The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) (3 page)

Those beautiful blue eyes beamed benign innocence at her from his too-handsome face. “Beside the stable.”

He’d been spying on both her and the ranch and had seen she was alone. That made her even more afraid.

He realized it too, and his expression changed again, this time to sympathetic understanding. “I swear I’m no threat to you.”

That might well be true enough. But since Nieve could not recall the last time anyone had been deliberately kind to her, suspicion ran deep. She’d taken great pains to ensure she did not attract undue notice from men. The few she came in contact with on the ranch rarely spared her a single glance, let alone two. She sensed that this one, however, saw past her dowdy, shapeless dress and the faded black neckerchief covering her white-blond hair.

“I’m looking for a man named Bear,” the stranger con-tinued. “I was told he might have some information I need.” He considered the purple-streaked horizon. “If possible, I’d like a place to stay for the night, too. I saw wolven tracks on my way out here, and my hross is nervous.”

Nieve inched toward the house, ready to bolt if her knees would allow it. “My master will be back at any minute,” she said. “You can wait in the yard by the stable if you wish to speak with him.”

The stranger did not make any move to follow her. He simply watched with observant eyes, very quietly. When she was close enough to the kitchen door to make a run for it, she turned and dashed inside. She slammed the door shut behind her, then dropped the wooden bar that locked it into its brackets. Her heart hammered beneath her ribs the entire time.

Coward
.

She pressed her back against the solid door, and closing her eyes, tried to steady her uneven breathing. Her trembling knees gave out, and she slid the door’s length to the floor.

Whoever the unsettling stranger was, he was Bear’s problem now.

Chapter Two

Creed did not so much as twitch a facial muscle as he watched the woman vanish inside the sprawling log house.

The fear in her eyes had astonished him. It left him feeling dirty, as if she had somehow read his carefully guarded thoughts regarding her. Underneath the plain clothing, and despite her thinness of frame, she was startlingly and undeniably beautiful. Brilliant green eyes alone, enormous in a waifish face, were enough to mark her appearance as extraordinary and render him nearly speechless. That white-blond hair was another. Creed had been forced to work hard to keep from staring at her.

He frowned at the closed door. Perhaps he had not worked hard enough. Or it was possible the woman had been so beaten down by the life she led here that she was incapable of trust.

If the latter was the cause of her fear, there was no hope for her. A woman needed to be strong-willed in order to survive a harsh world. He could not make this one his problem. She was another man’s property. He would get the information on the missing children he came for and get out. He could not right all of the wrongs in this world single-handed.

Creed went to wait in the yard in front of the stable with his hross, as he had been instructed.

It was not long before a man on a sand swift—a large, ugly, lizard-like beast—rode at a lazy pace toward the ranch. Distance out here could prove deceptive, and it was almost an hour before the man entered through the ranch’s gates. By then the sun had already set.

The old man proved to be as large and ugly as his mount, and equally irritable. Shaggy gray hair touched mammoth, stooped shoulders. Much of his muscle had gone to fat with age, but Creed suspected what was left remained formidable enough. Black brows met over a hawk nose, and equally black eyes scowled as he brought the sand swift to a halt too close to Creed’s already agitated hross. The hross shied away from the long, razor-sharp tongue that lashed at it, and only Creed’s firm hand on its reins kept it from bolting.

If this was Bear, then he had been aptly named.

“The sun has gone down,” the man said to him. “Whoever you are, you should have been on your way hours ago if you expected to avoid wolven. The sons of whores have killed and eaten six of my best calves.”

That explained some of the ill temper.

The dead calves could only be partly to blame for this man’s demeanor. Anyone who could sell his own child into slavery would have little or no natural softness to him. Creed suppressed a flicker of pity for the tiny woman who had locked herself in the house. She stood no chance of survival against this rough-worn man. She would be dead in a few years, either by his hand or her own.

Since there would be no offer of hospitality for the night Creed would ask his questions and be gone. Wolven did not frighten him, and he would rather not involve himself in private matters that did not concern the Godseekers.

The sand swift’s body color remained constant. That meant it was not alarmed or threatened by Creed’s presence as it snuffled its broad, ugly snout back and forth along the ground.

With an unpleasant jolt, Creed realized that it was trail-ing his footprints in the dirt. He stroked his hross’s neck, soothing the nervous animal.

“It’s a pity about your calves,” he said. “My name is Creed. I serve the Godseekers and I’m looking for a man named Bear. The sheriff in Desert’s End said he might have some information I need.”

