Immortal Rider_ Lords of Deliverance Series_ - Larissa Ione [96]
Limos whipped her head around to stare at Arik. “You… you’re serious.”
His stare was intense, smoldering. “I told you I won’t let him have you. You said it yourself—the Sheoulic in your contract says husband, not Satan.”
“That’s because the being you know as Satan has many names,” Gethel said. “By naming only one, it could have been argued that the contract wasn’t valid according to some religions.”
“So…” Limos licked her lips, which were as dry as her mouth. “So if Arik marries me, becomes my husband, he could break my chastity belt?”
“In theory,” Gethel said, “he could take your maidenhead and remove you from Satan’s grasp.”
Limos’s heart burned with the desire for Arik’s plan to work, and not just because she’d finally be free of Satan. Arik was offering up her dream on a sexy platter—a marriage, children, sex. Oh, Lord… sex!
And something else, something so priceless she could barely contain her excitement; he’d be giving her someone she could confide in. Someone she wanted to tell the truth to. After they were married, she’d never lie to him again.
“Don’t turn me down, Horseman,” he said, and it was funny how he still refused to say her name. “This might not be the most conventional marriage ever, but if it works, I won’t have demons after my ass to torture your name out of me, and it’ll save you from being Satan’s ball and chain.”
She noticed that he didn’t bring up love as being part of it, and though it shouldn’t sting, it did. But that was okay. Even if he never learned to love her, she loved him enough to make up for it.
“Yes,” she said, her breath trembling in her throat. “My answer is yes.”
On her shoulder, her one side of her tattoo dipped deeper than it ever had.
In favor of good.
Twenty-three
Reaver was still fighting. Harvester watched him from the doorway, amazed at his resilience. He sat against the wall, tossing and catching a rubber ball Whine had given him. Reaver hadn’t said a word since she’d forced the marrow wine down his throat. He’d simply played with the ball, focusing so intently on it that she expected it to burst into flames.
He was incredibly alert, his agility in no way diminished by his captivity, mutilation, or intoxication. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen when he was free again. Would he continue to keep that leashed power inside, or would he let loose and destroy everything in his path?
Harvester had no doubt she’d be the first one he came after, and though she cou>
Whine approached, his footsteps a mere whisper. “You have a visitor.” Whine’s voice was gruff. He didn’t like strangers, though Reaver seemed to have grown on him. “He said you’re expecting him.”
The Orphmage. She brushed past Whine and met Gormesh in her living room.
He looked up from studying the Neethul sculpture on her wall. “You’re late with your first payment.”
“I have it right here.” She reached for a clay bottle on the shelves next to her. “Angel blood. So fresh it’s still warm.”
Gormesh made the flask disappear into the folds of his robes. “I want to see the angel.” He started toward the hall, but Harvester blocked his way.
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“You agreed to give me the angel’s blood.” The pointy tips of the Orphmage’s ears poked out from his waist-length white hair, and now they twitched in agitation. “You didn’t specify how it was to be taken. I will bleed him myself.”
“What is in the jug is more than enough.”
“But it’s far more potent when taken directly from the source.”
Even more so if it was taken while the subject was screaming in pain, which Gormesh no doubt intended to make happen. “No.”
He hissed, all pretense of civility gone. “You will grant me access.”
“You will kiss my ass.” She sensed Whine easing up behind her, could practically feel the tension rolling off him. His protectiveness didn’t come from a place of affection, but rather from self-preservation. He was bound to her, and if she died, his slave contract would default to her killer.
The Orphmage