Claimed by a Demon King

by Felicity Heaton

  An invisible blast knocked her flying backwards and she landed hard, her head spinning and bones aching from the blow.

  Evan appeared beside her and pulled her up onto her feet. “You okay?”

  She nodded and winced as she straightened, cracking everything back into place. She huffed when she realised that she had lost her blade and grabbed the nearest one off the ground. It was heavier than her normal weapon but it would do until she spotted her own.

  “Watch the women,” Sable said and scanned the throng, trying to pick out any enraptured dragons. “If the guy you’re fighting has blue eyes or anything other than bloody green, and doesn’t have horns, he’s probably a dragon shifter. One already took Anais.”

  “Took her down?”

  “No. Took her… the son of a bitch abducted her.” And hadn’t he looked terribly pleased about it too? Anais could handle herself, but Sable didn’t think she could handle a sixty-foot-tall dragon.

  “You think they want to eat the women?”

  She tossed a scowl at Evan. “I’m not asking where that sick thought came from, and no, I don’t think so. The guy looked at her as if she was a goddess and Thorne says that dragons can’t bring themselves to harm women. He thought we were bloody Amazons.”

  Sable quietly admitted she had enjoyed that. It had felt like a compliment at the time.

  “You mean he probably wants to…”

  Sable was glad he trailed off and didn’t put out there what she had already figured out for herself.

  She really hoped that Anais stuck the dragon with something pointy when he had to shift back and could fend him off until Sable could rally some troops and head out to rescue her.

  “Evan, take your men and work with the demons to keep the women safe,” she said and he nodded, and turned away.

  And disappeared.

  Sable turned in time to see him hit the deck a short distance away, landing in an awkward heap and rolling across the dark ground. She whipped her head the other way and her marrow froze.

  Witches.

  Correction. Bitch-witches.

  Three beautiful black-haired women slinked towards her, their long dresses hugging their ample breasts, accentuating a figure that most women would kill to possess.

  Not her.

  All Sable saw were a nightmarish repeat of a battle she wanted to forget. One bitch-witch had been bad enough. Three were that nightmare on steroids.

  The one in the centre raised her hand, a glowing ball of pale blue light forming in her palm. Her dark lips curved into a sinister smile and she flipped her hand over and flicked it towards Sable, unleashing the spell.

  It zoomed towards her, growing at the same time, until the orb was almost as big as she was. Sable lunged to avoid it but knew she wasn’t going to be quick enough. Her legs were sluggish and unresponsive, time slowing to a trickle as she desperately tried to get out of the path of the spell.

  Light exploded and the ground shook beneath her, knocking her to her knees, and she waited for the pain to come.

  Nothing.

  Sable looked back at the witches.

  Rosalind stood there, her hands raised and palms facing the witches, and her blonde hair whipping around her shoulders and her black dress flapping against her shins. A dome of purple light flickered around her. Sparks leaped from her fingertips to the fading shield.

  “What are you doing out here?” Sable shoved to her feet and readied her blade.

  The witches launched another attack and Rosalind’s pretty face twisted into a dark visage as she shoved forwards with her hands just as it struck the shield protecting them. The blue light bounced around the dome, crackling and sparking.

  “I need to be here. I couldn’t watch from the castle any longer. The witches are driving you all back towards it. You just don’t know it.” Rosalind’s blue eyes brightened, swirling with flecks of silver that sparkled like stars.

  “But you can’t be here,” Sable snapped. “You threatened Thorne’s kingdom if you were hurt or killed or taken. You made a vow!”

  And with dragons on the prowl for women, there was a high chance Rosalind would end up taken too.

  Rosalind looked across at her. “I am breaking that vow. You need a witch, and I need a quick lesson in how to fight in a battle.”

  “Shit. You’re telling me you’ve never fought before?” Sable’s stomach dropped into her feet.

  “No. But I have never been in a battle.” Rosalind shrugged. “I’m not sure what I’m meant to do.”

