Page 116 of A Hunt Bound in Blood

“Per the king’s instructions, I’m to take you anywhere you need to go, Mage Dolan.”

I looked around. “Has Cammon Ruxo come out yet?”

“A while ago, Mage Dolan. He grew wings.” His tone was filled with awe, and I thought of my reaction the first time I’d seen those black feathers. The last time I’d seen them. The way his body had shuddered when I’d run my fingers over them.

I cleared my throat. “Then yes, please. I’d like you to take me somewhere.”

Maybe I should have gone home first to wash and change. Maybe I should have checked in with Ashara and let her know I was home. Gotten all the updates about her life over the past few weeks.

I looked down at the shirt the captain had given me after Cammon and I had finally emerged from his quarters on the second day of our return journey. It was plain aged cotton, shapeless and thin with wear. The leather breeches were riddled with holes. I might have shrugged off appearing like this in front of His Majesty, but for what I was about to do, I would have preferred something a bit more… alluring.

To make myself feel more human at the very least, I scrounged through my pockets for some stray hair pins and put my long tresses up in a loose bun.

Only when the footman cleared his throat, reminding me that we’d been stopped outside the estate for a good stretch of time, did I realize I was seeking excuses not to get out of the carriage.

My stomach flurried with so many emotions I couldn’t pin them down, and I wondered if Cammon was aware of them. If he was inside wondering what had sparked this maelstrom of feelings. If he was laughing at me. If he was even here.

I drew in a breath, accepted the footman’s hand, and stepped down onto the crushed rock. The same place I’d stopped on my last visit, also working up the courage to knock on the door.

“Do you need me to wait for you, Mage Dolan?” he asked, sounding so bored I was impressed he bothered to ask.

“No, thank you.”

He nodded, closed the door, and stepped onto the back of the carriage, which set off down the lane. I stared after it, realizing once it rounded the bend that maybe I should have checked to see if Cammon was home before I sent them away.

But no matter. If he wasn’t, the long walk back to my apartment would give me a chance to clear my head and start stitching up the void in my chest he would have left behind.

I climbed the steps to the main door and knocked on the maple with its vine pattern. At this time of night, gas lanterns lit the front steps, casting a soft golden glow over the antiquated-looking entrance—a sharp contrast to the sunlight that had ghosted across it on my first visit.

But the face that answered the door was the same. Right down to the expression of polite civility. No surprise showed in the housekeeper’s expression despite the hour, my attire, or my lack of invitation. After all Cammon’s stories, I felt like I knew her, which made it possible for me to work up my courage and say, “Good evening, Mrs. Taylor. Is he in?”

She took my knowledge of her name in stride, and I wondered how much it would take to shock her. “He is, Mage Dolan. Please follow me.”

My heart leapt into my throat, and my palms broke out in a sweat. He hadn’t left yet.

I rubbed my hands against my thighs and followed her up the stairs and down the corridor towards his office. My first time through, I’d disdained the emotion-inducing decor, believing he was simply finding ways to evoke an easy meal. Now that I’d come to know the demon behind the reputation, I recognized the parts of this place that meant something to him and the parts he ignored. His spiced scent was everywhere, but strongest by the window that overlooked the woods out back and very faint in the long gallery filled with portraits of sensual escapades. I spotted the trophies he’d mounted along the way, their positions making it clear which ones were important and which were there to show the world that his reputation had been earned.

It became clear to me that what he’d said was true: This estate was hardly a home to him. More a place to rest his head between adventures. I doubted he’d much mind leaving it behind.

We passed the painting that had made such an impression, and I stopped again, taking a few seconds to compose myself but also to lose my thoughts in the beautiful eroticism of the piece. Something that carried so much more meaning for me now that I’d experienced it for myself.

My heart rate picked up at the idea that this scene might be more than a dream—might become more than a memory.

First, I needed to work up the courage to walk into that office.

Mrs. Taylor showed no sign of impatience or encouragement, but she also didn’t knock, giving me the opportunity to change my mind and flee if I needed to. I could have hugged her.

Finally, I nodded, and she rapped gently on the dark, panelled wood.

“Come in,” Cammon’s voice came from inside. He sounded rough. Exhausted, frazzled. I pictured his hair mussed, a tumbler of brandy on the desk in front of him. The image made my heart patter that much faster.

“Someone to see you, sir.”

“At this hour? Who the fuck would bother me in the middle of the—”

I stepped through the doorway, and he choked on the rest of his sentence. His crimson eyes speared me with their intensity, and I was struck by how closely reality meshed with my prediction. He’d changed his clothes, but his white shirt was half untucked, open at the neck. His chestnut hair was tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it many times, and sure enough he held a tumbler in his hand. I suspected the drink and the papers strewn before him were the reason he hadn’t sensed my arrival.

“Should I see the young lady out, Master Cammon?” Mrs. Taylor asked, and I swore I detected the faintest hint of amusement behind her detached tone.