Chapter 11
“Wake.”
“Huh?” Dove clung to her dream, snuggling deeper into the sofa cushions. “Jason Momoa, you tease.”
“Wake!”
She startled, popping her head off the pillow. “I didn’t touch his trident. I swear.” Her blurry eyes drew into focus. Wait, where did Jason go?
“Release me,”snarled the demanding voice. The one who’d pulled her from Jason’s arms.
She scooched to the edge of the sofa and took in her surroundings. That’s right. She was supposed to be on demon duty. After a hefty dose of Xavier’s pheromones, two glasses of wine, and a stressful stroll with the magister, it was no wonder she’d fallen asleep waiting for Shadow to make an appearance.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She settled her shift around her thighs and padded across the marble to Marcus’s bedroom. Well, what was left of it, anyway. When they’d warded the space, they’d removed most of the furniture and breakables. Inside, the mattress sat crooked on the box spring, the bedding shredded.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Bad demon. How are we going to explain that to housekeeping?”
“Caged me.” The demon spirit glared at her, red eyes glowing in Marcus’s damaged face. At least when Shadow was running the show, she got an unhindered view of his expression. Right now, that expression was fury. He drew back his fist and slammed it into the invisible barrier. The warding lit up like static on a television screen before turning transparent again.
Dove folded her arms, doing her best impersonation of her least favorite Havenhouse instructor. “Yes, we caged you. Until you prove you can play nice and not break things, that is where you’ll stay.”
Shadow-Steel stood braced in the doorway. His muscled chest heaved, the strange emblem in the center bright against his flesh. Black pajama pants hung from his narrow hips. The flesh beneath the cracks of his charred skin glowed with an angry light.
He canted his head, studying the etchings she’d made around the door. Next, he scented the air. Looking for a weakness? Goddess save them if he found one. Perhaps a distraction was in order.
She grabbed the deck of cards she’d left on a side table, then returned. “Since you’re stuck here with only me for entertainment, I thought we’d play a game.” This, she proposed as a suggestion, careful not to present it as a question. Marcus warned her to watch what she said. Just in case she asked about his day and the demon considered their bargain fulfilled.
He studied her a moment, then nodded, settling into a low crouch. Dove dropped to her knees, sitting back on her calves while she shuffled the cards. “I have a new game for you tonight, but first, you’ll need to keep up your end of our agreement.”
He huffed a disgruntled noise. “Asssk.”
“Where precisely are you from?” Knowing the demon’s origins could tell them a lot.
His dark brow lowered. “From the ether.”
She frowned. “What ether?” Earth, land, water, another planet, another realm, another dimension? Even with her limited experience, she knew this was vague.
“One. Not two.” The demon smirked, revealing a bit of fang.
“No.” She pointed a finger at him. “Your answer wasn’t precise. I said precisely.” She would know since Marcus made her repeat the exact phrasing to him twenty million times.
He glanced at the ceiling. “What isss word?”
“Perhaps if you say it in your language, I’ll understand.”
“Carcerem,” he said in a beautiful, rolling accent.
Nope. She had no idea what it meant. “Is it far? Could I pull it up on Google maps?”
“One. Not two.” He tapped a claw-tipped finger on the floor. “Game now.”
“Fine,” she groaned. In all fairness, she’d asked her question and received an answer. That answer being lost in translation wasn’t her fault. Regardless, she’d show Marcus she could get more intel out of the creature without him controlling every word she uttered. After all, you caught more flies with honey than vinegar. Despite what that nasty Carina believed.
“The name of the game is war.”
“War?” The demon perked up, black eyes gleaming, pupils narrowing to tiny red specks. “I like thisss game.”
“Thought you might.” She dealt the cards into two neat piles and pushed his stack over the threshold of the ward, careful not to cross it herself.
“Object is to win all the cards.” While squeezing info out of the demon. He was already familiar with the suits and numbers from playing poker, so she quickly explained the rules and flipped over her first card. “I understand you were pretty upset over the cage.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, flipping over his card and pushing the pile to her when he lost the round.
“Being stuck inside of a host must feel the same, like being trapped.” This was a statement, not a question. She congratulated herself. I am a tricksy interrogator.
