Page 5 of The Demon’s Sinful Serenade (Silvermist Mates #6)

I grinned to myself, listening to her create music out of nothing.

Her voice was rich and smoky, even with the playful lilt.

Damn if it wasn't sexy, the way her fingers moved across those strings with such confidence.

I imagined those same fingers trailing across my skin after a long weekend of busywork, and nearly dropped the camera I was installing.

Your flames will burn brightest in the shadow of death .

My tail twitched as the witch's words yanked me back to reality. Had she seen this? Me finding my mate only to watch her hunted?

The thought was a sobering one. She was a client in need of protection. A client!

I forced myself back to the task at hand. The cottage was small enough that I could hear her from any room, which was both soothing and torturous. Her improvised song evolved as she carried on, adding details about the 'creepy ifrit with tools' who was 'checking all the rooms.'

I smirked to myself. At least she wasn't afraid to poke the bear.

I moved to the kitchen to set up a camera with a view of the driveway. The first outlet I tried was dead, as was the second. I frowned at the wall. I hadn't switched off anything at the breaker. Then again, it was an older home, and neither outlet had anything plugged in.

I reached for the one next to the fridge, and a sharp jolt of electricity shot through my fingertips.

"Son of a—" I jerked my hand back, shaking it.

"Everything okay in there?" River called.

"Fine," I muttered, examining the outlet more closely. It looked normal. No visible damage, no exposed wires. I made a mental note to check it again later. What good would it do to protect her from a stalker, only to have her burn alive from faulty wiring?

River's song had taken a decidedly different turn when I tuned back in.

" Bet he burns hot as hell when he's mad, probably scorches the sheets something bad... "

I choked on nothing, spinning to face her. She met my gaze innocently, fingers still dancing across the strings.

"Problem?" she asked sweetly.

"Your rhymes need work," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

Instead of answering, she added to her song. " Hot demon with a tail so long, makes me wonder if the rumors are wrong. Wouldn't mind a bang from a guy with some fangs... "

"Bang and fang? Really?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully, and a wicked grin slowly curled the corners of her mouth. "You're right. Must be pre-performance nerves because 'getting railed by anything with a tail' was right there."

I barked out a laugh. Fuck me, but she was delightfully saucy. Even in the worst of situations, she knew how to joke around. My respect for her ratcheted up several notches.

"Guess I should be flattered," I said dryly, though it took a monumental amount of effort to keep a straight face. "Most humans are too freaked out by the horns to get creative with the tail."

She shrugged, setting the guitar aside. "I grew up in Silvermist. Monsters are just... people with extras."

"Extras," I repeated, amused. "That's one way to put it."

I turned away, unable to handle how cute she was without fucking up something important. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled this much. Hells, I couldn't remember the last time anyone made me smile like this.

And considering the fact that she was potentially going to die, it was a godsdamn crime to let it happen.

I pushed away that thought. No, focusing on death wouldn't help me save her.

For now, I was staying by her side, helping her prep for her performance, and guarding her from whatever dangers lurked in her peripheral vision. There would be plenty of time for dealing with the threats looming overhead later.

"What's his specialty?" she asked as I crouched to dig through my toolbox. "Kaz, I mean."

I tensed, nearly dropping a screwdriver. "Leadership. Strategy. Setting shit on fire."

"Setting shit on fire sounds like a good time." She leaned forward on the couch, watching me move back into the bedroom. "So, he's off doing... what exactly?"

"Royal business." The words came out just a touch more bitterly than intended.

Trying to soften them, I angled my body and jangled the shoddy window latch while giving her a ‘see, I was right’ stare.

She conceded the point she had never made with a grimace.

"Kaz and his mate spend their days playing nice with the ifrit court. Diplomatic crap."

"That bothers you."

I glanced back over my shoulder to find her still watching me, head tilted. Too perceptive by half.

"Things have been different since Kaz became the ifrit king," I admitted, surprising myself as I worked a screwdriver into the stripped screw. "Clan dynamics are shifting."

River shifted on the couch, curiosity flickering across her face. "You two are close?"

I nodded, focusing on securing the window latch rather than meeting her eyes. "We've known each other since we were kids. I punched him in the face the first time we met."

I could practically hear her eyebrows trying to merge with her hairline. "And he didn't have you executed or whatever royal kids do?"

That pulled another laugh from me. "Nearly. My family was visiting the Kadhan compound. We were young, eight or nine. The brat was showing off for his friends, talking shit about outsiders. I took exception."

"Naturally. So, you decked royalty."

"Seemed like the thing to do at the time." I shrugged. "He admitted to provoking me, which saved my family from consequences. But that's Kaz—responsible and oddly fair. I've had his back ever since."

"And now he's king and you're..." She gestured around the cottage. "Here."

"Here," I agreed. I finished with the window latch and moved back to the living room, double-checking what work had been done and still needed doing.

River watched me, fingers idly stroking the neck of her guitar. "You miss him."

I grunted, not wanting to admit how much I felt left behind. "It's the job. Duty comes first."

"The best friendships adapt," she said, thoughtful.

"Poppy and I went through phases where we barely talked for months when I was on tour.

But whenever I came home, she'd have my favorite cookies waiting, and we'd pick up right where we left off.

" She tucked a blue curl behind her ear.

"Different doesn't mean worse. Just... different. "

"Pretty wise for a rock star." I turned to study her. She sat with her legs tucked underneath her, framed by sunlight streaming in from the kitchen. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Mine.

An ache pulsed in my chest. My mate. Here, now. And in danger.

Your flames will burn brightest in the shadow of death.

Fuck prophecies and witches who toyed with fate. I'd never give up. Never.

"I write songs for a living, remember?" She grandly swung an arm over her guitar. "Gotta get philosophical sometimes, or they all end up being about sex and heartbreak."

"Those sell better anyway," I assured her. "Plus, the ones with blood and gore. And always add fire. Humans love a good fiery apocalypse."

"True." She laughed, the sound bright in the quiet cottage. "But the philosophical ones win awards." And she returned to her guitar, fingers dancing across the strings as I continued securing our temporary fortress.