Immortals After Dark 07 - Kiss of a Demon King

jugular.
    Been there. . . .
    On the walls, Omort had hung his colors and his banners emblazoned with his talisman animal: an ouro-boros, a snake swallowing its own tail, to represent his deathlessness. Anything simple, he'd made lavish. And yet, this place still didn't suit the outwardly sophisticated Omort.
    According to legend, the premedieval Castle Tornin had been created by a divine hand to protect the well, with six bold towers encircling it, and the central court. Though the stones that made up the fortress were rugged, they'd been placed flawlessly. Tornin was perfectly imperfect.
    As rough-hewn as its former king was reputed to be.
    Omort drew back his cape before sitting. "I summoned you half an hour ago."
    "Ah, just so. I recall that now." She and Lanthe had been watching DVDs in Lanthe's solar-powered room. The sisters probably logged seven hours a day watching movies. Alas, cable wasn't forthcoming.
    As she passed the Viceroy centaur, Sabine peeked down and asked him, "How's it hanging?
    Low and to the left, I see. Your left, my right." Though his fury was undisguised, he would never challenge her. She had far too much power here.
    She gave him a wink to remind him of just that, then continued to Omort, "I was going to be here on time. But I had something very urgent to take care of."
    "Did you really?"
    "No." And that was all she'd say on the matter.

    Omort stared at her in fascination, his yellow irises glowing. But when she removed her own cape, he seemed to shake himself, casting a disapproving look at her garments-a scanty bandeau top of gold weave, a leather micro-skirt, claw-tipped gauntlets on her hands, and thigh-high boots.
    After raking his gaze over her body, Omort settled on her face. She'd drawn her bold scarlet eye paint in the shape of wings that spread out from her lashes up over her brows all the way to her hairline.
    In ages past, Omort had wanted to make it law that females of value were to obscure their faces with a tradi-tional silk Sorceri mask instead of mere paint mimicking one, and to cover their bodies entirely.
    He'd swiftly learned how Sabine felt about that idea.
    "Actually, Omort, I just came to drink my medicine"
    "You'll get your dose later," Omort replied, waving a negligent hand.
    How easy it was for him to dismiss. He wasn't the one who needed it to keep from dying a horrific death.
    "For now, we have something more important to
    discuss-"
    Hettiah, Omort's half sister and Sabine's arch-nemesis, arrived then, hastening up the dais steps to stand beside Omort's throne-her rightful place, since she was his concubine as well as his relation. She must have run here as soon as she'd heard Sabine was at court, frantic to make sure Sabine didn't steal Omort from her.
    Hettiah was woefully confused on two points: Omort was Sabine's for the taking, and she would never be
    taking.
    Omort ignored Hettiah utterly, keeping his eyes on
    Sabine.
    "Important to discuss ... ?" she prompted.
    "My spies have long been searching for Groot the Metallurgist and monitoring the activities of his most trusted followers."
    Groot lived in hiding from Omort, and was one of only two half siblings outside Tornin who still survived.
    "I've just learned that he sent an emissary to meet with none other than Rydstrom Woede."
    At last, an intrigue! "Rydstrom and Groot, our two most dangerous enemies allying. This is bad news."
    "Something must be done. One of the spies heard the emissary promising a sword forged to kill me."
    Everyone at court stilled-including Sabine.
    Omort exhaled wearily. "It won't, though. It can't." He almost sounded regretful. "Do you know how many bombs, spells, spears, daggers, and poisons were supposed to have ended me ?"
    Indeed, Sabine had seen Omort stabbed through the heart, beheaded, and burned to cold ash.
    And always he rose from a dirty mist like a phoenix, stronger even than before. His very name meant without death.
    "But Rydstrom must believe it will work," he said. "The infamously coolheaded demon was seen storming from the meeting, and heard calling his brother Cadeon as he got into his car to speed away toward New Orleans."
    "Rydstrom must be on his way to meet him." Cadeon the Kingmaker, a ruthless mercenary. He was rumored to be able to put any king on a throne-except his brother. For centuries, the two had worked together to reclaim Tornin.
    Which was now her home. Get over it, demons. Not moving.
    Hettiah cleared her throat. "My liege, if the sword can't