The old man did not dismount. Craftiness entered his ferret-black, unblinking eyes. “You were told wrong. I don’t know much about anything except ranching.”

“Then you know nothing of slave traders who bought a young child from you last year?”

His weasel eyes tracked to the house, then back to Creed. “I know very little of them.”

Creed read truth in his words. Yet also, a lie. This man might not know much about them, but what he did was most likely significant—if not to Creed, then to someone else. His thoughts went to the woman he had surprised. The sheriff had spoken of a slave whore. Since Creed had yet to see signs of another woman, or anyone else here, it stood to reason that she was it. If it was her son the old man had sold, she’d have paid attention. Most mothers would.

Unless it was a child she had not wanted either.

“What of the woman in the house?” Creed asked. “Would she know more than you?”

The old man spat a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground. It glistened, brown and wet, near the toe of Creed’s boot, although not so close as to seem deliberately offensive.

“Why are the Godseekers interested enough in slave traders to send one of you to investigate them?”

Creed did not miss the slight emphasis on the word
you
. Bear knew he was an assassin, and it was not likely to make him more forthcoming. He did not wish to cooperate with the Godseekers. It was doubtful he ever willingly cooperated with anyone.

Creed recognized him as someone who enjoyed the suffering of others in an attempt to ease his own. His sister’s stepfather had been a bully such as this. Still, Creed had to try.

He studied the sand swift, wondering what it would do if he chose a different method of getting what he needed from its master. Adult sand swifts tended to be loyal and aggressively protective, and quick to sense any threat to their masters no matter how subtle. The only creatures more dangerous were the juveniles.

He concentrated, sending out calming thoughts as he spoke, not wanting to alert either Bear or the sand swift as to what he was doing.

“Since the end of winter, several children have been reported missing in the area,” Creed said.

“Children are a dime a dozen,” Bear replied. “If they can’t earn their keep, farmers sell them to be rid of them. Or they leave them for the wolven to have.”

Certain slave traders made their profit selling children to brothels. Some might argue that it was kinder of parents, or owners such as Bear, to leave them for wolven if they could not feed them. Such an action would be politely ignored by neighbors who well understood the problem. It would not be remarked upon. Word would not spread.

And yet both things had happened.

Creed was unconvinced that slave traders were responsible for these latest disappearances. The sense he got from Bear was that he did not believe they were either. Therefore, if the disappearances were being remarked upon, it was because there was something unusual about the children. The sheriff was most likely correct, and they were half demon.

Frustration filled him. Regardless of who had fathered them, they were innocents.

The sand swift had not raised an alarm at the slight amount of compulsion Creed unleashed, so he released a little more, although even more carefully. He wanted that invitation to spend the night and Bear was not the sort of man to be magnanimous. If pushed too far, he would question why he did something so out of character and against his instincts.

But Creed did not intend to leave here without more complete answers to his questions. He could not ignore instincts telling him that the spawn woman he hunted, and the children he’d heard whisperings of, including this one of Bear’s, were somehow connected.

…

Slave traders had bought a young child from Bear.

Nieve, eavesdropping at the open window beside the front door, let the plain lace curtain drop from her numb fingers. She braced herself against the wall as the blood rushed to her head and her vision grayed.

He had sold her son. That was what she’d sensed missing from her life. What had caused this raw, gaping hole in her heart.

Once the dizziness passed she pressed a shaking palm to her stomach, afraid she might be sick. She could not decide what was worse—the fact that Bear had done such a thing, or the discovery that she had forgotten. She prayed it was because her son had not wanted her to remember him. He’d always been protective of her, even as a baby—an old soul in a child’s body.

But even so, what sort of mother could allow herself to forget her own child?

A part of her wished she had not eavesdropped on this conversation, because she was not strong enough to deal with it. She had no idea what had inspired her to do so. Perhaps it was a compelling and insatiable interest in the stranger with the beautiful eyes and this one last opportunity for her to gaze at him.

No matter the reason, she could not undo the damage now done. The floodgates opened and memories washed through her, as did the knowledge that an entire year of her son’s life had been wasted. Somewhere in a harsh and unforgiving world, Asher waited for her to come for him.

Pain sliced her heart, so unbearable that she had to pant her way through it. Ash would be almost four years old now, and she knew what could happen to children too young or unable to do physical labor. Most ended up in brothels, where they were used and then discarded.

