His heart stuttered when he realized the answer: she would bond to the father of her offspring.
She was in season—now. Who knew for how much longer?
Yes, impregnating her would be a grave offendment, but desperate times . . .
Even if she managed to escape to Rothkalina, Thronos still had more hope of seeing her. Though Rydstrom the Good was a demon, even he would never bar the doors of his kingdom to a father seeking contact with his child.
Thronos could be inside Melanthe. Tonight. The portal key could wait—until he’d made her his.
Was he succumbing to this reasoning because it was sound? Or because he wanted her so badly he’d commit any wrong to have her?
TWENTY-FOUR
Lanthe cracked open her lids to find Thronos staring down at her, a curious expression on his face. She couldn’t believe she’d passed out. The rhythm of his breaths had lulled her, just as flying with him on the island had done.
“How long was I out?” Though still thirsty and hungry, she felt rested.
“A couple of hours.”
“I’m better now.” Her welts had faded to nothing. “I can walk.”
With clear reluctance, he set her on her feet, steadying her with his big hand covering her shoulder. She glanced around. They were in a dense forest, surrounded by trees so massive, they made redwoods look like saplings. They had to be moonrakers, a type often found on demon planes.
Not only was the stone of this realm black, most of the foliage was onyx and silver. Even the smooth bark of the moonrakers was black.
Though there was little sunlight—just a few rays stole through the canopy—enormous flowers grew in profusion, subtly scenting the air.
She inspected one bloom. Its large dark petals were shiny and open. In the center was a silver pistil the size of a baseball bat. Its pollen sparkled like white-gold dust.
Other weeping-willow-type plants swayed above them, their silver leaves glinting in the scattered spears of sun, like Thronos’s wing mosaics did. As a sorceress obsessed with metal, Lanthe found all these sights mesmerizing, yet her attention couldn’t stray from him for long.
As in the temple, she turned from infinite wonders to face him, a towering Vrekener warlord—who couldn’t intrigue her more. “So, any new threats I should be concerned about?”
He shook his head. “When was the last time you slept for more than an hour or two?”
“Before I was captured three weeks ago. You?”
He shrugged. “Weeks.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I’ve been following this overgrown path deeper into the woods, toward the scent of water,” he told her. “There’s prey all around us. I could catch something, but I doubt you’d eat it.”
“Like the first time you tried to provide for me?”
All these years later, he deadpanned, “The rabbit had it coming.”
A burst of laughter escaped her lips so quickly, so unexpectedly, she almost slapped her hands over her mouth.
“Too soon?”
Another joke! And more . . . “You do remember!”
“Everything.” He reached forward, tucking one of her braids behind her ear.
Why was he being so nice to her? Had she beguiled him so swiftly? She’d been unconscious for part of the time!
He canted his head at her, then continued walking, seeming deep in thought.