“You must have noticed our crackling sexual chemistry?” she asked.

“I thought that was just the way one felt around a mate,” he admitted. “Yet you feel it for me as well.” His brows drew together. “So why did you tell me I left you cold?”

“I said I felt physical attraction. But I find it difficult to desire a male who insults and hurts me.”

Instead of addressing this, he said, “How many have you felt this chemistry with?”

And here we go.

“How many males have there been, Melanthe?” he asked in a quiet voice, as if he were bracing for her answer.

“You’ll never get a number out of me.”

“Then it must be huge.”

“I’m more than just a number,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’s not only the number that’s bothering you; it’s the fact that I was with others after we’d met, and you couldn’t bed just as many.” Bite your tongue!

“Why couldn’t you have settled down with one? I know that some Sorceri wed for life.”

“Would you have preferred to find me in love with another male, happy, with ten children? Why, that would make me a virtuous woman! Would you kidnap a virtuous female for your own selfish needs? Would you separate her from her beloved husband and children?”

He bit out a sound of frustration.

“If our sexes were reversed, everyone would’ve expected me to take lovers. I would have been applauded for it. You would have been revered for your purity. And if I were a demon male like you, I would have bedded thousands, searching for my mate. You know”—she made air quotes—“attempting.”

That’s what demons called it when they had sex just to see if a female would break their demon seal. Though a demon could usually scent a female and know she was his mate, the only way to be a hundred percent sure was through intercourse.

Baring his fangs, Thronos grated, “Have you been attempted by many demons, then?”

“I’ve never been with one.” He parted his lips, no doubt to call “untruth,” so she explained, “Like Vrekeners, the Sorceri stupidly think demons are savage. I didn’t know better until Sabine fell for Rydstrom. By the time I realized demons could be wildly attractive, I was locked into celibacy for a year.”

“You find demons wildly attractive? I thought you were drawn to the more polished, slick liar sort.”

Right now she was drawn to seven-foot-tall males who simmered with pent-up lust and untapped carnality. “Hmm. Physically, I like—”

“Straddle me,” he bit out.

Her brows shot up.

“I’m about to need my hands.”

Without question, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck yet again. He’d just latched onto the side of the mountain when the path disintegrated beneath them, rousing the dragons once more.

TWENTY-TWO

Behind the crumbled stone was . . . an opening. A tunnel no more than five feet in height had been revealed.

Despite his claustrophobia, Thronos clutched Melanthe with one arm, then swung his legs in, scrambling to get as far inside as possible. His horns hit the low ceiling, the jagged rock abrading the tops of his wings.

“How are you doing with this tight spot?” she asked.

“Not my favorite environment.”

He thought she muttered, “I figured swaying trees were.” Meaning that night on the Order’s island.

He winced to recall his behavior. But he’d believed she was different then—

A dragon shoved its snout into the opening, its breath stirring up grit, making it difficult to see. Effectively trapping them.

No other choice but forward! Red light spilled from some opening farther in; he made for it with haste, fearing the beast would fire on them.

It reached in, pawing, disturbing rocks. Thronos covered Melanthe with his wings as the ceiling began to rain stone and sand. Piles of it heaped around Thronos’s legs as if from an upended hourglass.

Panic threatened to take hold, but he fought it. They had to get out before the tunnel was choked, burying them alive. As Thronos slogged onward, his throat felt just as choked.

The farther inside, the hotter the air was. That red glare grew as they neared. When he reached it at last and paused in the arched opening, he saw a larger cavern, filled with bubbling lava. A sole raised path bisected it, one that appeared to lead straight into hell.

Kicking free of the piles of stone weighted around his legs, he launched himself off the edge. He glided down to the path, then set Melanthe on her feet.

As he shook sand from his hair, he gazed back at the tunnel.

Completely caved. Only one way to go.

He turned back to the path. Ahead, more streams of lava wound along it. A metal bridge in the distance glowed red hot. “I think we’re in one of the armies’ lairs.”

“Then we need to find a way out, before anyone sees us.”

“I scent food cooking from one direction,” he said, “and corpse rot from the other.”

“So there’s a camp and a burial area? Let’s head toward the latter. It’d be less populated, less guarded.”

As they walked in silence, he kept his hand on her arm, in case he needed to shield her in a hurry. With each step away from that cave-in, his unease faded.

“When you find yourself going through hell, keep going, right?” she asked, casting him a look from under her lashes. Again, he didn’t recognize the look, but he thought it was . . . flirtatious.