Page 3 of The Demon’s Sinful Serenade (Silvermist Mates #6)

The thought made my blood run cold.

"Look, I'm supposed to play the Silvermist Music Festival this weekend," she continued. "It's my last chance to salvage what's left of my career, but I can't do that if I'm dead. I'm desperate enough to try anything, even if it means hiring..."

She trailed off, eyes darting to my horns and down to the table. Color rose in her cheeks as she shook her head, clearly admonishing herself. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply?—"

"No need. Crossroads of desperation are where we demons thrive." More color flooded her cheeks, and I fought the urge to reach across the table. "Relax. I was joking."

"Oh." She blinked, then offered a tentative smile. "So, you'll take the job?"

I should check with Kaz first. Should run background checks, verify her story, and find out what the official line was from venue security and local authorities.

But Kaz was at court, Rava and Malak were in the field, and I was sitting across from a woman who smelled like everything I'd ever wanted.

And who might be marked for death, if the witch's prophecy was to be believed.

I nodded. "When's your next performance scheduled?"

"Tomorrow evening," she answered. "Vanin invited me back to One Hop Stop since tonight was a disaster."

"You can stay here tonight," I said. "We have security systems that would make the Pentagon jealous. Tomorrow, we'll make better arrangements."

"What? No, that's excessive." Poppy shook her head decisively. "She needs protection during performances. She didn't sign up for protective custody."

"You signed up for staying alive," I countered, not taking my eyes off River. "Which means not walking back into a situation any potential stalker expects. They know your schedule, and probably your accommodations. First rule of protection: break the pattern."

River opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to really consider what I'd said. Fear flickered in her eyes, the bone-deep terror that came from months of looking over her shoulder.

"Just for tonight?" she asked quietly.

"Just for tonight," I repeated. "Tomorrow we'll have better arrangements in place."

Poppy started to protest, but River laid a hand on her arm.

"He's right," River said firmly. "We both know someone followed me here. I'm not putting you in danger too."

"But—"

"Pops." River took her friend's hands. "Please. I'll be fine. We'll check in tomorrow, okay?"

Poppy looked between us, clearly torn. Finally, she nodded. "Fine. But you call me in the morning. And you—" She fixed me with a stern look. "You'd better keep her safe or I'll hex your entire clan's pastries for the next decade."

"Understood," I assured her with all sincerity. They would never forgive me if I ruined the bakery for them. Exile would be getting off easy.

Poppy left soon after, but not before a whispered conversation with River that ended with both women locked in a hug. Part of me admired that fierce loyalty, and part of me dreaded the disappointment when it shifted or failed.

"Come on," I said once I returned from escorting Poppy to her car. "I'll show you where you can set up."

I led River on a taxing journey across the lobby to my office. The space wasn't exactly set up for guests. A desk cluttered with mission reports and weapons laid out for cleaning. Clothes strewn across a chair. A small cot in the corner.

River paused in the doorway. "You live here?"

"It's temporary," I lied, snatching up discarded clothes from the floor.

Malak gave me endless shit for not finding a 'grown-up place' in the past year and a half, but I'd never seen the point. Apartment? Landlords ask questions about weapons and odd hours. House? Who'd mow the lawn and pick up the mail while I was off on missions? Hotel? Too expensive long-term.

I wished Kaz hadn't given our former compound to another Kadhan crew, but he had, and now I had an office cot. It worked. Usually.

"Sorry about the mess," I added, stuffing the clothes into a duffel bag. "Wasn't expecting company."

River shrugged. "I've crashed in worse places. Tour buses. Backstage couches. One memorable night in a bathtub."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Long story," she said with a half-smile. "Involves tequila and a very territorial cat."

A laugh burst out of me before I could catch it. I wanted to hear that story. I wanted to hear all of her stories.

The smile faded from her face as quickly as it had appeared. Losing that brief moment of lightness made my muscles itch with the need to do... something. Hunt down whoever was stalking her. Stand guard while she slept. Both seemed equally impossible with the way her scent was clouding my thoughts.

I needed to focus on keeping her safe, not collecting her stories like some lovesick teenager.

"Bathroom's through there," I gestured to a door in the corner. "You can take the cot. I'll grab a couch in the lobby."

River stood in the center of the room, fingers fidgeting with the zipper of her leather jacket. The adrenaline that had carried her through our meeting seemed to fade, leaving shadows under her eyes.

"Do you need anything?" I asked. "Water? Food?"

"Water would be great."

I nodded and headed to the kitchen, grateful for the chance to clear my head. In the small kitchenette, I filled a glass and pressed my forehead against the cool metal of the refrigerator, trying to get my shit together.

What the hell is happening to me?

The reaction I'd had to her scent still buzzed through my system, making it hard to think clearly. Every protective instinct I possessed had gone into overdrive the moment she'd walked into the lobby. I'd never reacted to anyone like this before.

River sat on the edge of the cot when I returned, her jacket removed and folded neatly beside her. The simple tank top she wore revealed freckles scattered across her shoulders in constellations I suddenly wanted to trace with my fingertips.

"Here," I said, offering the water.

She turned and reached for it, her fingers brushing mine as she took it. The contact lasted maybe two seconds, but it sent a jolt through my system that made everything crystallize.

Mate.

The word slammed into my consciousness. This wasn't just attraction or a protective instinct. This was recognition on a cellular level, the deep knowledge that this woman was meant to be mine in every way that mattered.

Unholy fuck.

A sick feeling of dread pooled in my gut as the witch's words whispered through my mind again. Your flames will burn brightest in the shadow of death.

I'd found my mate, only to have her walk in with death already stalking her footsteps.