"Tonight, was about pleasure not feeding." His hand drifted lazily across her back.
"You must be hungry," she insisted, shuddering when he placed a kiss on the bare skin of her shoulder, warm hands on her stomach.
"Hunger doesn't bother me. I'm used to it."
Her heart squeezed at the fact that he was conditioned to starve.
"I can hear your thoughts loud and clear. It's nothing you need to worry about," he murmured, being honest for once. Hunger was a companion he tolerated, and he had no problem ignoring it but, the hunger he had for her alone, to consume her body and soul was an entity on its own.
She sighed after a moment. "This is nice."
A long pause. Another kiss on her shoulder, his hands quietly possessive. "Yes."
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, dropping her forehead against his as she pulled back to breathe. The change of subject was nothing short of a surprise.
"I'm making you mine." His words confident with a hint of possessiveness that frightened her.
"This scares me." She allowed him to see into her soul. "You scare me."
Zagan caressed her cheek. "Is that so bad? What if I confess that you're not alone?"
A bitter smile twisted her lips. "But we're still at an impasse. You don't believe that you can love me forever?"
"No." Because he had never fallen in love, and it was better not to get her hopes up.
Akila traced imaginary patterns on his chest. "I'm willing to fight for whatever little chance that we have."
"We'll cross the end of the bridge when it comes." Was all he could offer to soothe her.
"Earlier today, when you spoke to Jarrach, you asked if he's a sparus or castuus," she said slowly. "What do they mean?"
"Even demons adhere to our own a social hierarchy, and it's divided into three categories — sparus, castuus and antiquus," he explained, seeming taken with the silky strands of her hair. "Sparus means lowborn, castuus refers to the middle working class and antiquus means nobility of the purest demon blood." A hint of mocking entered his tone. "You can imagine which I belonged to."
Akila pulled back a fraction to study his face, a mask of indifference having settled over his hardened features. She frowned, realizing how Zagan's past defined and burrowed under his skin like a wound that refused to heal. It could prove detrimental not only to himself, but to those around him. His ambition could be a threat or Cronoa's salvation — a double-edged sword.
"Why did you want to know which class he belonged to?"
He shrugged. "I didn't. I knew from the moment I met him that he was no common demon. Antiquus are born to rule, the essence of their bloodlines are so inherent it's impossible to change, like how predators are born to hunt their preys." His choice of analogy made her wonder if Zagan felt compelled by Jarrach's natural distinction. It was hard to imagine him — so proud and uncompromising — yielding to any demon, highborn or not.
"What puzzles me is why an antiquus chose to abandon the comfort and luxuries of his station to live here — with a human mate no less."
She stiffened perceptibly, sending him a sideways look. "You don't approve?"
The silence that existed in the wake of his answer brought forth a sense of disappointment she hadn't known lingered in her heart. If the question of wondering if Zagan could ever change his mind, then this was her resounding answer.
Zagan's silver eyes pierced hers, his finger tracing the unhappy pout of her lips, acknowledging her feelings. "Don't look at me that way, little lamb. It's not disapproval I feel." His voice softened with a trace of awe. "All I know is that it confounds me, and I'm curious to understand...why..."
They both knew it wasn't the answer she desired but, Akila decided that it was sufficient for now. Curiosity was better than his usual indifference and she longed to embrace the flickering flame of hope it inspired. Knowing that words paled in comparison to action, she cupped his cheeks and meshed their mouths together, showing him how much she desired him — her enemy, her demon lover. Tomorrow they could resume their differences but tonight, she supposed there was no harm to indulge in their consuming attraction.
Rising over him, she stood and turned, bending over to grab the tub's edge and presented herself to him. Zagan's cock hardened at her pink dampness, his muscles tensing with the restrained desire to pounce on her. She glanced at him through heavy lidded eyes, her siren voice enticing him. "Please, fuck me, Zagan. I don't want to fight tonight, and I want you to show me how much you want me."
He rose like a towering beast, the water sluicing off the grooves of his defined muscles. His nostrils flared as he scented her sweet, musky desire, one hand grabbing her waist while he spread her wet lips with his thumb, smearing their combined fluids from earlier around her throbbing, needy core.
