Page 6 of The Demon Court

Letting out a sharp sound, she would have staggered backward and fallen if he hadn’t grabbed onto her.

Too late for him to not touch her. He knew what these women did when his hands were on them. They sometimes fainted, but most times they would still, and look up at him with those big, needy eyes, and he...

He did what they wanted. Lust might not have been a good man, but there were a few things he was very good at. He knew it wasn’t the same thing, but sometimes it was the only comfort he had.

She looked up at him, as expected, but her eyes widened in... shock? Disgust? Was that disgust he saw in her eyes?

It was the woman from the road, he realized. That dark gaze was like so many he’d seen before. But not the feel of her. He couldn’t sense even a lick of emotion. No burst of flavor on his tongue, not even a pinprick of desire or lust or... anything.

She was as vacant as a snowy field. Nothing between him and those dark eyes that saw right into his soul.

How was she doing that?

She wasn’t a particular beauty. Her dark hair had lovely waves in it, like obsidian glass, but he’d seen that color many times. He liked blondes anyway, so he could see an image of himself in them. Her skin was pale. Clearly she didn’t work in the fields much. He preferred freckles. She wore a cloak so he couldn’t see much of her body, only that moon-shaped face and wide, wide eyes.

His eyes dropped to her lips as she wet them. Crimson. Plush. Pretty, even he could admit that. And those lips twisted in revulsion.

Lust knew a challenge when he saw one. If she wasn’t attracted to him, that was fine. There were many men for her to choose from. But few looked at him like that. He uncapped the stopper he kept on his power, letting it leak out around them until all the surrounding people gasped and then moaned with pleasure. They knew what this feeling was. The lust that poured out of him was like he seduced every person in the town square without even looking at them.

She didn’t even flinch. The woman in his hands didn’t move at all. She stared up at him with a question in her eyes that he wasn’t certain he wanted to answer.

“Who are you?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“The beginning of something new,” she whispered. He could see something flicker in her eyes. Like she didn’t quite believe those words herself.

Then someone shouted his name. “Lust! My lord!” And he looked up for a brief moment.

It was enough for her to slip through his hands. He wasn’t holding her prisoner, or even that tightly, but he was surprised at the sudden lack of her.

He stared down at his empty hands for a moment, then turned to see her disappearing down a street. Dangerous, that. People were in the square for a reason. They wanted to participate in the festival, and he was careful to keep his influence to this area lest things get out of hand.

“Wait!” he called out, snarling under his breath at the damned audacity of the woman.

“My lord,” the voice called out again.

“Start without me!”

Lust charged after the fool who was going to get herself killed, or worse, only to find that she’d disappeared. He couldn’t find even a hint of her as he backtracked through every street and yet, somehow, she was gone. He even looked through a few windows, caught a few embarrassing sights—why would anyone treat a fruit the way that man was treating it—and couldn’t find her.

Until he stepped on a small scrap of fabric. Normally he wouldn’t have noticed, but he could smell her. Ice cold. Winter winds. The faintest hint of...

He stooped and picked up the small bit of dark cloth. Holding it to his nose, he inhaled deeply and finally figured out that last bit of her scent.

Peppermint.

So strange. Why had she run from him? And why couldn’t he feel anything from her other than cold indifference?

Footsteps clattered behind him. His footman, no doubt, was shocked that he’d leave a festival like the hounds of Wrath were on his heels.

“My lord,” the man said, wheezing from the short run. “What is... what is wrong?”

“Nothing.” He straightened, but his normally smooth brows had drawn together. “What do you make of this?”

He handed the scrap of fabric over without looking back. His eyes still watched the alley, wondering if she was still here. If she was watching him.

“Your hand,” his footman said. And which one was this? James? Jeremy? Jordan?

Lust looked down and saw a faint line of blood on his fingers. Not his, certainly. Hers?

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