  One of the witches hurled another glowing orb at them. Rosalind lowered one hand, muttered something, and then threw that hand forwards. The orb slowed as it reached her palm and then shot back at the witch who had cast it, knocking her flying.

  Sable gaped. “Just keep doing that.”

  Rosalind nodded.

  “And what should I do?” The soft female voice came from behind her and Sable squeezed her eyes shut, bit back a huff, and turned to face her friend.

  Olivia crouched beside Evan, her hand on a bandage around his left arm. She adjusted the black bag slung over her shoulder and tucked the remaining crepe roll back into it.

  “You should have stayed in the castle. How the hell did you get out… no… I really don’t need you to tell me.” Sable looked back at Rosalind, catching the guilt in her blue gaze as she launched an attack on the witches, sending a dazzling green orb hurtling towards them. It missed one and struck the other, ripping a cry from the witch that lasted only a second before the woman dropped to the ground.

  “Don’t be mad at her. I asked to come. I can help, Sable, if you’ll just let me.” Olivia picked up a short blade and tested it, swinging it in the way Sable had taught her.

  Several more demons came at them and Sable really didn’t have time to argue.

  She formed a tight group with Olivia, Evan and Rosalind, and together they tackled the demons and the witches. Rosalind was invaluable. Her protection spell deflected most of the attacks, giving Sable and Evan the opportunities they needed to take the demons down, and she also continued to hurl twisting spheres of different colours at the witches and any group of their enemy.

  Rosalind tossed three small orbs and held her hand out, her eyes focused on the distance. She twisted her hand this way and that, and the orbs obeyed each shift, changing directions and tearing through the enemy, severing limbs or punching straight through their bodies. Her hand shook and tears lined her lashes as she paled.

  “Rosalind?” Sable slashed at the huge demon she was fighting to give herself an opening to reach the witch. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Rosalind muttered to herself and the tears on her lashes spilled onto her cheeks. A huge boom shook the ground and blinding light filled the sky. Three domes of purest white erupted in the distance together with screams of agony.

  Sable skewered the demon as he looked off to the distance and then tugged her blade free, spun and severed his head. He fell to the ground as she was rushing to Rosalind.

  “Rosalind?” Olivia said and beat Sable to her, catching her as she collapsed and landing with her on the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” Sable crouched beside the two women. “Are you hurt?”

  Rosalind shook her head and her watery blue gaze met Sable’s.

  “It hurts. I never thought it would hurt,” Rosalind whispered and Sable feared she was injured after all and began checking her over. Rosalind grabbed her arm and Sable looked back into her eyes. “Is it always like this?”

  “What?” Sable tried to keep her attention on Rosalind even as her focus was elsewhere, monitoring their surroundings, ensuring no one was sneaking up on them.

  “Killing… war… I thought I could do this. I don’t think I can.”

  Sable’s eyes widened. Rosalind had fought in the past but she had never taken a life and it was wreaking havoc on her. Sable could remember how cold and empty she had felt when she had killed her first demon, and how she hadn’t been able to sleep or eat f
or days, had kept replaying the fight and his death over and over again.

  Rosalind had killed scores of men in barely an hour. It was little wonder she was breaking down.

  “We’ll take care of you,” Sable said and smiled to show her that she was telling the truth and meant every word. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  A bright bolt of light hit the ground in front of Rosalind and exploded, sending them all hurtling through the air in different directions.

  CHAPTER 30

  Sharp fire went down Thorne’s side and he turned away from his opponent, expecting to find another behind him, his sword or claws bloodied from the attack. Masses of men fought there but all were engaged with each other, their focuses locked on their own fights.

  Thorne growled and swung his broadsword towards his own opponent, a large male of the Fifth Realm. Their blades clashed, the fierce vibration running up Thorne’s right arm, stinging his bones. The dark-haired male snarled at him, flashing bloodstained fangs, drew his sword back and swung the heavy silver blade at him again.

