Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter two
Chapter Three
Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
CHAPTER EXCERPTS FROM SELECTED
Deep, aching need uncoiled in a powerful wave, sensitizing every nerve, every cell inside her.
"It's the magic," Dain rasped, staring down at her, his expression hard. "Dark magic."
Vivien was crushed by the weight of her arousal, by the need to take him, make them both scream. She shook her head wildly from side to side. She was panting and would kill to have his naked skin against her own. The need to touch him, to taste him, to feel him deep inside her, was a living torment coiling through her.
"I'll die if I don't have you. Is that what you mean about dark magic? That these feelings are outside my control?" ™
"No. The demon magic isn't strong enough to follow us here. Whatever you're feeling, whatever I'm feeling, is real. And it's ours."
"Then let me have you," she whispered.
Please turn the page for more raves for Eve Silver.
ACCLAIM FOR EVE SILVER'S BESTSELLING NOVEL
DEMON'S KISS
"A lush, sensual, and compelling read… Eve Silver makes magic in this novel about sorcerers, demons, and dangerous desires."
-Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author of Shadow Magic
A great tale… Demon's Kiss is an original Silver, but readers will know it is pure gold."
-Midwest Book Review
"Four-and-a-half stars! Top pick! Silver fills her tale with conflict, danger, and passion." -Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
"A magical story filled with sexual tension and danger… Thank goodness… there will be more of
Silver's Sorcerers!"
-TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
"Fabulous… Ciarran is just about the perfect hero… I eryoyed this one quite a lot… can't wait for the next story in the series."
-BellaOnline.com
"Witty and sexy… a fun read. I er'tjoyed every page."
-FreshFiction.com
"Dark and edgy action… Silver plays up the tall, dark, and tortured immortal very well in Ciarran."
-BookLoons.com
"A writer who must be a mage as her novels entice human readers to become deeply involved."
-Midwest Book Review
ATTENTION CORPORATIONS AND ORGANIZATIONS:
Most Hachette Book Group USA books are available at quantity discounts with bulk purchase for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information, please call or write:
Special Markets Department, Hachette Book Group USA
Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Telephone: 1-800-222-6747 Fax: 1-800-477-
Demons Hunger
Eve Silver
FOREVER
NEW YORK BOSTON
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright © 2008 by Eve Silver
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Diane Luger Cover illustration by Craig White Hand lettering by Ron Zinn
Forever
Hachette Book Group USA
Park Avenue
New York, NY
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com
Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group USA, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America First Printing: December
To Rena, Caryn and Shimmy You know why …
From the shadows, Gavin Johnston watched the play of expressions cross the girl's face as she struggled to stay awake. He knew what thoughts tugged at her through the haze, knew that the alley spun and darkened as she struggled to focus, shape and form dancing beyond her grasp.
He'd tried three of the common drugs on himself first, just so he'd know what it was like. GHB, Rohypnol, ketamine. Rohypnol turned blue when he dropped the pills in liquid, which made it less than ideal for his use.
He liked GHB best. No odor. No color. He'd used it on a dozen women in recent months. The last one had died. Not his fault. She'd choked on her own vomit.
The girl on the ground moaned as her head lolled to the side. Her eyes moved slowly from left to right. She must be wondering what she was doing out here. Or perhaps she was too far gone for that.
Did she remember staggering to the bathroom? Did she remember that he'd looped her arm across his shoulders and half carried her out the back door to the alley, where he'd laid her down by the Dumpster beneath the dark night sky?
The rancid stink rising from the Dumpster slapped him. She must have smelled it, too, because she tried to roll away but managed only to shift from her side to her back before her body betrayed her.
He smiled, finding humor in her distress. Did she wonder how she'd gotten so drunk on only a single glass of wine? Or did she realize that he had put something in her drink?
Her eyes opened, drifted shut, opened again, then focused on him. She was pretty. Very pretty. Olive skin. Dark hair, sleek and smooth, fanning out against the ground. Great body, encased in a tight little skirt and low-cut top. No bra.
"Are you woozy, pretty girl?" he asked with a nasty laugh, knowing she was. Enjoying the fact that she was weak and vulnerable.
Earlier tonight, he'd been the weak one. Vulnerable. He'd been the one tormented.
It had been a mistake, allowing himself to be in that position, but this was his opportunity to remedy that, his chance to be strong.
The bare bulb over the bar's back door cast a yellow circle of light, and he had no liking for that. Grabbing her under her armpits, he dragged her along the pavement into the shadows. A quick glance up and down the alley confirmed they were completely alone.
Hunkering down beside her, he stroked her hair back from her face. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, and for a moment, they looked far too lucid for his taste. Then her lids drifted shut, and he relaxed.
He undid the button of his jeans, then the zipper, metal sliding over metal with a dull rasp.
The girl's eyes flicked open, pinned him with a hard, cold gaze, dark and glittering. Fever bright.
He froze, the first lick of unease touching him like the flicker of a flame.
"Don't stop now," she whispered, her lips curving to reveal animal-white teeth as she dropped her gaze to his crotch.
Whoa. Gavin's thoughts slammed into each other. She shouldn't be speaking. The drug… She shouldn't be able to speak-
"I told you not to stop," she murmured.
The air around her shimmered, like heat rising off pavement. He caught glimpses of talons and incredibly long teeth, and he jerked back, suddenly afraid that he'd accidentally given the drug to himself.
Unease turned to icy fear, even though he couldn't say why. She was just a girl, a drugged girl, lying on the cold ground. Only, she was something more, something… dark. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his blood pounded hard in his ears.
What the hell? What the fucking hell?
He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself. He wanted to get up and run. But his muscles wouldn't obey him, and, against his will, his hands stayed on the open fly of his jeans.
All he could do was kneel by her side as she reached for him, escalating fear congealing in his gut. All he could do was gasp as she tore his shirt open from neck to hem, then tore his skin, her nails raking him, leaving four deep furrows on his chest.
With a low hum of pleasure, she brought her bloodied fingers to her mouth, licked them clean.
Her teeth… What the hell was with her teeth?
She wasn't human. He could see that now. Oh, God, she wasn't human.
He was going to be sick. The fear inside him kindled and swelled until it grew to a roaring blaze.
He was still on his knees at her side, and he swayed, dizzy with fear and horror, desperate to get up and run, to be anywhere but here. Only, his limbs wouldn't do what he told them, wouldn't obey the commands of his brain.
"Not a very nice feeling, is it?" she asked, her voice so incredibly sexy, making him hard even through his terror. And that frightened him even more, until all he knew was the great crashing waves of his panic.
She kept talking, low murmurs of encouragement and reassurance. With a smile, she struck, her fingers curled like talons. Pain rocked him, sharp and deep.
At first, he thought she'd punched him.
The breath whooshed out of him in a quick exhale. He doubled over, feeling as though not just his breath was dragged from him, but his life, in one great, sucking pull.
He looked down. Stared at his belly in mute horror.
She hadn't punched him.
Blood spurted over her wrist, her forearm. His gut was ripped open, her hand inside him. Inside him. His head jerked up, and he looked into the swirling depths of her too-black eyes.
Wrenching agony exploded inside him.
Rearing up, she cupped her free hand against the base of his skull, pressed her mouth to his, and swallowed his agonized screams.
He was alone, horny, and in possession of a partially scorched demon bone. Perfect.
Only the last of the three problems was new, but it sure wouldn't provide a solution for the previous two.
Dain Hawkins raked his fingers through the shaggy layers of his dark hair and gave a low, mordant laugh. Moon-spun purple shadows and pale gray light sliced across his denim-clad thigh, then fanned along the row of brick, stucco, and marble vaults of New Orleans's oldest cemetery. St. Louis #1.
He crouched, waiting, hidden by the white Greek-revival tomb at his side-the voodoo queen's tomb. It was covered in small x's drawn there for luck and festooned with the offerings of the faithful: votives, flowers, hoodoo money-coins left to buy favors.
But Dain wasn't here for voodoo magic tonight. As a sorcerer, he didn't need that kind of help.
He was here for hybrids, brutish creatures that had been human once. Faced with death, they had chosen
to allow demon will to overtake their souls, to become slavish minions of the Solitary, a malevolent demon of immeasurable power that wanted only to cross the wall between dimensions and turn the human realm into his own personal feeding farm.
Dain smiled mirthlessly. Not while he breathed.
The air was crisp with a hint of winter chill. He smelled the faintest trace of brimstone, sensed the ripple of evil that hung over the graveyard, a fetid mist.
Yeah, he'd come to the right place.
He rose, the material of his long black coat flowing behind him, an undulating shadow. Walking to the end of the row, he turned and moved on through the city of the dead. Some rows were straight, some twisted, and still others led to blind ends in a tangled maze of family tombs: miniature houses for the dead, complete with low iron fences. Many tombs had been restored since the hurricane; others still bore their crumbled corners, decimated by time and storm, jutting out like barren bones.
Bones. Dain's lips twisted. He was here for more than the hybrids. He was here because of the blackened bone that sat heavily in the pocket of his long coat, burning through the layers of cloth and into his skin like a brand. He hated the feel of it, the revolting aura that was so strong it sucked the breath from his lungs. Demon stink and terrible demon power clung to it.
Weeks past, Dain's contemporary, Ciarran D'Arbois had slammed shut a portal between the demon realm and the dimension of man, and in so doing had maimed the Solitary. The demon's foot had been severed when the door closed, leaving the powerful demon trapped in the pit that had spawned it. Dain had found all that remained in the human realm-a single burnt and blackened bone that carried vestiges of horrific, dark magic.
Since that night, he'd kept the thing locked away in a vault in his home, but he'd dared not leave it unattended while he came to New Orleans. Still, he wondered if he was crazy to carry it about.
Choices, choices. No one to trust but himself. That lesson had been hard learned.
Reflected in the smooth surface of a puddle were the outline of a cross and the round bright shape of the moon. Dain looked up at the top of a nearby vault, at the cross there, and at the statue of the weeping woman on the tomb next to it. His booted feet scattered the reflections as he walked on.
He made no effort to hide his progress. Let them hear him. He was spoiling for a fight, had been for weeks, ever since the night the Solitary had almost crossed over. That night, Dain had learned that the Ancient-the oldest and most powerful of the Compact of Sorcerers- had betrayed them, choosing to ally with the demons. The Ancient had been his mentor, his friend.
Now, his enemy.
Following instinct, Dain navigated the maze of vaults and low iron fences. At length, he came upon a wider space with a lone, black tomb, brick and plaster torn open to reveal a musty, gaping hole. An old rotting casket had been dragged out into the moonlight, the lid ripped off; around it crowded a half-dozen hybrids, casting long, menacing shadows.
Their clothing was stained, mottled, heavy with the metallic scent of fresh blood. Dain could tell they had fed recently. Not on the long-decomposed remains from the casket. No, they had hunted and killed before coming here to the cemetery. Hybrids liked their prey alive. Their meat bloody.
