To Enthrall the Demon Lord

by Nadine Mutas

  The gentlest of tugs on that bond between them. A dare. A reminder.

  Holding his gaze, she touched her lips to his.

  Prickling sparks down her spine, pooling heat between her legs.

  She cupped his face as she brushed her mouth against his again, the sort of featherlight kiss that would make her knees weak.

  And, yes, they wobbled.

  She would have swayed were it not for the press of his thighs against her legs.

  Flickering memories of darkest horrors in a dank room. The weight of a heavy body on hers, sweat and wet sounds and pain, roaming touches that turned her stomach—

  Breath too shallow and fast, she whimpered, crushed by the force of a flashback that eclipsed the light of day, plunged her mind into the stifling black of a hole she couldn’t crawl out of. Flames itched to shoot out of her and…met the ink-drenched magic of a stronger power.

  Fire fizzling out under the wave of that dark energy, she gasped for air, her chest choked tight, her body numb and tingling at the same time. The chilly, rattling blackness engulfing her mind gave way to blinding light, too much, too strong, all colors dissolved into glaring white.

  Count your breaths.

  She tried, failed. It was all one breath and none at all. Her lungs burned.

  Breathe.

  The power in that one word. It shook her, made her haul in air past the block of her most basic function, circumventing the icy clutch of fear in her mind.

  Several breaths later, pastels emerged from the whiteness all around, shapes took form, sounds returned. The chirp of birds. The scent of wood and earth. Soft moss under her face, her hands.

  She came to her senses curled into a ball on the ground, a yard away from Arawn, who still sat on the log, his expression inscrutable as he looked at her.

  The shame of her humiliation burned hotter than the flames he’d soothed back into her core.

  The sight of Maeve curled into a ball of misery on the ground sharpened Arawn’s ever-present hunting instinct into lethal focus. Only there was no one to chase down and tear to bloody shreds, no focal point for the urge to murder with mad methodology.

  So he drew it inward, directed that rage at the other impulse beating at his brain, the need to gather the tense form of his witch and stroke her fears away. Doing so wouldn’t help her. Not yet, anyway. What she needed, at this point, was support of a different kind.

  She sat up, shaking, her shoulders drooping, her hair hiding her face. He didn’t need to see her expression to know it was one of abject defeat, her humiliation smothering her like a mantle of failure, fringed by fear. Rising silently to her feet, she turned her back to him, as if wanting to slip away.

  He would have none of that.

  “One setback,” he said, keeping his voice conversational, “and you are ready to throw in the towel?”

  She stiffened, anger in the set of her tense shoulders.

  Anger was good. Anger was better than defeat.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she rasped. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Who said it should be?”

  She crossed her arms, and a muscle in her jaw twitched.

  “Someone once,” he said on a silken murmur, bracing his elbows on his knees, “broke every bone in my body. When I tried to walk again after I started to heal, I fell on my face more times than I can count. It hurt. It was humiliating. But it would have been even more so had I given up.”

  Eyes wide, she faced him, her arms falling to her sides. Surprise flickered over her features, and an echo of a stinging emotion flowed along the bond.

  “Who did that to you?” she whispered.

  “You would do well,” he said softly, “to remember what sort of reactions you dislike in others when they hear of your struggles.”

  She blinked, those copper lashes lowering and lifting over gray-streaked amber. “I’m not pitying you,” she said after a moment. “I want to know who dared lay a hand on you, and whether they’re dead, or still mine for the killing.”

  He barked a laugh, the sound startling him. He hadn’t laughed in ages. Not like this. Unrestrained, taken unawares by the sort of rousing amusement that came out of nowhere, yet consumed him.

  He was still grinning, his chest feeling wide open, when he said, “I wish I could bring them back to life, then, just to watch you burn them to cinders.”

  Her features had gentled, her eyes glowing as she beheld him, her lips parted on a sigh. “You’re magnificent when you laugh.”

  Raw. She had to be ripped raw still from her flashback to be saying such things. “Tell me again tomorrow, and I may believe you.”

