The Demon's Bargain (A Deal With a Demon #4)(18)

Chapter 8





Ramanu





I am a fool. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I’ve thrown all my plans out the window because a little human witch turned baby blue with enough strength for me to see the lost look in her eyes. I don’t like my witch being sad, let alone experiencing bone-deep sorrow when she thinks about her life.

I want to bathe her in sunny yellow and deep ocean blue, to keep her happy and content always.

Fool.

I can practically hear Azazel’s voice in the back of my mind, but he’s not one to talk. He’s lost his head over a human, too. And now the entire castle is watching them circle each other warily like our leader isn’t wearing his heart on his sleeve every time he’s in the room with her. For her part, Eve seems to want nothing more than to avoid him for the next seven years.

Will that be my fate? To follow this snappy little witch around like a lost puppy while all my peers chuckle at my antics?

The thought should make me more uncomfortable than it does. It certainly shouldn’t leave a strange warmth in my chest. Lenora would give me a run for my money, and she’s already proven she’s vicious when provoked…and surprisingly sweet when she’s naked and coming. I like the sweetness with my spice. A lot.

I like her.

But then, I knew that, didn’t I?

Lenora catches up to me, and I slow to match her pace. Her magic shifts and changes from minute to minute. She doesn’t know what to think of my offer, but that’s fine. I don’t really know what to think of it, either.

I knew I wanted to keep her, but this is impulsive in the extreme. Somewhere, no doubt, Sol is laughing at me in that dragon way of his. Comeuppance is a very human thing to believe in, but I’m experiencing a bit of it right now.

Lenora leads the way through a series of tight walkways to a large open area where the ceiling arches so high, it’s lost in the shadows. The party has already started. People are gathered in a sickly swirl of color, drinking and laughing. More than a few of them are fucking, both on the dance floor and in the shallow alcoves that circle the space. Not quite out of sight but close enough that the illusion of privacy is maintained.

I expect the little witch to relax into the mood—she said this used to be a thing she enjoyed—but the exact opposite happens. If anything, her shoulders inch higher and she seems to draw in on herself.

She also moves a little closer to me.

I don’t think she realizes she’s done it. It’s barely a half step in my direction, almost more of a lean. I clock it, though. I’m too attuned to her not to. Something in my chest takes a sickening dip in response. I hold perfectly still to resist the urge to put my arms around her, to turn and put my body between her and the rest of these people.

Her color goes a sickly yellow green, and I tense. I follow her attention to where a man bathed in bright pink and the deep yellow of amusement has just entered the space across from us. I can taste his magic from here, a thread of many notes and as distinctive as Lenora’s. Between that and the bright white globe radiating from where it hangs around his neck, he’s instantly identifiable.

Kristoff.

He turns in our direction, and his amusement deepens, along with a surge of rich green jealousy as he takes me in and how close we’re standing. Cute. Apparently he’s feeling possessive of my witch. I already planned on ripping out the bastard’s throat for making Lenora sad and scared, but his jealousy makes me want to kill him slowly.

She trusted him, let him close enough to steal the amulet that kept her safe, and now he’s parading that trust where anyone can see. He’s making it something to be ashamed of, when I’d give one of my horns to have Lenora trust me like that.

It’s not a comfortable thought, but nothing about this is comfortable.

“Lenora.” I wait for her to acknowledge me to continue in a low voice, “If Jack is doing the lift, then standing here and staring is going to draw attention.”

“Right.” She drags in a rough breath. “Yes. Okay. We should…”

I am not a good person. I enjoy creating chaos entirely too much to be labeled something as sweet as good. Even as I speak, I tell myself the last thing this situation needs is for me to stir the pot. “He’s jealous.”

Shock ripples through her. “Excuse me?”

“I can see it clearly. Jealousy is a rich green. Very pretty color. Very distinctive. When he looks at us, he’s rife with it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks in a low voice. “I couldn't give a damn if that motherfucker is jealous. He doesn’t have a claim on me. He never did.”

She needs the distraction as much as the situation does. If she weren’t so affected by this asshole, she would have thought of it herself. It makes me want to bundle her up and take her somewhere safe where I can fuck the worry right out of her head like I did earlier today then return here and rip Kristoff’s head clean off. I bet there’s a spike somewhere around here I could stick it on. A clear warning not to cross my witch.

Dangerous thoughts.

“Distraction.” I land on the word and cling to it. There’s a purpose to this, and it's not simply because I want Lenora in my arms again. “We need to give Jack a distraction to work with.”