Devil’s Kiss Read Online Free PDF

equally jeweled. Though the man’s clothing and sword invited admiration, it was his face that truly arrested the eye. He seemed the same age as Whit, yet the stranger’s hair was purely white—and not from powder, nor was it a wig. He wore it tied back and bagged in black silk.
    And his eyes were the color of diamonds, the irises colorless, yet burning.
    “Holy God,” breathed Leo.
    The stranger smiled. It was a cold smile, the same one Whit had observed at the gaming table many times, one he had given just as frequently. Full of calculation, a gesture designed to unsettle rather than put at ease.
    “Oh, not Him,” the stranger said. He looked at each of the men in the chamber, Whit included. “I must thank you, gentlemen. Over a millennium in that wretched box can grow exceedingly tedious.”
    “Who ... who are you?” Bram demanded.
    The stranger looked droll as he flicked at the lace at his cuffs. “Must I explain?”
    Whit’s heart beat thickly in the confines of his chest. He thought certainly that what appeared before him must be some variety of illusion, brought forth from either an intemperate night or perhaps some Gypsy’s engineered trick, for well-dressed men did not simply emerge from ancient Roman boxes.
    “No trick,” murmured the stranger, as if reading Whit’s thoughts. “No result of too many cups of wine. I am as real as you, Whit.”
    Whit started upon hearing the stranger speak his name. He’d never met the man before. Not in any ballroom or brothel.
    “Of course I know your name, Whit.” The stranger never lost his smile. “I know you very well, just as I know Bram, Leo, Edmund, and John.” He stared at them each in turn, the five of them rooted to where they stood. “Though that”—he gestured disdainfully at the scroll lying on the ground—“kept me prisoner these long years, I still watched, still learned. I might not have had the use of my power, but I could yet gather intelligence as the world changed around me. And you dear Hellraisers have been most entertaining and educational.”
    A snort of disbelief came from Bram.
    John gulped, “Are you really ...”
    “The Devil?” finished Whit, hardly believing he spoke such words.
    The stranger made a dismissive wave with his pale hand. A black stone ring glinted on his littlest finger. “Such an unappealing name. Without a shred of poetry. If you like, you may call me ...” He thought for a moment. “Mr. Holliday.”
    Bram laughed, though the sound was more of a harsh grate than a laugh. “I’ve heard more truth from a mountebank.”
    A flicker of annoyance crossed Mr. Holliday’s face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “You desire proof? As you wish.”
    The stone chamber vanished. A glittering salon took its place. The walls were covered with gilded woodwork and rich tapestries. Closer inspection revealed that the tapestries depicted vices of the most depraved order, things that shocked even Whit. Crystal chandeliers gleamed with the light of thousands of candles. Music filled the air, though Whit could see no musicians. Elaborately carved furniture filled the room, and upon marble-topped tables rested silver pitchers, goblets, and platters heaped with delicacies. Whit smelled the sweet grapes and savory capons, reminding him that he had not dined. Another table had dice and decks of cards—a temptation.
    Women lounged upon settees, their soft limbs and bodies barely hidden by loose, transparent gowns. They stared at Whit and the other men with blatant enticement, offering their own temptation. Bram growled as he stared at them, and the women laughed, their laughter like chiming glass.
    “Whatever you want, gentlemen,” Mr. Holliday said, “I can provide.”
    “This could be an illusion,” John noted, ever the skeptic. “Something performed with mirrors.”
    “Of course, a learned scholar would demand further evidence.” Mr. Holliday snapped his fingers, and one of the women drifted up from