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In my world, love is a luxury.
Living on the dread world of Protheka is bad.
But after being stolen from it, I thought my life was over.
The demons love to kill and torture.
That's what I thought was in store for me.
But Kha’zeth shows me that's not the case.
He has a firm hand and a gentle heart.
And can soothe me and make me combust all at once.
But when his carefully guarded secrets come out, I flee his home.
I can't take the heartbreak again. I picked wrong men in the past who hurt me.
This time could kill me.
Only Kha’zeth won't give up on me.
He won’t give any other demon a chance to take me.
He won’t let me go.
Because he will never let anything or anyone hurt his woman.
And more importantly.
Hurt his unborn child.
62
NATALIE
I shrink in my seat, casting a glance at the behemoth of a demon sitting across from me.
His long, silvery hair sways slightly with every movement of the carriage, nearly blending in against the milky white hue of his skin. He could be beautiful, if it weren’t for the towering crown of horns atop his head or his obsidian eyes, with no whites to speak of. I don’t dare look at him for too long, unsure of whether he’s looking at me or out the window.
He hasn’t made more than a passing remark since I was dragged out of the fetid dungeons by the nightmarish creatures at the higher demons’ command, only casting a cursory glance over the gathered human women before hauling me from the line.
After that, everything was a blur.
I was dragged from the rest of the humans and down the halls of the palace. I wanted to kick, to scream, to do something to prevent myself from becoming the sordid plaything of this frightening creature, but my mind and my body were on two different wavelengths.
Instead, the demon’s huge hand left bruises on my arm, and I tripped over my own feet as I cried silently, my muscles atrophied from the time spent in those cramped, foul cells. I couldn’t even find the words when he gave me the opportunity to speak.
At least this one looks vaguely humanoid, I think to myself bleakly as I steal another glance at the demon.
The carriage jolts, and his hair bounces, revealing elegantly pointed ears that send a bolt of pain through me. Between the high set of his features and the pointed ears, he bears a vague resemblance to Toklys.
Toklys. My dear, sweet Toklys.
Ever since the day the demons destroyed our work camp, I can’t even think his name without remembering his last moments- our last moments together.
Toklys was a zagfer, with little magic and less social standing, tasked to help run the work camp I was a slave in. I had been scared of him at first, as any human woman was of the dark elf handlers who presided over us, but his innate kindness softened me to him.
