through his veins, lifting his heart.

He looked at the bed on which he sat and the smile that had been wending its way onto his lips instantly dropped away and the light feeling turned to heat that blasted his blood and turned it into liquid fire.

A bed in which she had slumbered and still rested.

His body shot steel-hard at the thought of her curled up asleep under the furs, naked against him, her soft curves moulded against his and her body warming him. A possessive hungry growl threatened to curl up his throat but he swallowed it back down, grimaced as his leather trousers bit into his groin, and moved his left leg, concealing his hard-on.

Sable moved the tray and set it down on the bed, and shifted her legs beneath the furs, so she was sitting upright again. The covers fell down to reveal the tight black top she wore. It had thin straps and clung to her breasts. Thorne bit back a groan.

They were unfettered beneath the material and moved as she did, swaying as she leaned forwards to help herself to more coffee and to eat bites of her food. Her nipples brushed the soft cotton, puckering and stretching the material. His hands itched to knead her breasts, to weigh each warm globe in his palms and brush his thumbs over the rosy buds her top concealed.

He stared at them, his mouth going dry. Would they feel as soft as her backside had, giving beneath the gentle pressure of his touch? Would they be as warm in his hands? Would she respond sweetly as he lowered his head, drew each bud into his mouth in turn and swirled his tongue around them to taste her?

“Thorne?” Her voice jolted him and he tensed, unable to tear his gaze away from her chest and knowing from her sharp tone that she had caught him. “Yoo-hoo… I’m up here, Big Guy. You want to leave?”

“No.” Why ever would he desire that when he was sitting on a bed alone in a room with her?

“Stop staring then.” She waved a sausage at him and then bit into it and his mind went back to the female in the store and her euphemism.

He groaned aloud this time, unable to bear where his thoughts were taking him and Sable’s teasing. She had to know that control was a tentative fragile thing for him whenever he was in her company, liable to break at any moment with only the slightest of touches. She had to know she was pushing him, no, shoving him towards the edge just by being alone with him while sitting in her bed, barely dressed, without the need for teasing.

With it, he was in danger of snapping and responding to her playfulness, and he wasn’t sure she would appreciate him grabbing her shoulders, pinning her to the bed and kissing the breath out of her. He ached with a need to feel her beneath him, to possess every dangerous curve and taste every inch of her.

To stamp his name all over her, body and soul.

Sable smiled wickedly and bit into the sausage again.

Thorne dragged his hand over his mouth. She was torturing him and she knew it. Each bite of sausage, each moan she loosed as she sipped her coffee, each glance she threw his way.

All of it torture.

Was this a positive sign? Did human females torture males they desired?

Was this her way of indicating that she was open to his advances? Did that mean she wouldn’t push him away or turn on him if his control did snap and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to get her beneath him? Another groan spilled from his lips at the thought and his cock ached, throbbing in eagerness and anticipation. He did his best to ignore it and the urge to palm himself through his leathers, afraid his observations were wrong and she would kick him out if she noticed how she had aroused him to the point of pain.

Perhaps her teasing was a courting ritual or maybe he was reading into things, seeing them how he wanted them to be. He had done his best to study females in the short time they had been apart, trying to glean information from his mated warriors without asking outright and even going so far as to read a book on the subject of romance. He had tried to match up the information the book contained to what he knew of Sable, but none of it had seemed to fit her.

At his last meeting with Prince Loren, the elf had warned him that if he tried to apply the normal demon methods of securing their mate to Sable, he would end up empty handed and would spend the rest of his life alone. He could see now that the male was right. Sable required a different approach. He couldn’t force her into a bond. She was strong, independent, and hunted his kind for a living. If he tried to follow his instincts, he would end up more than empty handed.

He would end up dead.

Thorne frowned at his knees, his desire forgotten and the warmth of being close to Sable fading away as he mulled over how easy it would be to drive her from his life before he even came close to having a chance to claim her. She had threatened to leave once already because he had forced a kiss upon her. How was he meant to win her?

It wasn’t in his nature to sit back and wait for her to make a move. His instincts constantly drove him to claim her. Whenever he set eyes on her, whenever she was in the vicinity, he felt that drive beating in his heart and pounding in his blood.

It was hard to ignore it.

Right now, he wanted to kiss her again. Needed to place his mouth on hers. He wanted to crawl across the bed and kiss her, easing her down onto the mattress beneath him at the same time. He wanted her to know that she belonged to him and, no matter how strongly she fought, he would have her as his forever. No one would stand between them.

Sable stopped moving and stared at him, the heat of her gaze questioning.

Thorne shoved aside his thoughts and his desires, and focused on her instead.

“Do you still feel sick? Foolish?” he said and cast a glance at her.

The corners of her beautiful mouth turned sharply downwards and her dark eyebrows knitted together above her golden-brown eyes. Eyes that flashed with fire and told him exactly how she had taken his words. She thought he mocked her strength.