Chapter 13 #2
The bedchamber door swung open, and she listened to Zarathos clomp inside. “Nice and refreshed?” he called to her in a gentle voice, yet she tuned into it as if it was a soft whisper that only she heard. Like two intimate lovers sharing a secret.
That was so far from the truth. “Did you build this water contraption?” she asked, although she couldn’t see him.
“Demons do have hobbies, you know. Once in a while I get ideas for home improvement projects and I enjoy trying them out. Are you impressed?” There was amusement in his voice.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She was impressed, but she would never say it. “I thought demon hobbies only consisted of torturing hapless souls and ripping out throats.”
A dark chuckle escaped him. “Those were the next ones I was going to mention. Perhaps you’d wish to see what I keep on display for those delights?”
She considered those chains suspended from the ceiling, and a shiver ran up her spine. She most certainly would not.
The dress fit her like a glove, or would once she got the ridiculous back buttoned up.
It had the aroma of lavender and honeysuckle combined.
She wondered how many of his past lovers wore it.
Something in her stomach soured. He’d already trapped her in a bargain.
She didn’t wish to be seen as one of his decorative pieces.
She struggled to get the buttons to work. “This gown is a menace,” she mumbled.
“You act as though you’ve never had anyone to dress up for, and I’m certain that’s not true.”
“Usually I had assistance for gowns like these.” Her teeth sank deeper into her lip as she realized what she said.
She sensed the moment he emerged from the shadows, his presence looming behind her, a cold mist brushing past her as a gentle whisper. “Then allow me to assist you,” he murmured.
She huffed and gave up. Her hands drew into fists. She did not want to ask for his help. She detested the idea of exposing her bare back to him.
But he was already there, tugging the fabric of her ebony gown together.
After a moment, he let out a low growl. “These buttons are ridiculously tiny.”
“It’s your dress.”
“Yes, well, I wanted you to wear the chiffon piece.”
“Not a chance.”
He continued to fumble at her spine. Every few moments, he’d tug on the fabric again as he started over. She released a frustrated sigh and twisted. “Here, let me.”
“No. I’m going to get it. Now hold still.” He rested his palm on her bare back, pressing her to face forward. The feel of his hand on her skin was warm and gentle. She stilled, her heart racing.
His thumb brushed over her spine as if to calm her. “Good girl,” he said, his voice low.
Was she afraid? She wasn’t afraid. Of course not. Not of him. No, she was alert, that was all. Gods, what was he scenting on her right now?
Suddenly, she was aware of how close he stood. Of his breath on her neck. The demon scent that was his and yet… she knew that scent didn’t match the smell nor taste of the blood that lurked under his skin. He lifted his hand and returned to methodically working on the buttons.
When he finished, he leaned close, and breathed in. His lips were a breath away from grazing across her skin.
“I think,” he said darkly, mockingly, “that you like me this close, Vampress. There is something here,” he reached around her and lightly tapped on her chest. “That gives you away.”
She didn’t dare move, her heart pounding even faster as if in response. His heat on her body warmed her, and the slight feel of his shadows brushing across her ankles caused shivers to race over her at the same time.
“Not to mention,” he murmured, “the subtle yet clear scent drifting up from between your—”
Stepping away, she turned to face him, her hands clenched. “I think you are mistaken, Your Majesty.” She raised her chin. “I believe it is your scent that is giving you away.”
They stared at each other, the smell of both of their arousal in the air, mixing together like the coiling serpents on her thigh.
He took a step toward her and an uncertainty tightened inside her, causing her to step back.
This was her enemy. She wasn’t allowed to desire him.
To want those sharp nails scraping across her skin, or his claiming lips on hers.
His eyes narrowed and he turned from her.
His swiftness surprised her as he hurried from the washroom with purposeful strides.
With his nearness gone, the heat in her body cooled.
Aryana hastened after him to see him next to a cabinet.
Once open, he pulled out a vial of clear liquid.
There was a slight tremor in his hands as he popped the cork and downed its contents.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Medicine.”
“Are you sick?”
He choked on a strangled laugh. “You may be my kalator in the trials, but that doesn’t entitle you to ask unnecessary questions.”
“I’d think going into the Demon Trials, knowing if the male I am fighting for survival with is unwell, is vital information.”
Something in his expression grew dangerous and Aryana tensed, but then he put the empty vial in the cabinet again before locking it and returning the key to the mantle. “Tell me, how might your betrothed feel if he discovered you are Bloodbound to the demon arch king?”
A picture of Raydin flashed through her mind. He’d do anything for her uncle’s approval. Anything if it meant he’d be the next king. “I thought we weren’t entitled to unnecessary questions about each other.”
“You are not entitled to ask questions about me. But for you… I am about to sneak into your home, a home of enemies, to retrieve the scepter. If things should go awry, and our treachery or our bond is discovered, it will be good to know the nature of the relationships you have with those around you.”
He raised an expectant eyebrow.
She still didn’t think it fair, but he should likely be aware of what they were up against. “He’d probably desire to kill both of us. But he wants to be king more. So he’d focus on killing you and find other, more subtle, ways to take out his anger on me afterward.”
“And your uncle?”
“He’d gut us both where we stood.”
“What a lovely family."
“Are you surprised? You think vampires are more cultured than demons? We technically are demons. Real attachment isn’t something either of our kind is capable of. Love is secondary to self-interest.”
His head tilted as he regarded her. “Love is weak. Yes, I heard that in your thoughts.” The ring in his irises flashed in thought.
