Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) by Paula Altenburg Page A

thought of her flaming eyes and how she had intended to rob him. While he could hardly blame her for doing what was necessary in order to survive, it made him wary of her motives.
    He realized his hand was still cupping her hip, and that he had hesitated too long in responding. His next words surprised him because, although churlish and grudging, they were not what he’d intended to say. “Very well. We’ll rest for a bit. But we stay together.”
    She dismounted stiffly, and again, he experienced a twinge of guilt. Throughout the long night she had not complained and had done her fair share in clearing their escape route.
    He swung out of the saddle and turned Sally loose to forage for food in the brush at the side of the path. Airie paced, stretching her legs and saying nothing, but her gaze continually returned to the remains of the smoldering mountain.
    Hunter could think of no distractions to offer. He reached into a pocket of his duster and found some hardtack, then thrust it at her. “Here,” he said. “Eat something.”
    She stopped pacing. Her eyes, a soft, deep, feminine brown now, with no trace of flame, fixed on him. “Do I look like one?”
    “Like what?” he asked, confused.
    “Like a demon. I’ve never seen one.”
    “No.” He slid the hardtack she ignored back into his pocket. Then, because he did not want either of them to forget what she was, he added, “At least, not right now.”
    Her gaze returned to the crumbled mountain. “This is the way I always look.”
    He found that difficult to believe. Rumors to the contrary had spread all the way to Mamna, and he had seen the fire she contained for himself. It would be foolish to become distracted by her because eventually, her true form would emerge.
    He could not claim she was trying to use the mortal one she wore to seduce him, however. Truth be told, she did not seem to like him at all. His jaw tightened. The thought of being judged by a demon and found wanting was far from an amusing one.
    He did not like inconsistencies, and she was full of them. His aching ribs reminded him of her demonic strength, yet what sort of spawn cried over its mother, then healed a dying animal when common sense and self-preservation dictated it would be better to abandon it?
    And what sort of man abandons a woman to demons?
    He grabbed Sally’s reins, unsettled.
    “Break’s over,” he snarled. “Get back in the saddle.”

Chapter Six
     
    The Godseeker had refused to spend the night under Mamna’s roof, and she had not encouraged him. He had told her, however, that more Godseekers were coming.
    Some, she suspected, might already be here.
    She had gotten what little information she could from him and he was of no further use to her. She had dropped a few casual remarks about the amulet the old man wore and its abilities, knowing full well that her words would spread. The value of the stone would ensure that the old man’s days in Freetown were numbered. The amulet might alert him to the approach of demons, but offered little protection from mortal thieves.
    She had not resolved a problem, merely delayed it, and her broken sleep that night reflected it.
    She often dreamed of her time in the goddesses’ temple—a collage of memories of thousands of thoughtless little kindnesses and cruelties—but there was always one particular dream that stood out above all the rest.
    The goddesses, unlike their demon counterparts, were few in number, no more than a dozen, and they had grown tired of being relentlessly pursued by them. They had found peace and happiness in the mortal world, and possessed no desire to abandon it or its pleasures.
    A question was raised. If mortal women touched by the goddesses became their servants, and mortal men became their slaves, what would happen if a goddess touched a demon?
    A goddess might well find a demon as irresistible as he found her. Therefore, Mamna was tasked with watching over the goddess chosen to tempt the Demon Lord. It