"Did you have to make him crash that hard?" Lanthe asked, piping her lip to blow a black braid from her face. "He won't likely be in the mood for love now."
"You were the one in my ear, yelling that he was getting away."
Earlier, when Sabine had heard the smooth purr of an engine in the distance, she'd made Lanthe invisible, then she'd cast an illusion of a vehicle on the side of the road, stalled with the hood up.
The damsel in distress. Unable to fix her own engine. A ridiculous cliche. But necessary.
When he hadn't slowed, she'd waved her arms, and still he'd continued speeding along. Refusing to let him slip past her, she'd cast forward an illusion of herself, directly in his car's path. He'd swerved to avoid her likeness.
"Besides, he's a demon," Sabine continued. "Demons are both tough-and lusty." When his door shot open, she said, "See?" But he hadn't yet exited.
"What's taking him so long?" Lanthe asked, switching to telepathy, biting her nails as she silently talked. "What if we draw the Vrekeners?" Even after all these years, those fiends continued to track the sisters' heavy sorcery.
"We've got time yet," Sabine said, though she was growing impatient to see the male she'd be giving her' self to-and anxious to get a glimpse of one of the most well-respected leaders in the Lore.
Of course, Sabine had read all about Rydstrom and knew details of his history. He was fifteen hundred years old. He'd had five siblings, with two sisters and one brother still living. He'd been a warrior long before he'd unexpectedly inherited the crown of Rothkalina.
And she knew details of his appearance: a large male with a battle scar on his face and intense green eyes that would grow black with fury-or desire. As a rage demon, his horns would flow back instead of jutting for-ward. One of his had been damaged before he reached his immortality.