My attention snaps to Damien and Zaviar, but they’re both safely standing behind the royal table on the platform, far enough from my father that they seem out of his reach but not far enough away that they seem protected.
My feet are stumbling over themselves as I push through the dumbstruck people staring at my demented father. I make it up the high standing royal platform and to the table with my heels wobbling beneath me, but I don’t give a damn about composure. Even as my father’s heavy gaze follows me every step of the way. In seconds, I’m at my throne, standing behind the tall chair, just in front of two innocent men. I shield them with my small frame as much as I can, but I know my father’s mind is on them and them alone.
My attention cuts to a single, ancient weapon that glitters with opal stones along the hilt. I think it’s more for decor. They call it the crowning sword, and it’s only ever used for ceremonies to announce a new ruler.
But I’d still use it if I had to.
“I’ve recently acquired a very skilled warrior. In the nasty Torch, his own people, they call him the Demon Monster.” A chuckle shakes through my father’s wide chest as if he’s just said the funniest fucking thing. His people laugh with him.
I do note that Johnn does not smile. Not once.
Interesting.
“Demon Monster is thirsty for a fight, and what do you say? Shall we give him one?” Cheers and applause trail after my father’s question.
Fuck.
I’m still shaking my head at how completely ridiculous this all is when a man—nay—a fucking walking mountain strides in. He turns himself sideways to slide through the doorway without harming his flaking gray wings. They hang over his back like worn stone preparing to bury him where he stands. A deep scar cuts through his lip and cheek, revealing black teeth at the back of his jaw. I wince at that sight alone, but that isn’t the worst of it. The big fists that hang at his sides have claws where his fingers should be. Thick gray claws hang just slightly too low on his big arms. The echo of his heavy footfalls storms the room, and the once-happy partygoers, the ones who cheered for this Demon Monster to make his appearance, are now scattered back as close to the wall as they can get.
“Demon Monster,” my father says with more affection than I ever remember hearing in his tone.
The demon’s tattered lip curls back, and he grunts in response.
Charming.
“Would anyone’s demon care to entertain us with a fight to the death?” The King’s attention sweeps the crowd slowly, but I know he’s coming my way.
I know what he wants.
And he can’t fucking have either one of them. My shoulders square as my chin lifts obnoxiously high. I’ll just tell him. I’ll tell my father to fuck right the fuck off. I will.
His scanning gaze stops abruptly at the center of the crowd.
On Krave.
My knotted stomach tumbles even lower as my breath lodges in my throat.
The King’s smile widens with what appears to be affection as he looks at my mate. His lips part, and I just know he’s about to volunteer him.
He doesn’t own Krave anymore. He’s mine to have and to hold. But an order from the King is still an order.
“I’d love the honor, my King,” someone else says before Krave’s name is uttered from my father’s lips.
Murmurs crawl up from the fear that’s thick in the air, and as I search over the elegant gowns and the fine suits, I can’t see who took the challenge against Demon Monster.
Who has the demon balls to fight someone who looks like someone the boogie man lost his virginity to and has been infatuated with ever since?
Ryke steps forward.
“No,” I whisper like a plea.
All eyes are glued to the large demon. The runes scarring his chest are so deep, the skin is twisted in some places. Big black wings are held tight against his broad shoulders. Jagged iron cuts through his skin along each forearm, and I know he’s strong. He’s powerful and relentless.
If he loses, it won’t be without a fight. And if he wins, he’ll be the monster he always knew these people would turn him into.
Pen’s lips are parted, and her eyes are like saucers as she watches her demon.
Dampness clings to my lashes when I blink hard and fast. He’s watching me, holding his attention on me intently as he makes his way to the center of the ballroom.
