“BD what?” Thronos’s expression was priceless—part confusion over the lingo, part horror, part helpless fascination. She’d bet this angel had an untapped wicked streak.

“Look, it’s not for us to understand. It worked for them.” The whole truth was much more involved. Sabine had wanted to overthrow Omort, seizing the kingdom for her and Lanthe to rule, while gaining control of the mysterious, demonic Well of Souls in Castle Tornin. No one had ever expected Sabine to fall for Rydstrom—least of all Sabine.

Thronos helped Lanthe over a resin pit. “Answer the question.”

“Fine. Rydstrom was able to forgive her because he got a like revenge. Everything she did to him, he did to her.”

“The parallel would be for me to bed scores of other women. Which is impossible.”

“Then lucky for me I’m not looking for your forgiveness. I’m happy to have experience and to know my own mind.”

He appeared to be grinding his molars to dust, but he didn’t make any slut-shaming comments.

“Look, my sister went to Rydstrom a virgin. In a hundred years or so, do you think she’ll imagine what it’s like to know another male? Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. But do you think Rydstrom will worry that she’s imagining it?” She continued, “All those virgin females out there will always have to wonder. I won’t. I am informed. I’ve done my due diligence, and now I’m ready to settle in for the long haul of eternity.”

“That is something to consider, I suppose.” Then his brows drew together. “By that logic, in a hundred years you’ll wonder if I’m thinking about other females.”

In a throaty voice, she said, “Thronos, understand me: if I ever decided to bed you, there would be no doubt. You’d be completely undone, absolutely taken, forever mine. If you were ever inside me, you would be broken down at a molecular level—altered irretrievably.”

His expression told her he very much wanted to be altered irretrievably. “You guarantee this because of your . . . experience?”

When she merely shrugged, she expected him to launch into a tirade about her past. Again, he held off.

Yet she didn’t think this was because he’d had a change of heart. He might not be calling her a harlot, but he still had to think of her as one.

Lanthe had a theory about his turnaround. Before, he’d seen her as a sexual object for other males; after Inferno, he now viewed her as a sexual object for himself to enjoy—and, sadly, she believed he’d learned his first lesson as a potential sexual partner: Act like an ass**le and you won’t get any.

Which meant he was biding his time and biting his tongue until he could get what he wanted.

Just like every other male she’d been with.

TWENTY-FIVE

Oh, look! Pitha fruit.” Melanthe stretched for a black gourd above her, just out of her reach. She scratched at the bottom of it like a little kitten.

He pulled the fruit down for her, scenting it. “This could be poisonous.”

“It grows in Rothkalina.”

He cracked open the gourd for her. The inside was succulent and smelled sweet.

When he handed the halves to her, she scooped some into her mouth, then rolled her eyes with delight.

“You’re certain of that?” he asked. “Though Sorceri are vulnerable to poisons?”

She was already finished with one half. “Poisons and venoms.” Between chews, she said, “But I’m sure of this.”

“How did you get cured of that morsus anyway?”

“When Omort died, his poisoner—a fey female dubbed the Hag in the Basement—delivered the antidotes to us. Otherwise we would’ve died.”

Yet another time Melanthe might’ve perished when she’d been outside his protection. “This hag did so despite the fact that you called her that?”

Melanthe shrugged, taking another bite, chewing happily.

Dragging his gaze from her, Thronos surveyed their surroundings. Though he’d scented water nearby, he still hadn’t found the source, and it was growing darker. Dusk was abnormally long here—and as the sun had begun its lazy descent, the dragons had retreated from the field, their enormous shadows wavering over the treetops.

He and Melanthe had decided to return to the demon valley tonight, but they remained without water. And he hadn’t recuperated whatsoever.

Plus, he had plans for them. . . .

When a breeze blew, rustling all the flowers, she set down her finished fruit. “It’s beautiful here.”

Her black, black hair matched the petals of those flowers. Gaze still on her, he muttered, “Yes. Beautiful.”

Since Melanthe had described what copulation between them would be like, he’d found it difficult to look at anything except her. When he took her home to his Bed of Troth, would he not want to hear her keen with ecstasy? Would Thronos not want to empty his lungs as he emptied his seed inside her?

He’d been vacillating over his decision to claim her tonight—up until the time she’d said those blood-heating words to him. After that, he knew nothing could stop him. All he needed was a secure place to commence his plans.

But how to get her naked and in his arms? His skin flushed when he realized that would mean he too would have to be unclothed.

Naked. In front of her.

He’d figure it out.

Finding another pitha, he used his claw to stab a hole in the bottom to drink from. Its juice was sugary, but welcome. He handed her another pierced gourd to drink.