Page 22 of Demon’s Snack

That matters.

“I arranged contract business,” I say. “I have limited time.”

“Then I’ll try not to waste it by saying anything clever.”

“Can you manage that?”

“Almost certainly not.”

The answer slips a laugh out. It is small, quiet, but his attention fixes on it with such intensity that the bond tightens between us. Heat rises beneath my skin again, and I watch his throat move as he swallows.

His pulse changes first.

Not physically visible, not to ordinary sight, but the aura around him ripples in a narrow band at his sternum. Infernal light brightens along hidden pathways beneath the glamour.

I tilt my head. “Your pulse accelerated.”

He stares at me. “That is one hell of a conversation opener.”

“I am observing a pattern.”

“Most people start with the weather.”

“The weather is damp. Your pulse is more interesting.”

“That may be the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“It was not a compliment.”

“Even better. I’d hate to get spoiled.”

I step a little closer despite my better judgment. The bond steadies rather than worsens, which matches what I suspected from last night. Proximity does not simply provoke him. In the absence of threat, it reduces the violent edge of the pull.

His shoulders ease by a fraction.

“You feel that,” I say.

His humor fades, though not entirely. “Yeah.”

“Closer distance stabilizes the bond.”

“Or it lulls me into a false sense of security before I do something catastrophic.”

“That is possible.”

“Comforting.”

“I coddle no one.”

“No, I gathered that when you started publicly auditing my heartbeat.”

“It is not public. I am being discreet.”

“You’re staring at my chest in a courtyard.”

I realize, with some irritation, that he is correct. I lift my gaze to his face. “Your aura fluctuates most visibly there.”

“My aura appreciates the attention.”