Page 34 of Prince of Demons (Demon’s Mark #2)

Georgia

O nce again, she awoke alone in the prince’s bed. Yet unlike last time, it didn’t fill her with relief. That, however, filled her with dread.

Her memory of last night was fuzzy at the edges, but several things stood out in crystal clear definition. Such as the demon’s tortured expression when his self-control started to fray, and the understanding that if it’d snapped, her life would have ended.

There should be nothing but relief at his absence this morning.

Least of all disappointment.

“You are so messed up, Georgie,” she muttered, scrubbing both hands over her face as she pushed her legs over the edge of the bed.

There wasn’t any lingering wooziness when she got into the shower this time, nor did she feel wobbly at the knees like she had the last time he sucked her energy. Apparently, fighting an army of demons didn’t drain his power nearly as much as healing a single human did.

He’d laid out clean clothes for her. Another silky dress, black this time. Georgia ran her fingers over the soft material, luxuriating in the feel of it. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she would have thought a demon incapable of caring for another living being. But last night…

Last night, he’d let her see a glimmer of humanity she’d considered an impossibility before. And he’d said… such achingly tender things to her.

She hadn’t expected to find anything but hardship and misery in his hands, but after last night, one thing was abundantly clear in her mind: no one had ever made her feel like the Prince of Demons had last night. Like her life, her pleasure, was the most important thing in the world.

He wasn’t what she’d thought he was. Not entirely. There was gentleness behind his ruthless nature. Brutality and a flippant attitude toward the value of life, yes, but he wasn’t cruel for the sake of it.

Especially not with her.

A rush of unbidden pleasure filled her when she recalled what he’d whispered as her conscience checked out.

I’d sell my soul for you if I had one.

Words spoken in passion, no doubt, but in that moment, he’d meant them. She’d felt the truth of them sink into the core of her being.

It was funny, in a way. She’d never considered demons capable of containing a soul.

But after last night? The way he’d cried in her arms over the traumatic loss of his mother?

She could have sworn she saw his soul in the voids of his pained eyes.

Felt it hum in tune with her own as he worshipped her body.

But he would know better than she about such matters. He was a demon, after all. Even if he didn’t trade in souls, she had no doubt he had a far better grasp on the subject than she.

She slipped on the black dress and sighed with pleasure as the silk wrapped around her body in a soft caress.

Perhaps he didn’t have a human soul, but he knew how to care for a woman and make her feel safe.

She couldn’t name a single human friend or boyfriend she’d had over the years who’d cared enough to treat her like the Prince of Demons did: like she was precious to him.

An uncomfortable stab spiked below her ribs when she thought that her mom had never made her feel particularly precious, either. Kesh’s derisive words about how she’d been trained to put everyone ahead of herself from a young age came back, dampening the bloom of warmth in her chest.

It’d been easier to ignore the jab when she’d thought him nothing but a monster, incapable of understanding complex emotion like familial love. But a man who cried for the loss of a mother who’d hated him knew the pain of rejection on an intimate level.

It had always been about Larry. Georgia’d never questioned it, because she loved him more than anything, too. It’d seemed natural that his needs came first.

But why had it been so natural for her mom?

And the time before he was born… Her memory from that time was fuzzier, but no matter how hard she tried to recall it, she couldn’t remember ever feeling like she was first. Not to herself, either.

It was only now, after Kesh challenged her, that she even paused to consider that perhaps that wasn’t so natural after all.

She brushed her hands over the silky dress again. They were trembling a little. She clenched them until the wave of sadness eased.

Since Lewin sold her contract to Jimmy the Pimp, she’d thought her life forfeit—sacrificed so that Larry could live. Kesh had shown her that while she would be serving demons for the rest of her life, it didn’t mean her life was over. Not with him.

It had only been a few days, and she had already learned more about herself in his company than she had for the past decade. Her gaze caught on the rumbled bedsheets, and a faint blush heated her face. Most notably that she was the kind of woman who’d ride a demon’s face to orgasm.

But as embarrassing as it was to remember grabbing his horns and pulling his head between her legs, she couldn’t deny how powerful she’d felt in those moments. How good it’d been to release all her fear and anxiety, to fully and completely focus on nothing but her own pleasure.

On cue, a pang traveled up her pelvis from her trapped clit swelling against its confines at the memory of Kesh’s tongue.

Another thing she was learning about herself under his care: he wasn’t wrong when he’d called her a needy little slut—something that should have felt degrading, but didn’t.

One upside to demons: a woman taking charge of her needs was a point of pride, not shame.

He’d only made her feel beautiful and infinitely desired.

She glanced at the reflection in the large double windows.

The woman staring back at her was not the same person who'd been dragged into his makeshift throne room only days ago. The ethereal dress, bare feet, and shimmering silver mark on her forehead where he’d branded her weren’t the only differences from what she’d known herself to be.

Her spine was straighter now, her chin held higher.

For the first time in her life, she had the indisputable knowledge that, whatever came next, she was strong enough.

Even in the midst of demons, she could thrive.

The apartment was quiet when she left the bedroom, but in the absence of the demon prince was an honest-to-God, silver-domed plate of food waiting for her in the kitchen. A handwritten piece of card leaning against the dome simply read ‘Eat. All of it.’ in swooping letters.

“Alright then,” she mumbled, taking a seat at the kitchen island. While she wasn’t weak from his energy sucking this time, her stomach did make insistent noises about needing to refuel.

Under the silver dome lay five pieces of toast, a large chunk of glossy, yellow butter, a tub of jam, slices of smoked salmon decorated with lush fronds of dill, four poached eggs, and roasted cherry tomatoes still on the vine. All arranged around a perfectly rare T-bone steak.

