The Demon Lord’s Cloak

Chapter 2

Damien, Lord Malphas, watched fascinated while bright color flooded the woman’s cheeks and crept slowly down her neck to stain the tops of her round breasts.

Since the moment he’d spotted her tied to the post, awaiting his arrival, he’d tried not to stare. For a thousand years, he’d retrieved his “gifts” from the town of Daemonberg—only to be disappointed.

His previous brides had covered a range from blonde to brunette, sturdy and strapping women who’d nevertheless cried and wailed at the sight of him and his enchanted castle. When the crying had finally calmed, he’d done his best to keep the women happy, seeing to their comfort, making sure all their needs were met. Some had become friends—over time. Most had shared his bed, but in the end, they hadn’t been the one he’d needed.

This woman was different—a fascinating and fey sort of creature. Her gentle, slight curves appealed after so many large, buxom women. However, he was not a small man; he worried he might hurt her the first time they came together and vowed he’d be gentle, although he knew instinctively his will would be tested.

When he’d untied her, he’d noted the long, auburn hair—such a rich, warm color—which hung in atumble of curling waves to the tops of her firm buttocks. The gentle swell of her hips, the turn of her narrow waist, the apple shape of her small breasts… There wasn’t any part of her that didn’t tempt him to follow the shapes with his lips and tongue.

Close up now, her eyes flashed gold along with quiet defiance and were framed by sooty, dark lashes. Her skin was unmarred by a single freckle or mole and was the color of sweet, fresh milk. Her feminine parts…

Well, he would look closely soon enough, but the glimpse he’d allowed himself of the auburn thatch between her legs and her strawberry nipples made his mouth water with a thirst for her cries.

He took a deep breath and stepped with steady deliberation up the stone steps to the door of the keep, trying to control the riot of excitement flooding his body, filling his loins with a quickening thrum that pulsed through his cock at the thought that just maybe this was the one who could end his imprisonment.

For if not, he was doomed to another century within these wretched walls—and she would grow to hate him. Kept from her family and friends, with only him for company, she would surely go mad or become hopelessly morose.

This time, however, he’d do everything right. He’d woo her gently, learn her passions while he sated himself on her pretty flesh.

Please let the woman be interesting and amusing , he prayed or he’d spend his days roaming the rooms apart from her, riding his horse until the dawn as he’d done for a millennium.

The nights, with this one, would be a delight. If he approached her as women dreamed, with gifts, soft words, and caring caresses, she’d open to him like a rose.

If he failed, they were doomed to live in misery until her death, then once again, he’d wait until the day the gate allowed him to press it open so that he could bring inside another bride.

So many women. He’d forgotten all but the first and the last. None had filled the emptiness of his days. Gabriel had promised him a reprieve if he could learn to love an Earth-born creature. However, the Fallen Ones seemed doomed to spend their long lives alone—a curse by The Father for their betrayal.

Damien held the woman close, breathed in her fresh, woodsy scent, and prayed that this time he’d learn the meaning of love, for this woman, with her fiery hair and cautious gaze, stirred him as no other ever had.

Damien paused as the door to the keep opened silently. He waited for a gasp, but from the corner of his eye noted her only reaction was a narrowing of her gaze. What should he tell her about the odd things she would witness over the coming days? Part of him wanted to watch her and take a silent gauge ofher courage. Another wished to ease her past any fears she might have.

However, unused to talking to another being, he remained silent, knowing he’d only say the wrong thing. He had no gift for honeyed words.

The woman shifted in his arms and stared around his home. He wondered what she saw and whether she recognized the bleakness of the place mirrored the emptiness of his soul.

“Please, sir,” she said softly, “I can walk on my own. You should put me down.”

More like she wanted another chance to escape, to run across his bailey and slip between the gates. If she were successful, she would win her freedom. He could not go after her, and the townspeople were not obliged to replace her. They’d done their duty.

He remained silent and crossed the hall to the stone staircase and walked steadily upward, the scrape of his footsteps and her soft, quickening breaths the only sounds between them.

“Will you rape me, sir?” she asked, her voice small and so feminine his belly clenched.

“I will not,” he ground out, although he didn’t know if that were true. The closer to his chambers he drew, the more his thoughts clung to the fact his great oak bed filled the center of the room. A soft, down-filled mattress with thick silken covers awaited their comfort, the corners turned down in invitation by his retainers.

How he would love to lay her across its surface and follow her down to press his body against hers. But he would take her slowly, he promised himself.

“’Tis madness, this,” she whispered.

Indeed, it was. His body was wound tightly, ready to pounce. He’d drop her into her bath and leave quickly before his need made it impossible for him to restrain himself. It had been so long since he’d touched another.

