The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) Read Free

might also have begun to wonder who—or what—that father had been.
    After the departure of the demons, however, Creed’s scalp had gone naturally smooth. The flaming tattoo that now covered his back and shoulders had also emerged, although he had no idea what its purpose was or if it held any demonic significance. He had no one to ask.
    The woman ran a palm down the front of the tidy apron that covered her simple dress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the heavy fabric, an action that betrayed her nervousness at his presence. Women usually loved Creed, and while under other circumstances he was not above using that attraction to his advantage, normally he would not be passing judgment on one of their children. Most mothers placed their child’s welfare above everything else.
    But not all of them did so. His own had not. And this mother’s child, too, was half demon.
    “Where have you been?” she asked the boy. “I expected you here to help me an hour ago.” Her tone held reproof and anxiety, as well as an undercurrent of unmistakable affection. Soft green eyes darted from the masculine hand on her son’s shoulder to Creed’s face. “He’s a better salesman than me,” she added, with pleading in those eyes as if she already knew without being told what was at stake. “I need him.”
    A gift for compulsion would indeed benefit her sales and keep them both from starvation. Creed’s gut tightened. There was no husband or master. Not that he could discern. Without the boy, this woman’s fate would be uncertain and undoubtedly hopeless. Condemning one would mean a death sentence for them both.
    Since Creed sensed nothing but truth in either of them, he saw no pressing reason to remove the boy from his mother. The only fear in her was for her son, and of Creed.
    He released his prisoner. “I don’t doubt your son is good at sales,” he said. “He seems less inclined to use his skills of persuasion to avoid trouble. You might want to impress upon him the advantages of walking away from a fight rather than diving in without careful consideration for the consequences. No one willingly draws the attention of Godseekers.”
    “Thank you,” the woman whispered, her green eyes filling with tears of gratitude and relief.
    Creed walked away without further comment, confident the implicit warning he had delivered was enough. He threaded his way through a crowd that paid him little attention even though he dwarfed most other men. One of an assassin’s greatest attributes was an ability to move about unnoticed, and Creed, thanks to his demon father, was better at it than most.
    He finally located the jail on a narrow street backing the temple. It was flanked by green-fingered desert palms and a faded mercantile. He climbed three stone steps and entered the low building. Inside, the high, narrow windows positioned beneath the ceiling beams offered interior lighting while protecting the room from the worst of the dry desert heat.
    A tall man, seated in a straight-backed chair, bent forward over a heavy oak desk. He coughed into a crumpled handkerchief, his bony shoulders shaking. His face was as gray as the walls. The rattling cough, combined with the unhealthy pallor to his flesh, suggested the odds were good that he was also dying.
    Creed waited in silence until the coughing fit subsided.
    “I’m looking for the sheriff,” he said.
    The man mopped at his mouth with the handkerchief. Although reflecting ill health, his gaze was intelligent and thoughtful, as if he had not yet given up on living. He tapped the badge on his chest, then extended a hand. “You found him. The name’s Fledge.”
    Creed took the offered hand, shaking it as he introduced himself. “I represent the Temple of Immortal Right and the Godseekers. I was told you might have information regarding several children who have gone missing in recent months.”
    Sheriff Fledge tipped back in his chair. “Why would an assassin be interested in a few