  “Show me more of your laughter, and I will tell you every day.”

  “Careful now,” he murmured. “If you stroke my ego any more, I will demand you stroke other parts as well.”

  The blush on her cheeks was belied by the way her eyes flicked down to his crotch, his cock hardening at the unfettered hunger written on her face.

  “First things first,” she said, focusing back on his mouth.

  He straightened again, one hand braced next to him on the log, the other crooking a finger at her. She followed his call, her hips swinging in a way she was likely oblivious of, yet managed to rivet his attention, holding him spellbound.

  Her curves were made to fit his hands, the impulse to comply with that surely perfect fit and to mold his palms to her flesh a surge in his veins. He had to dig his fingers into the moss and bark to keep from claiming what should be caressed, enjoyed, appreciated, in the most physical of ways.

  She stepped back into the space between his legs—which he took the utmost care now to keep from trapping her again—her hands once more stroking feathered caresses over his face. He allowed his powers to twirl around her like before, a tiny taste of touching her that must suffice for now.

  Her breath went uneven as she bent down again, pressed her lips to his, and he luxuriated in the feel of her heat, the silken curtain of red that fell around their faces, her scent of fire and wind another sort of kiss to a different sense of his.

  Every muscle in his body hardened almost painfully as he forced himself to remain still, to let her lead. She needed that leeway, the promise of freedom and choice, the sort of passivity on his part that would allow her to reclaim what she lost in that warehouse.

  And when—not if—she regained her confidence and kicked the terrors out of her mind, he’d be ready to pounce and play in a wholly different way than they’d done earlier.

  All his thoughts scattered like leaves in a wind at the brush of her tongue against his lips.

  Claws slid out from his fingertips, embedded in the log with the effort it took him not to reach for her, tug her closer. Instead he opened his mouth to hers, to her sensual invitation, drank in her soft moan when their tongues met. His powers vibrated over his skin…over hers.

  She gasped at the touch of his energy, inched closer to him. Deepening the kiss, she leaned nearer still, and his body became, impossibly, more rigid as she slid one knee up his thigh, slowly slung that leg over his. Continuing the sensual exploration of his mouth, she repeated the move with her other leg, until she straddled him, her weight a lush caress in itself.

  “You,” he muttered against her lips when she broke away for a breath, “are killing me.”

  “Hm.” An unrepentant smile that he felt more than saw. “You look very invigorated to me.”

  That teasing side of her…it slayed him.

  Her fingers running through his hair, more touches of her tongue against his. Her teeth on his lower lip, sending a surge of need directly down to his cock. The scent of her arousal thickened the air, a lure to everything male in him.

  “I want”—his teeth now nipping at her lip—“to feast on you until I drown in your taste.”

  “You are.” A breathless whisper.

  “Lower.”

  A squeaky sort of moan. A roll of her hips against him, and she froze at what she obviously felt between
his legs, his desire unmistakable.

  “Eyes on me, Wildfire,” he repeated the words from earlier in the day, not letting her slip into a different place and time.

  Quivering, she kept her focus on him as she deliberately rolled her hips again, rubbed against him in sinuous little moves that threatened his now tenuous control. He’d always prided himself on having a firm handle on the primal wildness of his nature—thousands of years of practice should bear fruit, after all.

  Maeve grinding on his lap while he wasn’t allowed to touch her held the potential to shred the last of his civilized veneer.

  Breath coming faster, she kissed him again, her own control in tatters as well, it seemed, for the licks of her tongue were more aggressive, her tiny moans more frequent, her fingers now gripping his hair. His powers snapped their leash, flowed into and through her, pushing all the buttons that needed pressure—and she shattered.

  A low, long moan broke from her throat, which he swallowed with a kiss, more demanding than he’d thus far allowed himself to be. She shuddered, her eyes glazing over—not in a good way.

  He grabbed her chin, made her look at him. “Here.” He tugged on the bond between them. “Now.”

