Page 6 of A Hunt Bound in Blood
The more I looked around, the more I realized that the effect he strove for wasn’t limited to the artwork. The bench I sat on was draped in soft velvet, the wooden frame smooth, almost silky. Soft light came from the heavy black iron chandeliers, the gas-lit flames sending their gentle glow throughout the room, bouncing off the mirrors to add more light. Even the smell encouraged one to close their eyes and sink into it, a spiced aroma that made my mouth water and my muscles release their tight hold on my bones.
Everything a tease to the senses, suggestive without being overt, as seductive as a feathered caress.
The moment I noticed I was succumbing to his ploy, I stiffened and scowled up the stairs as though the demon himself had made an appearance.
Demons weren’t common in Golthwaine. They were a vice-ridden race, known for encouraging people to give in to their desires. Some were strong enough to affect the minds of those they dealt with, lowering their inhibitions to tap into deeper emotions.
Some, of course, went too far and drained their victims dry, leaving them empty, mindless husks that existed solely for the pleasure of their demonic masters. Not unlike the vampires the old Golthwainian king had outlawed, yet they weren’t banned from the country. No monarch would strike such a political blow. Unfortunately.
The fact that Cammon Ruxo’s foyer had gotten under my skin was warning enough that I would need to stay on my guard in this demon’s presence. Olodin’s bookcases, the next four weeks would be exhausting.
My friend Ashara’s voice echoed in my head. Careful, Glow-worm. You know what these demons are like. You’ll go in there asking for help and walk out in love with him, willing to tell him anything.
I snorted. In love with him. No one had ever accused me of anything so foolish.
“The master will see you.”
The suddenness of the housekeeper’s voice made me jump from my seat, and my face warmed. She stood close enough that she would have heard my very unladylike snort.
I pressed my lips into a tight smile, readjusted my satchel, and followed her up the curving staircase to the second storey. At the top, she struck left, leading me down a gallery decorated with brown-and-gold wallpaper, more emotion-evoking paintings, and treasures.
They were obviously prizes from the demon’s various escapades, and at first, I did my best to ignore them, not caring about his displays of wealth and adventure. Yet one by one, they caught my eye, and before we reached halfway down the long corridor, I found myself lingering over various pieces. Jewellery, a crown, a sword, each one no doubt rife with fascinating history. My fingers itched to pick up the cameo to see what information I could glean from it, and I squeezed my arms at my sides to not give in to temptation.
Much as I tried to avoid looking at the paintings, not wanting to supplement the demon’s dinner, one in particular made me stop in my tracks as we neared the end of the gallery. A beauty with luscious brown hair lay on a forest floor, surrounded by full, thick red roses against her bare, creamy skin. Her lips were parted, her back arched ever so slightly, her pupils dilated until only a faint green ring remained around the black. Above her, a semi-reclined, chestnut-haired man stared at her, and his black eyes were hungry. Starving. As though she were the first viable meal he’d seen in months. Pure fiction, of course. That sort of wild, romantic passion, that depth of desire, only existed in art.
A worn bench sat opposite the painting, giving the impression that many people stopped to take it in, and I wondered if their reaction was similar to the unexpected pang that stirred within my chest.
I cleared my throat and forced my gaze away from it. Foolishness. Everything here was manipulative foolishness, and I had no time for it. Recruit the demon, find the amulet, save Princess Brynna, and secure my position in the library. Those were my only desires.
I turned my attention to the housekeeper to find her also staring at the painting. No, at me. Looking between me and the painting. When she caught me watching her, she pulled her shoulders back. “This is one of the master’s favourites. He painted it himself based on a dream he had.”
The treasure hunter had a hobby? When did he have time? And with such skill. Ugh. His ego had to be insufferably large.
The housekeeper opened the double doors, and my breath caught as I took in the room within. Lit by soft gas lamps on the walls, books upon books upon books took up the space to my left and right. Leather-bound tomes and thick atlases. Piles of scrolls and a few stone tablets. By the look of it, the demon’s collection rivalled the palace library for quality if not for size, all the more impressive because it had been gathered by one person rather than generations of royal servants. I longed to have a room like this instead of the measly single wall of bookcases in my small apartment.
The wall behind the large, imposing, mahogany desk bore three shelves showcasing more treasures Cammon Ruxo had collected over his years of exploration, which made me think at least some of these books were also treasures, either finds he’d picked up along the way or research that had led him to his prizes. My mouth watered and my fingers tingled with the need to flip open a few of the more tempting spines, but I reminded myself why I was here. Not for the books, but for the demon.
My attention finally settled on the two men behind the desk. The one sitting down was the demon in question, who I recognized from the sketched portraits in the newspapers. He lounged in his chair, his feet propped on the desk to show off the tall boots made of supple brown leather and the tan breeches that hugged his thighs. His white shirt was open at the neck, revealing the spattering of dark hair across his chest, and his brown vest lay unbuttoned and gaping, giving me an unnecessary hint of the flat, muscular torso and broad shoulders that hid beneath the shirt. My gaze roved up to his face, and I bit down on my contempt at the smirk I found there. A pair of crimson eyes gleamed with amusement and arrogance in the middle of a handsome face—all tanned skin, dark stubble, and a sweep of chestnut hair above a high brow. The only flaws in the man’s features were a scar that cut through his left eyebrow and another on his chin, and instead of marring his beauty, they enhanced the roguishness wafting off him like a spiced cologne.
I didn’t know the man standing beside him. Tall, easily six-and-a-half feet. His brown eyes, flecked with gold, scanned me from head to toe. Dark auburn hair shot through with fiery red stood in sharp contrast to his tailored charcoal-grey suit, though I caught a hint of cloth-of-gold lining hidden beneath the businesslike exterior. A single gold earring hung from his right ear. Under the coat, he wore a red-and-gold waistcoat, a white shirt, charcoal tie, gold cuff links… and a copper pocket watch, which I found peculiar given the rest of the gold.
I wished I were here to speak with the man in the suit, but of course my appointment—and foreseeable future—was with the man who looked as though he’d been dragged out of a brothel.
It was no surprise that Cammon was beautiful; he was a demon. Everything about him was designed to tempt the unwary into exploring their most primal instincts. I’d never heard of him indulging his appetites to the point of killing his conquests, but death by demon wasn’t my fear. Death by demon breaking down my guarded walls and revealing my secret to a king who would order my execution was what terrified me. I’d already experienced the power of his foyer, but it was nothing compared to the energy wafting off him like a miasma of attraction. And there was something else. Something…
I drew in a deeper breath through my nose to follow the subtle scent, rich and tantalizing. Blood. Not a lot, but enough to make my mouth water. Olodin’s bookcases, this was bad. Ashara’s warning floated through my head again, and I clung to it a bit more fiercely. The seduction in Cammon’s expression I could ignore, but his blood smelled amazing.
I clenched my teeth and swallowed my sudden flare of hunger, grateful I had a supply—if less appealing—at home to satisfy it.
Those striking red eyes swept over me, lingering over a few places on my person before settling on my face, which I kept carefully blank. I wondered if he tasted my bloodlust and was confusing it for something else and worked harder to tamp down the yearning for the ambrosia running through his veins.
“Cammon Ruxo?”
He grinned, revealing straight white teeth that stood out against his golden skin. “You must be the mage your king said was coming.”
“I am Gloria Dolan, a member of King Evaniel’s mages’ council. You know why I’m here?”
Cammon quirked an eyebrow and canted his head, reassessing me. “He mentioned something about a job. I didn’t realize the person he was sending would be so…” He flicked his fingers at me to sum up his opinion, and I didn’t bother to interpret the gesture.