he despised them for it.
The demons shoved him forwards, forcing him to continue his march of shame through the courtyard.
It struck him that Little Wild Rose didn’t make him react in such a way. When he was around her, he wanted to fight and attack her, needed to defend himself and drive her away, as he did with these witches, but he didn’t feel sickened, drowning in her magic and choking on her presence.
He shook that thought away. The cuffs she wore dampened her power so he could only feel a fragment of it, and that was the only reason she didn’t repulse him.
One of the demon guards pushed him in the back. “Keep moving.”
Vail came back to the world and discovered he was inside one of the towering buildings of the castle. He had lost track of his surroundings, thoughts of the witch stealing his focus, a dangerous and foolish move to have made. He should have been focused on discovering the layout of the castle and looking for weaknesses in its defences, something he could exploit in order to escape.
They entered a cavernous hall lit by torches mounted on the great gleaming obsidian pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. Ahead of him, at the end of a long wide aisle, stood a black throne on a raised stone platform.
On that throne sat a huge demon male, his grey horns curling from beneath his jagged green helm, their painted white tips bright in the low light. They were extended, curling around themselves and flaring forwards into dangerous points, a sign of the anger that flowed from him.
His broad bare chest bore the scars of war, both recent and centuries past, and a thick braid of black hair lay down one side of it, curling over his shoulder from under his green helm. As Vail approached, his dark eyebrows drew down, narrowing his green eyes and lending a grim edge to his expression.
“King Bruan, we have brought the elf prisoner as instructed.” The biggest male pushed Vail forwards with such force he almost lost his balance again and he had to fight to stop himself from turning on the inferior wretch.
He kept his focus locked on the male several metres in front of him. King Bruan.
The demon king shifted in his seat, his left arm remaining dangling over the edge of his obsidian throne.
In it was a green and black thick metal torc.
The male had lost a loved one?
Vail knew of the demon tradition of wearing a torc to signify the loss of a mate.
King Bruan lifted it, drawing Vail’s gaze up with it, and stared at it with a faraway look in his eyes.
“My brother wore this,” he murmured in the demon tongue, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “He lost his female centuries ago, and honoured her for all that time, upholding his vow to make the Fifth Realm the most powerful all Hell had seen.”
The immense male rose fluidly to his booted feet and glared at Vail, pinning him with green eyes blazing with fury and pain.
“Frayne would have succeeded in carrying out that vow had it not been for your prince and his part in the war.” The demon king lifted the torc and tightened his grip on it, his knuckles burning with the force. “Now this is all I have of him. This…”
He tossed the twisted curved piece of metal at Vail. It clattered across the stone flags, the sound loud and jarring in the cavernous room, and stopped a few inches short of his bare feet.
“And the oath I swore to my warriors when their king fell.” The male prowled down the steps towards Vail, his powerful body shifting with each step, making Vail aware of the vast difference in their strength. In his current condition, he was no match for this king of demons.
Bruan stopped in front of Vail, grasped his metal collar, catching his neck with his claws at the same time, and hauled him off his feet by it, bringing Vail’s face closer to his. The sweet scent of mead rolled off his breath.
“I will avenge him,” Bruan snarled down at him, flashing emerging fangs. “You will tell me all you know of the locations of
The demons shoved him forwards, forcing him to continue his march of shame through the courtyard.
It struck him that Little Wild Rose didn’t make him react in such a way. When he was around her, he wanted to fight and attack her, needed to defend himself and drive her away, as he did with these witches, but he didn’t feel sickened, drowning in her magic and choking on her presence.
He shook that thought away. The cuffs she wore dampened her power so he could only feel a fragment of it, and that was the only reason she didn’t repulse him.
One of the demon guards pushed him in the back. “Keep moving.”
Vail came back to the world and discovered he was inside one of the towering buildings of the castle. He had lost track of his surroundings, thoughts of the witch stealing his focus, a dangerous and foolish move to have made. He should have been focused on discovering the layout of the castle and looking for weaknesses in its defences, something he could exploit in order to escape.
They entered a cavernous hall lit by torches mounted on the great gleaming obsidian pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. Ahead of him, at the end of a long wide aisle, stood a black throne on a raised stone platform.
On that throne sat a huge demon male, his grey horns curling from beneath his jagged green helm, their painted white tips bright in the low light. They were extended, curling around themselves and flaring forwards into dangerous points, a sign of the anger that flowed from him.
His broad bare chest bore the scars of war, both recent and centuries past, and a thick braid of black hair lay down one side of it, curling over his shoulder from under his green helm. As Vail approached, his dark eyebrows drew down, narrowing his green eyes and lending a grim edge to his expression.
“King Bruan, we have brought the elf prisoner as instructed.” The biggest male pushed Vail forwards with such force he almost lost his balance again and he had to fight to stop himself from turning on the inferior wretch.
He kept his focus locked on the male several metres in front of him. King Bruan.
The demon king shifted in his seat, his left arm remaining dangling over the edge of his obsidian throne.
In it was a green and black thick metal torc.
The male had lost a loved one?
Vail knew of the demon tradition of wearing a torc to signify the loss of a mate.
King Bruan lifted it, drawing Vail’s gaze up with it, and stared at it with a faraway look in his eyes.
“My brother wore this,” he murmured in the demon tongue, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “He lost his female centuries ago, and honoured her for all that time, upholding his vow to make the Fifth Realm the most powerful all Hell had seen.”
The immense male rose fluidly to his booted feet and glared at Vail, pinning him with green eyes blazing with fury and pain.
“Frayne would have succeeded in carrying out that vow had it not been for your prince and his part in the war.” The demon king lifted the torc and tightened his grip on it, his knuckles burning with the force. “Now this is all I have of him. This…”
He tossed the twisted curved piece of metal at Vail. It clattered across the stone flags, the sound loud and jarring in the cavernous room, and stopped a few inches short of his bare feet.
“And the oath I swore to my warriors when their king fell.” The male prowled down the steps towards Vail, his powerful body shifting with each step, making Vail aware of the vast difference in their strength. In his current condition, he was no match for this king of demons.
Bruan stopped in front of Vail, grasped his metal collar, catching his neck with his claws at the same time, and hauled him off his feet by it, bringing Vail’s face closer to his. The sweet scent of mead rolled off his breath.
“I will avenge him,” Bruan snarled down at him, flashing emerging fangs. “You will tell me all you know of the locations of
Similar Books
