Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Peering between the bodies of my captors, I try to get a sense of my surroundings, but everything’s flashing past in a blur. With no other option, I go limp and give up the struggle. It’s probably better to save my energy for whatever awaits me at the end of this. At least they’re not dragging my toes over the rocks.
Eventually, we stop moving and I’m dumped unceremoniously back on my feet. Two of the villagers keep a tight grip on my upper arms, an unspoken reminder that I’m a captive now.
I look around, trying to get my brain to believe what my eyes are seeing. We’re a few hundred feet away from the blackened edge of a lake…
An orange, bubbling lake. Steam rises from it in foul-scented clouds, and the searing heat scorches my bare face and legs.
Lava, my brain supplies helpfully. Yeah, thanks for that.
Off in the distance, far beyond the boiling liquid surface, a black turret rises. It’s all jagged lines and pointy bits, directly out of a Tim Burton movie. In the distance, the volcano—Mount Vracor as they call it—rumbles. Is it getting ready to erupt?
The aliens don’t seem to mind the lava lake or their impending Pompeii reenactment. Cheered on by the rest, a small group of them is busy fashioning a stake of sorts out of a nearby tree. Long, supple vines extend from its bare branches, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what they intend to do with those.
“Hey!” I protest as the two people holding me drag me over to where Alkarvi is standing, stroking his fuzzy beard. “Look,” I begin once I’m right in front of him, “I believe this is all a big misunderstanding. I don’t think your king—His Evilness, was it?—would be interested in me. No, you want a beautiful, twenty-something virgin. While beauty is obviously in the eye of the beholder, I had my first legal beer a couple of decades ago. And this might be TMI, but I’m not a virgin… that changed even before the beer. So if you could just let me go—”
“Enough!” Alkarvi snaps, cutting me off, impatience flashing in his ruby eyes. “Ulf has decreed that we offer you to the demon who rules us. King Krav of Pyreda will decide what to do with his gift.” He addresses the ones holding me. “Secure her to the cex.”
“Sex?” I bleat as I’m hauled over to the tree and shoved up against it, the bark scraping my back. “Please, this is a mistake!” The villagers ignore me, holding me down and securing the vines around my waist, ankles, and wrists until they bite into my flesh. “You don’t want me. I’m too old. I’m divorced!”
I yank at the bindings, but they hold fast. My captors back away, looking satisfied. The volcano has stopped belching smoke and the wind has cleared most of it away, but the lava lake is blistering hot and bubbling. On the far side of the roiling surface, a bubble pops, and sparks land on a dead tree a few feet away from the lava’s edge. The wood catches fire, turning the tree into a merrily burning torch.
“What if the king doesn’t come?” I ask Alkarvi, not sure which I’m more afraid of—the Demon King finding me, or being left to die a slow, thirsty death in some weird alien parody of a crucifixion. Not to mention, I’m a redhead. One sun is bad enough, but being tied up bare-limbed under three…
“He will come,” Alkarvi assures me. “We will make sure of that. Ulf desires that Krav receives our gift to him.” The tall alien and his acolytes turn on their heels, and leave me alone.
Well, crap. What in the actual blue fuck do I do now?
Krav
We demons cherish our solitude—at least, I do, and I assume it’s the same for everyone. My father certainly did.
That’s why he built this castle out in the plains, in the shadow of Mount Vracor, as far away from the rabble as possible, and surrounded it with a lava lake. Some kings take great pride in being rulers of the people, sacrificing their time and energy to ensure their kingdoms are healthy and prosperous.
Those kings are fools. The common folk are never grateful, never appreciate what they have. Instead, they always want more. They demand and demand, like lykka chicks with their beaks permanently stretched open. My father silenced them by raining fire on their heads, and dropping the occasional village elder into Mount Vracor. Now he’s gone, it’s my turn to continue his reign of terror. But I barely engage with the Pyredii. Why bother trying to satisfy those who will never be satisfied?
Instead, I concentrate on pleasing myself. My palace might look dark and forbidding from the outside—as intended—but on the inside, I have everything I could want. Sumptuous furnishings, the best wines and food brought in by the jynx—my shadow servants—musical instruments to play, and numerous other luxuries. My library alone is filled with more reading material than I could manage in a lifetime.