Claimed by a Demon King

by Felicity Heaton

  Thorne needed to fight.

  His blood pumped hard and hot, and his mind screamed with fury over what this male had dared to do with his fated one. His female.

  He wanted to throw him across the room, to rain blows down upon him until his temper flared and he fought back. He wanted to snag the female with his free hand, curl his claws over the metal bodice of her dress and rip the offending garment from her body.

  He yearned to kiss her until she knew that she belonged to him.

  He could do none of those things.

  Everyone was staring at him and clarity was beginning to pierce the red haze in his mind like the rising sun drove back the darkest night, bringing calm to all those its rays touched.

  He had brought these elven folk and mortals to his world because he needed their aid, and he was ruining his chance of keeping his kingdom safe.

  For the sake of a female.

  Thorne snarled, torn between tightening his grip around Bleu’s scrawny neck and releasing him. His chest heaved with each harsh breath he sucked down into his lungs in a fight to calm himself and his fingers twitched against Bleu’s flesh. The urge to press his claws in, to draw blood and ignite the male’s anger was hard to ignore. He wanted to tear into him with claw and fang, to push him into responding, all to sate his need to ensure this male no longer dared to pursue his female.

  He needed to kill him.

  Sable moved, taking a brave step closer, and shock rippled through him when his rage lifted enough for him to realise that she looked only at him. Broken words reached his ears, filtering through the red mist clouding his senses.

  She spoke to him directly and everything male in him demanded he listened to his female.

  He eased his grip and turned to her. She appeared small and delicate, but formidable too as she stood with her hands braced against her hips, her bright golden gaze locked on him in a scowl.

  His female was fearsome. A warrior.

  He wanted to grin at that.

  A female fit for a king.

  “Dial it back, Tiger,” she said.

  He didn’t understand her strange words or why she equated him with a savage animal of her world, but he knew from her gentle tone and softening expression that she meant to calm him.

  Thorne could only obey.

  He lowered the elf to his feet and fought to convince himself to release his throat. Sable continued to stare into his eyes, her gaze commanding his to remain rooted on her. It took a few seconds before he managed to uncurl his fingers from Bleu’s neck, and only a few seconds more than that for him to notice the ragged state of his clothes, the horrified expressions of the mortals surrounding him, and the barely concealed anger flashing in the eyes of the elves.

  Thorne turned away from Sable and shoved past Bleu, heading for the door beyond the mortals. They scurried out of his path, their fear tainting their scents.

  He growled and tossed over his shoulder, “I will return. Prepare the feast.”

  He stormed out of the great hall, needing space to rein in his anger, and requiring a change of clothes. There was little point in donning a new shirt until he had his temper back under control though. He growled and snarled as he stomped along the torch-lit corridor towards his rooms, his mood degenerating again, thoughts of Sable with Bleu dragging him back towards the red mist. He female was there with the elf, no doubt checking on the male, touching his bruised throat and speaking words of concern and tenderness.

  Thorne threw his head back and roared until his throat burned and he had no breath left. He dragged his claws along the stone walls, craving the pain and aching with the need to unleash his anger on something. Anything.

  He reached his rooms and barged through the arched wooden door, slamming it shut behind him. He paced from one side of the expansive bedroom to the other, his gaze locked on the floor, his footfalls shaking the timbers. He snarled and tore at his ruined shirt, and only grew more frustrated as it snagged in his wings. They wouldn’t go away. Not while he skirted the edge, on the brink of losing his mind to the rage pouring through him, eating away at him, filling his head with images of Bleu and Sable.

  Thorne roared again and ripped the remains of the shirt from his body. He tore it to shreds, threw it to the floor and flexed his claws as he paced, his wings shifting with each step. His bones ached as his body expanded again, muscles tight against his skin, and his teeth hurt as he clamped them together. He snarled and turned on his heel to stomp back towards the door, feeling like the beast his female had called him.

  A feral tiger trapped within a cage, wild and driven to pace the cramped confines to unleash his energy lest he go insane.

  A soft knock sounded.

  Fargus, no doubt. The fool was the only male mad enough to approach him when he was in a rage.

  Thorne stopped at the door and yanked it open, ready to bite his commander’s head off about the disturbance. No one was there.

  His gaze dropped several inches.

  He stilled right down to his heartbeat.

  Sable.

  Her determined expression faltered and she looked uncertain, as if she had forgotten why she had come to him.

  She had come to him.

  Her golden-brown eyes fell to his bare chest and his horns curled at the way she slid them over his flesh, her pupils dilating and gaze growing heated.

  Could she desire him?

  Was she not Bleu’s?

  “What do you want?” he brusquely said and cursed himself for snapping at her. Just the name of the bastard elf in his mind had been enough to sour his mood again, destroying the calm that had come over him upon seeing Sable.

  She cleared her throat and inched her eyes back up to his. “I get the feeling I did something wrong and I wanted to apologise. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Curious little female. “You did not offend me. The elf did.”

  “How?” She frowned at him and her question surprised him. No female had ever dared to question him.

