The Devil Walks In
Then—
Creak…
The door to the chamber opened, the noise cutting across the maelstrom of voices like a knife.
Golden candlelight spilled out onto the slick floor, stretching the shadows down the hall. All the women turned. Conversations ended in mid-sentence. Breath was suspended, throats constricted. For an instant it seemed that the whole night was holding its breath with them.
From the doorway, a man entered—broad-shouldered, elegant, sporting that lounging haughtiness which but one man in the world could wear like a crown. His golden eyes glowed like twin embers, flaring with the light of the chandelier above. His lips curled into that devil-may-care smile, hard enough to hurt and warm enough to disarmer.
Leon.
The air grew heavy in an instant. Their hearts lagged together, all the women paralysed where they were—either on cushions of silk or at the foot of the bed—as if the mere presence of him pulled weight into the room.
