The Demon King’s Bride by Skye Wilson
Bea
When I was younger, my mother told me love felt like being wrapped up in a nice cashmere shawl on a cold night.
My father had only ever shrugged.
Romance novels told me it would feel like the perfect kind of forever.
Love songs told me it was like Fridays or the rain on my skin.
How many times had I looked at Simon when we were younger and hoped to feel something like love? Hoped to feel something. Anything. Even the briefest flutter of butterflies in my stomach would’ve sufficed.
But no matter how long I’d looked at him for, no matter how hard I’d tried, I’d never felt anything like love for him.
Scratch that—I’d never felt anything like loveat all.
Lust—that was another story. I’d had boyfriends, sure. Simon had dated around, too. It was part of our arrangement: we always knew we’d be married someday, but that didn’t mean we needed to worry about saving ourselves for each other.
Not when I knew that sex with Simon was the last thing I’d ever want.
He’d only gotten handsy with me once, at a garden party when we were sixteen. I’d made it very clear to him then and there that while our impending marriage might have been a legal one, it was strictly for business.
He’d agreed.
When we were married, we’d have separate beds in separate bedrooms. Maybe even separate houses. Unless we were putting on a show for the wealthy clients of Leviathan Financial, we’d essentially have separate lives.
When I’d still believed in love, that had seemed a little sad. But once I finally gave up on the notion, it actually felt entirely ideal.
I would have my life. Simon would have his. The company our ancestors had built from the ground up would continue thriving, and all we’d have to do in exchange was make a few public appearances a year and wear our meaningless wedding rings.
It wouldn’t have been anything resembling an earth-shattering romance—but it would have been fine.
It should have been fine.
But then, the mysterious dark-haired stranger had shown up at the opposite end of the aisle on our wedding day in Simon’s place.
Every moment after that one, it felt like my entire world had been turned on its head.
“Are you running away from me, Bea?” As I stormed off, the man who wasn’t Simon caught up with me easily. His legs were long and muscular; mine were hindered by my stupid Marilyn Monroe heels that sank into the grass every time I took a step.
“Trudging away,” I corrected him. I clutched the skirt of my wedding dress in my fists and hiked it up so I could stomp off a little faster. “But essentially, yes.”
“Don’t you have questions for me? Things you’d like me to answer?” I’d had a head start on him, but now that he’d caught up with me, he didn’t struggle to keep pace with my steps.
“Oh, I’m sure I do.” I scowled, but not at him. No, I kept my gaze straight ahead. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of so much as a glance. After that kiss he’d given me…I was pretty sure he’d had satisfaction enough for one day, thank you very much. “But I don’t want to be anywhere near you right now.”
“And why not?”
“Seriously?” The temptation to look at him was intense. Not just because he was gorgeous—every time I looked at him, it was becoming more and more likely that instead of Simon, I’d see him—but because he was an excellent target to direct my fury at right now. I had to direct it to the grass in front of me instead.
“Seriously,” he echoed. “Your attraction to me is pretty obvious, Bea. Leaving my side…what’s the rush?”
“You’re not the man I was supposed to marry today,” I said through my teeth. “You’re dangerous.”
“Am I?”
“Very.” I finally lost my resolve. My heels sank deeper into the soft earth as I stopped in my tracks and wheeled around to face him. “You tricked me. Whoever you are. Believe it or not, most women don’t take kindly to being lied to. Especially by men wearing masks.”
“Is that what I’m wearing? A mask?” Before my very eyes, Simon’s face disappeared. Once more, I was glaring up at that handsome nose and dark hair. Gray eyes. Gorgeous smirk. He laughed as he saw me taking him in. “Better?”
I opened my mouth to answer him, but for a second, no sound came out. When I finally managed to shape words again, they burst from my lips in a brief, flustered stutter.
“I… I don’t…” I swallowed hard and set my jaw. “Not in the slightest.”
I turned to storm away from him again, but my heels caught in grass. I realized I was going to fall a second before I lost my balance—
But before I could, he caught me by my elbow and pulled my body against his.
“Careful, darling.” He purred the words down at me as he held me in his embrace. He smelled like leather and mint and a freshly lit match. Something smoking and smoldering, recently on fire. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin that pretty white dress of yours on the grass.”
“No?” I sneered up at him. God, his eyes were mesmerizing. I couldn’t look into them for too long without risking getting lost in the silver swirls through the grays of his irises. I focused my gaze on his stupid smirk instead. “You’ve already marred my entire wedding day. By comparison, what’s a little grass stain going to matter?”
“In that case…” He pulled me closer to him. Closer still. My breasts were pressed tight against the buttons of his tux jacket as he lowered his lips to my ear. “Why don’t I throw you down and take you right here? If you’re hell-bent on getting grass stains on your lovely white skirts, you might as well enjoy them.”
Oh.
My heart was thrumming again. I could feel a blush rising up from between my tits and across my cheeks. The two flushes met in the middle at my collarbones.
This was wrong. All of it. From his handsome smirk to the way he looked in Simon’s tux to the way he made my cunt spasm like an electric current was running through it, wild and uncontrolled.
In an instant, from my neckline to my eyebrows, my skin burned.
“If you’re so horny, why don’t you find a bathroom to go jerk off in.” I composed myself with care. He already knew exactly how to get to me. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving into him on top of it. “It’ll keep you busy while I alert security and call the police.”
“As much as I like the idea of you putting me in handcuffs, Bea,” he whispered back down at me, “You might find it in your heart to allow me to explain my actions first.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because…” he said. His gray eyes glinted wickedly. “If this marriage of yours was meant to secure the future of your family’s company, I can’t imagine anything that would ruin it quicker than calling the cops before the reception. Can you?”
