The demon paced the area, seeming to await someone. Moments later, a small demoness of indeterminate subspecies rushed in. They ran to each other and began kissing.
Thronos turned his head away, but Melanthe leaned forward with eagerness. —An assignation! Oh, darn, Thronos. We’re stuck here until they get finished.—
“They aren’t about to . . . here?”
She grinned.
“Turn from them, Melanthe.” Watching an offendment . . .
—You’ve never watched?—
“It isn’t done!”
At Thronos’s low words, the Volar turned sharply, scanning the shadows. Thronos held his breath until the Volar’s mate drew the male’s attention back to her.
—I might as well read his mind too.—
Thronos wanted to tell her to ignore them, to think of something else, but he couldn’t risk the sound.
—This Volar is the leader of the Infernals and is fresh from the battlefield. He thanks the gods for his mate, stolen during a raid on the Abysmals. If not for her, he’d meet a dragon’s fire.—
Though that was all well and good, Thronos needed pertinent information. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but . . . he lowered his shields against Melanthe, which drew her attention. Then he thought the words: —Can you hear me?—
She smiled softly. —I like talking to you this way.—
—Can you find out from him where the key is?—
—That’s pretty much the last thing he’s thinking about right now!— She fanned herself.
The Volar and the demoness began to kiss even more passionately, making Melanthe sigh. When the male murmured in Demonish, she translated. —He told her that he loves her, and he couldn’t withstand this hell without her. And she says she feels the same way! They’re desperate for each other.—
—She’s no warrior. She must have been a camp follower.— A prostitute.
—So? She’s with him now.—
—But he knows many others have seen his mate. They’ve touched her and pleasured her.—
—Do you think that matters to him?—
Thronos knew this was dangerous ground, but answered honestly. —I can’t see how it wouldn’t.—
—It wouldn’t because he obviously knows a very real truth. The honor doesn’t go to the first male she bedded; it goes to the last male, the one she’ll spend eternity with. Him. He probably walks around this place feeling ten feet tall, superior to all.—
Thronos had never thought of it that way. —I’ll be the last male you ever bed.—
—That remains to be seen.— She turned to him with a frown. —You know, up in heaven, I’m sure things make sense and everyone acts as they’re expected to and surprises are few. But outside of heaven, life can be confusing and heartbreaking and dire. So most of us take pleasure where we can find it.— She pinned him with her gaze. —And we don’t judge anyone who does the same.—
Could Thronos ever take pleasure where he found it? For a moment, he considered how easy life would be if he were a mere demon. That Volar could mate his female whenever he felt the urge for release. He didn’t have to worry about laws or expectations or the Tales of Troth.
As a demon, Thronos would be able to forgive Melanthe her profligacy, because he would be in no position to judge. As soon as he led her from Inferno, he could find a place to take his demon’s due. The idea of claiming her this very day, without repercussions, was so seductive that he nearly groaned with want.
His shaft ached for her, his horns as well. Part of him wondered, Why fight something I need so badly? His mate was in need too. Her season was upon her, and he had a driving instinct to pleasure her.
A groan drew her attention back to the pair. He kept his eyes on her.
—They’re so in love.— Yearning emanated from her.
She’d said gold was “as beautiful as love.” Did she want love for herself?