And human.
It was the only thing that offered even a temporary relief from the endless physical pain of their existence-a small matter that the demons invariably failed to mention when they tempted the dying to become hybrid.
With narrowed eyes, Dain studied the group. They had no idea he was here. Normally, they would have sensed the herald of his light magic long before this, but the malevolent power of the charred bone was so great it obscured much. Hell, he was slathered so thick with the demon aura, they probably mistook his presence as just another of their own.
A valuable stealth tool.
Problem was, he was having trouble sensing them as well. The longer he carried the bone on his person, the more inured he became, less attuned to the current of demon magic. A danger, to be sure, but one that could not be avoided. Hybrids were robbing graves all over the world without subtlety or discretion, but with what Dain suspected was a definite plan. Until he figured out what the hell was going on, the scorched demon bone wasn't going anywhere without him.
Yeah, him and his bone, inseparable.
Hanging in the shadows, Dain clenched his teeth, battling the urge to call his full power and step into the circle of hybrids. While a fight might relieve his tension, it wouldn't get him answers. He'd wait and watch just a little longer. Whatever the hybrids were after, it had something to do with the Solitary-and with rotted human corpses.
With a high cackling laugh, one of the hybrids yanked something from the open casket before him: a bony forearm and hand, stripped of flesh by years and inevitable decay, held together by fragile remnants of desiccated tissue. Dangling from the moldered fingers was a tattered and rotting cloth pouch.
Frowning, Dain stepped closer. A voodoo gris-gris? A charm bag buried with the dead?
Whatever was in that pouch had demon stink all over it. The damned bone in his pocket heated, the sensation burning, bright and hot, through his coat and jeans and into the skin and muscle of his thigh. Evil called to evil.
The hybrids were after that charm bag, which meant he was too.
Dain stepped forward into the moonlight. One of the hybrids jerked its head back and spun to face him.
So much for the covert approach.
The thing lunged with a feral cry. In a smooth execution of movement, Dain tucked, rolled, and rose, avoiding the attacking creature, coming up next to the one that held the gris-gris. He plucked the cloth bag from the hybrid's grasp. It was red velvet, stitched with red thread.
Old. Very old. Bound by spells to protect the contents and stave off decay in the moist heat of New Orleans. Dain felt rank evil ooze from the small bag and into his hand's flesh and bone. The continuum, the dragon current-an endless river of energy that flowed between dimensions-shifted and writhed in protest of the unnatural shift in balance.
With a howl, the hybrid he'd robbed swiped at him, a rake of clawed fingers. Dain jerked aside, shoved the pouch into his pocket-the one that didn't hold the demon bone-and leaped back so he was at the edge of the open space, a tomb at his back.
The hybrids advanced on him in a loose semicircle.
Dain called up a little more of his power, enough to let the hybrids sense his magic, let them know for certain that he was a light sorcerer. That was his warning to them, his single offer of reprieve. They could flee and he would not chase them, or they could attack and he would cut them down.
They hesitated, confused by the impossible mix of light magic and demon aura that clung to him, darkness oozing from the scorched bone that had become his constant companion.
He conjured a six-foot staff of acacia wood, ancient, deadly, and he waited.
Snarling, the closest hybrid fell on him like a rabid dog. Declining to summon more of his magic, Dain fought, preferring for now the physical release of punch and thrust and kick, even when they piled on him, six-to-one.
Claws sank into his chest, raking deep, and a fist to the jaw rocked his head back. He gave as he got, a jab with his staff, and then he tossed it high in the air, twisted a hybrid's head from its neck, and snapped out his hand to catch his staff on the descent, his fingers slick with black blood.
The hybrid's remains bubbled and hissed and, finally, disintegrated in a stinking gray sludge.
Another hybrid moved into the place of the first. Dain let emotion take him, rage and pain at the Ancient's betrayal, the memory of his mentor's treachery still cutting as sharp as a finely honed blade. Grief was there, too, and a centuries' old hatred of demons and their ilk, feeding his actions until there was a thick morass of bubbling ooze at his feet.
A single hybrid backed away, the only one left standing. It stood shivering, frozen in terror, then fell to its knees before him. Dain stared at it, chest heaving. The charred bone in his pocket heated with a gruesome energy, a forbidden magic, and the continuum writhed at the insult.
Temptation wheedled through him, and with it came a foreign and ugly craving for just one more kill.
Kill, kill, kill.
That was new.
What the hell was wrong with him?
The bone, the goddamned demon bone.
Well, it would be disappointed if it wanted to lure him to the dark side. Sorcerers were guardians, not indiscriminate murderers.
Pressing a hand to the deep gouges that scored his chest, Dain spat blood. He was breathing heavily, and his pulse pounded a hard beat in his ears.
"Go," he snarled, and the hybrid didn't wait for a second invitation. It scrabbled back like a crab, then rolled and stumbled to its feet, weaving as it ran through the graveyard, the sound of its footsteps echoing hollowly.
* *
Standing in the roadway, Vivien Cairn watched the taillights of her mother's rental car grow smaller and smaller in the distance. She took the first easy breath she'd had in days. Why had she imagined that moving entire time zones away would alter her mother's schedule?
Araminta arrived like clockwork, three times a year: one visit on Vivien's birthday, one visit on Halloween (no explanation for that particular date, but Vivien had long ago ceased pondering the strange workings of her mother's mind), and one visit on the anniversary of the day Vivien's father had walked out. She would call a half hour before her arrival on Vivien's doorstep, and then she would simply appear, her straight dark hair bobbed to her chin, perfectly dyed and trimmed, her thin lips radiating her disapproval, her lush figure and gorgeous face never showing any signs of age.
They never discussed it, but Vivien couldn't imagine her mother surviving in a time before Botox. At least, she assumed it was Botox, because Araminta held on to her youth with amazing tenacity. She looked young enough to be Vivien's sister.
Rubbing her knuckles lightly along her breastbone, Vivien sighed in half relief, half regret. This visit had ended with the exact sentiment that every such visit had ended with for the past fifteen years.
"Vivien," her mother had said moments ago, taking her daughter's hands in a firm grip. Her eyes had been narrow and intent as she tipped her head back a little and studied Vivien under the overhead porch light, her voice ringing with the hollow echo of vast disappointment and despair. "You are your father's daughter in every sense. There is nothing of me in you. Nothing."
Vivien Cairn-BSc, MSc, PhD, assistant professor of Anthropology at UTM (University of Toronto at Missis-sauga), currently on sort-of sabbatical-was the bane of her mother's existence.
"And why did you do this to your hair?" Araminta had reached up and flicked the edges of Vivien's spiky new cut.
"I cut it. It's easier this way."
After a paralyzing moment where Vivien had considered physically moving her mother into the car, Araminta had heaved a weighty sigh, the sort of sigh that meant that a nuclear holocaust was about to fall upon unsuspecting humanity. Then with a perfunctory kiss to Vivien's cheek, which Vivien had dutifully stooped to accept, Araminta had turned and left. Thank God.
There was something to be said for routine.
Now, the red taillights winked and disappeared completely as the road was swallowed by the night, and Vivien walked back toward the house.
At the bottom of the stairs, she slowed, glanced about, the winter air cutting through her sweater. Unease crawled through her like a centipede.
She continued up the stairs, then paused on the porch and wrapped her arms around herself. Turning slowly, she scanned the yard, her pulse speeding up just a little.
Something felt wrong. There was no particular reason for the chill that touched her or for the uncomfortable wriggling low in her gut, but instinct whispered that she was not alone.
For weeks, she'd been feeling off. As though unseen
eyes watched her from the shadows. It was crazy. She knew that. There wasn't actually anyone there. She'd even had a friend, Paul Martinez-an officer who'd worked with her on the ostrich farm case-stomp through the trees with her, searching for signs of hidden watchers. They'd found nada. Zip. Zilch. But they'd done it in the daylight. Maybe that was the difference.
Not for the first time, Vivien wondered what had possessed her to buy this relic of a house on Sideroad Sixteen, where her nearest neighbor was a tree farmer five miles up the road and where the road itself was an unpaved stretch of dirt with row upon row of tree-farm trees on one side and an endless field of six-foot-high uncut grass on the other.
She'd wanted privacy, and she'd definitely got it.
Pulling the front door closed behind her, she turned the dead bolt, locking out the night. She took off her sweater, hung it on a peg, and chose a red lollipop from the bowl on the entry-hall table. Popping it in her mouth, she savored the tangy sweetness and continued down to the basement. The overhead lights were bright, her work table clean and tidy, with six very old red velvet bags and their contents arranged in clear containers, lined neatly side by side.
Though she knew perfectly well the contents of each and every pouch, she washed her hands and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, ready to examine things she had looked at innumerable times. It wasn't a mere urge; it was a compulsion. Great. She wasn't just imagining people watching her; she was starting to show signs of OCD. She sighed. What was next? Washing her hands fifty times a day? Checking the stove in triplicate before she believed she'd turned it off?
She reached for the first bag, the one from her father, one of the three things she had to remind her that she'd ever had a father. He had left her with a threadbare red velvet bag, a single photo of a tall handsome man with mahogany-brown hair and hazel eyes just like hers, and a cold and bitter mother who had never gotten over the fact that he'd walked out on her and their two-year-old daughter, never to be seen or heard from again. At least, Vivien assumed that bitterness was the motivator for her mother's behavior.
The sins of the fathers… Araminta had never forgiven the daughter.
Not that her mother didn't love her. She did. In her own really special, controlling, eternally disappointed kind of way. And it wasn't that Vivien didn't love her mother. She did, in a thank-heaven-she-visits-only-three-times-a-year kind of way.
They got along fine over the phone. E-mail was even better.
Vivien ran her index finger along the worn velvet. With its contents of salt, red pepper, colored stones, and bones, the bag resembled a voodoo gris-gris. But the bones themselves were far older than the cloth. A puzzle. There were other things she'd found in the bag: hair, desiccated skin fragments. Definitely a charm bag of some sort. And her father had left it for her. The why of that nagged at her more and more of late.
Leaning forward, she studied the bones, let herself slide into the cool familiarity of anthropologist mode. Phalanges: finger bones. Very old. Human. Three of them, all from the same finger. There was a deep slash across the middle phalanx, as though a blade had hacked at it.
Each of the bags she had acquired through the years had similar contents. Different colored stones. Different bones: fragments of a twelfth rib; a second cervical vertebra broken into three pieces; a fragmented fifth lumbar vertebra; three cuneiforms from the right foot, two of which bore slashes from what appeared to be the same instrument that had marked the finger bone. All the bits and parts had come from the same person. A male.
Who? Why? How had his skeletal remains ended up scattered over the globe in little red velvet sacks?
And why did she keep stumbling across them?
