Demon Angel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  Teaser chapter

  Mouth to Mouth

  Lilith turned to go, and hesitated. That should have warned him, but it wasn’t until she looked back over her shoulder and he saw the mischievous gleam in her eyes that Hugh realized her intent. He didn’t have time to make a decision or protest. Between one moment and the next, Lilith was bending down and covering his mouth with hers. Anticipating a forceful kiss, Hugh began to resist, but his tension drained away when he felt the difference in her touch. She’d done this before, but never so gently. Her hands remained at her sides; with light pressure, she ran her tongue across his bottom lip. Lilith exhaled softly in pleasure and her breath filled his mouth with heat. And he was the one who reached up, clasping her nape to pull her more tightly against him—he who sought her tongue with his, suddenly starving for the taste of her. How did she affect him so deeply, and after so long? He had no defense against it now . . .

  PRAISE FOR “FALLING FOR ANTHONY” FROM HOT SPELL

  “An emotional roller coaster for both the characters and the reader. Meljean Brook has penned a story I am sure readers won’t soon forget.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Intriguing . . . I wished for more time with the characters of her debut release.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “In-depth and intriguing. I loved the obvious thought and ideas put into writing this tale. The characters are deep, as is the world that is set up.”

  —The Romance Reader’s Connection

  “Fantastic death-defying love.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  DEMON ANGEL

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / January 2007

  Copyright © 2007 by Melissa Khan.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-56802-6

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  With all of my thanks to Echo, Megan, and my in-laws, for watching the tot. To Soojee and Maili, for helping me along. To Kat, for being there every single step of the way.

  And with my utmost gratitude to my editor, Cindy Hwang, who likes men in tights and women in bustiers as much as I do.

  A million times, thank you.

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  County Essex, England

  October 1217

  The road lay enshrouded in mist. Though Hugh had traveled through this area many a time—as a squire accompanying Robert d’Aulnoy to Colchester, and once as a knight fleeing to the sea and seeking passage to Normandy—the familiar verdant landscape receded under the fog as it smudged groves of trees into vague shadows, erasing distance and detail with unrelenting gray.

  The fog lay across the road, but could not obscure it. If not for a well-worn track, Hugh would have been forced to wait; the river ran too close to venture forward blindly, and his cargo was too precious to risk. But in the soft, illusory mist, the ancient road proved a solid guide as it unwound below him. Hugh watched fine gray tendrils eddying around his gelding’s legs, and each step pushed them into a swirling dance.

  The ring of hooves against stone, the murmurs of the servants, and the wooden creak of the countess’s wagon seemed more insistent with nothing but the ground to look upon. He glanced back at the sun once; poised like a dull, silver coin, it shed weak light that turned gray to white, but failed to penetrate or burn away the thick vapor.

  “Will we lose our way, Sir Hugh?”

  Hugh turned in his saddle, reined his mount to the side and waited for the wagon to draw even with him. Lady Isabel had ordered the curtains tied open to better watch their progress—though there was not much to see. The countess’s silks, weaved through with metallic threads, failed to shine as brightly as she’d no doubt intended them. Even the golden curls peeking from beneath her filet seemed subdued. Though she had dressed in her finest raiment for the final day of their journey and the reunion with her husband, Hugh detected neither excitement nor pleasure in her expression. And despite her question, nor did she appear concerned that the fog might delay them; her countenance remained as sweetly demure as ever.

  “Nay, my lady, so long as we do not s
tray from the road.” The perfection of her cheek drew his gaze; younger even than he was, she possessed flawless skin unmarked by time or labor. His hands flexed in his gauntlets, and he felt the rasp of calluses against leather. He’d earned them protecting her—in constant preparation to protect her, and to serve d’Aulnoy.

  “Are we near Fordham Castle?”

  “If not for the mist, we could see it.” Hugh pointed to the northeast. “Do you notice the incline of the road? We are approaching the ridge on which the first Earl of Essex built the castle.”

  The countess glanced down, as if searching for evidence of the gradual rise. Her servants did not need to see: they would feel it in the ache in their legs.

  “Are we near the ruins, Sir Hugh?”