“Not cage. Freedom.”
Questions burst into her brain, and she considered the best way to propose them. “You make it sound as though being in a host is better than being in Carcerem.” The next round went to him, and she pushed the cards over.
“Better. Not free in Carcerem.” He glanced around the room, then back at her. For once, she witnessed zero hostility in his eyes.
Wait. She recognized that look. Was that… pity? Her spine stiffened.
“Like you. Not free,” he said, confirming her suspicion.
She hesitated to flip her next card. “What do you mean?” Dang it. She’d asked a question.
He smirked as though he knew she’d screwed up. “Not free.” He pointed at her neck.
Apparently, questions were fine if they were talking about her issues instead of his. Go figure. She rubbed the brand on her throat. “I’m free.”
“Pet,” he sneered, his growly voice taunting.
Outrage pounded in her veins. After an evening of Carina spewing poison at her, belittling her at every turn, throwing her superior position in her face, Dove was over being treated badly. “I am not Marcus’s pet. I’m his Chosen. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She slapped her cards down.
In a flash, sharp claws captured her hand, and her arm wrenched in its socket. Pain exploded through her shoulder, wrenching a scream from her throat. The world spun, and she crashed into a wall of unforgiving muscle. Firm arms slammed around her.
“No.” She gasped, muscles locked up. Once again, terror had turned her into a useless block of ice. The demon had her. How? Her brain struggled to keep up. Her fingers. Dang it. When she slapped her cards down, she’d crossed the barrier. The wily bastard. While she distracted him, he’d distracted her, waiting for his chance to pounce.
She peered up at him, sitting in his lap, his arms two iron bands locked around her torso. The strength in those arms. He’d pop her like a roll of bubble wrap.
“I win.” He grinned down at her, flashing a terrifying number of sharpened teeth.
Spots flashed behind her eyeballs. Her chest tightened.
“Breathe,” Shadow-Steele demanded, sounding an awful lot like his host.
Breathe? Right. Oxygen. She sucked a gulping breath, filling her lungs. What should she do? She should scream, punch him in the larynx, jab her thumb in his eyes, knee him in the gonads. She should… what? In reality, she’d never truly been accosted. In that moment—the moment that really mattered—all the training Vivian had instilled in her, the self-defense classes, the weapons training. All of it went—poof—out the window.
Instead, Dove stared at her attacker, betrayal piercing her chest, bottom lip rolling out. Like an idiot, she’d thought they were connecting. When, in fact, he was plotting against her. “Why?” She panted, swallowing tears. “Why did you do that?” To kill her, to eat her, to break her into a million pieces as he did everything else?
“Curiousss.”
She stared back at him, stunned. “Curious? About me?” This did little to erase visions of her gruesome death at his hands. Was he curious to see how easily her head would twist off? To discover how she would taste? What?
He burrowed his nose into her hair, sniffing. “Sssmell good.”
Like chicken? She hoped not. She needed to get away, back over the threshold to safety. Think, Dove. Think.
“Sssoft.” His scorched fingers abraded her thigh and her brain went fuzzy.
“Hey, now.” She squirmed. “Getting kind of personal. How about you let me go and we’ll talk. If you’re curious, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. My life is an open book.”
He ignored her, continuing to stroke her leg. Gah. He rubbed her like the pet he’d accused her of being. This was so wrong.
Anger slid through her system, melting her frozen limbs. “Listen, I’m not sure about your world, but where I’m from, it’s not acceptable to grab women and fondle them. As a matter of fact, there are some very strict laws against this sort of harassment.” Unless you were in a nightclub on spring break, sandwiched between Armond and his hot boyfriend. Which totally wasn’t the case here.
“Host. Hungersss.” Once more, he ignored her, bent on solving some mystery. Before she could formulate another argument for her release, he added, “For you.”
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut, her pulse quickening. “Excuse me?”
“Hungersss. For you.”