She'd found one in a head shop on Queen Street years ago when she'd first moved to Toronto. It had been in the display window, a small red velvet bag sewn with red thread. She recalled how she'd stopped dead in her tracks, amazed, determined to buy the thing, because it was an exact match for the one her dad had left for her. Then she'd unearthed one in a shop in New Orleans- she'd been in town for a four-day conference. One in Paris-again, a conference. The shop owner had insisted that the bag came from an aristocrat, a confidante of Marie Antoinette, a woman who'd clutched the bag as she was guillotined. The story was gruesome. Maybe the shopkeeper had thought it would up the price.
Another from London from a tiny little store that had smelled like old books and rot. That bag had carried the dubious distinction of having been owned by a victim of Jack the Ripper. Supposedly.
The most recent bag had come to her just last week, in the mail, delivered in a plain brown paper package with no distinctive labels and no return address. Its arrival had creeped her out. She couldn't think of anyone who knew she collected these bags, certainly no one who would send one to her anonymously.
Icy fingers skittered over her skin, and she shuddered, set down the bones, and rose to turn a slow circle. Not alone. Not alone. The certainty was so strong, but no one was there. The room spun, and Vivien steadied herself against the side of the table. Her eyes stung, and she felt an overwhelming fatigue, soul-deep, a frozen ache.
Pressing her fist against her forehead, she took a slow breath. Maybe she needed food. Her mother's visits always decimated her appetite, and she'd barely eaten over the past couple days. She tidied her work area and turned toward the stairs. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled and rose.
Someone was watching her.
She spun. Her gaze shot to the small basement window high on the wall.
Nothing. Just a thin glimpse of star-dusted sky.
She blew out a hard breath as she stalked up the stairs, wanting to wish it all away, wanting to crawl into her bed and pull the quilt up until it made a warm little cave, wanting to sleep until she could wake up and feel like herself again, without premonitions and suspicions and paranoia that she was being watched.
Pausing in the kitchen doorway, she pondered her meal choices, finally opting for soup. Absently, she opened the tin, dumped the contents in a mug, and set the auto-reheat function on the microwave for one serving, her foot tapping out a rhythm as she waited for the microwave to beep. Then she took her steaming mug to the back door, where she stood, leaning her shoulder against the cold glass, blowing on the hot soup and looking out at the back deck.
Winter sunlight streamed over the wood, kissing it with warm highlights. Sunlight.
No moon or stars in sight.
OK God
The mug slipped from her nerveless fingers, falling, falling, until it hit the wood floor with a sharp crack, spraying soup in an arc, droplets speckling her jeans and slippers.
Vivien slapped both palms against the glass and stood, shivering, staring at the cloudless blue sky. Sunlight. Sunlight
She looked at her watch. 8:30. In the morning. She'd lost twelve hours.
Again.
Darqun Vane sat at the scratched and dented counter, his index finger tapping a slow rhythm on the yellowed Formica. He smelled burnt toast and mildew. Two of the fluorescent bulbs overhead were dead, lending a shadowy cast to the gloomy booths, the empty tables, the thick layer of dust on the faded photographs that lined the walls. At the far end of the counter, a frail old man slouched over his breakfast. The waitress leaned one shoulder tiredly against the wall, wiping mugs with a dingy gray towel. A guy with lank, greasy hair and a beige overcoat staggered past Darqun on his way to the bathroom.
That was the sum total of the diner's patrons.
Not exactly a hopping place.
Darqun took a slow breath. This silent little diner, with its musty smell and dirty windows, was not his kind of place. He needed sound and light and human warmth, the smells of perfume and smoke and sweat, the throb of life that pulsed in a crowd. There was no music here, no hum of a television set; the waitress had told him it was broken when he'd asked. Briefly, he pondered calling on his magic for a little sorcerer-style repair, then decided the notice it would draw wasn't worth the effort.
With studied care, he took the last sip of his coffee and fiddled with the empty creamers lined up like little brown garbage bins. Eventually, he signaled for a refill. The quiet made his skin crawl. He'd spent an eternity alone, so alone, without a single living thing to ease the silence. He never chose solitude now. This morning, it was an unpleasant necessity.
Because last night, with his arms wrapped around the pretty lawyer he'd coaxed to his bed, he had slept and dreamed of a caduceus, and he'd dreamed of a restaurant called Abe's Eats. So here he was, waiting.
Opening his senses, Darqun probed for magic. Nothing. Not a whisper of demon or hybrid. Still, something felt off, the dragon current flickering and twitching like a poorly wired lightbulb.
A blast of cool air swirled through the restaurant as another patron pushed open the door. Studying the new arrival, Darqun tapped his index finger once, twice, then paused. Toronto was having an unseasonably warm winter, but the guy was wearing just a T-shirt and jeans, no coat, which struck Darqun as odd. The newcomer was shaking, his skin puckered into gooseflesh.
"Cold morning," Darqun said.
The guy's bleary gaze roved the floor, the walls, and then locked on Darqun. He sidled closer. "Uh, yeah, it is cold. Yeah. Listen"-he swallowed-"I'm not cruising you or anything, but do you mind if I sit here? Talk a bit. I-" He paused, shook his head. "It's been a long day. I just need to talk to someone. I can't stomach being alone right now, ya know?"
Darqun nodded. Yeah, he knew. "Stool's free. You're welcome to it."
The guy sat, slumping forward with his elbows on the counter, the heels of his palms pressed to his forehead. Darqun tensed as the smell hit him. Demon stink. A touch of brimstone. The newcomer had no magic of his own, but he'd recently come in contact with something that did. A hybrid? A demon ?
Darqun signaled the waitress, who brought the coffee pot and a menu, then wandered off, looking none too happy.
Thrusting his hand at Darqun, the guy introduced himself. "Uh, John Weston. I'm… uh… I'm an intern." His palm was damp, hot, and the taste of dark magic that leached into Darqun's skin was acrid and raw.
"Darqun Vane." Doctor John Weston. Interesting, given his dream of the caduceus. "Doctor, huh?"
"Don't… um… call me Dr. Weston. Just call me John." He poured sugar into his coffee-one packet, two, three, four-smoothing the wrinkled paper of each one and lying them in a neat and tidy stack. Then he stirred and stirred, the metal spoon rasping faintly against ceramic. Finally, he picked up the cup, swallowed, and turned to Darqun, his expression bemused. "I don't take sugar," he said, frowning.
Darqun called the waitress, asked for a fresh cup.
Conversation turned to the weather, traffic, sports. Darqun guided it to easy things, nonthreatening. Patience, patience. He could simply steal John's thoughts, use one of his unique sorcerer enhancements to take the answers he wanted. But the trauma of that to a mortal mind might leave the doctor a babbling husk, and that would breach the Pact, the eternal agreement that governed the actions of all those with magical bent, an agreement so old it predated human measure of time.
Breakfast arrived-eggs, toast, sausage, bacon. John stared at the meat for a very long time and then carefully removed the sausage and set it aside with a shudder. He lifted his fork, poked at the eggs, sighed.
"Lousy night," he said. "Goddamned lousy night."
"Is that right?" Darqun rested his forearm across the counter, let his weight slouch to one side, relaxed, friendly.. Every instinct screamed that he was here at Abe's Eats to learn this man's story. Dr. John Weston. The caduceus from his dream. The reason Darqun had forced himself to come to this miserable little diner before he needed to meet up with Ciarran and Dain.
"Goddamned lousy night." John banged his forehead slowly against his upraised fist. Then he looked at Darqun, his expression stark. "You know those stories. In the paper. The ones about the… killings?"
Darqun's attention sharpened. Yeah, he knew. He and the rest of the Compact of Sorcerers-a brotherhood of magical beings who maintained the balance between the supernatural and the natural-had been paying close attention.
Because the killer wasn't a crazed human.
They'd gotten close enough to the first two corpses to detect dark magic, demon magic. Problem was, it didn't read like anything they had encountered before. Not hybrid; the magic was far too powerful. Not demon, at least not any they recognized. Then, what?
"It'll be in the papers today. Probably on the news right now." A quick glance at the silent television, and John continued. "They found another one. Another guy. Same MO. Drained dry, desiccated, tortured, and his guts… His intestines looked like they'd been gnawed on while he was still alive." He huffed out a breath. "They brought him in to St. Mike's. Something wrong with that body. Really wrong. Evil. No man could have done that. No human"
John took a long swallow of his coffee, the fresh cup the waitress had brought. "Whoever-whatever-killed him took a prize. A trophy. The guy's left patella " he cleared his throat-"his, uh, left kneecap was cut out." He raised haunted eyes, his face chalk-pale. "It was my goddamned lousy luck to be working the ER last night. Made me wonder why the hell I thought I could be a doctor. Right now, I'm wondering if I have the stomach for it."
Darqun studied John for a moment, then lifted his coffee cup as a toast. "Think of the glass as half full, John," he said bluntly, but not without sympathy. "Your luck was better than his."
The sound of the doorbell pierced the bubble of Vivien's distress. She turned slowly, disoriented, woozy, and more than a little afraid. In a blink, she'd misplaced twelve hours.
She remembered warming the mug of soup while staring out the kitchen window at the winking stars. They were so bright and beautiful here north of the city, undiluted by ambient light.
Now, she stood by the sliding glass doors. Between
one breath and the next, the stars had disappeared. Daylight poured through the glass, slanting across the living room floor, the green leather couch, the glass and iron coffee table. In a fleeting instant, night had turned to day, and she had no explanation for that, other than the distinctly unpleasant possibility that she was losing her mind.
Pressing the flat of her hand against her chest, she struggled for calm. How long had she been standing here with the soup puddling at her feet?
Again, the doorbell chimed. She was… expecting someone. The vague thought gnawed at her, but the details escaped her. She cast an anxious look at the mess of soup and shards of ceramic mug.
Okay. Front door, then cleanup.
Then meltdown.
Having a game plan was important.
Feeling as though she were walking underwater, she crossed the living room to the hall and shuffled to the door. Her trembling fingers closed on the brass doorknob. The certainty that she was expecting someone grew stronger, bringing a nagging distress because she couldn't remember.
Deep breaths. Yes, that was better. One more. Her chest expanded until she felt the pull of it, felt the intense urge to exhale. She let the air slide from her in a rush.
Resting her open palm on the wall, she began leaning forward to peer through the peephole. Before she got the chance to open the door, it swung open, seemingly of its own accord. With a gasp, she jerked back, lost her breath, and after a thready moment, recovered.
She knew she'd locked that door, shot the bolt. She was certain of it. Wasn't she?
There was a man on her front porch, dressed in faded jeans, a loose poet's shirt, and a long black duster. His angular features were hard, handsome, perhaps a little savage. He hadn't shaved in a day, maybe two, and the shadow did really great things for him, gave him a sort of outlaw veneer. Brown-black hair, cut in a short, shaggy crop. Straight brows, straight nose, strong jaw. He was absolutely, amazingly gorgeous.
