To Desire a Devil by Elizabeth Hoyt

death for years on end, but for the life of him, he hadn’t
     a clue how to reply to this small slip of a girl.
    So it was perhaps just as well that the shot rang out at that moment.

Chapter Four

    Longsword could find no reason this stranger might want a lock of his hair, even for a penny, but he could see no risk to
     himself, either. So thinking to humor the other man, he took his great sword, cut off a lock of hair, and gave it to the Goblin
     King.
    The Goblin King smiled and held out the penny. But the moment Longsword grasped the coin, the ground opened in an enormous
     crack beneath him. The earth swallowed both Longsword and his sword, and he fell far, far below until he landed in the Goblin
     Kingdom.
    There he looked up and saw the Goblin King throw off his velvet cloak. Now were revealed his orange glowing eyes, lank green
     hair, and yellow fangs.
    “Who are you?” Longsword cried.
    “I am the Goblin King,” replied the other. “When you accepted my coin for your lock of hair, you sold yourself into my power.
     For if I cannot have the sword alone, then I will have both you and the sword. . . .”
    —from
Longsword
    Surrounded. The enemy on both sides, shooting from hidden positions, his men screaming as they were picked off. He couldn’t
     form a line of defense, couldn’t rally his troops. They were all going to die if he—
    The second shot rang out. Reynaud found himself on the ground against a carriage, Miss Corning’s sweet, warm body under him.
     Her gray eyes stared up into his, no longer green with anger but only terrified.
    And the screams—the screams were all around him.
    “Descendez!”
Reynaud roared to a soldier sitting in the carriage box looking stupidly around. “Form a line of defense!”
    “What—” Miss Corning began.
    But he ignored her. A man had been hit and was writhing on the top steps of the town house, his blood staining the white stone.
     It was the young soldier, the one who’d been walking with him. Dammit. It was
his
man.
    And he was still exposed.
    “Stay with Miss Corning,” he ordered a nearby soldier.
    The soldier in the box had finally dropped down and lay beside them as well. Where was the sergeant? Where were the other
     officers? They’d all be killed here in the open, caught between the cross fire. Reynaud’s temples throbbed with pain; his
     heart thundered. He had to save his men.
    “Do you understand?” he yelled at the soldier near him.
    The soldier blinked at him, dazed.
    Reynaud took the man by the shoulder and shook him. “Stay with Miss Corning. I’m counting on you.”
    Something in the soldier’s face cleared. His gaze locked on Reynaud’s, just as they always did, and he nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
    “Good man.” Reynaud eyed the soldier on the steps, judging the distance. It had been at least a minute since the last shot.
     Were the Indians still lurking in the woods? Or had they crept away again, silent as ghosts?
    “What are you going to do?” Miss Corning asked.
    Reynaud looked into her clear gray eyes. “Get my man. Stay here. Take this.” He pressed the hilt of his knife into her palm.
     “Don’t move until I tell you.”
    And he kissed her hard, feeling life—his and hers—coursing through his veins. Dear God, he had to get her away from here.
    He got up before she could voice her protest and ran to the steps, keeping his upper body low. He paused by the moaning soldier
     only long enough to grab the man under the arms. The boy screamed as Reynaud pulled him to the front door, the sound high
     and animal, a cry of primeval agony. So many were in agony. So many were dead. And all so young.
    The third bullet hit the door frame as Reynaud yanked his man through, splinters of wood exploding against his cheek.
    Reynaud was panting, but the boy was out of the line of fire at least. The bastard couldn’t shoot him again, couldn’t scalp
     him as he lay dying.
Her brown eyes stared up through a mask of blood, dull and