  Was this some sort of ruse? Perhaps she was trying to discern the truth by taking the blame for his outburst. Did she desire to know why he had lost his mind and had attacked her male?

  He would tell her.

  “The male attempted to claim what is rightfully mine.”

  Confusion flickered across her pretty face.

  Thorne spelled it out for her by catching hold of her metal bodice, yanking her to him and grasping the nape of her neck to keep her still. He took a deep breath for courage and then dipped his head and claimed her mouth.

  She stood frozen with her hot hands pressed against his bare chest, burning into him, and he thought she would push him away.

  The moment his female’s lips yielded to the hard demanding press of his and their tongues touched, pleasure nearly felled him.

  He focused all of his will on holding back his strength, fearing he would hurt his little mortal with it, and tore the pins from her hair with his right hand. He sifted his fingers through the soft black strands, groaning at the feel of them slipping over his flesh. With his left, he clasped her against him.

  Her dress was silk and her warm curves giving beneath his hand. He slid it lower and clutched her backside, pinning her against the full length of his body as he laid claimed to her mouth. She tensed and then melted into him, her lips parting to allow their tongues to touch again. Hers stroked his, dizzying him and driving him to kiss her harder. He gave in to the urge, unable to deny his hunger to taste her. So warm and sweet. His female tasted like ambrosia of the gods.

  His knees loosened, threatening to give out as pleasure he had never experienced before flowed through every inch of him. It was stronger than he ever could have imagined, consuming and owning him, dragging him into a drugged daze where there was only fierce sensation and emotions, and the connection bursting to life between him and his little female.

  Did she feel as he did? Did her limbs tremble from the pleasure overloading her and her blood run hot, thundering in her v
eins as desire blazed through her? He wanted to know, ached to draw back and look deep into her eyes and see that she was his now and he wasn’t alone in his passion and desires, but more than that he didn’t want this kiss to end.

  Thorne clutched her more tightly, pulling her closer, obeying his instincts to possess her and claim her as his forever. His fangs dropped.

  His female tensed, planted her hands harder against his chest and shoved him back, pinning his spine to the doorframe behind him.

  She released him, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and squared up to him, fire flashing in her eyes. His female was not pleased.

  “I came here to apologise because I thought I had done something wrong again. Well, now it’s your turn to apologise.”

  Thorne growled. “I will never apologise to the elf.”

  Her slap caught him off guard. His left cheek buzzed fiercely and he tasted blood. He ran his tongue around his mouth, finding the source of it on the left of his lower lip. She had struck him hard enough to cut him on his own fangs. He growled again, opened his mouth to warn her not to defend the male around him, and frowned as he realised she was storming away from him, heading back towards the great hall.

  “Men,” she muttered darkly. “Doesn’t matter what species they are… they’re all bloody idiots.”

  Perhaps she had not meant the elf. Perhaps she had expected him to apologise for kissing her. Strange female. Why would he apologise for kissing her? He didn’t want to. He had enjoyed it.

  Had she not?

  Thorne grabbed a fresh shirt and managed to force his wings away. The moment they had shrunk into his back, he hurried from his room, pulling the white garment on over his head as he walked and leaving the laces down the chest undone.

  He caught up with Sable before she had made it halfway along the hall, grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. He searched her eyes but couldn’t discern from them whether she had enjoyed the kiss or not.

  The longer he held her, the more her gaze began to waver. After long seconds, it dropped to his mouth and her rosy lips parted. He ached to kiss them again. If he apologised, could he perhaps fulfil that desire?

  Thorne muttered, “I apologise. I did not mean to cause offense.”

  He leaned down to kiss her and Sable snatched her arm from his grasp and stepped back.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped and he frowned.

  “I apologised. Can I not kiss you again?” Confusing little female.

  “No.” Her expression darkened. “Apology not accepted.”

  Thorne’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

  She shoved her hands onto her hips and scowled at him. “Because you didn’t mean it. You’re not sorry.”

  He huffed. “Of course I am not sorry. I wanted to kiss you and so I kissed you. Does the elf have to apologise whenever he kisses you?”

  Thorne wanted to kill him. It ran around his mind, bringing pleasing images of locking the wretch in his dungeon and slowly taking his fury out on him.

  Sable’s eyes widened and her tone was one of pure indignation and horror. “Bleu has not kissed me!”

  Thorne grinned. Something he had done that the elf had not. He liked that. Perhaps he was ahead in the fight for Sable after all.

  “You will change,” he commanded with a wave of his hand down her body. “I will give you a dress and you will wear it.”

  The way her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a mulish line warned that he had made a terrible mistake and was about to pay for it.

  “No, I damn well will not. I like this dress… it was given to me, not forced upon me. I’m not one of your court whores who will do as you please without question and service your desires.” She looked him over, huffed and shoved past him, heading back towards his room.

  Not his room, he realised as he looked beyond her to entrance arch of the stairs up to the first floor.

  “Where do you go now?” He turned on his heel to follow her.

  “Home,” she spat that word with such force and determination that it hit him like a punch in the gut, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending his head and heart reeling. “I’m going home. Screw your war. Screw you!”

