Sick with horror, Phoebe ran with the crowd, praying to Odin that this evil horde would not find her amongst the people. A woman beside her tripped and fell grabbing at Phoebe as she did so, wrenching her robe. Phoebe shoved the woman away, clutching her robe close. If the blondness of her hair was seen…
When the horsemen reigned in their mounts, several of the Djin walked toward the quivering crowd, their swords drawn. One huge man with long, flowing black hair and merciless eyes stepped from a chariot and strode forward, ahead of the others.
A shot of recognition swept through Phoebe and even after so much disappointment, her heart fluttered. Dressed as a warrior with his magnificent lapis lazuli breast plate and long curved dagger at his side, Prince Agrat was the most arresting man she had ever seen.
On the Prince’s right marched a menacing monkey-faced demon that must be the infamous Snarcus, dressed in black body armor bearing a sword with an evil twisted blade. Phoebe had heard he ate babies. To the prince’s left, another demon approached, as tall as a giant. On lumbering limbs with a long torso and carrying a severed head under his arm with a burning, gaping mouth and no eyes, the demon neared the crowd.
Fear crystallized amongst the crowd into a silence of terror. Not even the birds in the sky sounded their calls and the livestock no longer bleated.
The woman beside Phoebe whimpered. “The Prince has brought his demons. Do not let Envy see your face.”
The woman’s terrified whisper rippled through Phoebe’s mind like a shock wave. Even she, new to the land, had heard of this putative demon with the severed head that searched out those suffering the deadly sin of Envy. Could he see into her soul, despite having no eyes? Would he know how she envied King Sol’s queen her freedom? Would he be aware she had hoped that Prince Agrat would be her chosen husband before she had discovered how treacherous he was? She tried to shield her thoughts. How soon, before he dragged her out before the Prince to display her foolishness?
And then what?
Death.
All except Prince Agrat wore the brand of King Sol’s Seal, showing their obeisance to the king. Oh good God, how did she think she ever had a chance of escaping this powerful king who honored not his promises and could control evil itself?
Women around Phoebe crumpled to the ground while their children clutched their mothers’ bodies. Even the men turned their faces away, clearly fearing to catch the eyes of the Djin General, Prince Agrat, lest he cleave their heads from their bodies.
“Cast aside your cloaks. Let fall your headgear. The prince wishes to gaze upon the faces of the women,” shouted Snarcus, the monkey-faced demon.
A shudder passed through the crowd.
Phoebe watched as one brave man stood in front of his wife. No woman was permitted to show her face to men not of her tribe, to do so would make her a whore.
Snarcus lifted his sword and ran the husband through. The husband fell to the ground unmoving. His wife screeched in terror, sank to the ground and put her palm onto her husband’s chest. “He is dead,” she wailed. She looked around, her eyes wild, her gaze settling on the prince. The woman crawled toward him. “Please, great prince. I beg of you. Give me back the husband I love. I carry his child. A child cannot be without a father to protect him. Oh, please, great lord, grant him life.” Wretched with tears, she clutched his foot and kissed it.
Phoebe sank to the earth, recoiling at the abomination of these monstrous demons.
“I desire no bloodshed,” Prince Agrat said. “I am here to protect my father’s people, not harm them.” He pointed toward the husband and an incantation left his lips. Black energy left the prince’s fingers and hovered over the dead man. Inside the black cloud grew the glowing shape of a man. The force lowered over the man’s body, shifting and buzzing and the man-like form entered the body.
The man took a great shuddering breath, groaned and clutched his side. Although blood stained his fingers, it no longer soaked the sand. The wife let out a cry of joy. “He lives. Thank you, great Lord.” She crawled back to her husband, clutching and kissing him.
Phoebe shoved her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, awed at the prince's magic. Prince Agrat must truly be a demon if he could force a soul back into a body. It was hideous. Not natural. No one in her country possessed this type of power.