"Holy flying fish." It just jumped out. Odd, because she had a tendency to watch her words.
He pushed off the porch rail where he'd been waiting and straightened to his full height. Vivien had the disconcerting realization that she had to look up quite a few inches to meet his gaze, a rare experience for a girl who stood five foot nine in her stockinged feet.
He studied her, intent. Silvered eyes. Mercury gray, ice gray, framed in dark, thick lashes. The contrast defied description.
"Dr. Vivien Cairn?" he asked.
She'd never thought her name particularly sexy, but when he said it, touched by a question, low and a little husky, she thought it sounded damn fine.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Cairn." Forgetting that she'd had her conservative bob cut in a short, spiky style, she lifted her hand to shove a hank of hair back behind her ear. Finding only gelled wisps, she dropped her hand and looked away.
Her gaze slid beyond him to the gleaming black SUV parked at the far end of the driveway. Two other men lounged against it, one tall and blond and stunning, the other tall and dark and stunning. What was this, a three-for-one deal?
Following her gaze, her visitor said, "My associates. Ciarran D'Arbois" the blond lifted a black-gloved hand in acknowledgment "and Darqun Vane "the dark-haired guy grinned and gave a friendly nod. "And I am Dain Hawkins."
She thought she ought to recognize the name, that she'd heard it before. He waited a beat, and when she said nothing, he continued. "We spoke on the phone last night. We set up an appointment for this morning…"
Panic clawed at her. She didn't remember. She could recall opening the soup can, dumping the contents in the mug, and then blowing on the hot soup while looking out the sliding door at the sun-drenched deck… this morning. An entire night, wiped from her thoughts.
One memory lapse she could explain away as stress. Maybe even two. But this was the third.
Cold dread gouged her.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she struggled for calm, and then the hairs at her nape prickled and rose. Her gaze shifted to the tree line. No one there. There was no one there. She had to stop doing this.
"What time did we… umm… talk?" she asked, returning her attention to Dain Hawkins.
"Ten." There was subtle downturn to his lips, a crease between his brows, and his attention slid away, his gaze moving slowly along the perimeter of her property. Restrained tension wove through him; she saw it in the shift of his posture, the set of his shoulders.
Vivien frowned, noticing that the two guys by the SUV had straightened and were looking around, suddenly alert. She'd worked with enough cops to recognize the intensity of their perusal. Only these guys weren't cops. Somehow, she was certain of that. Private security? Government? Neither possibility felt right. Which left what? Criminals?
Right now, she felt the same cloying unease that crept up on her every time she'd thought she was being watched. Only now, she had three big guys in front of her house, and they were looking around like they felt it, too.
That small vindication of her paranoia was comforting. Again, she scanned the trees and then turned her gaze back to the SUV.
Ciarran and Darqun exchanged a look. Without a word, they strode off in opposite directions, one toward the uncut grass and the other toward the tree farm. The way they moved, purposeful, targeted, made her think they had a definite plan in mind.
Dain watched them go, then turned his attention back to her. "I had some difficulty finding you," he said.
Vivien stared at Darqun's back as he strode away, wondering exactly where he and Ciarran were heading. After a second, she shifted her gaze back to Dain.
"Yeah, I'm a little off the beaten path here."
He gave her a strange look. "No, I meant I had a bit of trouble tracking you down. I had expected to find you at UTM. When they told me you were on sabbatical, I had expected you to be holed up in the library of another university, hard at work on some thesis or other."
Was that a criticism? "I'm not exactly on sabbatical," she snapped defensively. "It's more of a… break."
Those cool, gray eyes met hers, flat as poured concrete,
and his brows rose at her tone. She instantly felt ridiculous.
She'd needed the break. She'd been the chief forensic anthropologist in the investigation of the ostrich farm belonging to Roger Pape farmer, recluse… mass murderer. She'd examined almost forty thousand pieces of bone fragments on that investigation, the remains of thirty-five dead women. Murdered women.
Then she'd gone through the lengthy process of Pape's trial.
When it was all over, she'd had her first episode, lost twelve hours. A few months later, she'd lost another twelve, and that had been enough motivation to make her arrange for some time off.
She'd considered several universities for a sabbatical, but in the end, she'd decided to stay right here in her own little house. Read some novels. Enjoy long walks. Maybe take that watercolor course she'd always wanted to. Her year-long break had begun last Monday. Her mother had arrived from the West Coast on Friday. Araminta's timing could not have been worse, but Vivien had only herself to blame for that. Her mother was nothing if not predictable.
Then last night, Vivien had blacked out for a third time. Lost another twelve hours of her life. Combine that with the feeling that someone was watching her from the shadows, and she was scared. Scared for her grasp on reality. Paranoia was a symptom of numerous conditions, none of them good.
She studied the guy on her porch, the long black duster, the set of his broad shoulders, the build that the layers of clothing couldn't quite hide. The look on his face clearly stated he wasn't afraid of a damn thing.
He was watching the trees again, his expression vigilant.
"Your friends… Ciarran and Darqun, right? Where did they go?"
"Hunting." Dain smiled, a bare curving of his lips, and turned his face partially toward her.
"Excuse me?"
As he quirked one brow, something clicked in her memory, a key turning in a lock. The enigmatic expression, the sexy smile, the three-quarter view of his face, the slightly flamboyant way he dressed; he looked just like every photo of him that she'd ever seen published.
She gave an incredulous little huff of laughter. "You're Dain Hawkins."
His smile warmed, as though they shared a secret. "Am I?"
Vivien shook her head at his tone, realizing that he'd introduced himself already. "No, I mean, I've seen your picture in the paper. You're Dain Hawkins, wonder-guy, a magician when it comes to buying up foundering companies and turning them into moneymakers."
"Magician." He grimaced, inclined his head. "I prefer sorcerer or mage of illusion!'
"Oookay. So what's a celebrity doing on my doorstep?" He looked startled by her question, and she clenched her fingers, then forced them straight. "God… sorry… That was rude. My social graces are a little rusty." Stepping back, she held the door. "Would you like to come in?"
"Thank you." He moved past her, broad shoulders, lean muscle. Her pulse picked up speed. She could smell the scent of his body, clean, masculine, a hint of lime, and it tantalized her, made her want to lean in close and breathe deep, lick his naked skin, sink her teeth into-
Huh. Okay, she needed to get a grip. This was way outside her norm.
But he was so hot, and she was… hungry, desperate to touch him, kiss him, rub against him until-
Her head snapped back, and she found him watching her with the strangest expression, his smile dark, predatory. Like he knew her thoughts… and shared them.
Nothing much had changed since New Orleans, Dain thought with a solid dose of self-effacing humor. He was still horny and still in possession of a partially scorched demon bone.
Only now he wasn't alone.
Vivien Cairn was with him, and she was staring at his mouth, her gaze intent. She exhaled, harsh, fast, the sound sinking into him, kindling a sharp awareness.
He cut a quick glance to the shape of her breasts, the hint of taut nipples outlined beneath the fitted black T-shirt. No bra.
Okay, he probably shouldn't look, but he wasn't a goddamned eunuch. And she was beautiful. Tall, slim. Her ratty, faded jeans hugged her hips and thighs. She had an athlete's build, all sleek, toned muscle, long limbs, amazing brea-
Don't go there.
His gaze dropped to her feet. Neon green fuzzy slippers. He smiled.
"So what brings you all this way, Mr. Hawkins?" she asked, her tone professional, impersonal, a little breathless. Sexy.
He studied her for a minute, judging her sincerity, and he realized that she honestly didn't recall speaking with him last night, setting up this meeting. Weird.
"Dain," he corrected.
She nodded, offered her hand. "Vivien."
He took her hand, a brief touch, and he felt her tremble. Stepping back, he let his hand drop in direct opposition to what his instinct encouraged. He wanted to draw her close, to touch her, to taste her. Nothing gentle.
An image crashed through him of backing her up against the wall and pressing his weight down on her, his mouth open on hers.
Demon magic, enticing and forbidden, swirled up in sultry temptation, rising from the scorched bone he carried with him, combining with the quieter thrum of the hybrids' weaker power that he had sensed when standing on her porch. He was surprised that their aura had penetrated the dark cloud cast by the demon bone.
Maybe he'd just picked up his comrades' tension, because Ciarran and Darqun had sensed the hybrids, too, and they'd gone off to investigate.
Leaving him with Vivien Cairn.
Alone with her.
Temptation, temptation.
But there was something more here, more powerful than mere hybrids, something Dain couldn't identify.
A full-blooded demon in the vicinity?
He couldn't be sure. The damned demon bone with its malevolent aura obscured his senses, and its power had
only grown stronger since he'd started carrying around the charm bag he'd picked up in New Orleans.
Like they were linked somehow. Or was that just his suspicion?
He needed answers.
Why were the hybrids after these little bags of bones? He needed to know what the hell was going on, what he was up against, and Vivien Cairn just might be able to help him out with that. She was a bone specialist, after all.
His gaze slid to hers. She was watching him, studying him, casting surreptitious glances at his mouth, his chest, his legs. Wanting him, but making an effort to hide it.
Nice to know he wasn't the only one affected.
"I have a bone that I'd like you to look at." He winced as he realized the dual implication of his words. Smooth, very smooth.
Her eyes widened. Beautiful eyes, almond tipped, intelligent. A sheen of translucent gold over dark moss green, blending to an alluring hazel. There was a whisper of shadow there, a hint of worry and fear.
Damn. He was a sucker for a damsel in distress.
And she was that. He'd checked her out before approaching her, not just her credentials in forensic anthropology-though those were impressive enough- but everything he could find. The pieces fit together to create a very interesting whole.
Vivien Cairn was brilliant. Tough. Independent. And she'd known her share of losses: Her dad had left when she was small. Her high school boyfriend had been killed in a horrific car crash.
He knew those things about her, and they made him wonder who the woman was underneath the cool, professional mien. He'd been able to watch a couple of interviews with her on the Internet, and she'd come across as very focused, very reserved.
Definitely different than she was in person. The heat she put off made a pulsing coil of lust settle in his groin.
The silence spun out, taut, nerve-racking.
She reached up, caught a wispy strand of hair by her right ear, and tugged on it, like she expected it to be longer.
"I like your hair," he said, giving up on finesse. He did. It was a short, dusky cap, coffee brown-black, with a faint touch of red. Mahogany. The spikes and wisps accentuated the curve of her cheekbones. He wanted to shove his fingers through her hair, muss it up even more as he kissed her.
He blinked. What the hell was wrong with him? It was as if she were a magnet and he a metal rod.
"Oh!" Her hand dropped, and she smiled just a little. "I just had it cut. It used to be a boring bob. I needed a change." She shook her head, pressed her lips together, clearly bemused by her rambling answer.
He liked that, too.
Rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, Dain tried to figure out why this conversation was not going at all as he had planned, why this woman's presence muddled his thoughts.
