Claimed by a Demon King by Felicity Heaton Read Free Book Online Page A

them and make them feel they were safe among so many species they probably viewed as enemies.
    Sable would be here soon to take command of them. She would be pleased if she found him conversing with her people, putting their minds at ease.
    The females among the group wore the same battle clothing they had been earlier.
    Would Sable be dressed in such a manner or would she have a garment more suited to her rank and the occasion?
    He tried to picture her in a dress of mortal fashion, one he had seen on females at social gatherings in the human world. The image that popped into his head was one of her in her black leather trousers, knee-high boots and tight little top that emphasised her breasts. He groaned and rubbed his mouth, fighting for control over his body as he recalled his dreams of her, lifelike visions of stripping her slowly before he claimed her as his forever.
    A scuffle broke out behind him, pulling his attention away from thoughts of Sable and from her band of mortals.
    He turned to see the source of the commotion. A few werewolves and vampires were engaged in a fistfight. Kincaid and Lord Van der Garde were already among them, both males looking as if they wanted to throw punches rather than stop their men from doing so. He took a step towards them, intending to intervene, and then stopped himself. It was better he allowed their commanders to deal with it so he didn’t appear to be interfering in their business.
    A ripple of heat travelled through his muscles, sending a shiver of awareness through him.
    Sable.
    He was turning before he knew it, his gaze seeking her, drawn to his little female.
    When it found her, his blood chilled and then burned for a different reason.
    She was beautiful, resplendent with her long black hair twirled and clasped at the back of her head and her lips rosy, but she did not wear a dress of mortal fashion.
    The long flowing blue garment reached her ankles, the sheer layers parting as she walked, revealing glimpses of bare thigh through the gauzy material that made him want to growl at every male in the room who dared to look upon his female. In contrast to the loose skirt, the top was tight, the blue bands of material held in place by elaborate arcs and swirls of brushed silver metal that acted as a corset over them.
    An elven dress.
    The wretched elf male beside her raked an appreciative glance over her body, blatant hunger in his purple eyes.
    Thorne’s lips peeled back off his fangs and his horns curled in front of his ears.
    He stormed through the crowd, shoving demon, elf, vampire and werewolf out of his path, picking up speed as he neared her and the male. Sable’s golden eyes met his, a smile rising onto her lips. It faded when he growled low in his throat. She tensed, her eyes going wide, and backed off a step. He pushed the last obstacle aside and seized Bleu by his throat, barely registering Sable’s gasp, and kicked forwards, using all of his speed to slam the male against the stone wall behind her.
    Thorne’s muscles ached, beginning to expand as his fury took hold of him, ruling his actions. His dragon-like wings burst from his back and tore through his shirt and his muscles strained against the now-tight white material. His horns grew, curling around themselves and flaring forwards into deadly points. His fangs descended, his lower canines sharpening to match them.
    He heaved a breath and roared in Bleu’s face as he hauled the male up the wall so his legs dangled above the floor.
    Rage burned in his blood, the sounds around him drowned out by the rush of it in his veins and the thunderous beat of his heart.
    Bleu coolly stared down at him.
    Thorne cursed him for it when a familiar burn raced through him. Sable. She stared at him.
    He slid his gaze to his right, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Her horrified expression spoke of her desire to separate them.
    To protect the elf.
    Her male.
    Thorne tightened his grip on Bleu’s throat and snarled in the