“Do not test my patience,” the prince said to the crowd. “Show your faces. All of you. Now!”
Whispers of fear rose from the mass of women as they cast aside their headwear. As the prince approached, the woman nearest Phoebe crawled away crying, “No, no, no.”
“Show your face,” the prince ordered, but the woman buried her face in her hands, clearly too terrified to show her face in a culture where women must be covered.
The prince nodded and Snarcus ripped off her headdress.
"Go gently, Snarcus. These are my father's people."
“She is not the one. She has dark hair,” Snarcus grunted.
Phoebe could feel his gaze upon her. She had not removed her cloak. She understood the terror of the woman beside her. It flooded her body until it chilled her bones and she couldn’t move. How had she not sensed his demon nature before?
“You,” the prince said. “Remove your headdress.”
Sheer, ice-cold fear stopped her breathing. Phoebe felt Snarcus grab hold of her head covering and pull it from her face.
She heard the rising babble as the people saw the color of her hair. Vicious hands with claw-like demon talons gripped her shoulders, ripping her robe, so that the air hit her bare breast.
A surge of anger flared in her chest erasing the fear. “Get your hands off me, you filthy beast,” she ordered before gripping the rent fabric and trying to cover her exposed breast.
The monkey-faced demon smiled showing small razor sharp teeth and his foul breath hit her face. His hand formed a fist and he made to strike her.
“Enough, Snarcus,” the prince ordered, shoving him back with one sweep of his strong arm. “Concubine, you will come with me.”
“I am a princess. Not a concubine.”
His stared at her with eyes dark and sensuous and the wild attraction she had experienced on the first day she’d seen him at the palace was nothing by comparison. Her heart gave a strange leap when his gaze moved over her body.
“My lady.” The prince held out his hand.
But this time she fought his entrancement. “You lied to me.”
“Not so, my lady.
“You gave me your oath!” she cried.
He bent, put his hands around her waist and lifted her to her feet. “And you did not wait for me to return from battle to honor it.”
“What do you know of honor? You are the son of a demon.”
Her harsh words made his face harden and his eyes flashed with danger.
“I am the first son of the king. Come with me, Phoebe. Turn your faces,” the Prince ordered to the crowd. “Any man who looks upon the princess dies.”
Everyone did as they were ordered, even the demons. “I lost hope. I thought you would not come.”
“I gave you my word. You should not have lost hope.” The Prince scooped her into his arms so that her face was against his broad chest. She could feel the heat of his breast plate where her cheek rested against it.
“Snarcus, bring my chariot. The Princess will soil her feet no longer,” the prince commanded.
She reached up and put her hand on the side of his neck. Under her fingers, his warm pulse beat faster. “I would rather die than go back.”
His arms tightened around her. Arousal flared in his eyes as he stared at her. “My father has been wounded on the battlefield. His healers give him only days to live. I will take you to my border palace and hide you away until it is safe.”
If they were caught, it would mean death.
Prince Agrat’s Border Palace
Phoebe stood in the prince’s quarters sipping wine, conscious of the prince’s dark gaze upon her. He was dressed for battle, his red robe fluttering fro
m the wind that cooled the chamber. Soon, he began to pace in front of her, his sandals making swishing sounds on the stone floor when he turned.
“His Majesty has commanded my presence. I am told he suffers with fever from his wounds and has only days to live.”
Phoebe gently placed her hand on his arm. “You lose your father yet you are dressed for war.”
The expression in his eyes softened and his hand moved on top of hers. "I am not the favored son, Princess, though I am the eldest and heir."
"So you walk into danger?"
His lips turned up slightly. "Do you care?"
"Very much so." Whatever they said about him at the harem, Phoebe could not believe he was evil.
"Are you not afraid that I am half demon?" He took her hand and let it drop from him.
"No. That is not the feeling I have for you." Tentatively, she reached up and stroked the line of his face, feeling the difference from the soft skin of his cheek to the tight stubble of his shaven face.