Her smooth rounded bottom pushed back in a silent plea, her increasing moans heightening his volatile lust. Positioning himself against her weeping slit, he plunged inside her in one smooth thrust. She was so wet he slid right in, deep-seated to the root and his balls smacking against her lushness. He groaned as her muscles clenched around him, sending a bolt of pleasure down his spine. His fingers dug into her fleshy waist as he began to move, pounding her without his accustomed finesse, consumed by the need to mark her, to fill her up with his seed and to make her his. He didn't stop, not when she cried out 'harder, deeper, faster' or when she cried for him to stop because it was too much.
Akila had underestimated the depths of his hunger when her muscles began to tire, and she was forced to cling onto Zagan's shoulders while he thrusted between her legs. He had turned her into a wet mess of incoherent desire, she'd lost count of the amount of times she came. By the time he roared his release she was exhausted but undeniably content.
Zagan fought to catch his breath against the most glorious and intense orgasm of his life — yet — when was it never with Akila? His arms refused to let her go, enjoying the drowsy warmth of her ripe body until the water grew too cold. She murmured a soft protest when he carried her out of the tub with him still embedded inside her. Crossing the tent, he laid them down on the pallet, draping Akila on top of him. Sleep eluded him as their conversation from the previous days occupied his mind.
Was it possible for him to love her for eternity?
With Akila, he imagined he could do it effortlessly. There wasn't a dull moment, and their passion was explosive. They might not always agree on things, and they fought but, for some reason the situation — she — suited him just fine. He wasn't blind to his recent changes. He was less cold, less unforgiving, and now, he was aiding demons and humans.
It bothered him. Did love make him weaker or stronger? He hated feeling uncertain, and it made him irritable. In his entire existence, he'd never taken a lover he considered HIS on every level. The idea was preposterous — until now.
------------------
Akila couldn't face Castelis the next morning, his face hiding a tell-tale grin that he knew what happened in the Demon King's tent last night. She busied herself with saddling her mare while Zagan spoke with Jarrach, who now assumed the role of headsman for the village. They were leaving today, and she supposed the two demons had something important to say to each other.
"Are you certain you won't remove yourself to the first region?" Zagan's displeasure stark on his face. "It's unsafe if a war does break out. Cronoa's regions are a mess, and it will take time to right the order." His gaze drifted to the half breed child staring up at him. The open interest in Raam's eyes unsettled him. Greatly.
"I'll be relocating the village to a safer hide out," Jarrach explained, his features softening at the Demon King's concern. "Honestly, I had anticipated you to be unsympathetic to our plight based on the stories I've heard. What you've done for us..." He glanced towards Akila who played with the children, knowing it was her influence on Zagan but was wise enough to refrain from voicing it. He recalled the unpleasant emotions he experienced when he first fell in love with his wife. His pride had nearly destroyed their love. "I know you're not a full-blooded demon — like my son, Raam."
Zagan's mouth firmed. "And what of it?"
Jarrach shook his head. "I meant no offense. I left my aristocratic roots behind when I met my wife. It was no easy journey but, eventually I made the right decision to pursue my own happiness. Our kind have always hated humans but, Elena proved me wrong. I hope that you will see that not all humans are bad. The same goes for demons." Raam appeared beside his father, slipping his smaller hand into his father's. That simple and intimate gesture brought forth a dull ache in Zagan's heart — old longings surfacing. "On behalf on this village," Jarrach said, placing a fist over his heart — a gesture of respect amongst demon nobility. "I'm grateful for your help. You have our allegiance, Your Majesty."
Zagan was no fool to refuse his pledge of loyalty. He inclined his head. "The first region welcomes you if you change your mind."
"It isn't necessary but, I thank you all the same," Jarrach remarked confidently. "Then, I bid you goodbye, Your Majesty and good luck."
"Wait," Zagan halted him, his face serious and the corners of his mouth tighter than ever. "Did you ever regret it — marrying a human?"
Jarrach searched the Demon King's troubled gaze, his own reflecting a solemn understanding. "No." He smiled. "In fact, in another lifetime, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
Zagan remained silent as Jarrach turned his back and walked with his son to his awaiting wife, his thoughts heavy.
"Time's a-wasting, Demon King!" Castelis shouted from afar, motioning for him to hurry up. "It's more than a three-day ride if we're going to reach Ephalon."
Masking the turmoil in his heart, Zagan escorted Akila to his warhorse and lifted her by the waist. He noticed her questioning stare but remained silent as he settled her on Ares before mounting up behind her. Somehow, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that the next three days was a countdown — but to what — he hadn't a single clue.