Devil Man by Vonna Harper

From the Publisher

Everything Kevern of Wessex believed in and lived for has been stripped from him. Now the former knight lives with a pack of fierce dogs. The beasts have stolen his humanity, leaving him wild and without compassion. Only one person can save the small village in the pack's way from destruction, the witch Demelza. Well-trained by her witch mother and driven by love for her people, the young woman walks toward danger with her only weapons: the knife hidden in her gown and her lush body. The sight of her awakens hot memories in Kevern. He will have her, no matter what it takes. But will she tame the devil man? Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Domination, mild bondage, dubious consent.

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Whirling, Demelza stared in the direction from whence the word came. At that moment, she ceased to concern herself with the dogs. After what was both a lifetime and a blink of the eye, a man eased himself from his living shelter. Became real.

Apparently, she'd entered his territory/domain without even knowing it.

She'd expected her foe to be on horseback, because that was how he'd appeared to Nyghal, but he was on foot. Just the same, fear jolted her system. The newcomer carried a silver sword strapped to his side but otherwise appeared unarmed. His glowing eyes made her think of morning embers waiting to be blown into flame. What would it take for them to rage? And if that rage was aimed at her, would he kill her?

The question helped her battle her fear into submission. If he sensed her primal reaction, he might use it to his advantage. He had to see her as strong and powerful; his equal, if not superior.

From the waist up he was naked, his body hard and well muscled. Well-worn cloth clung to his hips and caressed his solid, strong-looking legs. His boots, although dirt caked, appeared well made. Long, dark hair framed sharp features. There was nothing soft about him. Drawing a deep breath, she vowed to show no weakness. His body was male, nothing more.

Except for an undeniable, soul-deep loneliness.

"Run, maiden," he said. "If you want to live, run."

His voice put her in mind of a trumpet in the hands of a master. She should be fighting the impulse to run, but against all reason, she'd never wanted to touch a man's flesh as much as she did at that moment. His voice commanded. Beguiled. Seduced. Despite the fifty-some feet between them, heatradiated from him, threatening to burn her. As it had been when she faced down the dogs, she embraced the challenge.

"Are you the danger?" she challenged. "I should fear you more than the beasts?"

If her question confused him, he gave no indication. He glanced at the dogs, then frowned. "They are frozen. What--"

"My doing. I do not want to risk being attacked. This is between you and me, not them."

"You ... Listen to me, girl! I grant you this single warning and no more. If you do not heed it, I take no responsibility for what happens."

"What is going to happen?"

"What are you, a foolish child? You don't see their fangs?"

"Of course I do, but I'm no child." I'm not sure I ever was.

"Then you are mindless."

"You know nothing of me."

"That's what you think?"

"More than think. Know." Meet me strength for strength; make the coming battle everything my life has been about. "My mother used her witch-knowledge to study you for several days," she told him, when perhaps she shouldn't have. "Because you live among animals, you believe everyone is like them, all instinct. How can you look into a human's heart and mind, when maybe you have never truly been one?"

Instead of responding, he ran a broad, long-fingered hand down his chest. Her heart jumped. The place between her legs heated, forcing home the knowledge that not all battles pitted muscle against muscle. She hadn't expected that from him.

"I loved the innocent old man your beasts attacked." Fighting her reaction to his primitive sexuality, she slid her hands into the pockets of her cape. Although her fingers closed around the dagger hidden there, the time to turn killer hadn't come. "I worked to keep him alive. Dressed his wounds with a salve made of damiana, guarana, aloe, and cardamom. Held him as he died. His soul entered mine. My prayers guided him to the spirit world."

His head snapped back, as if she'd slapped him. "His soul entered ... You speak nonsense."

"Never, devil man."

"Devil man." His deadly beautiful eyes flashed. "Yes, I am that."

"I know."

"How can ... If you saw his wounds," he said, his tone cold, "you know you should not be here."

"Do you think I want to be?"

"Then why are you? A promise you made to some old man? If so, you are beyond foolish."

"At least I am not like you, a human beast who allows--who orders--death without reason. Do you have a soul? Knowing what you did, I do not see how that is possible"

Kevern of Wessex, who'd once ridden alongside his king as a trusted knight, willing to lay down his life for his lord, looked down at the fawnlike creature who gazed up at him. Even more unbelievable, courage wrapped her in its strength. Folds of rough fabric hid her shape, but her features were delicate; her loose, glossy black hair alone cast a spell over his sex-starved body.

Still barely believing his eyes that a woman--a beautiful and brave woman--stood before him, he breathed deep and caught a whisper of cinnamon, a scent that took him back to when his mother and sisters prepared the family's meals. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself to think of his childhood and the innocent he'd once been? The dogs that now were his only companions watched silently, their great heads lifted and fangs exposed, reminding him of what passed for a life these days.

Kevern's cock twitched. "She is not yours," he told the hellhounds.

"What do you want with her?" the white one asked. "Heed my words. She is not what she seems, a helpless child. There is power inside, deadly power."