It had seemed a simple matter to find Dr. Cairn, ask her expert opinion, and leave. Wipe her memory if she suspected he was anything other than he claimed, though he'd take that course only if necessary. Some humans didn't do too well when sorcerers messed with their minds, and he had an aversion to stealing memories. Perhaps because his own were so precious to him.
Problem was, from the second he'd arrived, nothing had been simple. Something about this place-or perhaps Vivien herself-made the damned bone in his pocket come to life with a surge of demonic power. Made him come to life in a way he hadn't in a very long time. From the instant she'd opened her door and muttered something about flying fish, Vivien Cairn had intrigued him. Something about her drew him, snared him.
The realization made the bitter brine of guilt surge in his gut, tinged by time-tempered grief.
His wife, Moria, dead by demon hand, and Ciel, his baby daughter, with her.
Centuries had passed, and the pain had dimmed, but not his terrible, burning hatred of demon-kind. And not his guilt. Because he hadn't been there, hadn't saved them. Hadn't died alongside them.
Moria and Ciel had been human. He'd had no right to love them, no right to drag them into his world, his war.
And he had no business being intrigued by Vivien Cairn. He'd long ago decided that a relationship with a mortal was off-limits.
He wasn't a monk, but when he chose to spend a night with a woman, it was always just that. One night. He picked his partners with care to ensure that there were no strings. No expectations.
But from what he'd found out about intelligent, reserved, analytical Vivien, he figured she wasn't the one-night type. Which meant she wouldn't be any night, because he had nothing more than that to offer, especially not to a mortal woman who would age and die or, like Moria, be slaughtered by demons before her time.
Demons or hybrids, like the ones hovering about Vivien's property. Had they been here already, or had they followed his SUV? The possibility that he'd brought them to her definitely did not sit well with him.
"May I take your coat?" she asked, her gaze sliding over him.
"No, thanks." He figured that the demon bone in his pocket best stay as close to him as possible.
His gaze met hers, and he saw shadows there. Shadows and worry.
For centuries, he had battled and bled, known both honor and betrayal. He had sealed any breach in the wall between dimensions, held back the demon threat. He was charged with the protection of all mankind.
He was sorcerer, protector, mage of illusion.
He would not allow himself to be drawn to this woman, to forfeit his control, no matter how great the temptation to save her from whatever caused the shadows he read in her eyes.
No matter that the color of them reminded him of the cool, dark forest.
No matter that he was so very tired of being alone.
For a heartbeat, Vivien just stood there staring at Dain, wondering what to do next. His expression had turned cold, aloof. In that instant, he looked like a completely different man than the one who had stood on her front porch and smiled at her.
So which was the real guy? The smiling, relaxed charmer or the detached observer?
On a sharp inhalation, she forced herself to move, to turn toward the living room. Recalling the spilled soup and shattered mug, she froze, hesitated.
"We can go downstairs." She turned away from the living room and led him to her basement work area. After all, he was here for her professional services, not a social visit.
A glance cast over her shoulder assured her that he was real, here, in her home. He caught her gaze, and she saw shrewd intelligence there, measuring her, studying her.
Well, that was a turnaround. She found it a little unnerving to be the subject rather than the observer.
Sliding onto the stool beside her workbench, Vivien indicated the second stool. Dain considered it, and then her, as though he thought one of them might leap up and bite him. He didn't sit.
She cleared her throat. "You said something about a bone?"
"Yes. I'd like your opinion on this." He took a cloth-wrapped bundle from the pocket of his coat and carefully unwrapped it before handing it to her. "I found it in a field about twenty miles northeast of here."
She thought there was more to the story than that, and she thought he wouldn't tell her, even if she asked. Reaching for a pair of gloves out of habit, she snapped them on. Their fingers touched as she took the bone from him, and even through the latex, a charge of electricity leaped between them.
Unnerved, she dropped her gaze, studied the object in her hand. She had to stretch her fingers to encompass the whole of it.
Definitely bone. One side blackened by fire, hot enough to scorch but not hot enough to incinerate.
Frowning, she turned it carefully in her hands. "It's not human…" And yet, it almost was. "The anatomy suggests this animal walks plantigrade" she glanced at him and explained" on a flattened foot, rather than digigrade."
"Digigrade?"
"That means on their toes, like dogs or cats."
Her pulse was strong, loud, pumping a hot current of blood through her veins. The bone in her hand spoke to her. Powerful. Raw. Calling something inside of her.
Her gaze snapped to Dain, to his hard, sexy mouth, drawn taut. A bolt of raw attraction jolted through her, inappropriate, unwelcome.
Frig, not now.
Mortification slapped her. Inexplicable yearning was one more symptom of whatever was slowly driving her mad. Lately, along with the lapses in time, she'd been subject to these escalating sexual urges, fantasies of an unknown shadow lover. They were so powerful, frightening, hitting her at unexpected times, leaving her gasping.
When she'd first recognized what was happening, that the variations to her personality were becoming more intense, more frequent, she'd documented the changes, creating a spreadsheet to follow the pattern. At first, the desires had been weekly, escalating to daily. It had gotten progressively worse. For the past few days, she'd been hard-pressed to keep all her waking thoughts away from fantasies of a nameless, faceless lover.
Only now he had a face. A name. Dain Hawkins. Oh, God.
She wanted to kiss him, suck on his lower lip, bite his skin, taste him, salt and man. Hot, lush, she wanted that, craved it, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him flexing above her, pumping into her.
Heat pounded through her, spiraling up, feeding dark, sultry imaginings of him naked against her, skin to hot skin, hard male muscle. She tore her gaze away.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. What was wrong with her?
The bone almost slid from her hand, and she set it on the table with scrupulous care.
"Sorry," she mumbled, panic biting at her with sharp little teeth. "Sorry."
He was watching her so closely, as though he sensed there was something very wrong. "You look ill," he said, not solicitous, just an observation.
"Some water. From the kitchen. Up the stairs to the left," she murmured, desperate to be alone for just a moment, to catch her breath, to get her thoughts and her cranked libido under control. Get him away from her before she ripped off her clothes, and his, and yanked him close so she could lick him and suck him…
Heat spiraled through her.
Until recently, she'd never felt this way. Never. In fact, she'd spent most of her adult life wondering if her libido was abnormally low.
"Water. Please," she whispered urgently.
His gaze slid to the bone on the table, then back to her. He reached for it, closed his hand around it. Turning away, he strode up the stairs. She watched him go, her gaze riveted on the way his body moved as he walked. A hard kick of lust stole her breath.
Swallowing, she peeled off her gloves, tried to steady her nerves. She thought about the bone he had showed her, focusing on that. It was a calcaneus, a heel bone. She'd noted the sustentaculum tali and the sulcus cal-canei, and three distinctly shaped facets for articulation with the talus. Human characteristics, but the bone was far too large, and the articular surface for the cuboid was wrong, with dual facets where there should have been only one.
Apprehension slithered through her, leaving her cold.
She'd examined thousands upon thousands of bones in her lifetime, and she'd never felt anything like this before. Evil. Darkness. A terrible brooding power seated in what amounted to little more than a charred network of minerals and matrix and dead cells.
"Well, you are a surprise."
Vivien's head jerked up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. She froze, let out a startled huff of air, and a cold horror chilled her.
There was a creature addressing her, a frightening phantasm at least eight feet tall, not human, but a terrible monster conjured from the depths of her mind. Gray cracked hide covered a thick and meaty frame, and its blackened lips peeled back to reveal row after row of jagged teeth. Behind it stood a small woman with dull eyes and a slack expression.
Not real. This was not real.
Okay. Okay. This was it. Everything she had feared.
She was having a psychotic break. Of course. There was no monster, no woman; maybe there wasn't even a gorgeous guy. How much was real? How much had she fabricated from some deep, swirling pit in her mind?
"If you would be so kind as to accompany me," the creature said calmly, extending one limb, palm up, pointed yellow talons curving over the ends of its fingers. "And bring the bags, if you please. How lovely of you to collect six in one place for me."
The smell of it. She knew that smell, had worked with it floating thick about her time and again over the years. The smell of death, old death, rotting death.
Vivien jerked to her feet, knocking over the stool in her haste. Choking terror. Her breath locked in her throat. Real or not, this thing petrified her.
Fury sparked, a deep resentment. She would not go lightly to her fate. Closing her fingers around the metal legs of the second stool, she swung it up and brandished it before her, a weapon of sorts.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, frantic.
The thing watched her with what might have been amusement.
Footsteps on the stairs, pounding, fast.
In a blur of movement, Dain Hawkins vaulted over the handrail, his features drawn stark and savage.
Vivien gasped, stared. He was haloed in light, bright, almost blinding. Beautiful. Frightening. And she thought, He is a warrior
The gray creature turned to him, its expression one of surprise. Dain's gaze slid to hers for an instant, then dropped to the stool she brandished as a weapon, and he smiled a little.
Turning away, he swung a thick stick-where had that come from?- At the same moment the thing lunged for him, raking its talons across his chest. Blood surged from the gashes.
"Fuck, not again," Dain snarled. "Those just healed."
He spun and struck, and as the stick cast out a shower of light, Vivien had her answer. All of it was part of the psychotic break. She'd imagined Dain's arrival, imagined this monster in her workshop along with the woman who huddled in the corner.
She needed an ambulance, now, and a psychiatrist, and meds. Lots and lots of meds.
Rising, she scooped up her velvet bags, a habit. She began to inch forward, toward the stairs, past the bizarre duo that battled with vicious concentration.
But they weren't real. Not real
She told herself that as she slid along the cool, smooth wall. She told herself again as her foot hit the bottom of the staircase. She told herself a final time as, with a vicious snarl, Dain Hawkins slashed at the creature, hard, his staff of wood aglow, as though it were on fire, the light bright as the sun.
"Upstairs," Dain ordered, cool, calm, and she knew he was talking to her.
Good. Yes. Good. Her imaginary hot guy was telling her to do exactly what she wanted. Nice when the hallucination was so amiable.
Only she froze, unable to move, unable to look away, her heart pounding, her lungs working like a bellows. Dain blocked the creature's claws with his forearm, a sharp hiss escaping from between his teeth as the talons raked deep, leaving the cloth of his coat and shirt in shreds, his skin and muscle ravaged and torn.
"Well, if you want to play nasty…" Dain laughed. The sound made Vivien shiver.
He feinted right, spun left, brought the staff down hard across the back of the creature's neck. Only the swing of the staff didn't stop. The momentum carried it through the thick column, severing the head from the body, blood pumping in a geyser that sprayed the ceiling, the walls, and finally, the floor.
The head rolled across the floorboards and bumped against Vivien's toe, leaving a slick smear of blood in its wake. A film of moisture on the creature's eye caught the light.
Years of training kicked in, and she stared down at the head, studied it. Dark blood, more black than red. Possibly higher mineral content than human blood. The eyelid closed from the bottom rather than the top. Interesting. The-
She closed her eyes.
