To her attendants, she called, "Yes, put him on the bed now."

Consisting of a mattress atop a titanium platform, the bed had manacles attached by chains embedded in the solid head and footboards.

"Be careful with his horns when you lift him," she said, recalling that demons could emit poison from the points

that could paralyze an immortal and kill a human. Once they'd situated him, she pointed to his feet.

As they yanked off his shoes, Lanthe said, "I still can't believe he wouldn't willingly do the deed."

Sabine took a healthy swallow of her sweet wine. "Made some mention of obligations, responsibilities."

"How could he expect you to believe he turned down sex with a nubile female who's all but begging for it for responsibilities? I've never heard of anything like that. Could it be you're losing your touch, old mum?"

"Suck off, fister. He just hasn't had enough entice­ment."

"You want me to give you some pointers?"

This was a tense subject between them. Once Sabine had realized that for centuries to come she'd never fully know a man, she'd assumed Lanthe would remain a vir­gin as well, in solidarity. When Sabine had mentioned that, Lanthe had laughed. Loud. More of a guffaw.

"I'm not without skills." Though Sabine was hymen-ally intact, she'd made up with everything but.

"Ah, yes, Sabine, the Queen of III"-Lanthe paused- "icit BJs."

They were illicit; every encounter of Sabine's was. She'd long envied couples who lazed in bed all day, but she'd always had to worry about Vrekeners overhead or Omort discovering her.

Once the Inferi stripped the demon's thin sweater from him, Lanthe whistled low. "Not an ounce of fat on him."