  He blocked again, using the flat of his broadsword this time, and grimaced as pain tore up his side once more. His instincts flared and he stumbled as it hit him.

  Sable.

  It was her pain that he had experienced.

  A sense of urgency claimed him, demanding he find her and ensure that she was safe. His female was injured somewhere amidst this pandemonium and every instinct he possessed laid the blame at his feet. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get lost in his quest to seek out the Fifth King and end him. He shouldn’t have separated from her, trusting that his men could protect her.

  He shoved forwards with his blade, twisted it in both hands, and brought it up in a vicious arc, severing his opponent’s left arm midway down his forearm. The male roared at him, leaped back and spread his black wings. He beat them, charging Thorne, but Thorne was ready for him. He lunged towards him, clutching his blade at his side, and beat his own leathery wings, propelling him forwards, straight at the male.

  The male thrust with his blade.

  Thorne grinned and sidestepped, and shoved forwards with his own sword, calling on all of his strength and placing every drop of it behind his thrust. The demon roared as the blade punched through his chest, snapping bone and slicing flesh. Thorne tugged the sword upwards, bringing it in a devastating arc out of the male’s torso, cutting through his heart.

  He didn’t wait for the male to fall. The pain came again, splintering across his side, commanding him to find his female.

  Thorne cast a portal and dropped into it, reappearing a short distance away. He scanned the fray, searching for a sign of Sable among the warriors fighting with fang, blade and claw, and even among the fallen. Blood soaked the dark ground and many of his army had fallen, but many more of their enemies had lost their lives, their eyes staring unseeingly at the dark sky above.

  He teleported again and again, scouring the battle for Sable each time he appeared, his senses reaching for her, trying to detect her, and his heart pounding at a sickening pace behind his breast.

  Where was she?

  Each teleport took him further from his foe, undoing his progress towards the Fifth King, but it was a sacrifice he willingly made. He needed to see Sable and know that she was safe from death’s icy grip.

  Thorne reappeared amidst a group of his enemy. The demons made the mistake of turning away from the male they had been fighting. Grave grinned, a maniacal glint in his burning red eyes, and attacked, slashing with his claws and sinking his fangs into some of the less fortunate. He drank hard, the hold of the bloodlust unmistakable as his eyes roved the demons even as he sucked down the blood of one of their allies, searching for his next victim.

  Two vampires fought with him, both clean by comparison with their bloodied commander. Grave seemed to be intent on killing every demon by consuming their blood, sucking them dry. He released the male and let the body slump to the ground. The two vampires holding back the other demons growled as he shoved them aside and launched himself at another demon, tackling the larger male with ease and sinking his claws into his arms. He slashed at the male’s flesh, cutting through muscle and tearing down to his bones.

  The whole area stank of blood.

  Blood.

  Thorne backed away and focused on his, on the connection to Sable that came not only from their bond but from her blood in his body. His kind had the ability to track using blood they had tasted and it would guide him to Sable far quicker than his bond with her.

  A connection blossomed within him.

  Not Sable.

  The feeling was weak when it should have been strong because he had taken blood from Sable recently.

  Thorne frowned and looked in the direction his ability had pinpointed.

  His eyes widened.

  The tall elf male fought like a savage beast, tearing through his dragon enemies with ease, slashing with the vicious claws of his obsidian armour and not giving them a chance to transform into their beast-state. A wide circle of bodies surrounded him. His black helm flared into several spikes, forming a crown atop his head, and his armour hugged his lean figure.

  Far leaner than when Thorne had last seen this male.

  Vail.

  The mad elf prince.

  What was he doing here?

  The answer became apparent when Vail snarled and shifted course, moving with agile grace to block another male with his bare hands. Olivia. She knelt behind Vail on the ground, clutching her left arm to her chest. Blood caked the side of her face and streamed down her arm. Vail was protecting her.

  Thorne growled. What was she doing out here?

