Horns. And she'd be taking this demon into her body in mere moments, if her plan worked.

If not, she had her poison ring. Under a ruby was a sleeping powder prepared by the Hag in the Basement, their resident poison and potion preparer. Demons were highly susceptible to both.

Drugging Rydstrom wasn't Sabine's preferred plan, but if it came down to it, she would use all means neces­sary to get him into the dungeon cell they'd prepared for him-one he couldn't break free from despite his demonic strength.

It was mere feet from them.

Directly within the cell, Lanthe had created the seamless portal that opened up to the road. To conceal it, Sabine had woven one of the largest, most intricate illusions of her life, making the dungeon look just like a part of the scenery along the road.

It seemed an eternity passed before Rydstrom finally lurched from the smoking wreck. She released a breath she hadn't known she held.

And there he was.

He certainly was big-approaching seven feet tall with broad shoulders. His hair was as black as night. His horns curved out from just past his temples to run along the sides of his head, their shell-like color stark against his thick hair. Indeed, one was damaged, the end bro­ken off.

Though he reeled a couple of steps, he didn't look too injured. No visible blood.

Sabine arched a brow just as Lanthe silently said, "Your demons just. . . fearsome-boking."

She was about to correct Lanthe and say, "Not my demon." But the male before them would indeed be hers. For a time. "He is a fearsome male, isn't he?"

From his appearance, Sabine would have guessed him to be an assassin or cutthroat criminal of some sort. How odd, since he was supposed to be a bastion of reason, a wise leader who liked to solve conflicts and discover solutions to complex puzzles.