  Her lips trembled. She swallowed.

  “Who am I?”

  A soft inhale. “Arawn.”

  The sound of his name spoken in her husky voice made his cock throb even harder, but he ignored it. There would be time for that. Later. When she was not on the verge of splintering for all the wrong reasons.

  “You are in control,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her chin. “You decide. When. What. How much.”

  She gave a shaky nod.

  “But for now,” he added, pitching his voice to a low caress, “we are finished.”

  Elegant ginger brows drew together over eyes of molten amber. “I know I am. What about you?”

  “Sleep,” he replied with a dark smile, “is not the only thing I can forego without dying.”

  Chapter 20

  “So,” Lucía said to Maeve, popping a grape in her mouth while they lay on a rolling meadow under the canopy of the stars, “you seem different tonight.”

  Maeve froze. Keeping her eyes studiously on the twinkling lights above her, she cleared her throat. “How so?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucía’s probing stare was a physical thing. “More relaxed, I guess?”

  “Hm.” She pressed her lips together, trying hard not to squirm.

  “You’re less tense,” Lucía went on. “I mean, not that you were super uptight or anything, don’t get me wrong, but you know I’m a shifter, and I just can’t help noticing people’s body language and scents—”

  Maeve furtively clenched her thighs together. She’d showered and changed, but still…

  “—and there was just this tension in you, like in a shifter who hasn’t turned into their animal for a while—we get, like, super intense when we don’t go for a run in our fur regularly—but now it’s like you’ve shaken that off somehow—”

  More like rubbed it off. Heat flushed her face.

  “—and I just thought I’d tell you, because I’m happy you’re feeling better. So, you know, whatever you’ve been doing, it’s looking good on you, girl.” She rolled onto her side facing Maeve, propped her head on her hand. “What have you been doing?”

  “Nothing.” Why was her voice so dang squeaky?

  “Uh-huh.” She plucked another grape from the bunch she’d brought, threw it into her mouth. “You do know shifters can smell lies?”

  She cleared her throat. Again. Subtle, much? “Okay, so I may have…exercised a little.”

  Lucía’s pale green eyes—glowing like her puma’s in the dark of the night—narrowed as she studied her. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed—and then her features slackened. Eyes wide, she gaped at Maeve.

  “Nooooooo,” Lucía drawled in that tone of utmost disbelief paired with surprise, laced with a touch of excitement. “You. Did. Not.”

  Maeve scratched her nose. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  “You so did.” Lucía sat up, a grin on her face. “With who?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure, yeah.” She tapped her nose. “Lies. Scent. Remember?” Tilting her head, she frowned. “Speaking of which, I’m not smelling anyone on you…” Her frown deepened, her voice trailing away. “…except…” A gasp, her mouth forming a huge O, her eyes rounded once more. “Noooooooo.”

  “You’ve…said that already.”

  “No way.” She closed her mouth with an audible click. “You and Arawn.” Shaking her head, she held up both hands. “Now, I don’t want any details. That’d be weird. Super awkward, seeing as he’s like my uncle and all. But…good for you!” Grinning, she bumped her fist against Maeve’s shoulder.

  Maeve fidgeted with the seam of her sweater. “We didn’t…I mean…it was just…”

  “No details!” Lucía covered her ears with her hands. “But seriously,” she added a moment later, uncovering her ears again, “if you wanna chat—in non-detail form—I’m here. He can be really obstinate, so if you need to unload, I’m your gal.”

  “It’s not…we’re not…” Gah, would she be able to put together a whole sentence again anytime soon?

  “That’s okay.” An easy smile. “You’ll figure it out. No need to slap a label on it just yet.”

  She hadn’t been aware of holding a breath until it rushed out of her. Opening her mouth, she was about to thank Lucía when the other woman’s eyes shifted to her cougar’s, her entire body going on tense alert in the way so innate in feline predators.

  Lucía flowed into a crouching position, lifted her head and scented the air, her gaze on the night sky. Maeve looked up too, unease curdling her stomach. The forest around the meadow had fallen silent, not a single rustle of nocturnal animals to be heard anymore.

