Demon Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

procession
formed in her wake. Mirra was surprised to see every race of dark
folk represented. Usually they were reclusive, and normal people
rarely saw them.
    Dirty, unshaven men swaggered
amongst them, leering at her, their rank stench thickening the air.
She fought the urge to hold a hand over her nose and smiled at
them. When she came to a man who lay on the ground, a bloody
bandage around his leg, she stopped. His pain called out to her,
and she slipped from the gnomes' grip to kneel beside him. At her
touch the wound healed, and the man stared at her, then the gnomes
grabbed her and trundled her away.
    They led her to a leather tent
in the middle of the camp, which had an un-trampled area around it.
The crowd of muttering soldiers followed, and formed a wide circle
around the tent. A troll who stood at the door ducked inside and
reappeared quickly. Considering the huge stature and massive
strength of the black-haired sub-human, his darting eyes and
fearful demeanour surprised her. The yellow tusks that curved up
from his lower jaw pulled his face into a glum expression.
    "Is this where your sick boss
is?" Mirra started forward, but the gnomes held her back.
    "Wait!" the leader said, looking
nervous.
    Mirra glanced at the crowd
behind her. No healers accompanied this army, and the men's glares
were distinctly hostile. She raised a hand to fondle her silver
necklace, trying to calm her pounding heart by assuring herself
that even enemy troops needed a healer's services.
    Mirra looked around as a man
stepped from the tent. Her heart contracted painfully as her gaze
met his, and she gasped. A thick mane of jet hair framed the face
of a demon crossed with an angel. His alabaster skin, which
appeared never to have seen the sun, lay taut over sculpted
features. Fine brows angled up sharply above long-lashed eyes of
blue as vivid as a flame's bright heart. An artist striving for
perfection in a godly form might have sculpted his straight, narrow
nose. His only flaw was a slightly thin-lipped mouth twisted in a
contemptuous sneer.
    The contrast in his face amazed
and fascinated her. His deep widow's peak and slanted brows gave
him a demonic, evil look, while his skin and eyes made him resemble
a fallen angel. Lines of strain and anger furrowed the skin between
his brows, and his eyes were bloodshot. The layered wings of glossy
hair fell to his broad shoulders, and matched the ankle-length
cloak that hung from them.
    Flame-like patterns of fine gold
embroidery decorated the front of his shirt, and silver-studded
leather wrist guards encircled his forearms. Mirra sensed the pain
radiating from him, echoed in his tormented eyes, and was surprised
when the gnomes scuttled away, apparently afraid of him. His aura
of power did not daunt her. Healers were trained to be unaffected
by such things, since even kings and queens must seek their help at
times. His obvious need of her help calmed her fears, and she
smiled as she stepped forward to offer her services in the manner
in which she had been trained.
    "May the goddess bless you, and
her power heal you through me."
    His cold eyes never left her
face as he spoke in a soft, menacing voice. "I doubt that, little
girl."
    Mirra laughed, and he winced as
if it hurt his ears. "I am certain that whatever your illness is, I
can help you."
    "You were not brought here to
help me."
    Mirra stepped closer, which
seemed to surprise him, for his brows rose a fraction. "But I can
stop your pain."
    "Really." His eyes glinted.
    Mirra reached up to touch his
brow. His skin was cool and satin smooth. He regarded her flatly,
his eyes filled with cruel anticipation. She snatched her hand away
and rubbed it as she retreated a step, uncertain. Her healing
seemed to bounce off him as if a wall blocked it. She sensed a
strangeness deep within him, which confused her. It was as if a
barrier lived just under his skin, and spurned her healing.
    His lips twisted into a sneering
smile. "Your magic will not work on