This was not a nice hallucination. Why couldn't she have a nice hallucination?
Maybe a fairy godmother.
Or a Chippendale dancer.
She had the frantic thought that she should be in Mexico right now, lying on the beach with a margarita in her hand. She should have gone on vacation with her best friend, Amy, when she asked.
"Vivien, we need to go. Can you smell it? They've torched the house. Come on."
Warm fingers on her wrist.
She opened her eyes. The head wasn't there anymore, just a smoking, hissing, gray lump.
Shaking, she took a deep breath, smelled smoke.
"Now, Vivien." Dain stared down at her, his eyes cool as ice on asphalt, clearly expecting her to obey.
She glanced down, realized that he was drawing her charm bags from her grasp, tucking them in the roomy pocket of his long coat.
"I need my picture," she said. "Of my dad."
He gave a sharp nod, and taking her hand, steady fingers closing tightly around her trembling ones, he led her up the stairs.
Halfway up, she froze. "The woman!"
She spun, peered down the stairs to the basement. There was no woman, just a conical pile of ash in the corner where she'd huddled.
"She's gone. Keepers don't survive the death of their demon. She must have been ancient, indeed, to have disintegrated so quickly."
As if she had a clue what he meant by that.
"Head for the back door," Dain said, and pulled her up the stairs. "It's closer."
She paused at the bookshelf and grabbed the framed photo of her dad then snagged her purse from the couch as they passed. He tugged on her arm, and she thought that for a hallucination, he had a pretty strong grasp.
It was all a hallucination, only… the black smoke gathering about them felt so real, thick in her nostrils, burning her eyes.
Sliding open the glass and the screen, he dragged her out into the sunlight, across the deck, his firm grasp keeping her from falling as her feet slid in her fuzzy green slip-ons. They rounded the side of the house, cut across the lawn, and finally stopped on the front drive. The black SUV was there but no sign of the other two guys, Darqun and Ciarran.
She looked at Dain then, and there was no more light shimmering around him, no wooden staff in his hand. He was just a man, standing on her gravel driveway, dripping blood from his arm like a faucet with a slow leak. His long coat was torn in several places, and the poet's shirt had a slick, red blotch across the front.
More blood. Blood, blood, blood.
Feeling strangely disconnected from the situation, Vivien reached out, almost touched him. Jerked her hand back.
Red had always been her favorite color.
She might have to rethink that.
Talyn Baunn hadn't been in a church in about five hundred years. Okay. A hundred, but it felt like five.
He paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of wood cleaner and wax. Familiar, a hazy memory.
Before him stretched row after row of empty wooden pews. He found it odd that the place wasn't locked up tight. Yeah, churches were a place of worship, places where everyone was welcome. Only, they were usually dead-bolted from past midnight until morning because the homeless weren't welcome to sleep there.
Wasn't that a bitch?
But the door to San Francisco's St. Helen's Church had swung open on well-oiled hinges at the slightest push. Apparently, the new priest had his own ideas. Young guy. Idealistic. Left the doors unlocked because he thought people should be able to pray at will, even if the urge hit them in the wee hours of the night.
It made the church a good place to meet. Neutral
ground. And demons tended to avoid the holy places of any religion.
Baunn looked around at the stained-glass windows, truly magnificent works of art. Here, variegated shades of blue framed a bright orange-yellow sun, and there, in the choir loft, was a rose window some two feet in diameter. He turned a full circle. It was beautiful in the meager light of an overcast dawn; he could imagine how splendid it would look filtering the full rays of the afternoon sun.
Unfortunately, the Ancient preferred shadows, dim light, so he'd chosen a time where the sanctuary was just coming to life. The timing of their meeting wouldn't allow Baunn to enjoy the full view.
Perhaps he'd come back someday.
He made his way along the wide aisle to the front of the church, where the smell of wax from the burning vo-tives was stronger. As he slid into the front pew, he felt the shimmer of air that told him the continuum carried a sorcerer to this place. He recognized the signature aura. The Ancient.
A pretentious title. Baunn knew him as Asher from a time before he had led the Compact of Sorcerers, a time long, long before he had betrayed his every ideal. He had been honorable once.
Reining in his disdain, Baunn glanced across the aisle.
The Ancient sat in the opposite pew, watching him with shrewd attention. Draped in simple garments, layers of dark, loose cloth that had neither style nor specific shape, he held his slim frame erect, ready. Of medium height and unremarkable build, the Ancient's appearance was deceptive. He was powerful beyond measure, beyond any one of them alone, save perhaps Ciarran, who had gained power through his demon parasite.
"Hello, Asher," Baunn said.
"I am Asher no longer. I am the Ancient."
Baunn nodded slowly, his lips pursed. Not a good thing when an all-powerful being believed his own hype.
They sat in silence until the quiet stretched and grew strained.
"So talk to me," Baunn said. "Tell me about this rift that rips the Compact apart."
"You are wise to prefer to make your own judgments. Wise to consider the path I propose." The Ancient turned to face him fully. Pale blue eyes, rimmed in navy, pinned Baunn with a knowing gaze, studied him, as though searching for some deep truth.
"Make my own judgments… yeah, that's part of it," Baunn said after another lengthy silence. "But I guess mostly I was hoping I'd come here and find out that I was wrong, that they were wrong. That Dain and Ciarran got it all ass-backward and you didn't betray everything we exist for."
"You speak to me of Dain?" the Ancient snarled, an uncharacteristic show of emotion. "He presented me with the face of friendship while in truth he spied upon me, watched me, judged me. He is an illusionist, putting on a false face. He cannot be trusted."
Uh, yeah. And you can? Baunn swallowed the words, kept his mouth shut, and listened.
"I betrayed nothing," the Ancient continued. "I became enlightened. A pact with the Solitary ends the war, ends the perpetual battle to weave the wall between dimensions. There will be no more enemies, only allies. You of all of us know that there are many shades of gray, Baunn."
No, not so much. He'd believed that once, believed that maybe there was hope for those whose souls were stained gray but not black. He'd learned the hard way that demons-regardless of whatever beautiful form they took-were demons, dark and twisted, and no amount of wishing would make it otherwise. He'd fallen back on his ideas of black and white, then. Good and evil. No more shades of gray.
The Ancient made an impatient gesture, again strangely out of character. "Allying to the Solitary is the only way."
Clearly, he believed his own rhetoric. Baunn could hear the conviction in his tone. "You can tell yourself that, but what of the humans we're sworn to protect? They'll be-what?-no better than cattle?"
"They are what they are," the Ancient said, his tone hard. "And an oath is only as valid as the strength of its giver's belief. My belief is that this way is best."
Anger roiled in Baunn's gut, at Asher and at himself. But he wasn't one to point a finger, that whole stones-and-glass-houses thing. He'd made his share of mistakes.
For a moment, he just stared at the statue of the Madonna, and he remembered. Ugly regret oozed through him. He didn't want to remember what he'd done, the choices he'd made. Lousy goddamned choices made in the name of love.
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. "You offered up an innocent, Asher, a human-"
"Clea Masters is no human. She is a sorcerer," the Ancient interjected.
Baunn studied him with curiosity. Asher evinced no apparent guilt over his failed plan to offer up Clea Masters-a woman who had had no idea that she was a sorcerer-as a sacrifice to open the portal between the mortal and demon realms. Clea had survived his machinations and come into her full power, but in the process they had almost lost both her and fellow sorcerer Ciarran D'Arbois.
"And that makes it right? You were going to let the demons sacrifice her, take her blood, use her to bring the Solitary to the human realm. At the time, none of us knew she was a sorcerer. We thought she was human. And you planned to let her die."
"For the greater good. Mortals have a term that applies; Collateral damage."
Baunn slapped back his rage. "We protect humans. We protect the wall between dimensions, hold back the demons that would bring chaos. That is our role. We are sworn to the Pact One human life lost to collateral damage is one too many."
"When was the last time you did aught to protect anyone but yourself, Baunn? I wonder that you dare point a finger at me after your decades, nay, centuries of negligence."
Baunn clenched his fists, skewered by the ugly truth of the accusation.
The Ancient looked away for a moment, then back. The long fall of platinum hair spilled over his shoulders as he moved, so pale it looked white in the dimness.
"If you had predetermined your position, Talyn, why did you seek me out?"
"I dunno." Baunn tapped out a staccato rhythm, his fingertips pounding the wooden pew. "Because I wanted you to deny it. Explain it. Something. I wanted to be wrong."
The Ancient nodded. "I will bring the Solitary at my first opportunity. In fact, there are those already working with me to accomplish that very end."
"There will be no opportunity." At least Baunn had that comfort. He might not have seen his brothers in the Compact of Sorcerers for more years than he cared to count, but he stayed in touch enough to know the basics of what was going down. Ciarran's wife, Clea Masters, was the conduit, the magical key that could open the wall between the realms of man and demon. And by all accounts, she was as good and pure of heart as could be, strong and noble. Honorable. Brave.
"Clea would never willingly open the gate between dimensions," Baunn continued. "And with Ciarran's power mated to hers, she can't be forced." He did a quick drumroll with his fingers on the wooden pew. Badda-bing. "You lose, Asher."
"There is another." The Ancient's voice was ripe with twisted satisfaction.
Baunn's gut clenched. "Another conduit? That's impossible."
"Impossible? True. There is no other conduit, but there is another way to bring the Solitary across. A summoner. A demon-keeper."
Humans who summoned demons were bound to the monster they called up. In exchange for eternal youth, eternal life, the summoner became the demon's keeper in the mortal realm, doomed to witness the demon's every vile action in perpetuity. Most struggled and fought once they realized what they had signed on for, and then most of them simply went mad, became husks of their former selves, their souls tormented in the living hell of their own making.
Some struggled against their fate for years and decades and centuries. None managed to kill the demon they had summoned or send it back to the stinking realm that had spawned it.
Except once. More than two thousand years ago, the Solitary had been sent back, and the human summoner, a child named Bezal, was saved, a happenstance made possible because Bezal had asked for no boon in return for the summoning. The child had said the words completely in error, had not understood what he had done, nor asked for any gift from the demon he called. Everything combined in a unique circumstance that allowed the Compact to save that one young boy and save the mortal world.
Because the Solitary was banished during the summoner's natural life span, Bezal did not wither and decompose. He went on to live a full life, one he chose to dedicate to helping others, a self-imposed payment for his terrible mistake. He died. He was buried.
That was the end of it. Or so they had thought until a dark power attempted a re-animation. At that point, Bezal's remains were warded and spelled, scattered across the earth so no possibility remained that he could be brought back to life and used to summon the Solitary. Finally, the end of a very ugly story.
So whatever Asher thought he was talking about, he was wrong.