Agrat stilled her hand. “Careful, Phoebe. I have the same desires as any man.”
"I am not afraid. You are the one man who helped me and you stand to lose much by doing so. That is not the action of a demon, but the action of one who cares."
He pulled her close and held her to him. "How is it that a young maiden can see what others cannot? How can you know what is in my heart?"
Phoebe looked up so that her face was inches from his. She could feel his hot breath on her face, see the want in his eyes. "It is said that my race is descended from the Norse Gods. I do not have magic or powers, but I can see truth. You are a good man. You did not relish in my misery and for that I am in your debt."
"No one wishes to be in the debt of a demon."
"I am willing to take the risk. Have you used magic on me? For that is what I feel. You have become my world." As if of their own accord, her hands moved from his face, down under his hair and around the back of his neck. She couldn't get enough of him.
A deep groan left his lips. "No magic, Princess. When I first saw you, it was as if you had directed your Gods to strike me with their bolts of lightning. I had to know you."
"My Gods are powerful. My father called on Thor for battle and he has never lost. My mother, when she wanted my father, called on Freya."
"And she won him?" Amusement crossed his face.
"In my culture, men marry one woman. My mother has been my father's faithful companion for many years just as I was brought up to be. I was not born to be a concubine."
"One such as you I would have as my wife." He bent and kissed her. His kiss spoke of longing, of raw desire yet, before he deepened the kiss, he gently pushed her from him. “I cannot put you in danger. My most trusted guards will take you to the port at Tyre and buy you safe passage home.”
And what would await her there? The disappointed faces of her parents and kin, sharp with the knowledge of her failure. If she were caught on her way to Tyre, she would be returned to the harem. In front of her stood the brave warrior she wanted, the prince who’d risked everything to save her, the man she could give her heart to. "I will be your wife."
"Princess. There could be a great cost. I have a dangerous enemy in my father's second wife."
"How can a woman wield such power over the king, especially in this country where women do not have power?"
"The king has married an angel."
Phoebe gasped. "An angel? A being from the Gods! You cannot be serious."
"A being whose beauty and voice mesmerizes those who encounter her to do her will."
"But not you?"
"She plots to take my birthright for her son. I intend to stop her." Agrat frowned. "I shall leave within hours and return to the capital. I must be at my father's side when he passes.” He shot her a look of concern.
"What is it?"
"I cannot leave you here unmarried. It is not safe. Unwed women in this country do not leave their homes without their menfolk. Nor are they ever in attendance of men unless they are married, relatives or servants. Only as my wife will you be safe in my compound until I secure the throne." Agrat strode to the door and summoned his servant. "Send for a priest. We will wed at once."
Phoebe reached up and unclasped the binding of Agrat's robe so that it fell to the floor. Her marriage, no more than a passing moment, had been a simple affair; so stern and different from her people's, yet already she had seen the change in the behavior of the servants. For the first time since entering this country she felt safe.
“I want you. You have consumed my mind.” He pressed her palm to his lips, kissed it and breathed in her scent.
She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pressing the length of her body against his. “I want you to make me your real wife. I have to feel what it is like to have you inside me.” Her hand reached below and came to rest over the fabric covering his sex. He was hard for her.
His gasp pierced the silence.
She rubbed his shaft, savoring the length and width of it as she had once seen a woman do to her lover in the hot springs at home. There was an empty ache in her heart that she knew would not fill until this man was hers. What if he went to his father and never came back? “Take me, noble Prince.”
He took her face between his hands and kissed her. She took his tongue between her lips, tasting wine and him. Urgently, she fumbled with clasps of metal and leather, pulling his armor from his body so that it fell to the ground leaving him huge and naked before her.
He was breathtaking.