  He dipped his head in confirmation. The remains of a Roman settlement marked the beginning of d’Aulnoy’s holdings. “We shall come upon them soon. They lie a short distance from the road, however; we may not see them through the fog.”

  One of the countess’s ladies-in-waiting leaned forward. “The thieves’ den you spoke of, Isabel? Is it true, Sir Hugh, that we shall be set upon by bandits hiding among the ruins?”

  The young countess blushed delicately; but Hugh had realized long ago the serene demeanor she affected in the courts and before her subjects hid a fanciful imagination, and it did not surprise him to learn she had been spinning tales to her ladies in private.

  Would that he could blame his own yearnings on his age, but seventeen was long past time for fancy.

  “Indeed, my lady. An ideal spot for an ambush it is,” he said solemnly. In truth, lovers were more likely to be discovered between the deteriorating walls than outlaws. “Fear not, however; you are well protected against their villainy.” He waved behind them, indicating the two knights who rode at the tail of their train and the foot soldiers. “I shall return you unharmed to your husband within hours.”

  The lady offered him a soft smile. “You have fulfilled your promise well, Sir Hugh. My husband shall be pleased, and I will request that he rewards you accordingly.”

  Surprised by her compliment, and trusting that the pale light and his helm masked the betraying heat in his cheeks, he bowed and said, “Serving you these two years has been its own reward, my lady.”

  He immediately regretted the triteness of his response, but she blushed and sat back against her cushions. She slanted him a glance wrought by delight and longing before she looked away, regaining her serenity. A low murmur from one of her attendants was followed by a burst of giggles from inside the wagon; Lady Isabel’s mouth curved into a small, sad smile.

  Contemplation of her expression suddenly felt like treason. Urging his horse forward, Hugh took lead again.

  Despite the countess’s promise of reward, he doubted d’Aulnoy would greet him with riches or lands. Hugh had been raised in the baron’s castle and had acted as his squire for years; but the Earl of Essex could ill afford to bestow valuables upon a poor, unconnected knight, regardless of his affection for Hugh. The baron would have to strengthen his political alliances and repair whatever damage Lackland had wrought on his properties during his siege and afterwards.

  And Hugh’s service surely paled in comparison to those knights who’d been at d’Aulnoy’s side during those desperate hours against the king. Protecting a child bride, however commendable, would not shine as brightly nor as immediately in d’Aulnoy’s mind.

  The shadow of the ruins appeared on the left, and he gratefully turned his attention to them. Though pleased their journey had been without incident, Hugh wished it hadn’t provided him so much time to reflect on his uncertain future upon his return to Fordham Castle. And, despite his assurances of safety, it would be foolish not to be wary as they passed; in two years and under chaotic rule, a lovers’ hideaway could easily turn into a site of ambush.

  Centuries of pilfering for materials had left the walls partially intact. At least three buildings had stood beside the road; Hugh had examined them on previous trips and knew the layout well. The two closest to the roadway had been stripped almost down to the foundations, leaving a knee-high wall of masonry. The one behind retained its height, though the ceiling had long since fallen in. Columns lay broken into heavy cylinders at the entrance; it was generally accepted that it had been a temple, though to whom—or what—Hugh had never learned.

  His gaze skimmed over the low walls, and he looked past them toward the temple, but could not discern the barest outline.

  “Oh!” One of the women cried out, and he turned. The ladies’ faces crowded the wagon’s window. “I do hope the thief who steals the jewels from my kirtle is a handsome one!”

  Their laughter trilled from the wagon, and Hugh allowed himself a smile before facing forward again. Spurring his horse on, he cast one last glance toward the ruins.

  A figure in crimson rose from the ground behind the nearest wall and darted into the mist surrounding the temple.

  Hugh blinked, certain he’d imagined it and mistook shadow for human. Nothing could move with such speed, not hind nor hound, but the ladies’ shrill screams confirmed he had not been the only one to have seen it. He drew his sword and peered blindly into the fog. Was the person alone, or did the ruins conceal a party lying in wait?

  Despite his attempt to calm himself, Hugh’s pulse quickened until his heart pounded into a galloping beat. From behind him came a flurry of activity as servants and soldiers formed a defensive ring around the countess’s litter. A few murmurs from Lady Isabel quieted the other women, and silence fell over the group, save for the jingle of mail and thud of hooves as Georges de Rouen rode to Hugh’s side.

