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Pushing those unwelcome feelings away, I reach down to clasp Joan’s hand.

“Show time,” I mutter.

Chapter 2

Eren

I scent her before I see her.

Her essence is singular and unmistakable. A promise and a temptation and the deepest dark desires of my soul all rolled up into one.

She’s mouthwatering, irresistible, and I haven’t even seen her yet.

Even so, I know she’s here. How could I not?

There, on the breeze, it’s the sharp smell of cloves and fresh parchment, underpinned by a hint of rose. It’s familiar and comforting and makes my heart ache in a way to which I’m not accustomed. The feel of it in my nose, wending its way down deep into my lungs, is almost enough to make me forget.

Be civilized. Be polite. Don’t scare the humans.

For as long as demons have dealt with witches, we’ve been careful. We’ve hidden our natures and put on our best affectations of gentility. It makes this all so much easier. If they don’t know we’re half-feral beasts who’d sooner snarl our demands than formally present them, all the better.

Five minutes ago I’d considered myself more than capable of pretending, putting on the facade, staying in control.

Now, that control is hanging by a perilous thread.

I thought I’d been prepared to come to the human realm, to find my wife and bring her back home with me. The woman would seal the bargain, keep both our realms safe and stable, and I was perfectly fine with the fact that I’d been chosen to enter this union. My realm is suffering in the absence of a Tithe bride, and I’d thought that’s why it had been me. To lead, to help them all.

I’d even spoken to Sylas, the last demon who’d been called to marry a witch, and despite his grief over losing Emilia, he’d given me a bare understanding of what to expect. My call from the Goddess came two days ago in the form of silver-glowing eyes, and I’d mentally prepared myself to travel through the Veil, see a witch waiting for me with the same silver glow around her, and exchange the vows that would bind us together. I’d felt confident enough to do what I needed to with the authority and bravado expected of the demon realm’s High King.

I just hadn’t expectedthis.

I hadn’t expected to find my mate.

But there’s no mistaking the instinct that comes alive in me when the her scent fills my lungs. It’s a voice shouting from the deepest, most instinctual, base recesses of my mind. It’s the need to claim her, fuck her, make her mine.

Goddess above, I need to get it together.

Stepping from the portal and into the human realm, I try to get my bearings. There’s a crowd of witches gathered, faint torches burning on a raised platform, and that haunting scent hanging heavy in the air. Still, the journey through the portal has disoriented me, and I’m unable to place it. I crane my neck, stretch some of the tension from my wings, and give my tail an impatient whip, trying to expel some of the feral energy coursing through me.

My gaze roams the assembled coven, searching for her. My bride. The one the Great Goddess selected to stand beside me.

There’s beauty everywhere I look. They’ve always been so achingly lovely, these humans, these witches. Hair in shades ranging from the lightest wheat to as black as a raven’s wing. Skin from pale moonlight to rich, dark brown. An array of ethereal beauty entirely unlike anything I’ve seen in my realm. All of them are appealing, but none of them areher.

With the scent of her lingering in my nose, I am growing impatient.

One steps forward, a woman with streaks of gray in her long brown hair and age lines on her face that speak to a wealth of life and experience.

“Greetings,” she says to me. “Welcome to the human realm.”

I nod absently, still searching the crowd for the one I seek.

“My name is Esme Hawthorn, High Priestess of this coven. How may I address you?”

“Eren Ashblood. High King of the demon realm.”

“M-majesty,” she stutters, and what little color her skin possesses leeches from her face.

I ignore her obvious impress at my title. “Has the Goddess selected a bride for me?”