His rod was long and upright, bigger and thicker than any she had seen when her father’s soldiers bathed naked in the springs. She could feel herself moistening and swelling as he ripped the robe from her body and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the lion skin on the floor. Laying her down, he moved on top of her supporting his weight on his elbows. He rose over her, hunger painted on his features, his sex poised at her entrance. She opened her legs, expecting both pain and pleasure but instead of driving in to her, he moved lower and laved her nipples, first one and then the other.
She took her breasts in her hands, cupping and pushing them upwards toward his mouth, reveling in the way his tongue stroked over her nipples. The sensation of it seemed to be attached to a cord that ran from her nipples to her wet core. Perhaps he sensed how she was feeling because he moved still lower, kissing along the line that ran from her navel to her sex and drove his tongue deep between her legs.
Phoebe cried out in pleasure, her hips jerking. Never in her life had she experienced a sensation like it. But he didn’t stop there. Instead, he licked up and down her slit, devouring her, ran his tongue over her bud, up and down, back and forth until an aching sensation built in the small of her back and exploded. A deep groan left her lips, shattering the silence until finally she slumped, her body as weak as a newborn lamb’s.
She stared up at him as he moved up her body and reared over her, his sex, hard and thick at her entrance. When he drove it forward, she could feel a slight sting as her sex adjusted to his manhood. Staring deep into her eyes, he thrust deeply. She opened her lips to cry out, from pain, from pleasure, but he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, stifling her cries until she moved with him, lost in the passion of him. He was in her, on her, claiming her as his woman. He growled in her ear, clutched her breasts and pinched her nipples hard as he came until finally slumping over her.
Shifting aside, he lay beside her, partially covering her naked body with his leg and arm.
Staring at him, she stroked his cheeks, her sensitive fingers feeling the barbs of his beard. He turned to face her and gently kissed her lips. “This time we have together is precious.” His lips curved as his eyes held hers. “From the moment I first saw you, I thought about you. How I could have you. How I could make you mine. Remember all I am to you and all you are to me.”
When he said the words she fought apprehension that they wouldn’t have time together. He was preparing to leave her and g
o to his father. There had to be a way to delay him because deep inside, she feared he would not come back.
He bent his head and his lips grazed hers, but she took his cheeks and kissed him hard. “Don’t go, my lord. If your father only has days, wait until he passes and take your army into the city.”
"That is not honorable. I must be by the king's side at this serious time. I am his son." He moved down to her neck, his lips nipping along the pulse of her throat as if testing the rush of blood beneath and soon she was lost in the thrill of it. A shiver of delight made her run her hands along the ridged muscles of his back. Agrat kissed her throat, then suddenly nipped the delicate area where her shoulder met her neck.
She squealed.
He rubbed his lips gently over the bite so the little tingles of pleasure followed the pain.
“Oh,” Phoebe sighed. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the dual sensation. Just the feel of his lips kissing her throat, then moving downwards to her breasts delighted her.
His hands were hot and he had a way of caressing her nipples that made the place between her legs throb. She was aching for his touch. Everywhere, even though she was tender from the first time.
He pulled back from her and took his penis in his hand. Leaning on one elbow, he rubbed the head of his velvety cock over her entrance and up to her clitoris.
Phoebe groaned and thrust to meet his rhythm. “I want you. I want you so much. Stay with me.”
“I must go.”
“Your father will punish you for taking me.” She would lose him forever.
“He is close to death. I will ask his forgiveness for taking you. What use can he have of another woman now?” He kissed along her neckline.
She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of the head of his sex rub gently over her clitoris. Her hips jerked. She strained and arched her back wanting more.
He pressed harder this time, moving his cock rapidly up and down.
The rush that hit her when she came surprised her. He inserted his fingers into her, finding her tender place and she crunched down on him as he rubbed her clitoris with his thumb. It sent her soaring, until a groan started deep inside her, forcing its way out, the sensation of his cock and fingers exquisite. He knew exactly how to please her; could tease and play her body like it was a sensitive instrument under his fingers.
Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) Page 2