“I make deals with demons all the time. In our harsh, unforgiving world, the vast majority of deals I make are always about someone else. Someone they hope to protect, someone they long to please, someone they yearn to find happiness. And you should see their desperation. How badly they will do anything for those they love. Love is weak among our kind? No, Princess, love is not weak. Love is weakness.”
Something twisted in her stomach at his confession, like a cold, sharp knot tightening deep within her. “A weakness that you exploit.”
“Sometimes exploit. Sometimes it is a wound I ease.”
Whatever altruistic role he pretended to play, it was obvious he’d go to his grave before he allowed himself to be caught loving someone.
That was why they were here in this room of sex and pleasure, because it served as a bandage for what he’d never allow himself to experience.
The demon king would never allow himself to feel genuine love.
“Now that you are refreshed, we need to complete an additional task,” he said.
“What is that?”
“I agreed to pay my potions dealer—who helped me with your escape—in golden thread. So we must spin one more time.”
Aryana frowned. “That wasn’t part of my agreement.”
“No, but it was a part of mine, and if you don’t follow through, then I am afraid that I will lose my power and if I do, then fulfilling your end goal of protecting the humans will be next to impossible.”
She released a prolonged breath as he disappeared inside the bathing area and came back wearing his cloak.
That was true. If Zarathos lost his powers now, she’d be free of him, but she wasn’t na?ve enough to expect that he‘d permit her to live long enough to grasp his throne. And the humans most definitely wouldn’t be protected.
But she didn’t want to put her finger to the needle and see another horrible moment from her past. “That’s going to be difficult, as there is no spinning wheel present in this room.”
He gave her a triumphant look and then walked over to the wall next to his bed. Reaching up, he traced a seam and pried open a secret door. “I invite you, Vampress, into my hidden tower.”
She followed him up a dark, twisted flight of stairs. They entered a circular room with windows up high to let in the light, though it was night time, so she didn’t need to worry. She looked up at the stars that twinkled at her.
The space was lit by several lanterns. Shelves, mostly bare, but with a few threads and a decent amount of straw and flax, lined the walls. And at the room’s heart was a spinning wheel. This one looked better maintained than the one that King Salen kept on hand.
“Do you spin for fun?” she asked sardonically.
“It’s soothing… when I’m not being dragged into someone else’s emotional wasteland.” He took the same metal contraption he’d attached to the wheel in King Salen’s prison out of his cloak. Carefully, he added it to the spinning wheel.
She stiffened. “I’m sorry if my trauma isn’t to your satisfaction.”
He grabbed the straw and set it next to the wheel. A small sense of relief gripped her to see it was much less than King Salen had demanded of her on either night. She may not even need to drink blood to replenish herself.
“Yes,” Zarathos responded. “I enjoy your emotionally charged memories being shoved down my throat. You’re so emotional I’d almost have mistaken you for a human.”
She knew from the disdain laced in every word that he didn’t mean it as a compliment. Humans were probably the lowest of the low for him. She raised an eyebrow. “Does experiencing the pain of having your emotions manipulated and used against you bother you, oh great bargain master?”
He emitted a soft hiss. With a whoosh of his cloak, he sat. “I find it odd that you desire so desperately to protect humans when it was a human you were so intent on killing the night I found you.”
“The night you stole me,” she snarled.
“Hmm, still. I saw the way you appeared regretful after you killed him.” He shook his head. “Those who don’t know how to play the game wind up having their corpses trampled over on another’s journey to power.”
“Perhaps I’d rather end up dead than be a heartless opportunist.”
He spread his arms, giving her a slow, superior smile. “Here I am. The heartless opportunist, keeping the traumatized, emotional vampire princess alive.”
She stepped toward him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Don’t act as if you’re doing it for my well-being.”
“Oh, I won’t. But bargains can be helpful or they can be hurtful.
It’s all perspective. For example, I know for a fact that if I hadn’t struck the bargain with King Salen to capture you, there would’ve been many demons lining up for the honor.
No hidden agendas, no personal investments, and definitely no plans of keeping you living. ”
She sucked in a breath.
He watched her, his expression haughty, arrogant. “If one of them had snatched you up…” He shrugged, his cruel smile splitting wider. “Well, your pretty little skeleton would be in a sack, arriving at your uncle’s right about now.”
She glowered at the spark of triumph glinting in his eyes. “So you’re saying I should be grateful?”
The spark died, and a hint of annoyance spread across his features. “I’m saying you’re the vampire princess. Manipulation and power plays are part of the game. Either learn to move to obtain what you want, or expect to get crushed.”
She shifted her skirts, brushing her hand against the spot where the Bloodbound mark rested underneath her clothes and cast him a challenging glance. “What makes you think I haven’t moved to obtain what I want?”
He frowned, rage sparking coldly in his eyes. But then, a hint of a smile ghosted across his face. He released a low, humorless chuckle. “We shall see how well that works out for you.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes. We shall. Let’s get started.”
“By all means, Vampress, let the trauma begin.”
She stepped up to the silver needle and sucked in a deep breath to slow her pounding heart.
Last night, she hadn’t only bonded with Zarathos, she’d almost died.
Not to mention her visions kept getting more and more personal, and the demon arch king saw it all.
But it was the only way to get what she wanted.
So she raised her finger and pressed it against the tip.
The whir of Zarathos spinning straw through the wheel filled her ears just as her vision clouded and the room began to fade.
But as the memory took form, something was… off. She wasn’t herself.
She was a young abaddon boy.