Chapter 10
Aryana
Aryana sat on the hard ground, trembling. Crimson leaked from her thigh onto the flagstone, seeping into the puddle from earlier. She swallowed, staring at the bond mark. She was Bloodbound. To the demon arch king.
To her enemy.
And his blood… what she had felt. A cold sweat broke over her skin as the realization crashed over her. She had been ready for him to take her. To have her completely. If she hadn’t drained him… Oh gods.
His blood induced a reaction stronger than any bloodlust. It was a drug and yet, every part of her yearned for more. If he offered it again, she was unsure if she could refuse.
No. Of course she would. She would turn it down.
This changed nothing. She still was going to fulfill her deal. The humans would be saved, and then she’d exact her revenge on Zarathos for trapping her in this bargain.
Actually, this was better, because now that she was Bloodbound with the demon arch king, the demon queen’s crown was hers to claim—an accomplishment that no demon had ever achieved as far as she knew—and after Zarathos was dead, it would be even easier to take the throne.
She tore a bottom strip off her dress to bandage her thigh to keep from getting his blood all over them, and to make certain the new mark that indicated their bond remained hidden.
Aryana had never tasted demon blood before. Of any kind. Well, other than vampire. But Zarathos’s wasn’t the same simple, slightly sour flavor of vampires. Nor did it have the hunger satisfying taste of humans. It was irresistible in a different way. Something more…
Sensual.
Not to mention his reaction when he’d reawakened. How he’d insisted that telling anyone what they’d done would break their bargain. Like the world had shifted, and she was now his worst enemy. She had something on him, something that was dangerous to him.
If only she knew what it was, then she’d understand how to use it against him.
The next day was overcast, allowing Aryana to move about her cell. She put the spinning wheel in her usual corner to create the impression of her presence and spent the rest of the morning crouched by the door, awaiting King Salen’s arrival.
The small barred window in the door slid open. She held her breath, preparing to attack.
“Where are you, vampire? Move, show yourself,” the king demanded.
Damn. So it wouldn’t be that easy. She stood and backed away until she was sure he saw her.
“Back in your corner this instant,” King Salen said.
She went into her corner but remained tensed, ready for when that door opened. If she moved fast enough, she might get past them.
The door was slit open, and a guard thrust a spear point through the opening as he came inside. A second guard followed.
Aryana dashed for the opening, but it slammed shut, locking in place. Enraged, she turned on the males locked in with her. One had the tip of his weapon almost shoved against her shoulder. Warily, she backed up, remembering the ends were laced with holy water.
The other guard came from the other side, jutting the spear’s point against her abdomen. “Don’t move,” he snarled.
Before she could come up with a plan to get around the spear to take out the demons, one of them leapt forward, thrusting something cold and metal against her throat. It snapped closed about her neck.
Reaching up, she struggled to pry it off, but to no avail.
“She is collared,” a guard announced, and they both took a step back, spears still at the ready.
The door opened and King Salen entered.
“Good news, Princess. You will leave this room occasionally, with my permission.” He immediately stilled. “What is that? That scent? Why do you smell different?”
Scent? That was right. She had Zarathos’s blood in her. But he must not recognize it, because it differed from the normal smell that the demon arch king exuded.
Her mind raced for a response. She lifted her chin. “My scent has changed due to the spell I used to transform the straw into gold. The more I cast the magic, the more it alters.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked over the red fluid staining the floor, and then at her.
“Perhaps. Either way, you won’t be going anywhere until I say you can leave.”
She snarled and lunged for the king, but a sharp pain speared down her throat and into her veins. It cut through her like knives, slicing her apart from the inside. Aryana collapsed, her body twitching. When the agony finally stopped, she lay on the floor, gasping for breath.
“Yes, you know that collar my guards placed on you? Well, I have this nice arm brace to match. It’s called a controller.
I’m sure you saw one on that servant woman when you arrived.
But do you understand its implication?” He leaned down and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“It means you cannot hurt me. But I can hurt you. With a single thought, I can bring you to the floor. Now, say you will obey me.”
“Never.”
His head tilted, an icy indifference in his gaze. “Shall we try again?”
A cry escaped her as once more, her body seemed to be ripped apart. The pain lanced down her side and through every inch of her, every part of her screaming in agony. Oh gods, it wouldn’t stop.
“Prince Kaelroch, my son, soon shall be arch king of the demons when he wins the Demon Trials. We’ll need gold spun to produce the finest of clothes.
I plan to keep you at my side to enrich his rule.
You will spin when we desire it,” the king stated.
“You’ll be my slave and do every little thing I command.
Promise to obey me and the pain will stop. ”
She spit on the stone ground.
“Say it.”
Aryana lay on the floor, spent, ready to die before she said it. Her uncle had already tricked her into obeying him. Zarathos had bound her in a bargain. She would not bend to this demon.
King Salen straightened. “Perhaps you need more time accepting that you will be the slave of my kingdom for the rest of your miserable existence. Another night. Oh, and while you are getting used to the idea, get used to the fact that tomorrow we shall wed in the less formal human traditions. After all, I must have a claim on you in case your uncle comes calling.” He turned to his attendants. “Put more straw in here.”
“Yes, sir. What about her?”
“Leave her. She won’t be moving for a while.”
“Should we monitor her?”
“No. She says she needs privacy to spin, give her privacy. She can’t leave this room, and if she strays too far from this,”—he held up his arm and tapped the brace—“the collar will burn through her neck until it decapitates her.”
Even the attendant looked a little queasy at that. “Yes, sir.”
And with that, King Salen turned on his heel and strode away.
Blessedly, the pain ceased when he left the room.
The guards moved around her, removing the golden threads and bringing more straw in.
Aryana sensed their footsteps as they stepped over her as if she were nothing more than a bag of grain.
Move. She needed to move. Get up. If she could only convince her body to respond. But it betrayed her. Whenever she tried to rise, her limbs screamed in agony as if the king were relaunching one of his attacks through the collar.
When King Salen’s attendants had finished their work, she heard the door click shut and lock behind them again. With the metal controller on her throat, she doubted even Zarathos’s plan of escape would free her from this new form of imprisonment.