Winterblaze - By Kristen Callihan Page 0,15

true. To get through the day, she’d allowed herself to think of it more as a product of her trade than actual lying. In the darkest hours of the night, however, all those lies grew almost too heavy to bear.

When they reached a small space, unoccupied by others, Winston leaned back against the rail, crossing one long leg in front of the other, and the ends of his hair caught in the sea breeze. Dark gold strands whipped about his face, dancing along his mouth before he canted his head and the mass of it blew back. “Right then, vague warnings of my needing protection do me little good.”

Out here, where he had the whistle of the wind to contend with, his voice was rougher, a gravelly rumble that made her skin shiver. She hid it by leaning back on the opposite wall, out of the wind, and tucking her hands into the wide pockets of her travel gown. “When I last knew this demon, he went under the false identity of Lord Isley, which I believe he subsumed from an earl he murdered. However that is just one of many names and identities he employs. His name doesn’t matter, in any regard.”

“Go on.” Not taking his eyes from her, he reached into his coat and withdrew a battered pack of cigarettes.

Poppy frowned at it. Win enjoyed his pipe but she’d never seen him smoke a cigarette. “Archer believes those to bode ill for a person’s health.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. God, that crooked smile of his. How many times had he used it right before he seduced the knickers off of her? She braced her shoulder blades against cold steel as he pulled out a pack of matches and lit one from the protected cup of his palm. The tiny, yellow flame reflected in his eyes before he bent his head to light his cigarette. The black tip flared red, and then a puff of smoke left his lips. “So I’ve heard. Never mind the fact that every other physician in London believes smoke helps clear the lungs.”

The noxious cloud drifted over to tickle her nose. “I’d put my money on Archer.”

He grunted, and she waved away a fresh cloud of smoke. “Not to mention that your pipe emits a much nicer scent.”

Win’s mouth quirked again. “The pipe pulls at my scars.” His eyes grew heavily lidded. “You were telling me about the demon.” He drew on his blasted cigarette again.

Poppy tried to relax her shoulders but she was too keyed up. “He can change appearance to suit his needs. Thus you cannot trust anyone. Anyone.”

Win grunted and, taking one last draw on his cigarette, tossed it down and crushed it with his boot. “Even you?”

She did not so much as flinch. “Even me. Should I suddenly feel hotter to the touch or avoid prolonged eye contact, then you may suspect me. His eyes will give him away eventually, for he cannot fully control the way they flash with inhuman light. No demon can.”

“This demon,” Win said, “do you know why he is after me?”

“He sent me a message saying…” Her jaw locked and then released. “Saying that he’d take my heart and destroy it.”

She felt, rather than saw, Win tense. He grasped her elbow and guided her deeper into the shadows of the deck.

“Go on,” he said.

With great reluctance, she repeated the words of the telegram verbatim, aware that her cheeks were warm, despite the cool wind. His grip upon her elbow grew stronger as they walked for several lengths without talking. Then he stopped and turned to face her, his body blocking out the wind. “Why you, Poppy?”

She could not avoid his eyes, those canny eyes that always saw a bit too clearly for comfort. “Because I am SOS.” She had to tell him the whole story, only years of keeping it inside made the words slow in coming. Frustration, anger, regret, and yes, self-pity pressed against her breastbone. It ought to be easier.

And then he touched her. The first deliberately intimate touch he’d given her in months. The rough pads of his fingertips caressed her cheek, lighting a slow path of sensation along her skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the feeling. Down he went, to her neck, where she was so sensitive that his touch made her shudder. He stood close. His warm breath blew over her lips as his fingers traced the tendons along her neck, and the shiver

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