Marcus peered down at her, brow furrowed. Intense look on his demonic face. No. She gritted her teeth. No! Not Marcus. This was not Marcus. He may resemble Marcus. More or less, if her benefactor ever trusted her enough to ditch his hood. Trusted her enough to be this close to her. But what if it was Marcus? Holding her, caressing her thigh. Telling her she smelled good. He certainly looked like Marcus. Ummm. Smelled like Marcus. Felt like…
“Why?” The demon interrupted her fantasy. Again.
“Why?” she asked, a snap of indignation in her tone. Sure, she was nothing like Carina, but she wasn’t that hard on the eyes. For starters, she had a fabulous sense of style and an ass that—
“Why deny hunger?” Shadow-Steele derailed her runaway thoughts, pressing his hand to his beautifully defined abs. Not that she’d looked. Much.
“Oh,” she said without thinking, then processed his words. “Ohhhh. Hunger. Gotcha.” The tips of her ears warmed. Of course Marcus didn’t hunger for her. How silly. She really should have taken a moment to rub out that flame Xavier had stoked at dinner. Darn that incubus and his pheromones.
She racked her befuddled brain for an answer before settling on, “It’s complicated.”
“No,” Shadow-Steele stated, his growling tone firm.
“No?”
“Not complicated.” His husky voice became a low purr. Which was kind of nice, she had to admit.
Again, he nuzzled the side of her head. Jeez. If he liked her shampoo so much, she’d get him a bottle. Let him rub it all over his sexy… Gah! There she went again. Curse you, Xavier.
Next, he moved to her ear, making those deep, rumbly noises. Her eyes rolled back, goose bumps rising. “Um, hey. Shadow demon dude. Maybe we should—”
His lips grazed her throat, soft, teasing. Apparently, her demon could be gentle when he chose. Amazing. Mere hours ago, she’d pictured Marcus this way. Wondered how it would feel to have his arms around her. His mouth pressed intimately against her flesh. Was it so wrong of her to simply enjoy the moment?
Fangs pierced her neck and she gasped, clutching her hand to the back of his head. Euphoria washed over her. Sweet venom, it was a vampire’s aphrodisia. Sure, the demon was calling the shots, but the man who held her was all vampire. Endorphins carried her away on a fluffy cloud. His groan said he’d felt it too. After all, vampires connected with the body and spirit when they fed. In the right hands, it was a beautiful experience. This was what Marcus had denied them both. Why? She couldn’t fathom.
Her demon drank deeply from her, nourished his damaged body. As he should. She was his Chosen. This was how it was meant to be. Her tension eased, muscles relaxing. At last, they were connected. The bond they shared, soothing.
Thoughts grew fuzzy, her limbs loose and heavy. Exhaustion pressed in and her eyelids drooped. The niggling sense that something was wrong stabbed beneath her bliss. Tired? Heavy? Fuzzy?
“Marcus?”
He gripped her tighter, drawing heavily from her vein. No! Adrenaline zinged through her system. This wasn’t Marcus. It was a demon who’d possessed her benefactor, taken possession of his body. He was an inexperienced entity with zero control.
“Stop.” She shoved against his shoulder. “It’s too much. You have to stop.” A low growl rumbled against her neck.
Oh, no, you don’t.She tapped into the dark well at her core. This power, it was hers. Given to her by her faerie ancestors. Like the rest of her weakened body, it was slow to warm up. Her gift trickled up from deep inside of her. It would have to do. Dark energy surged outward from her body, surrounding her and the spirit.
In an otherworldly voice, she commanded, “Release me.”
The demon at her throat flinched and withdrew his bite. Caught in her thrall, he threw back his head, roaring.
In his moment of distraction, Dove wrenched free and tumbled from his arms. She crab-walked, putting space between them. Wide-eyed, she stared at the beast.
Free of her influence, Shadow-Steele stood before the threshold of her carefully constructed ward. His muscular body throbbed with power. Red veins pulsed beneath his charred flesh. Light bulbs exploded, casting the room into thick shadows. The darkness deepened and Dove sank into it, a woman drowning.
“Stronger now,” the demon snarled, eyeing the doorway. He stepped back as though preparing to charge.
Dread twisted her gut. Surely, he couldn’t—
He shot forward, rocketing toward the door. No. No. No! Her heart seized. Skipped. Rose out of her chest.