"The Solitary can't be summoned by a keeper. Not anymore. You know that. You're the one who devised the plan to lock him in the demon realm by casting wards and spells that prevented his being called by any but Bezal," Baunn said.
"True." The Ancient's smile was chilling.
An oily wariness slithered through Baunn's veins. "The Compact made certain that no human could summon the Solitary after Bezal. You made certain of it."
"Did I?" The Ancient's smile grew broad, feral, not a pretty sight. "The spell the Compact cast is powerful, true. The Solitary can be brought into the realm of man only by his original and first demon-keeper, Bezal, a human long dead, his remains destroyed. Or he can be summoned by the descendants of the original. Those are the only options."
Baunn said nothing, refusing to feed Asher's dark delight.
"Such a conundrum. The Solitary's summoner, Bezal, is dead, and he died without begetting offspring… did he not?" Asher laughed.
Did he not? Now that was the question.
A cold wind whipped through the chambers of Baunn's heart, a glacial dread.
They'd thought so. They'd all thought so.
Dain rested one hand on the roof of the SUV and ducked his head to get a better glimpse at the inside. From the backseat, Vivien looked out at him, her eyes wide and glassy.
He figured she was holding it together by the thinnest thread, and damn but he admired her for that. A smile tugged at him as he thought of her standing in her basement, ready to battle a demon with a stool. Brave lady.
Misguided, but brave.
Instinct screamed at him to climb in with her, wrap her in his arms, hold her tight. Protect her from the frigging demons and hybrids, because she clearly had no idea that she couldn't protect herself.
Tunnel his fingers through her sexy, spiky hair and turn her face to his kiss.
He had no business feeling this way, no business kissing her-or even thinking about it-but everything about Vivien Cairn made him want to. The craving was a hot, primal need, coiling low in his gut. The attraction. The urge to keep her safe.
It was that damsel-in-distress thing again.
If he told himself that, maybe he'd believe it. Or not.
Because despite her shock, she wasn't acting the part of helpless maiden.
Vivien Cairn was tough. Whatever she thought of the things she'd just seen, her spirit was undaunted. He admired her for that.
So maybe that was the appeal.
He straightened, stepped back. Her eyes narrowed, and her sleek body tensed as she rallied, lunging for freedom with an angry cry.
He slammed the door, closing her in. "Stay put, Vivien. Stay safe. I'll be back."
The sound of her fists on the glass was a brief indicator of her displeasure. But she wasn't one to waste time on useless frustration. Instead, she turned her attention to trying all the doors and windows.
Dain shook his head. She wouldn't have any luck getting them open. He'd sealed them with magic to ensure she stayed inside-stayed safe-until he figured out the best course of action, because he couldn't be certain there were no other demons or hybrids in the vicinity, not with the damned demon bone in his pocket greasing everything with a dark smear.
Pacing away, he conjured his acacia staff and held it in an easy grip. He shot a quick look over his shoulder at the SUV The smoked-out windows blocked his view of her, but Dain knew she was in there. Freaking? Maybe. Fuming? Definitely.
He figured that if glares were bullets, Vivien Cairn would be shooting hollow-points.
There was a repeated clicking as Vivien methodically tried each door handle. Twice. She was a problem-solver, his Vivien.
The thought made him freeze.
She was not his Vivien.
His chest tightened. The heat and smoke from her burning house wafted over him, but he couldn't use that as an excuse for the choked feeling behind his sternum.
What the hell was this?
His heart, his emotions, were buried in the ground with his wife and baby daughter. For centuries, he had allowed himself no visceral connection, allowed for no other tragic mistakes. The only thing he let himself feel-deeply, richly, a powerful stimulant in his veins- was hatred of the goddamned demons.
He even held himself apart from his brothers in the Compact of Sorcerers. A wise tactic, it turned out; the Ancient had betrayed them, betrayed him.
The pain of that was still fresh enough to bleed.
But the worst of it was, the Ancient had been secretly laying the groundwork of his plot for decades, lured by the darkness over a span of a century, losing a bit more of himself each day until he was no longer the leader, the friend, Dain had known.
And Dain had failed to see it.
Just as he had failed centuries past to see the danger to Moria and Ciel.
Which meant he couldn't trust anyone. Not even himself.
Dain shook his head. He had lost his wife, his child,
to the demons, and over the years, friends and comrades. Finally, he had lost his mentor, in effect, his father.
It was better not to care. Not to trust Not to feel.
A thud from inside the SUV grabbed his attention, and he glanced back. There was something about Vivien Cairn-some emotional draw he couldn't explain-that made him want to lower his barriers enough to hold her close, touch her, taste her.
Brand her as his.
He felt like he knew her, all the hidden depths of her. A primal connection.
How frigging messed up was that?
He'd known her for less than an hour. When exactly had she had enough time to become important to him?
A harsh bang rent the air as the fire blew out a window of the house. With a roar, red-orange flames soared through the shattered panes, brilliant tongues of light and heat. The power of it came at him like a blow.
He spun and scanned the perimeter, looking for Ciarran and Darqun. Time to get the hell out of here.
Vivien's house was in the middle of nowhere, but someone would have called 911 by now. Probably the tree farmer up the road. Pretty soon, a fire crew would arrive, and Dain had no intention of hanging around until they did.
"Dain!" Ciarran called, loping toward him, his expression grim as he assessed the inferno engulfing Vivien's home.
Dain shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the acid burn of the charred demon bone seep through his skin. He knew that if the dark aura of the bone wasn't clouding his perceptions, he would be able to sense the part of
Ciarran that was demon. Once, Ciarran had used warding spells and an alloy glove to hide his left hand, to deny the part of himself that was infested by a demon parasite.
Now he accepted it, embraced it. Dark, demonic magic blended with Ciarran's light-fed power, making him a formidable and unpredictable force within the Compact of Sorcerers.
Dain still wasn't certain how he felt about trusting that.
But weeks past, when the Ancient had betrayed their cause, Ciarran-a sorcerer who was part demon-had chosen to hold true. That choice had to count for something.
It was always about choices.
And for Dain, it was about trust. He had a little problem with that commodity, kind of like looking for sunshine in the arctic in the dead of winter.
Skidding to a stop, Ciarran studied the burning house, then turned to look quizzically at Dain.
"Exterminate something?" he asked, his voice mild.
"Yeah. A full-blooded demon and its keeper," Dain replied, wondering what the hell the demon had been doing in Vivien's basement. "You?"
Ciarran flexed his leather-gloved left hand. "Smoked three hybrids in the cornfield."
"I got four at the tree farm." Darqun jogged up, pulling leaves from his hair. He grinned. "And one tree."
"What the hell is going on? What were they doing here?" Ciarran asked, his voice low, his body eerily still.
Narrowing his eyes, Dain glared at the burning house, slid his gaze to the tree farm. "Whatever it is, it isn't good."
Dain felt the shift of the continuum as Ciarran called up his strange blend of demon-tinged magic to cordon off the blaze. The smoke and flames twisted and writhed and coalesced in a single column that held close to the house.
"Did they follow us here to Dr. Cairn's house, or did we all just happen to show up for the same party?" Darqun asked.
The question brought a harsh stab of guilt. Dain had no liking for the answer he conjured. "Best I can figure, they must have followed us. We led them right to Viv"- he cleared his throat-"Dr. Cairn's doorstep."
"Probably," Ciarran agreed, his tone laced with disgust. "I can think of no other explanation for their presence here. But why the hell didn't we sense them?"
"The garlic-on-a-date effect," Darqun muttered, and Dain almost laughed at Ciarran's expression. "You know… when you go out on a date, don't eat garlic unless your date does, too. You won't smell it if you both eat it."
Ciarran swung his gaze to Dain, looking both pained and baffled. "There's a point he's making, right? Tell me there's a point."
"Yeah. There's a point." Dain hauled the charred demon bone from his pocket long enough for Ciarran to catch a glimpse, then shoved it back out of sight. "The equivalent of demon garlic. As long as me and the bone hang tight, I can't sense anything in the haze of darkness. And if you're sitting next to me, neither can you."
He had no idea how Ciarran could sense anything in the first place, given that his light magic was woven with
dark, but he wasn't about to ask. Some things crossed even the line of friendship.
"You We carrying the bone around with you." It wasn't a question.
"I'm sure as hell not going to leave any of them-not the charred bone or these fun little bags of bones-lying around unguarded. Besides, I wanted Dr. Cairn's take on them." Dain crossed his arms, implacable. The movement made his mangled forearm throb, and he glanced at it, surprised by the extent of the injury.
Ciarran narrowed his eyes but offered no argument.
Stepping between them, Darqun frowned, his gaze sliding first to Dain's shredded forearm, then to his gouged chest. "You good, my man? That looks brutal."
"Flesh wound." Dain grabbed a hunk of savaged muscle, shoved it back in place, and summoned just enough of his magic to hold the mess together. "I'm good."
Light shimmered from his fingertips, and he willed the wound to heal. Sorcerers were capable of this partial recovery, of knitting skin and muscle and bone. But full recovery still took a day or two, depending on the severity of the damage, and the pain remained until the wound fully healed.
"By the way"-Darqun glanced about-"where is Dr. Cairn?"
"Locked in the SUV." At their looks of incredulity, Dain spread his arms, palms up, a gesture of innocence. He'd been right to lock her in. It had been his best option.
There it was again, everything coming down to options. Choices.
"It's warded and bulletproof. It seemed the safest place." And he was damn well going to keep her safe.
"Which raises the issue…" Darqun looked back and forth between the other two. "What do we do with her now? She can't stay here"-he glanced at the flaming house, the billowing smoke contained within the invisible perimeter that Ciarran had conjured rising in a writhing, twisting column-"not that there's much of here left"
"I need her." Two sets of eyes nailed Dain with blatant disbelief.
He gave a harsh grunt of laughter. "For the bones. We didn't even have time to begin the investigation process, let alone finish it. I don't know anything new about the bone I believe is from the Solitary, and more importantly, nothing about the gris-gris bags. Not a damn thing."
A siren wailed in the distance. They were out of time. Unless they wanted to do some major explaining to the arson investigation squad, a change of venue was in order.
"We could leave her here for the EMTs. Let them check her out. Hook up with her later," Darqun suggested. "That'd probably be best."
Dain felt his whole body tense, his muscles prime themselves for battle. No. The word snarled through him, and he felt the denial soul-deep. There could still be hybrids hanging about, or demons. She wasn't safe here.
"She comes with us." For the second time, the other two sorcerers slammed him with quizzical stares, and Dain realized he'd barked the words more than spoken
them. "I didn't get the answers we came for. I still need her expertise," he finished, milder.
Plausible, though it wasn't the whole truth.
He couldn't pin down the whole truth. What was it with him and this possessive urge to hold close to Vivien, to touch her, stroke his hand along her skin, to-
Shoving his fingers through his hair, he spun and paced off a distance. He was frigging losing it.
