Page 10 of The Demon's Little Girl
No such luck.
"Well." His voice carries that smooth confidence that never fails to make my stomach clench. "Look what we have here."
I face him properly, executing the small bow appropriate for a servant acknowledging a guest. "Good morning, sir. The master is in meetings until this afternoon, if you need to speak with him."
"Oh, I'm not here for Rovak today." Golden eyes sweep over me with an assessment that feels invasive, lingering on details that have nothing to do with my professional capabilities. "Thought I'd take a look around, see how things are running."
The cloth crumples in my grip as every instinct I possess screams danger. Xharn has never shown interest in householdmanagement before, and the way he's looking at me has nothing to do with administrative oversight.
"Everything is running smoothly, sir. I should get back to my duties."
I take a step toward the servant's corridor, but he moves to block my path with casual precision. The motion brings him close enough that I catch his scent—bloodstone and ash with an underlying musk that makes my throat tighten with revulsion.
"No rush," he says, that false pleasantness coating words that sound more like threats than conversation. "We so rarely get time to chat, you and I. Strange, considering how often I visit."
"I stay busy with my work." I keep my voice level, professional, even as panic starts building behind my ribs. "The household requires constant attention."
"I'm sure it does." He takes another step closer, forcing me to back against the case clock. "You've been here quite a while now, haven't you?"
The fact that he knows exactly how long I've worked here sends ice through my veins. This isn't casual interest or coincidental conversation. He's been paying attention, tracking details about my life that he should have no reason to know.
"Yes, sir."
"Rovak speaks very highly of your work." His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, making my skin feel contaminated everywhere it touches. "Very dedicated, he says. Willing to go above and beyond for the household."
The words carry implications that make bile rise in my throat. Whatever he's heard or thinks he understands about my relationship with Rovak, he's twisting it into something ugly and exploitative.
"I take pride in doing my job well."
"Of course you do." He reaches out, fingers trailing along the edge of the cloth I'm still clutching. The brief contact with myhand makes me flinch, but I have nowhere to retreat with the clock at my back. "Such lovely hands for someone who works so hard."
"I really should return to my duties?—"
"Should you?" In one smooth motion, he grasps my wrist, thumb pressing against the pulse point there with enough pressure to make his meaning clear. "I think your duties can wait a few minutes."
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens with casual cruelty. The smile that spreads across his face at my resistance is the stuff of nightmares—all predatory satisfaction and cold calculation.
"There's no need to be shy." His other hand comes up to brush against my cheek in a mockery of gentleness. "We're practically family, aren't we? With how often I work with Rovak."
The touch burns like acid against my skin. This isn't like when Rovak touched my face the other night—careful, reverent, charged with possibility. This is possession, dominance, the assumption that my body exists for his entertainment.
"Please let go of me."
"Please?" He laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Such nice manners. Rovak has trained you well."
Without warning, he spins me around and propels me toward one of the smaller sitting rooms, his grip on my wrist like iron manacles. I dig in my heels, try to twist away, but he's enormous and unnaturally strong even for his size.
"Don't make this difficult," he murmurs against my ear as he forces me through the doorway. "We wouldn't want to make noise that might attract attention. Think how embarrassing that would be for everyone involved."
The threat in his words is unmistakable. He's counting on my shame, on the knowledge that if anyone finds us, I'll be theone who gets blamed regardless of the circumstances. Servants who cause problems disappear, especially servants who make accusations against powerful guests.
He shoves me further into the room and kicks the door shut behind us, the sound like a death knell in the sudden silence. My back hits the wall beside a tall bookshelf, and he cages me against it with his massive body, one hand still imprisoning my wrist while the other braces against the wall beside my head.
"Much better." His breath is hot against my face, carrying the scent of amerinth and something rotten underneath. "Now we can get properly acquainted."
"I'll scream." The words tear from my throat, desperate and pathetic even to my own ears.
"Will you?" His free hand traces down my throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind me how easily he could crush my windpipe if he chose. "And who exactly do you think will come running? The other servants?" His laugh is cruel, delighted. "They know better than to interfere with their betters' business."
