Loving the Demon (Demigods of Protheka #2) Read Online Celeste King

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Demigods of Protheka Series by Celeste King

Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)

As a human woman on Protheka, I knew I’d always be someone’s property.
But the demons taught me I could be even less.
The demons of Ti’ilth who own me make my old dark elf masters look gentle.
For the demons, I am an object. Not to be bought or sold, but worth less than that.
I’m given away freely. And the prince Rej’thorek takes me greedily.
He nearly breaks me right from the beginning.
But only in the best way.
He brings me to the brink until I beg him to shatter me.
I become the center of his focus, and that brings an unfortunate wrath down on me.
But he is a royal. And no one will harm what is his.
And that’s what I am.
His property. His woman. His love.




A guard tosses me into another cell, and I land with a wet slap against the stone.

Shackles are tightened around my wrists and ankles, securing me to the floor by a length of chain. After what they did to me, I can hardly move, every inch of my body searing with agony. I couldn’t fight them if I wanted to, not that I could. Demon voices roll over me, most of their words I can’t be bothered to comprehend.

I curl into a ball as the cell door slams shut.

“… it’s a pity,” one of my captors says. “Let’s hope the others are viable.”

Maybe they think I’ve passed out. I can’t keep my eyes open, but they stand outside my cell as if their voices won’t reach unwelcome ears. And maybe they can’t, down here. The demon sorcerer that nearly tore my soul out of me speaks next, his voice deep and grating. “The King will not be pleased. Can I trust you to inform him?”

The first shifts on his feet.

The King.

He’s impossible to forget. We spoke long before I ever saw him, and when I did, I was taken aback. Yet he always had a soothing voice, one that put me at ease when he promised me Protheka, and the annihilation of the dark elves.

But Cora was right about everything.

“Yes, of course,” the first finally says, the sturdy thunk of a spear against stone, its reverberation making me cringe. “I have to wonder what he’ll have us do with this one, though. It is too much effort to maintain them. And I don’t expect they make very good pets.”

“She will be disposed of somehow.” It’s a casual observation, one that hits hard. Tears spring to my eyes as the sorcerer continues. “It’s not your place to concern yourself over her. Not any longer.”

I haven’t eaten in nearly a day, and am relieved of the fact when I start to wretch on an empty stomach. Broken sobs escape me as my body lights up with agony again.

The sorcerer said it wouldn’t hurt.

How wrong he was.

When my fingers clench, every sinew and strand aches as if I worked in the mines for days without rest. I ball my hands up to stifle my weeping, movement begetting more pain than I deserve, despite everything I’ve done.

A steady drip in some distant corner of the dungeon keeps track of time for me as the conversation continues. “And the others?”

“I’ll get to them.” The sorcerer sounds irritated, but it’s impossible to tell the emotions of demons. They’re short tempered and quick to snap at the best of times. “The King has spent a lot of resources to procure them. It would be a pity if they were all sterile.”

The guard issues a little chuckle. “More fun for us.”

“Hm,” the sorcerer says in turn. “For you, perhaps. If you’re into that sort of thing. I voiced my opposition to the King but you know how he is when he sets his sight on something. He wouldn’t listen and sent the kennel boy down there, anyway.

“It was too dangerous. Five soz’garoth could have done the same in half the time. And we wouldn’t have risked being caught by the inhabitants.”

The guard scoffs, their shadows cutting across the uneven stone as they pass to the exit. “You’d have left a crater in the continent big enough to alert all their armies to our presence here. I’ve seen your magic in play, conjurer.”

“How wrong you are, Trolvor.” A heavy wooden door squeals open. “When next we set foot on Protheka, we’ll make it our own, just as the King demands.”

“Until then,” the guard counters, his voice echoing down the long hall. “We’ll have to satisfy our boredom with sport in the arena. I don’t think that one will last long against a Gilak.”

The sorcerer chuckles. “Likely not.”

They continue their conversation, but I can no longer make out their words as the door closes behind them. I lever up on my elbows, trying to parse things out in the dimness. They didn’t even bother to leave a torch for me to see. I’m nothing to them.