I blinked several times as I considered it.
Fuck. I hated him.
But…
He did have a point.
“Fine,” I snapped at him. “But I need to know who you are. Fast. And more importantly, I need to know what your game is. What you’ve done with Simon.”
“So, you’re finally concerned with what happened to this so-called fiancé you supposedly love so much.” He chuckled as he dropped down on one knee.
“What are you doing?” For a second, it almost looked like he was about to pull out a ring and propose for himself—which would have been stupid, I supposed, since we’d just said our vows. But instead, he reached for my ankle.
Gently, he lifted my foot out of my heel. My skin burned in a whole new way at his touch.
“I’m not divulging my secrets out in the open here. And it’s going to be hard for you to walk without snapping a bone in these shoes.” He put the first heel aside, then moved to the next. His hand gripped my ankle, soft but firm. “Either I carry your heels, or I carry you. Which do you prefer?”
I swallowed. Hard.
As much as I’d balked at the way he’d swept me up into his arms when he’d whisked me down the aisle…
He had strong arms, whoever he was. Much stronger than Simon’s, that was for sure.
“Have them, then.” I turned my glare to the shoes. At least they were safe things to look angry at. “My feet won’t miss them at all.”
“No, I don’t suppose they will,” he agreed. He took my foot into his hand for a moment and rubbed his thumbs into the arch of it. It felt so good my eyes nearly rolled back with pleasure. Like if a massage was an orgasm. Ridiculous. “Your feet are too pretty to be in cages like these. I’ve always preferred you barefoot, anyway.”
“Always?” I arched an eyebrow as a shock of worry shot through me. “Have you been stalking me too, then? For how long?”
“Longer than you imagine,” he admitted. “But not stalking. Just…looking out for.”
I scoffed. “Like a guardian angel?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, gray eyes glimmering darkly and sunshine catching the veins of silver that just barely streaked his dark hair. “Not quite. But—”
His gaze flicked away from me. They focused on a copse of trees at my back.
In an instant, he was on his feet again.
“Get behind me,” he growled, stepping between me and the trees. “Now. If I tell you to run, you run. Don’t look back.”
“What are you talking about?” I peeked around his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what had set him off. But all I could see were green leaves and branches. Nothing more. “What’s happening?”
“Exactly what I’m trying to prevent.” My new husband’s shoulders tensed as he glowered at the trees. “There’s something there. Something demonic.”
“Why can’t I see it?”
“Because—” Abruptly, he swept an arm back to shove me roughly to the right. The air whistled sharply as I stumbled aside.
His hand moved quickly, snatching something out of the air. When he caught it, I saw that it was a long, sharp black knife made of something that looked like obsidian.
What the fuck.
“All right. Get out of here,” he growled. He shrugged the jacket of his tux off and let it drop to the grass, rolled up his sleeves—
Then launched himself toward the trees.
Simultaneously, something dark from the trees launched itself at him in return.
The thing was only a shadow, but it was shaped like a man. It was almost as tall as the man masquerading as Simon was. It moved just as fast as he did, too.
When Not-Simon collided with it, it proved to be more solid than it looked. He threw it to the ground with ease and pinned it beneath his knee.
“Your name,” he snarled down at it. “Tell me your name.”
“Fuck you,” the shadow hissed back. I didn’t know how. It certainly didn’t have a mouth, but its voice sounded haunted. It was a shiver of a sound. As it raised its hand, its fingers lengthened into long, sharp claws. It swiped at Not-Simon, but he drew back just in time to avoid its slash. “I would rather die, King of Hell.”
“Have it your way.” Not-Simon brought the knife he’d just caught down on the shadow. He plunged it into the thing’s chest over and over again.
The shadow screamed as the knife sank into it. Every time the blade entered the shadow’s body, it faded away a little more, until finally, there was no shadow beneath Not-Simon at all. Just a dark mark on the grass in the place where it had been, shaped like the body of a man.
It was only when the screams stopped that I realized I’d been frozen where I stood the entire time.
Not-Simon had told me to run, but the order had barely registered for me.
I guessed I’d already broken our vows. My legs were shaking, but I didn’t seem to be able to tear my eyes away.
The shadow wasn’t the only thing worth staring at, as it turned out.
As my new husband had battled the thing, something about him had changed.
“Bea.” Slowly, he turned his head toward me. Short, dark horns had risen from his temples. His eyes were entirely black. No more irises. No more whites. His shoulder heaved with every breath. He was panting like a beast.
He looked satanic.
Unhinged.
My heart was racing. I didn’t know what I was looking at—except, in some distant part of my brain, for a moment, I thought I might.
Demon, something in my head whispered.
Maybe he really was.
“I told you to get out of here,” he growled as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Why didn’t you leave?”
I glanced down at his jacket and finally, I moved to pick it up off the ground.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone with that thing,” I said softly. My feet moved forward as I took a few steps closer to him, holding the jacket out like an offering. “Are you all right?”
He stooped to pick up my heels. His eyes were returning to Simon’s blues. His horns disappeared as he reclaimed his disguise.
For a moment, it was so easy to pretend that I hadn’t just witnessed anything out of the ordinary at all. He looked like Simon again. If I tried, I could almost imagine that the anger set in his brow was just the result of a wedding day temper tantrum. Nothing more.
But in my heart, I knew that it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Not-Simon snatched the jacket from my hand next and threw it over his shoulder. Then he took me by the elbow, marching me away from the site of the battle.
“The next time I tell you to run,” he grunted, “you had better fucking obey.”