Rocked by the statement, he studied the woman before him. Had the dogs deduced more than he had? Was this female creature what he'd worked night and day to strip from his thoughts? He squinted, and then knew. It was no child who stood before him. Under the cloak lay a woman's soft, warm form. If he touched her sleek flesh with knowing fingers, maybe she'd surrender to him, part her legs, and welcome him into her secrets. Perhaps loneliness would seep from him, and he'd become human again. Maybe.

"I claim her."

"She does not belong to you," the white dog continued. "And even if you capture her and force her to worship your body, you would be a fool to trust her."

"It does not matter," he retorted. "Nothing does except mating." Maybe.

"Careless human. Do you want to risk death?"

"Would you want my life?"

The white dog didn't answer.

"You tried to save the old man?" he asked the woman, belatedly remembering what she'd said. "Are you a healer?"

He couldn't be sure but thought she smiled. How long had it been since he'd witnessed a woman's smile? A lifetime? "Call me what you wish," she said. "Tell me, dog-man. What is your name?"

"Why do you care?" He could easily break her fragile bones or, if the fire within him raged beyond his control, pin her to the ground and mount her. The thought of housing his cock in her depths caused it to swell even more, but although he lived with beasts, he hadn't fully become one--yet. But close, so close.

Death might be better.

"I wish to know who I have come to see," she said.

"You seek me?"

"Yes."

A lifetime had passed since he'd touched a woman. His memory of their beguiling bodies had faded. Or maybe the truth was he'd learned that only pain accompanied thoughts that went back to when he didn't sleep alone, and had forced those thoughts from his mind. "You sought me out, even though you knew I am with these creatures? What is it, maiden? You wish a swift death?"

"My name is Demelza, and I have no wish to die today."

"Then you are slow-witted."

She shook her head, her sleek hair dancing with the movement and threatening his fragile grip on sanity. "If I was, I would not be gifted with healing skills. Believe me, I am not an innocent."

"Not a virgin?"

Her gaze remained steady. "No."

What are you telling me, that you want sex, with me? "Married?"

"No."

His throat tightened, as did his cock. He fought the need to tend to that part of his body he had no control over. "Are you a whore?"

"No."

"Then what are you?"

"Alive," she whispered. The faint sound swirled around him and fueled inner fires. "Hot-blooded." She paused, making him wonder if she'd deliberately chosen the words in an attempt to drive him into madness. Maybe she'd succeed. "When the need for sex overtakes me, I find a man willing to satisfy me." She dropped her gaze. "But none has asked to become my husband."

"Why not?"

Her head came up, and she faced him again. "Because of who I am."

What a mystery she was. Intriguing. Maybe dangerous. "And what are you?"

"That is for you to discover."

Hit with the challenge from the small, misty creature, Kevern stepped closer. He expected her to bolt like a frightened deer. If she did, he'd charge, knock her to the ground, and cover her. His greater strength would part her legs, and then he'd fuck her. Take her hard and hot. Instead of running, however, she stood fast. The dogs remained in place, prompting him to again acknowledge her powers. He'd expected to have to battle the beasts' instinct to tear the outsider apart, as they'd done to the old man the other day. If only he'd stopped them back then...

But had he wanted to?

"Demelza," he echoed. Something clawed at his heart, and he now smelled more than cinnamon; the musky scent of a woman. Was that why she'd frozen the dogs, so they couldn't come to his defense?

Had she created the unique aroma to entice him to his death? Beyond caring, he stood on slightly spread legs muscled by a lifetime of battle and training. The sensation that had touched his heart a few moments ago returned. This time, it felt less like punishment, more like a caress. "Those who once spoke to me called me Knight Kevern," he told her.

Her gray eyes took in his form from head to worn boots. For the first time in many moons, he was aware of his ragged clothes. "You are a knight?"

"Once."

Those remarkable eyes of hers asked why he no longer was, but she remained silent, studying him. He wanted to do the same, but her cape hid so much. No matter; he'd soon strip the unwanted garment from her. And then?

"You are still a knight," she said at length. "You carry yourself like one."

"Do I?"

"Yes, but I've never seen a fighter with such sorrow in his heart."

My heart? How can she know what I lost, the pain I live with? Unnerved, he killed the space between them and grabbed her shoulders. Eyes wide, she jerked back, then stood her ground. He, who'd known little except the taking and giving of blood, of war, revenge, and battle, wanted nothing of gentleness. A woman's body weakened a fighter. If he ever allowed himself to relax his grip on his defenses, it might mean his death.

But he was no longer a fighter, and he didn't want this life.

Then why do you do what it takes to stay alive? a voice inside asked him, not for the first time. What are you waiting for? For your lord to return and forgive you? For the woman whose body you couldn't resist to slip into bed next to you? Neither of those is going to happen. There's only today--and endless, lonely tomorrows.

A familiar heat warned him that his eyes were becoming inflamed. Surely that would frighten her, as it did every living creature except for the dogs. How wise she'd been to call him devil man.

"You cannot know what lies in my heart," he belatedly thought to challenge her. "Just as I cannot feel yours--except like this." He placed a hand over a breast.