  “You saw?” Hugh asked in a low voice.

  “A female, richly dressed.” The knight shouldered the crossbow that usually lay slung across his back and slid a bolt into the shelf. The Church frowned upon the weapon, but Hugh had not argued its presence for this journey. “You know this area best; what are your thoughts?”

  A woman? Hugh had not been able to determine shape from his brief glimpse, but he trusted Georges’s assessment. The older man’s eye was unparalleled, whereas to Hugh, objects appeared blurred until he came within fifteen or twenty feet of them.

  “Though the ladies would make this place a site of villainous infamy, the only sin I have encountered here is that of fornication.” He met Georges’s laughing gaze with his own before he sobered and added, “But women, even those fearing discovery of an assignation, cannot run so fast as she. An arrow from a bow couldn’t have caught her.”

  Georges nodded thoughtfully and looked into the mist. “Should we suspect a trick? A cloak tied to a string? Or did the fog distort our vision and give her the illusion of quickness?”

  “I know not.” With a frustrated sigh, he glanced back at the litter. But for Lady Isabel, fear pinched the women’s expressions. The countess watched him with calm, steady attention, trust shining in her eyes.

  Hugh’s gut tightened. “I will go,” he said without thought. “If thieves wait, I shall flush them out before they can cause harm.”

  Georges’s eyebrows rose, disappearing behind the brow of his helm. “Do you wish to prove your mettle, there are more worthy opponents than outlaws. Let us go on; they would be foolish to attack a party as well armed as ours.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Of course, perhaps a jaunt into the mist would allow you to end this journey with an act of courage.”

  Noting the knight’s wry tone, Hugh reddened. Was his attachment to the countess so obvious? And, apparently, harmless—Georges seemed to view Hugh’s feelings with amusement rather than concern of infidelity or disloyalty.

  “Go on, boy,” Georges urged quietly. “Had we been in danger, they would already be upon us. And I doubt the lady we saw belongs to a band of thieves. More likely, you shall find her lover’s braies left behind in his haste to escape.” He raised his voice and cried, “Rout them, my brave lad! I shall cover your backside!”

  Hugh lowered his head to hide his emba
rrassment and laughter, but obediently kicked his horse into motion. Once off the road, the gelding picked his way between the foundations and discarded stone of the nearest buildings, his steps muffled by the soft clay and thick grass.

  At the temple’s southwest corner, he paused and glanced behind him. Fog masked both road and travelers. The trepidation roused by the woman’s appearance had faded during his conversation with Georges, but now, isolated from sight, his tension returned. If he and Georges had mistaken their safety, Hugh’s display of bravery could endanger them all. Holding his sword at ready, he circled the temple walls, keeping their solid bulk on his left. Even should someone hide within the temple, he could not attack Hugh through the thickness of the masonry. Though perhaps by climbing the rough, rectangular stones . . . Hugh stole a glance upward, almost expecting to see a horde of thieves peering over the walls. No one. He grinned in self-reproach, chided himself for his nervousness, and approached the temple entrance. His horse skirted around the fallen columns. His apprehension eased into confidence when his first glimpse into the interior revealed it to be empty. But as he urged the gelding past the threshold, a moan sounded from the southeast corner.

  Pivoting his horse with pressure from legs and reins, Hugh backed his mount against the opposite wall. He hefted his sword in warning, and his vision quickly adjusted to the dim light inside . . . there. A man stood by the—

  Hugh’s eyes widened and he barely contained the laughter that threatened to erupt from him.

  Sir William Mandeville. D’Aulnoy’s seneschal had not changed in two years, though Hugh had never seen him stretched as he was now: his hands tied over his head, his hose bunched around his spindly, white ankles. His partner had left him with the hem of his surcoat resting atop his erect rod and trailing down either side, exposing his ballocks and inner thighs. A woolen scarf covered his eyes, but couldn’t disguise the rigid cast of his ruddy features, nor his rage and fear as he cried out, “Who is there? I hear the footsteps of your horse! Reveal yourself, coward! You dare look upon me in secrecy?”