  A whisper in the distance…floating near.

  “Maeve,” Lucía said, her voice quiet but sharp. “Run into the forest. Call Arawn.”

  “How…?”

  Lucía tossed her a cell phone. “First one in the favorites. Go!”

  A whistling breeze, followed by a gust of wind that whipped Maeve’s hair around her face. She backed away toward the edge of the woods, still searching the starlit sky, her finger pressing the call button on the phone. Heart in her throat, she listened to it ring, roll into voicemail.

  Crap. Arawn was miles away for all she knew, tending to his business in some other part of his dominion, and short of a phone call, she had no means of—

  An idea flitted through her mind. Maybe…

  She reached down into herself, touched mental fingers to the bond—gave it a tug.

  More whipping, tornado-like wind howling through the trees, flattening the grass on the meadow. Lucía now moved toward Maeve, away from the open field.

  A shadow blotted out the stars.

  “Run!” Lucía’s voice barely rose above the din of the storm.

  Her ears buzzing from the roaring wind, Maeve sprinted for the tree line. Something huge slammed down in front of her, and the pressure wave of its impact hurled her back. She crashed down hard, pain shooting through her as she tried to break the fall using her hands and arms.

  She lifted her head, fought against the dizziness that attacked her, glanced around. Lucía lay several yards away, unmoving, and there, in front of her…loomed a gargantuan, hulking beast.

  Against the backdrop of the night, she couldn’t make out its form, the light of the stars not bright enough but to hint at the sheer size of the creature. A helicopter? A private jet? Something giant along those lines.

  Fingers digging into the earth, she tried to calm her racing heart, to find at least a smidgen of courage to move. Her muscles didn’t obey.

  And then her thoughts simply vanished in instinctive gecko-brain fear as the beast lunged forward. Talons rammed into the ground inches from her hands. Talons as big as machetes.

 
Shivering, she looked up, and up, and up, craning her neck until she could see all the way up to the creature’s head. Was that…a beak?

  Something enormous stretched on either side of its massive body, rustling like…feathers.

  The thing moved, a silken grace to its prowl that spoke of feline elegance despite its unbelievable size. Crawling backwards, Maeve pivoted with the beast, not exposing her back. Useless. That monster could crush her with one of its clawed paws.

  With a flash of starlight on feathers, the beast lunged at her again. She shrieked, fell back, curled into a ball, her sight blinking out as terror speared her—

  Heat and flames and roaring power.

  She blinked, her heartbeat like thunder in her ears, her skin burning…quite literally. Unsinged by her own fire, she peeked out from under the arm she’d thrown over her face.

  A ring of flames around her, and behind the flickering heat, the beast. The firelight illuminated what darkness had veiled before, and she stared slack-jawed, her mind uncomprehending.

  Back half of its body that of a giant feline, feathered wings jutting from its powerful shoulders, the fur giving way to plumage covering its neck, front legs, and head…which was that of a huge bird of prey. And those front legs didn’t end in paws, but in taloned bird’s feet.

  That…wasn’t…possible.

  That couldn’t be a… Her mind drew a blank at the absurdity.

  The beast regarded her with eyes that held a far too intelligent glint for a monster. Cocking its head—a move unmistakably bird-like—it took a step forward, beat its mighty wings once…and the powerful blast of air snuffed out the ring of flames.

  Just like that.

  She scrambled for her magic, tried to grab some of the fire that seemed so ever-present in her core, but she only encountered darkness and despair. She couldn’t call upon her powers at will. They were still bound. Erratic, uncontrollable bursts of flames were all she could manage, and only subconsciously.

  Breath stuck in her throat, she could only watch with abject terror while the beast stepped over the line of ash, prowled closer. It stalked over her, a taloned foot on either side of her body, its size dwarfing her to an inconsequential insect to be carelessly squashed. The magic pouring off it raised the hair on her arms and neck.