Page 32 of Demon Food

I couldn’t think. He was so much faster, cursing as he spun me around and shoved one arm behind my back in an angle that would rearrange my shoulder if I so much as flinched.

“Who are you?” His voice was husky and strained and his breath hot on my ear. “Who fucking sent you?”

My mind was spinning. He wasn’t trying to fuck me so much as he was trying to snap my bones. If my outfit didn’t make absolute certain what I was, then the chain did.

My mouth tasted of blood. I couldn’t be certain from where I was bleeding. “Let go of me⁠—”

He pressed tighter, thrusting my arm higher up my back as pain sliced into me. “I asked you a question, human.”

I snarled, then pressed my lips into a tight line.

“You don’t want to talk?” His whisper was so close to my ear that I could hear his heartbeat. “You just want me to break it?”

A strangled cry tore past my lips when he wedged my arm higher. My voice was a mess as I sputtered against the wall, “C-concubine.”

He laughed. This fucking demon laughed in my ear. Then he said with bored annoyance in his tone, “Clever. But I don’t have those.”

I cut my gaze back toward him. Didn’t have them? He had to have us—I screamed when he slammed his body into mine.

“Try again,” he said, seconds from ripping my arm from its socket. “Who sent you? I want a name.”

“Th-the king.” I pressed up to my toes, but the pain splitting my shoulder was impossible to escape. “The king came to my brothel. I-I was asleep. They chained me to this room. Please.”

He froze.

“Let go.” I tried to writhe away, but the pain was relentless. “Let go of me, you fucking asshole!”

After what felt like an eternity, where I was certain my shoulder would rip into two completely separate fragments, he released me.

Air whooshed from my lungs as I crumbled forward with no other choice but to clutch my throbbing arm. But I couldn’t afford to turn my back on a sex demon, so I hastened to a stand, spinning to face him.

My body stilled as I finally looked upon his face.

His face. Oh, my gods, his face.

I could barely make sense of what I saw. On one hand, he was one of the most attractive vultae I think I’d ever seen.

What were the eyes? Like a molten copper color framed by the longest lashes imaginable. Black hair. Dangerously sharp jaw. And full lips to soften some of the cold masculinity. Stunning. He was simply stunning.

But on the other hand, something was horribly wrong.

Underscoring his honeyed skin tone was a sickly ash gray that made him look seconds from fainting. Then his under eyes were so dark, they looked like bruised half-moons, and…freckles. He had freckles. They splashed his cheeks and nose.

The vultae didn’t get freckles. No, they couldn’t get them. Just like their black hair couldn’t get highlighted by the sun like his was in places. So, what the hell was wrong with him?

I couldn’t help but gape as I studied his face. “You don’t look like a demon.”

His molten copper gaze jumped to mine. I froze.

No. No, I hadn’t honestly just said that to him. To him, a fucking prince.

I wanted to inhale it back into my mouth. Suck it into my lungs. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He could cut out my tongue and nail it to this wall, and it’d be justified.

Then he said, “And what does a demon look like?”

I hadn’t realized I’d parted my lips, ready to argue or plead, but I slowly sealed them shut again. It was the expression on his face, the absence of red tinted eyes. He wasn’t angered. No, he was humored.

“Horns?” His lips twitched like he was struggling to conceal a smirk. “Big, leathery wings?”