Georgia snorted a laugh at the huge chunk of red meat residing in the midst of the more expected breakfast items. She was 90% sure he’d researched human eating habits while she slept and tried his best to follow whatever guidelines he’d found—but then also been a demon about it and apparently found the lack of meat unacceptable.

At least he’d scaled the amount down from the twenty-person buffet. Granted, there was still enough food to feed five very hungry bodybuilders, but it was several steps in the right direction.

So far as weird demon habits, his wild overestimate of how much a human could eat was kind of… cute. Now that she was relatively certain he wasn’t fattening her up to eat, anyway.

The food was delicious—though she didn’t touch the still-mooing steak—but she stopped long before the overfilled plate was even halfway empty, pleasantly full.

She covered the leftovers with the silver dome and took them to the fridge—but paused when she saw what was already in there.

The entire thing was stuffed to the gills with some sort of huge, bumpy-skinned, crookneck-looking squashes in bright orange.

“What the…?” What in the world did a demon who didn’t eat need with that many squashes?

The answer came as she pulled a few out to make room for her leftovers.

She found several sticks of butter and bottles of cream shoved in the back, too, and when she turned to place the squash on the counter, because she couldn’t fit back in the fridge, a printed-out recipe for pumpkin pie drew her attention.

Was he…?

She wasn’t prepared for the flush of warmth that spread all the way from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair as realization set in.

He’d not only remembered her throwaway comment that she really liked homemade pumpkin pie, he’d also found a recipe and gone shopping for it.

Or, likely, sent someone shopping for it. But the thoughtfulness was all his.

The amusement at the mental image of the huge demon trying his hand at baking scattered when she heard the front door open and heavy footsteps announce the prince’s return, but she was still smiling when she turned to greet him.

Instead of the expected monster, a tall, black-haired human man rounded the corner, and for a split second, she froze in confusion.

Then she remembered what had happened last night, before she’d sunk into unconscious sleep—how the demon had transformed, morphing into a handsome man with deep, regretful eyes.

She gave him a cautious once-over. He was shorter than he’d been, and not as wide, but still… absolutely huge. Almost as if there was too much mass to fit into human proportions. His eyes were still black, but the sclera was visible around the irises now. “Kesh?”

“Yes, little one.” He walked over to her, cupped her cheek, and tipped her head up, those black eyes zeroing in on the silvery mark on her forehead. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He rumbled an approving noise, then ghosted the tips of his fingers over her new brand, as if to make sure everything was in order. The touch sent a shudder through her, a tingling sensation crawling down her skin. Not entirely unpleasant.

She stared up at him, trying to mentally align his smooth skin and handsome features with the monster she’d come to know.

There was an echo of recognition in the angles of his face, but it was his eyes that allowed the softness of familiarity to settle in her muscles.

She gave him a small smile. “I think I’m gonna miss the horns. ”

“Hmm. Have you eaten?” His eyes flickered to the squashes she’d not been able to fit back into the fridge, a small frown marring his forehead. Choosing not to answer her quip about his horns.

“Yeah. Thanks for breakfast.” She quirked a grin at him. “Listen, the ingredients in the fridge? Are you going to bake me a pumpkin pie? I didn’t think you cooked?”

To her amusement, a touch of pink tinged his cheeks.

“Yes, well, you made it clear you want your baked goods homemade. If it will make you eat, I’m sure I can figure out how to mix ingredients together following a set of simple, written instructions.

” His voice was stiff, some of the insult toward the supposed simplicity of baking lost in the embarrassment at doing something as adorable as trying to make her favorite food from scratch.

“Well, at least you have enough squash available to try a time or two,” she teased. “Y’know, seeing how spoiling me with homemade pie is seemingly as important as that war you keep telling me I’m getting in the way of…”

His cheeks turned redder, a disapproving frown pulling his brows down in a way that didn’t seem nearly as intimidating now that he didn’t look like a huge, horned beast, and she couldn’t help it.

The intimacy of last night came back, mixing with the sweetness of his intention of learning to bake for her.

It filled her from the inside with warmth, and before she realized what she was doing, she’d raised up on her tip-toes and pressed her mouth to his in a soft kiss.

His eyes widened at the unexpected contact, but then fluttered closed. Strong arms wrapped around her waist as he bent his head to deepen the kiss.

Pleasure sparked down her chest and up her spine, heat thundering in her veins. His tongue slipped past her lips, stroking deep into the cavern of her mouth.

Georgia groaned, low and deep, her entire body lighting up from within.

She fisted her hands in his shirt, surrendering fully to the sweet rush.

A rush that only intensified when he ran his large hands down her back, to her ass, and lifted her up on the counter.

Her knees parted willingly for his hips, excitement fizzing through her veins and burrowing deep into her pelvis.

Without thought, she reached for his belt.

He groaned into her mouth at the first brush of her fingers over the front of his pants, the sound vibrating through her, tightening her nipples.

Panting, she pulled back from their kiss, needing a smidge of brain power to undo the button, excitement making her fingers tremble.

“Georgia.”

“Shh. I’m gonna make you feel as good as you made me last night,” she purred, before returning to the button and zip.

“Georgia. Stop.” Large hands closed around hers, hindering her attempts at opening his pants.

She froze, darting her eyes up to meet his in abject confusion.

The expression in his dark gaze shocked the horniness from her brain more effectively than a bucket of ice water: cold.

Detached. No shred of the warm need she’d felt in his kiss only seconds ago.

Nor the aching tenderness she’d seen last night.

“I have told you time and again: I am not your mate, nor will I ever be. You have been branded now, and you are responding favorably to sexual contact—there is no need to waste time on further physical connection between us.” He pushed away from the kitchen counter, turning his back on her.

“I will arrange for your courting, starting tomorrow. I expect you to pick a mate from among my men before the end of the week.”