  Vail twisted his opponent’s arms, bending them outwards, and grinned as an audible crack sounded followed by the agonised cry of his enemy. He kicked the male hard in the stomach, sending him flying backwards into another group of warriors. The vampires turned on the injured male, taking him down.

  Thorne needed to call for Loren, knew that the elf prince would want to try to capture his brother, but he couldn’t leave Vail and Olivia. Loren would feel Olivia’s pain as he had felt Sable’s and would come to her, but would it be soon enough to arrive before his brother disappeared again?

  He had been keeping an eye on his kingdom over the past lunar cycle, on the lookout for Vail, trying to help Loren bring his brother home. He knew how strongly Loren desired to reunite with him. He had no love for Vail himself, but knew in his heart that the witch Kordula had controlled him, making him do the terrible acts he committed, and he no longer held the elf to blame for the death of his parents.

  He needed to find Sable too. He could sense her now, and she was on the move again and her pain was lessening, but she still hurt and he still needed to see her. If he left to seek her out, Vail could turn on any of his army who strayed too close, wanting to help him and thinking he was with the elves. Vail had already taken down at least one vampire who lay in the dead forming a circle around him. He clearly couldn’t distinguish friend from foe.

  “Loren. Bleu,” Thorne hollered as loud as he could manage, alerting them in the only way he could without allowing Vail out of his sight.

  Vail swept his claws across a male dragon’s throat and stark crimson burst from the slash. The dragon gurgled and flailed, trying to cover the gaping wound with his already bloodied hands, and Vail ruthlessly shoved him away to land in a crumpled heap on top of the others.

  Vail turned on Thorne.

  He bared his fangs, his purple eyes near-black and not because of the low light. Vail was losing his grip, more maddened now than he had ever appeared when they had fought back in London. Shadows clung to the hollows of his cheeks beneath his helmet and darkened around his eyes, a contrast to his pale skin. His madness had turned into sickness, invading both his mind and his body, threatening to destroy him completely.

  Thorne needed to bring Loren to them. Vail needed his brother’s assistance.

  Vail shifted his feet, b
racing them shoulder-width apart. He hunched forwards, his hands dangling between his bent legs and his shoulders heaving with each heavy breath. The black slats on his helmet swiftly came forwards, forming a mask over the lower half of his face and leaving only his eyes visible in the V above. Blood rolled down his black claws and dripped to the churned earth.

  Thorne laid down his broadsword at his feet and raised his hands beside his head. “I mean you no harm, Vail. Remember you met me in the mortal world. I was with your brother. I am not your enemy.”

  Vail twitched and his eyes narrowed.

  “Vail, no,” Olivia barked as the elf launched himself forwards.

  Pale blue light traced over his body and he disappeared. Thorne prepared himself, knowing the elf was coming for him. The male appeared behind him and Thorne arched forwards, bellowing as cold claws cut into his side. Vail snarled close to his ear, dark-sounding things in the elf language, and ripped his claws free. A telekinetic blast hit Thorne in the back, sending him stumbling forwards. Only stumbling. Not flying through the air.

  Vail wasn’t fighting hand-to-hand out of choice or purely because of the sadistic pleasure he took from it, satisfaction that shone darkly in his eyes with every blow of his claws and fists that rent flesh and shattered bone.

  The male was too weak to use his powers.

  Thorne began to turn towards him, preparing himself for the next attack at the same time, willing to take the blows to buy Loren time to reach them. He would have sensed his brother’s presence. He would be coming.

  “Vail!” Olivia was on her feet, staggering towards them, reaching for him. “He is a friend.”

  Another dark-haired demon loomed behind her and she stilled, slowly turning her head to one side, towards the male.

  Vail disappeared from before Thorne and dropped out of the air behind Olivia, landing on the demon’s back and taking him down. The male knocked Olivia forwards and she hit the ground. Vail growled from his position on the demon’s back and grasped the rear of the demon’s head with one hand and one horn with the other, and smashed the male’s face repeatedly against the stony ground. The mask of his helmet peeled back.