Shadow-Steele crashed through her warding like a wrecking ball on steroids. Energy shattered. The broken shards stung her exposed skin like angry hornets. She yelped, scrubbing her arms and legs.
Heavy footsteps thumped across the great room. Dove sucked a breath. The demon was loose. In a crowded resort. One housing the magister. Eek! Dove lurched to her feet, then hit her ass. Crap. She was loopy from blood loss. Bad demon!
She found her footing and stumbled from the bedroom.
Shadow-Steel stood posed before the back door. The door that led to the fabulous view she and Celeste had appreciated just yesterday. He eyed the same spectacular view. Moonlit skies fat with stars, white sand, and sparkling water beckoned the beast.
“Shadow, wait. You can’t go out there.”
He glared at her, muscular chest heaving. “No cage,” he snarled in a demonic voice.
“Listen to me, please.” Her knees wobbled, and she slid into a puddle at the side of the sofa. “You don’t want to do this.” And neither do I. Yes, the exterior doors and windows were warded, but given what he’d done to the bedroom, she’d have to intervene.
She didn’t want to intervene. Having a power and wielding it were two different things. One should never use force to resolve problems unless there was no other option. From the look in Shadow’s eyes, she’d hit that wall.
Despite her exhaustion, she tapped into the energy at her center. Shadow had left her depleted. Still, there was enough to get the job done. Even weakened, in that moment, she feared harming him. The command she’d given him to release her was a tap on the nose. This would be more of a roundhouse kick to the face. It was a tenuous situation, holding something fragile, knowing you could break it if you squeezed too hard.
“Free,” Shadow-Steele uttered, high on her faerie blood. The power in her veins was some high-octane stuff. Who could blame a guy for losing it at his first taste? She’d done the same after ingesting some shrooms a few years ago. Thought she could fly. Her ankle ached at the memory. Boy, did that end badly.
As he did with the bedroom ward, the demon reared back, ready to charge. Dove did the same, reaching deep into the well at her center, firing up her mystical generator. If Shadow-Steele got loose on her watch, she’d need to leave the country. Heck, the planet, for that matter. There would be no going home to Vivian. No reunion with Armond. Her ass would be grass and the Council the lawnmower.
Then there was Marcus, whose wrath would be epic—once he resurfaced. Enough said.
Shadow-Steele planted his feet, reared back, and charged. Muscles flexed across his broad shoulders. His demonic skin glowed. His powerful body surged forward, a stallion out of the gate. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, yet horrifying. Her mind took a picture, while her heart seized.
The fiery demon hurled toward the door. Half of his charred body was alight with energy. With life. With vitality. The other half, sleek and well-muscled. Together, Shadow-Steele didn’t limp, didn’t hesitate. He appeared whole, focused on his purpose. On freedom.
Which was why it pained her to yank the celestial rug out from under him.
With her reserves on low, she’d need to let it build first. Pressure squeezed her chest, the sensation like she shook a bottle of champagne. Blond tendrils floated off her shoulders, caught in a mystical breeze. Energized coils spiraled down her arms to her palms. Go time. Dove snapped out her hands, thrusting her power outward. Her magic twisted around the demon, sweeping him up into a cyclone. “Rise, spirit,” she commanded, strength in her words. Up he went.
Whoa.
She’d never levitated a living body before, but it made sense. She controlled the spirit, and the spirit resided in Marcus. Therefore, she controlled Marcus. Ehh, or something like that. She was never good with the particulars of how things worked.
Shadow-Steele hovered above the ground, and his spine arched. “No,” he snarled, thrashing in her grip. “What is thisss? Release me.”
Her arms shook with fatigue. Stupid blood loss. “Play time is over, mister.” In the same dark voice, she commanded, “Sleep.”
Shadow’s head fell back, his body going limp. With her tank on empty, Dove lowered him to the ground. Before he was safe, her power flickered and fizzled. Her captive dropped.
Wack!
His skull cracked on the hardwood, and he collapsed in a boneless lump. Oopsies. She winced.
“Sorry, demon.”
Lights out.