He pushed through the door of his chamber. The bath awaited, steam rising from the tub. The scent of the roses floating on the surface of the water nearly made him stumble.

Without warning her, he lowered her into the water, regretting that the swirling petals hid her body from his view. “I’ll leave you to your bath,” he said gruffly.

“Please, sir,” she said, her small fingers wrapping around the scrolled edge of the large copper tub. “The trunk…?”

He’d expected her to ask again for her freedom. “I’ll see to it,” he said, although no effort on his part would be required for it to be retrieved.

Her lips trembled, but she quickly glanced away. “Thank you.”

Yes, this one was different. She hadn’t flailed until the waters had washed over the edge of the bath and flooded the floor. She hadn’t pleaded incessantly for him to release her. Hadn’t even asked him his name.

“You may call me Damien,” he said and walked quietly out of the room.

Voletta watched the door close behind Damien and sighed her relief. Freed now from his embrace, she could finally breathe without dragging in his scent with each inhalation.

However, clean male musk—his own unique aroma—lingered in the room. She sank deep in the tub and breathed the scent of the roses, swimming thick upon the surface of the water, wanting to replace his smell—letting the water cleanse away the feel of his arms and chest against her skin.

She turned her troubled thoughts from the man to this mysterious keep. His home was perfection, but also cold and remote.

Nothing was out of place. Notable only for an absence of clutter, an absence of color, an absence of people—all this perfection had to be maintained. There had to be servants, but where were they? Or were they all like that ghostly apparition turning the gear to drop the portcullis gate into place?

Not that she’d spent much time in any keep or even a humble abode. Still, she did think it wasa very odd place.

Candles burning in iron wall sconces bathed the paneled walls with a golden light. The flooring was a gray slate, a tad bluer than the rock of the outer walls. There were no rugs or rushes on the floor, nor tapestries on the wall to hold the warmth inside the room, yet the air was a pleasant temperature and dry.

Voletta lay her head against the edge of the tub and let the warmth of the water drain away the tension that had gripped her body since she’d awoken. A faint ache behind her eyes from the potion she’d been given remained, but was dissipating quickly. Soon, she’d plan her escape, but first, she had to retrieve her fur.

A slight breeze drifted over her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. The door remained shut, and yet she sensed a presence in the room.

Her gaze darted into the dark corners, but she found no one there. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a large wooden trunk.

Her heart leaped, pounding faster. How had it arrived without her notice?

No matter, the means of her escape lay inside. She stood, letting the water sluice down her skin and stepped over the edge of the tub onto the floor. She hurried to the trunk, unbuckled the leather straps that held it closed, and lifted the lid.

She sifted through clothing, embroidered linens, beeswax candles tied in bundles, andsmall stoppered bottles that sloshed when she jumbled them to the side.

At the bottom of the trunk, her hand slid across soft, warm fur, and she dragged out the cloak. Tears of relief filled her eyes as she held it to her cheek and breathed in the scent of the precious fur now attached to the collar of a black cloak.

“I see you’ve helped yourself.”

She jumped, holding the cloak in front of her to shield herself from Damien’s gaze.

His lips curved in a slight smile. “But I think it’s intended for me to wear. The hem’s far too long.”

Voletta lifted her chin. “I like the softness of the fur against my cheek,” she murmured.

“Perhaps, I’ll have it tailored for you. Cut down to size.” His gaze swept down to rest on her toes peeking from beneath the cloak. “You’re quite a bit smaller than I am. For now, if you’d like, wrap it around your shoulders to ward off a chill. Dinner has arrived.”

Her head turned, following the aroma of roasted chicken. A small table was set before an open brazier, a fire burning on the grate. She shook her head. “More magic?”

“Magic?” his lips twitched. “Maybe you were distracted and didn’t notice when it came.”

“I wouldn’t have missed servants entering the room. I saw you arrive. Please, tell me what is happening.”

“I think it would be more amusing for you to guess.”

Unwilling to plead for him to appease her curiosity, she shrugged. “It hardly matters.”

“Still hoping I will release you?” he said, his words coming more easily now, more quickly.

“I know you will not.”

“Think you can escape me?”

She felt a smile tug her lips and quickly let her gaze slide to the table. “I must keep up my strength. Shall we eat?”

His breath caught and held. “Am I invited?” he asked slowly.

Did she really want him to linger in this room, with her? “This is your room, non ?” she said, with a shrug.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Well, it wasn’t due to any masculine clutter you left lying around.”

“Then how?”

She gazed up from beneath her lashes. “I think you should guess.”

A smile slowly stretched his lips, and Voletta’s heart began to thump harder again. The smile eased the harshness of his features, making him even more appealing.

