Read Online Demon Angel by Meljean Brook - Free Book Online
Authors: Meljean Brook
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thought of his death created beneath her breast did not quickly fade.
His gaze narrowed upon her face, as if weighing her response and calculating his. Unusual, that he was so calm, that he sought ways to thwart her, and tried to remain little influenced by his emotions. She'd let herself be discovered before, but—if not full of anger and fear—men typically became sycophants, courting her power in hopes of securing their own. They'd never presented this challenge, nor gazed upon her as if he were her equal.
"What manner of men are you accustomed to, that you anticipate so few responses from them: lust, anger or fear?"
Though she could have screamed in frustration at his acumen when he should have been terrified beyond reason, she fixed her smile and ran her fingers over the pale skin on her hip. "I'm not accustomed to men who have as little drive between their legs as a eunuch."
The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter, though he did not give it sound.
She bit her lip to keep from letting loose her own. Cerberus's balls, could the man not take offense at anything? Would he twist every insult to find the humor in it? He looked exceedingly young, unrepentantly so, like a boy caught stealing a pasty from the kitchens and who licked his fingers during the scolding.
"You know your beauty," she said. "If you give me neither lust, anger, nor fear, would you indulge me and reveal a hidden vanity?"
He flushed with embarrassment, but did not protest her claim. He did not even suffer from false modesty—and she should not be charmed by it. Yet she delighted in the blush that heated his cheeks. She could have told herself she found pleasure in his discomfort, but such would have been a lie. She simply took pleasure in provoking a reaction that he couldn't hide behind calculation and calm.
Smiling, he said, "I have a bargain to offer, my lady."
Her eyes widened, and her hands flexed convulsively at her sides. Her tongue seemed heavy in her mouth, and she was slow to respond. "A bargain," she echoed finally.
"Truth for truth."
To enter willingly into a bargain, knowing… She laughed silently. Too certain of himself, he was. 'Twas not physical vanity that she could exploit, but his intellectual vanity. His conviction that he would not succumb to her, that he could remain separate from their dealings. Did he think to play with the demon's tools and not be worked on in return?
Only fair that she should warn him.
She didn't.
She pretended doubt. "Truth for truth? You get the better bargain. My truth is valuable to you, whereas yours is nothing' to me."
He raised a brow and smiled again, as if amused by her lie. Aye, he was too certain—but not without insight. A combination of imprudent bravery and cleverness.
"Truth for truth," she agreed.
He grinned as if she'd fallen into a web of his making rather than the reverse and took her hand in his. She allowed him to lead her up the stairs, circling round and round, feeling uncharacteristically dizzy and out of sorts—and excited, as if she were a girl following her lover to a hideaway. She stifled the urge to transform so her appearance would fit the sudden playfulness that overcame her: into a maid with a circlet of flowers in her hair and white gown, trailing velvet ribbons. What would he think, should he look behind him?
Bemused by the fancy that took hold—resenting that bemusement—she became the demon. At the click of talons against the stone steps, he glanced back. The crimson glow from her eyes limned his features; his lips tightened, but he did not let go her hand. He continued up and up, allowing her touch though her fingers ended in claws, her wingtip scraped the wall beside them, and her form declared her a monster.
What would bring comfort to a woman such as you? What would be kind?
She blinked away that memory, absurdly grateful when they reached the top and entered the tower chamber. Moonlight spilled weakly through the shutters, illuminating the
His gaze narrowed upon her face, as if weighing her response and calculating his. Unusual, that he was so calm, that he sought ways to thwart her, and tried to remain little influenced by his emotions. She'd let herself be discovered before, but—if not full of anger and fear—men typically became sycophants, courting her power in hopes of securing their own. They'd never presented this challenge, nor gazed upon her as if he were her equal.
"What manner of men are you accustomed to, that you anticipate so few responses from them: lust, anger or fear?"
Though she could have screamed in frustration at his acumen when he should have been terrified beyond reason, she fixed her smile and ran her fingers over the pale skin on her hip. "I'm not accustomed to men who have as little drive between their legs as a eunuch."
The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter, though he did not give it sound.
She bit her lip to keep from letting loose her own. Cerberus's balls, could the man not take offense at anything? Would he twist every insult to find the humor in it? He looked exceedingly young, unrepentantly so, like a boy caught stealing a pasty from the kitchens and who licked his fingers during the scolding.
"You know your beauty," she said. "If you give me neither lust, anger, nor fear, would you indulge me and reveal a hidden vanity?"
He flushed with embarrassment, but did not protest her claim. He did not even suffer from false modesty—and she should not be charmed by it. Yet she delighted in the blush that heated his cheeks. She could have told herself she found pleasure in his discomfort, but such would have been a lie. She simply took pleasure in provoking a reaction that he couldn't hide behind calculation and calm.
Smiling, he said, "I have a bargain to offer, my lady."
Her eyes widened, and her hands flexed convulsively at her sides. Her tongue seemed heavy in her mouth, and she was slow to respond. "A bargain," she echoed finally.
"Truth for truth."
To enter willingly into a bargain, knowing… She laughed silently. Too certain of himself, he was. 'Twas not physical vanity that she could exploit, but his intellectual vanity. His conviction that he would not succumb to her, that he could remain separate from their dealings. Did he think to play with the demon's tools and not be worked on in return?
Only fair that she should warn him.
She didn't.
She pretended doubt. "Truth for truth? You get the better bargain. My truth is valuable to you, whereas yours is nothing' to me."
He raised a brow and smiled again, as if amused by her lie. Aye, he was too certain—but not without insight. A combination of imprudent bravery and cleverness.
"Truth for truth," she agreed.
He grinned as if she'd fallen into a web of his making rather than the reverse and took her hand in his. She allowed him to lead her up the stairs, circling round and round, feeling uncharacteristically dizzy and out of sorts—and excited, as if she were a girl following her lover to a hideaway. She stifled the urge to transform so her appearance would fit the sudden playfulness that overcame her: into a maid with a circlet of flowers in her hair and white gown, trailing velvet ribbons. What would he think, should he look behind him?
Bemused by the fancy that took hold—resenting that bemusement—she became the demon. At the click of talons against the stone steps, he glanced back. The crimson glow from her eyes limned his features; his lips tightened, but he did not let go her hand. He continued up and up, allowing her touch though her fingers ended in claws, her wingtip scraped the wall beside them, and her form declared her a monster.
What would bring comfort to a woman such as you? What would be kind?
She blinked away that memory, absurdly grateful when they reached the top and entered the tower chamber. Moonlight spilled weakly through the shutters, illuminating the
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