  Thorne snarled. There was no way in the seven realms he was going to let her slip out of his grasp again. He couldn’t. He needed her here with him. He stomped towards her with long-legged strides, easily catching her before she could reach the stairs. He grabbed her, twisted her in his arms, ducking his head to one side to avoid the punch she aimed at him, and tossed her over his shoulder.

  Sable flailed, kicking and punching, landing hard blows. “Put me down. Where are you taking me?”

  The fear in her heartbeat and the tremor in her voice warned that she believed he was about to take her to his room, most likely to ravage her. Foolish female.

  “Stop struggling.” He grappled with her, trying to keep hold of her, determined not to let her go. “You will fall and hurt yourself. I do not mean you harm.”

  He turned with her, heading back along the corridor towards the great hall. She settled at last.

  “Where are you taking me?” she whispered and pressed her hands against his lower back, pushing herself up. He trembled under the heat of her touch and struggled to keep his focus.

  “To the feast.”

  He sensed the relief that flowed through her and he muttered an apology in the demon tongue. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but she had threatened to leave and he had reacted on instinct, driven to stop her.

  “Please put me down… because you are hurting me.” She sounded strained, hoarse. The metalwork of the corset pressed into his shoulder and no doubt bit into her supple flesh.

  He cursed the elven dress and the bastard who had no doubt given it to her, carefully set her on her feet and went down on one knee before her. She remained still as he checked her over, needing to see she was unharmed to calm his turbulent emotions and keep control over his darker instincts.

  Thorne stopped with his hands on her waist and looked up into her eyes.

  His female was beautiful with her black hair tumbling around her shoulders but there were tears on her lashes. From the pain of the corset or fear of him?

  He curled his fingers into tight fists. He wasn’t sure what to do to make things better.

  As an heir to a realm and later as a king, he had been trained to take action and command those below him to obey without question, demanding their fealty and expecting no argument from them.

  But she was not below him.

  Even a king had those above him, those he should seek to please, not command to obey his will.

  The words rose up from his heart and slipped freely from his tongue this time. “I am sorry for frightening you. Would you stay… please?”

  She blinked and didn’t draw away as he lifted his hand to her cheek. She allowed him to brush the backs of his claws across her silky skin and it humbled him.

  Sable stood silent and still for long minutes. He found it hard to wait, to remain patient and not press her for an answer. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting for anything. She raised her hand, as if to touch his where it lingered against her cheek, and then lowered it to her side.

  “Apology accepted. I’ll stay.”

  Thorne released the breath he hadn’t realised he held.

  His female was kind too.

  He smiled and rose to his feet, and paused to watch her walking ahead of him, back towards the banquet.

  His queen.

  He would do everything in his power to win her.

  She would be his forever.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sable kept her head down as she entered the great hall but it didn’t stop her from feeling everyone turning to stare at her.

  Olivia lifted the skirt of her long dark purple dress and hurried to her. “What on Earth… why did you go dashing off after Thorne?”

  She wasn’t in the mood for her friend’s teasing right now, but the
n, Olivia sounded shocked and concerned. She lifted her gaze to meet Olivia’s rich brown eyes and saw the worry she had caused in them. Olivia had feared Thorne would hurt her. Sable had known better. She had known in her heart that he wouldn’t hurt her, even in the deepest of his rages.

  Bleu’s gaze bore into her and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. He had tried to stop her when she had gone after Thorne and had looked mortified when she had told him to leave her alone and that she had to go. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but it seemed she had done just that.

  And she had upset Thorne too.

  “I needed to apologise for whatever it was that had upset him… I thought I had done something wrong and was going to get us all kicked out.” It sounded stupid when she said it aloud, but at the time, she had felt compelled to go to him and calm him, and make everything all right again.

  Loren stepped forwards, a black scowl knitting his eyebrows and turning his purple eyes dark. His fangs flashed between his lips as he spoke. “It was not you who caused the king to rage.”

  He slid a pointed look at Bleu and she finally glanced at him. Bleu was still staring at her, barely leashed desire in his eyes.

  How had she failed to notice it before?

  She recalled what Thorne had said to her. Bleu had attempted to claim what was rightfully his.

  Thorne believed she was his fated one.

  Sable ran a hand down her face and remembered how startled he had seemed when his eyes had first fallen on her the day they had met at the Archangel facility, and how she had shivered under the scorching intensity of his gaze. Her body had come alive, as if recognising him as her counterpart, her other half.

  Holy hell in a hand-basket.

  Olivia and Loren were right. She had a demon king for a mate and the way he had kissed her, had looked at her with fire burning in his eyes, warned that he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than eternity with her.

  The familiar burn went through her and the room hushed. Sable swung to face the doors in time to see Thorne enter.

  He clapped his hands, the sound sharp and startling in the silence. “To the tables.”

  The room erupted in murmured conversations and she couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were about her and Thorne. She caught the gazes of several of her hunters as they walked to the long bench tables set out near the door to the sleeping quarters and had no doubt that they would be talking about her behaviour over dinner too.