Immediately, he knew he shouldn't have. A brief, fleeting contact with this creature would never be enough. A lightning-jolt hit his fingers, warned him to release her, which he did. Even stronger than the pain, though, was the hunger tearing through him. Determined not to let her control him, he slipped a hand beneath the cape's front opening. The other hand remained fastened to her shoulder, holding her in place. Just the same, he waited for her to bolt. And if she did, what then?

Should he let her go? Could he?

"Your eyes," she muttered, "are on fire."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tell her nothing! Remain silent. Except he couldn't. "Emotion," he said.

Only her head moved, nodding slowly. "Can you control it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"The truth! Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because so much is tangled within you." She spoke calmly, as if his outburst had had no impact on her. "Unless you free yourself, you will never again experience life's blessings."

Determined to cast off her words before he became tangled in them, he guided his forefinger over her collarbone. "Answer me this. When I touch you here, what do you feel?"

"My pulse races." She continued to stand her ground.

Instead of acknowledging her honesty and courage, he closed his fingers around the full, high breast. Despite her admission of lovers, surely someone as young as this female who called herself Demelza had scant understanding of her body.

He could force her to accept what it was to be a woman, awaken her, ravish her, and leave her ruined, his fury satiated. At least for a short while.

Before self-hate stalked him.

The burning sensation in his eyes intensified, frightening him, but his fingers on the filmy fabric over her breast distracted him from the dark mood that had been his hated yet familiar companion for so long.

"Do you hear my heartbeat?" she asked.

"No."

"You lie."

"Why should I?"

"Because you are afraid of revealing yourself to me."

"Me, afraid of you? Never."

Smiling faintly, she leaned forward to gift his palm with her fullness. "Not yet, but you might soon be."

"Might? You don't sound as sure of yourself as you did a moment ago."

"Feel me, knight," she said in response.

Knight. Like a starving animal facing his first meal in years, Kevern released her shoulder and claimed her other breast. She lowered her head, maybe because she didn't want him to read her expression. Her breathing quickened.

Warning himself not to frighten her with his ferocious hunger, at least not yet, he drew her breasts into his grasp and lifted them. They'd been made to be fondled, loved, worshipped. Her cape had fallen back into place, so he couldn't see what his hands held, but he didn't need to. He tried to capture her small, hard nipples between thumb and forefinger, but his fingers kept sliding off her gown.

Spotting the dogs out of the corner of his eye, he forced his attention on them. No longer rooted in place, they were creeping closer, fangs exposed. His captive muttered something he didn't understand. As one, his companions stopped. Although they trembled, none moved so much as an inch.

"Come," he ordered. "Do not harm her, but approach and learn all you can about her."

"We cannot."

"Why not?"

"The woman."

"What about her?"

"She has stripped our muscles. Her strength overpowers us."

Deeply shaken, although he'd already suspected that, he returned his attention to her. Sudden anger flowed through him. This was his pack, his only companions! How dare she try to steal them from him!

Releasing her breasts, he yanked on the cords at her throat that held the outer garment in place, untying them. He'd strip her, reduce her, turn her into a whore, if that's what it took to exert his authority! And if he couldn't face himself after he'd finished--

No! He'd remain in the moment and live only to satisfy himself.

Was it enough?

It had to be.

Standing tall and steady, she studied him. "What are you thinking?" he demanded.

"I am trying to understand you."

If she did, then she would know more about him than he did, a thought that chased a brand of fear he'd never felt through him. "Don't!" His fingers clenched. "You won't like what you find."

"Just because you hate yourself does not mean I will feel the same way."

Hate? Unnerved by her perception, he yanked the heavy fabric off her shoulders and threw it onto the ground. Then he stepped back so he could study this woman who'd come to him. If she ran, he'd pursue her like the animal he'd become, drag her to the ground, mount her. Imprison her. Give her full reason to loathe him. Once she did, she'd stop trying to probe his layers, and he'd be safe. Isolated, but safe.

With a shake of his head, he tried to cast off the thoughts that had been with him since he'd first spotted her. These moments were about self-pleasure. Nothing else.

She was indeed small, a slight, pale figure with ebony hair. The fabric hugging her form was worthless as warmth and protection. The woman from his past who'd been his undoing had dressed in garments that seduced and taunted. They'd been made with gatherings and ties that lifted her heavy breasts and hid her loose belly--not that he'd cared, once she'd filled him with passion. In contrast, Demelza's form needed no concealment, and her dress provided none.

She wore fog, mist, a glimmer of cloth that slid over a young, ripe body. If not for her breasts and hips, it would have hung in a straight line. But her curves gave it life and issued their own challenge.

Remove me; the garment seemed to be commanding him. See all of me. Touch and take me. Be changed by me.

Panic assaulted him, but he pushed it away, just as he'd learned to cast off regret. He, who'd been condemned to hell, had been given a gift, and he intended to take and use. First, though...

"You say you are not a whore, and yet no man seeks to marry you," he said, his hands fisted by his sides to keep them off her, his cock aching. "Why do you speak in riddles?"

"Not a riddle." She'd glanced down at herself when he first undressed her but now stood as if her body meant nothing to her. Her unwavering gaze feasted on him. "The men of Quantock Village where I live, as well as the men from neighboring villages, are afraid to share their huts and beds with me."

"Why?"

"Because I am a witch."