“You should put on the cloak.”

Only she couldn’t. Not with him watching. “Is there something else I might wear? You’re right, it’s far too large.”

“A robe is behind you.”

No longer surprised by how things appeared whenever needed, she glanced behind her shoulder to find a belted robe hanging from a hook on the wall. Holding the cloak to her chest, she wrestled the robe clumsily onto one arm, switched hands, and slid another arm into the garment, then closed the edges, letting the cloak slither to the floor.

His amusement glittered in his eyes, but he didn’t mention the fact her modesty came a little late. She was grateful for his restraint, needing no reminder he’d held her naked in his arms.

He waited patiently as she approached the small table and slid into one of the chairs. Then he seated himself and reached for a knife to carve slivers of meat from the bird which he slid onto silver plates. He added sliced applesand leafy green vegetables, then pushed one plate across the table. “Eat.”

Unused to being served by a man, she knew it was customary for a gentleman to serve, even feed the woman beside him. “May I have a knife?” she asked, hoping to forestall him performing the intimate duty.

“And a fork,” he replied, reaching beyond the bird to hand her both.

She’d have wagered neither had existed before she’d asked for them, but she didn’t acknowledge this further proof of magic.

“This is a fork?” she said, staring at the odd implement with its dual tines. She watched as he speared a piece of chicken with his fork and raised it to his lips.

“They came in a trunk…some time ago. The person who arrived with them explained their function. Quite useful, don’t you think?”

She didn’t reply; shesimply stabbed a leaf. Only the piece was too large for her to put into her mouth without seeming rude. She understood the rudiments of manners, even if she’d rarely seen a need for them. However, she didn’t like the thought of embarrassing herself in front of him.

From beneath her lashes, she watched him fold a leaf against the fork using his knife and copied his movements as best she could.

“What is your name?”

As she chewed, she lifted her gaze slowly, reluctant to increase the intimacy between them. Every part of herself she relinquished drew them closer. “Voletta.”

“Lovely,” he murmured. “Would you like to tell me about yourself?”

She shook her head, lowered her gaze to the plate, and stabbed a large piece of chicken, stuffing it quickly into her mouth. Less concerned now to display her lack of manners than she was to share.

“No matter. We have time to learn everything about each other.” His tone was suspiciously glib and cheerful.

Strange, he’d been so quiet when he’d first captured her. “And I thought you weren’t very talkative,” she said around the food, then swallowed hard.

“I was concerned before that we wouldn’t suit.”

“Something’s changed I’m unaware of?” she asked sharply.

Again, his lips twitched.

Voletta set down her knife and fork. His quiet, gloomy demeanor had been so much easier to resist. His teasing and amused looks unsettled her.

“Are you finished?” he asked quietly.

Unsure how she should answer and what he planned next, she nodded slowly.

“Would you like to rest?”

Did he mean he wanted to bed her now? For she knew that was why she was here. “Will you rest with me?” she asked, wanting to know, tired of waiting for him to pounce.

“Would you like me to?”

She lifted her chin. “Do I have a choice?”

His eyelids dropped for a moment, then lifted, his gaze locking with hers. “You may deny me, but I wish that you wouldn’t. I promise you pleasure, Voletta.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed. She could say no. She probably should. Yet, he’d handled her gently. He’d given her privacy when she’d needed to regroup her thoughts. He’d seen to her every need, so far.

Alone for so long, she wondered what it would be like to take him inside her. Would she feel joined, somehow changed by the experience?

Besides, she was only delaying the inevitable. Better to surrender now than have him force the issue later. The tension apparent in his tightly curled fingers told her he held himself back.

If she were smart, she’d let him have his way and wait until a more opportune moment when he eased his watchfulness to escape.

“I think, I’m ready,” she whispered.

Damien sat as still as a stone statue for a long moment, then his chest rose, his breath dragging slowly to fill his lungs.

Was his heart racing like hers?

He rose from his chair, so tall he blocked out the light from the candle in the sconce behind him. The shadow stretched to cover her, just as he would.

Such a fanciful thought, but she held onto it, even relishing the element of dangerous portent that spurred her heartbeat and her breaths faster.

He reached out a hand, and she placed hers inside his large, warm palm. “May I have candlelight?” he asked.

So that he could watch her, she knew. Blushing, she nodded. “May I have a moment to slip into bed…?”

“Without me watching?”

Again, she nodded, relieved when he turned his back.

She walked toward the bed, her knees shaking, and slowly drew off the still damp bedrobe and dropped at the end of the mattress.

Then she saw the cloak, lying in a heap on the floor, the red fur looking mussed and abandoned.

Only for a night, she silently promised, then climbed onto the bed.