Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (3 page)

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 from 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.