But Ash was not like other children, and had a knack for deflecting unwanted attention. He’d been slow to speak, preferring to sit and listen to what went on around him. He’d always known when Bear was in a foul mood, and to hide from him.

Was he still alive? If he was, did he think of her?

She had thought all her old hatred for Bear long dulled and expended, but it resurged now along with her grief. Tears streamed down her face.

She brushed at them with the back of her wrist. She did not want Bear to discover her like this. She did not want him to get any joy from it, so she buried her emotions as deep as she could and focused on actions.

For a moment she gave serious consideration to killing her master. Believing her broken, he would not expect it. But she discarded the thought. If she did it, she would never find out where Ash had been taken. For her son’s sake, she had to be strong. Somehow, she had to get the information she needed from Bear.

Then she would kill him.

By the time Bear entered the house Nieve was back in the kitchen and at the wood stove, removing an orange custard pie from the hot oven. She placed it on the counter.

Squeezing his large frame into his usual chair, he settled at the head of the long, bristlewood table.

She dared not look at him as she dished up his steaming dinner from a pot on the stove before setting it in front of him. The glow from the oil lantern sitting in the center of the table reflected off the black windows.

“Fill another plate,” he said. “And take it out to the stable.”

At first, Nieve could not think why he would give her such a task. Her thoughts had been so wrapped around Ash that it was a second before she remembered the stranger.

“That man you spoke with is spending the night?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise. Bear never gave anyone permission to stay for longer than it took them to conduct business.

His harsh black eyes lingered on her, thick, wiry brows casting them into shadow. “What difference does it make to you?”

He was not happy about the stranger’s presence. She tried to gauge the depth of his displeasure, wondering how best to answer him, although it was possible she was too numb to feel it if he struck her anyway.

“I need to make sure I have enough food prepared for an extra person,” she said.

Bear dipped his spoon in his stew, indifferent. “You’re skinny already. If you have to, missing a meal won’t make much difference to you.”

He stopped, the dripping, overfull spoon partway to his mouth, as if arrested by a sudden and important thought. He dropped the spoon back in his bowl and lifted his head.

She did not like the unexpected scrutiny, or the speculation in his eyes either, because she realized it was not indifference she read in him, but preoccupation.

The stranger’s presence troubled him. Premonition and long experience suggested it was about to trouble her too. His eyes swept her from head to toe and made her feel naked.

“If you changed your clothes and did something with your hair, you’d be a decent-looking woman,” Bear said. “Go clean yourself up. There’s information I want you to get from him for me. If you were once good enough for a demon, you’re likely still good enough for a Godseeker assassin. As long as he doesn’t find out about the demon you slept with,” he added. “It’s possible he’d kill you for it. Something I should have done.”

She inhaled a sharp breath. It had been four years since this was last mentioned, at least to her face, and the past slapped her. This, she would gladly forget. Bear had agreed to marry her when her father first approached him, thinking the baby she carried was mortal, but then Bear had heard the rumors. He had not wanted to so much as buy her after that, let alone marry her. Instead, her father, who she had foolishly believed loved her enough that she could tell him the truth about her baby, had paid Bear to take her.

Bear, however, maintained he would have no demon’s leavings. Other than to beat her, he’d never touched her. She cooked and cleaned for him, and in the yard surrounding the house, did the work of a grown man.

But then last year, with no warning, Bear had sold her son into slavery. And now he wanted her to whore for him.

Hatred bubbled inside Nieve, so thick and hot she could barely breathe. She had endured this life for four long years. The need to do something—anything—to find her son compelled her. Sleeping with a Godseeker assassin, if that’s who this stranger was, would not be the worst thing she had done at another’s command.

She would not, however, do it for nothing. While Bear might own her, she also wanted information.

“I’ll whore for you if you tell me what you did with my son,” she said.

Bear was out of his chair so fast she had no time to do more than take a few steps back, toward the stove, and cover her head. He grasped her shoulder with one hand, then slammed a fist into her stomach. When he let her go, all she had strength to do was fall to the floor and curl in a ball.

Pain and nausea washed through her. She was not as numb as she had thought.

He loomed over her with fingers clenched. “You’ll do as I say.”

If she had no one to worry over but herself, Nieve would simply acquiesce, even though the thought of being possessed by the intimidating stranger terrified her, because she had relinquished her pride long ago. But knowing Ash was all alone, with no one to love and care for him, was far worse than any beating or indignity she might suffer.