"Uh, yeah." Darqun cleared his throat. "Her expertise. You said that already."
Dain turned back, barely held himself from lunging. Almost growled at him.
"Head to my place," Ciarran suggested, stepping between the two men.
Dain figured his comrades sensed his tension. Probably wondered about it. Only, he couldn't give an explanation, because he had no clue what was winding him up so tight.
"Dr. Cairn can stay with Clea and me until we figure this out," Ciarran offered.
A logical suggestion, and a surprising one, given Ciarran's reclusive nature. But the thought of being parted from Vivien made Dain's gut clench. Thick, choking fury pounded through him. He recognized that it was unreasonable but couldn't seem to drag it under control.
"No." Slow breaths didn't calm him. "No. She stays with me."
"But-"
"She fucking doesn't leave my side. Got it?" he snarled, ramped up all over again.
He glared at them, his pulse pounding in his ears, the crack and roar of the fire swirling through the air, through his blood.
"Build a wall," Ciarran said quietly, raising his hands, palms forward. "Build a wall, Dain, in your mind. Hold it back, whatever the hell it is. And get rid of that demon bone before it makes you nuts."
The demon bone. Yeah. That was it. That had to be it. The dark aura of the demon bone was making him edgy, clouding his judgment.
His gaze shot to the SUV.
Vivien.
He needed to make certain she was safe, 'cause, yeah, he was such a knight in shining armor. He strode to the SUV, yanked open the door.
And got nailed in the side of the head with a neon-green fuzzy slipper.
Amy Lassiter tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, checked her outfit from the right in the full-length mirror, then turned and checked it from the left. White capri pants. White lace-edged tank. Her olive skin contrasted nicely, and it would only look better once she had a tan. Nice curves. She was definitely hot.
Turning, she stared at the four bathing suits she had spread across her bed. The black? The orange?
What the hell. Take 'em all. Maybe buy some new ones while she was down there. It was a new and rather heady sensation to actually be able to indulge herself a little rather than rolling quarters to make the rent. My, how things had changed for her.
She scooped up the bathing suits and shoved them into her bag, pressed down with all her might, then sat on the lid as she reached between her spread knees and pulled the heavy-duty zipper closed. A glance out her window showed a dull gray sky and dirty slush in the roadway. Depressing.
It was almost time to leave for the airport. She waggled her hand at the window. Bye-bye, winter. Hello, Mexican sun.
So why didn't she feel more excited?
Because of her last trip to Mexico. It had been the worst thing-and the most amazing thing-that had ever happened to her. How was that for a contradiction?
Two years ago, on her last trip, she'd stayed in this run-down little hole in Acapulco with one bathroom for the entire floor, the bring-your-own-toilet-paper sort of place that smelled old and musty and kind of dirty. But it had been so staggeringly cheap. At the time, that had been her main criteria.
Since then, her luck had changed. She had changed.
No more run-down hotels for her. Now it was first class, baby, all the way.
She just wished Vivien was going with her. They'd met their first week at University of Toronto, two kids wandering around the enormous campus searching for their Organic Chemistry lecture in the Med-Sci building. They'd clicked immediately and stayed close throughout the years.
Only, lately, Vivien had been so odd, so distant, as though she were disappearing into herself.
Or maybe it was Amy, the new Amy, that was the problem.
She sighed, wondering why she'd managed to let go of everything from her old life except for her relationship with Vivien. It was as though there were an invisible connection between them. A sort of sisterhood.
With a shrug, she crossed to her desk, pulled out her first-class ticket. She had hoped that she and Vivien
would take this trip and reclaim their former closeness, laugh and drink and lie in the sun.
Pick up some guys.
She licked her lips, thinking of all the things she'd like to do with those guys. Dark things. Dangerous things.
Yeah, that was something else that had changed. The new Amy wasn't afraid of herself anymore, wasn't afraid of the fiendish desires that whispered to her in the night.
Vivien hugged her arms about her waist to hide her trembling. She was sitting on a couch in a huge, open loft. Dain's loft. Enveloped by the overstuffed couch- cream colored, butter-soft leather-she checked the layout of the place. Blond wood floors, contrasting color scheme of coffee and cream, massive windows along two walls. The stunning lake view labeled it as prime downtown real estate.
Despite her emotional turmoil, her analytical nature made her take note of the details. Ciarran and Darqun had taken off right away, leaving her alone here with Dain. All she needed from him was a single moment of inattention, and she could make a dash for the door.
"The police will want to talk to me about the fire. They'll be looking for me. You can't keep me here against my will," she said, her voice rock steady, even though her emotions were knotted tighter than a vacuum seal. She was very good at letting her expression show nothing of her thoughts. With a mom like hers, she'd learned early that emotional distance was key. It was a matter of self-preservation.
"The police have already spoken with you," Dain replied. "They have detailed notes. A report. Everything is in order."
"How could the police have a report? Notes?" She shook her head. "I never… I didn't…" She stopped talking, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze locked on Dain. He stood to the side, a distance away, one muscled shoulder propped against the window, arms folded across his broad chest. He'd stripped off his coat, and for some reason, the loss of the bulky garment only made him look bigger, broader. And it left his bloodstained shirt open for perusal, which opened up a whole 'nother can of worms. She pressed her lips together.
He was contained, reserved, so… alone. Why did she think that?
She couldn't say, but then she wondered if it was all for show, if he was as calm and cool as he appeared, or if Dain Hawkins was something other than he seemed. Her gaze met his, and she saw a storm there, a powerful force held back by sheer will.
For just a moment, she wanted to feel that power, those heavy arms around her, the flex of muscle beneath smooth skin. She wanted to feel like he would stand between her and the rest of the world.
And that was just plain crazy on so many levels. Because she ought to be thinking how she could get the hell away from him, not how she could cozy up nice and close. And because she always stood on her own, had done so ever since she was a little kid. Araminta wasn't the type to coddle and protect.
"I've dealt with the police already. They won't be looking for you," Dain said in that oh-so-confident tone.
She had the feeling she didn't want him to explain exactly how he'd done that. Swallowing, she looked away and tried to assimilate what he'd been patiently explaining to her for the past twenty minutes, ever since his buddies had beaten a hasty retreat, muttering about places to go and people to see. With a jolt, she realized that she almost believed his outlandish claims. Maybe because, based on everything she'd witnessed so far this morning, they carried a definite-and terrifying-ring of truth.
Dain and his buddies. Sorcerers.
Her focus returned to linger on him. The way he looked at her-his gray eyes direct and targeted, like she was the only person in the world-made her shiver, left her edgy, restless. Hot. And that scared her, that inappropriate response.
"Sorcerers?" She didn't bother to mask her skepticism. "You know that the whole thing sounds like a really bad B movie?"
"Yes." He raked his hand through his hair, and she stared at the stain of dark blood on his sleeve, recalled where it had come from. But underneath the tattered, blood-stiffened cloth, the skin of his forearm was unbroken, unmarked, even though she knew she'd seen the demon claw it to shreds.
A demon.
With a shaky sigh, she raised her gaze to his face. He looked serious, like he expected her to believe him.
To believe that he was a sorcerer. That he protected the world from demons.
That demons and their half-human, half-demon minions-hybrids-were real. They'd attacked her, and because of them, her house was gone. Burned to the ground.
So Dain kept saying, patiently, calmly.
She reached for a toss cushion-cobalt blue shag- and hugged it against her chest.
"And pigs fly," she muttered, her attention drawn inexorably back to Dain. Her gaze locked on his, then lowered to the hard line of his lips. Sexy, sexy mouth. She wondered what it would feel like against hers.
Okay, this reaction was sooo not appropriate. Thanks for kidnapping me. Do you mind if we have a quickie here on the floor?
She needed help of the psychiatric variety.
"Pigs and fish," Dain said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You mentioned flying fish earlier, and now, flying pigs." His tone was gentle and a little amused, as though the two of them were in on a private joke. An incredibly appealing thought, and she wondered at that, wondered why she wasn't less intrigued by him and more afraid.
Clenching her fingers in the cushion's soft cloth, she forced herself to look away. She recognized that her reactions were way outside anything that could be considered rational or normal. Her idea of reality was crashing down around her, and she was fixating on Dain, on his face, on his body, on the way that just looking at him made her feel hot and-
Oh, this was not good. So not good. Looking down, she took a slow breath, pushed herself to stay balanced, cool.
Her heart was pounding. Her world, her whole sense of reality, was turning upside down, and she didn't trust herself right now to know… what to trust.
As soon as she got out of here, she was going to see her doctor. No more procrastinating. No more excuses. Whatever was happening to her was definitely getting worse, and she was going to find the root of it. Just as soon as she got out of here.
She tossed the pillow aside, ran her palms along her thighs, her knees. Pinched herself just to be sure she wasn't dreaming, though she didn't put much faith in that. Jerking her head up, she looked at Dain, found him staring at her hands, her fingers lying flat on her thighs.
The heat in his gaze made her freeze.
For an instant, she thought that if he closed the space that separated them, touched her, followed the path she defined with her own fingers, she'd go up in flames.
Her mouth went dry.
"You're lying." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There are no demons, no sorcerers, except in people's imaginations."
Only there were. She'd seen them.
Or had she? Who could she trust? Herself, with all the weird things she'd been going through lately? The terrifying periods of lost time. The strange yearnings and emotions and wild shift in her sexual urges. Did she even know herself anymore?
She surged to her feet, looked around in desperation.
Analyze, evaluate, catalogue, assess… but how to know if she was even working in reality or in some la-la land her mind had created?
Dain stepped forward, slowly, carefully, no threatening moves. Oh, God, the way he moved… And what the hell was wrong with her that she even noticed that?
Her distress multiplied, and she felt trapped. She needed to get away from here. Away from him.
The dark wood coffee table with its stainless-steel trim blocked her escape. She sidled to the right.
"I gotta tell you," she babbled as she spun, spotted the front door, and stumbled toward it, "I've never much been one for reading fantasy. Or watching movies with vampires and werewolves. There's enough horror in the world without dreaming up more, thank you very much."
She kept walking, one wavering step in front of the other.
He didn't say a word. Didn't try to stop her.
"I need to get out of here. Right now," she muttered, more to herself than to him, as though hearing the words would lend her courage or somehow make them come true. "I'm going."
Closing her hand around the doorknob, she twisted it, found it locked. Fear and fury squeezed her chest in a heavy fist.
Scream. She could scream. Maybe a neighbor would hear her, alert the police. She opened her mouth, sucked in a breath.
"Don't scream." Dain stepped up beside her and whispered the words against her ear. She felt the air crackle, a mild electric shock, and the sound locked in her throat like he'd flipped an "off" switch.
Panic roared, as bright and hot as a flash fire.
"Jade Bassett owns the other unit on this floor. She likes to sleep till late afternoon. If you scream, you'll wake her," he said, reaching past her to unlock and open the door.
Better. That was better. She could see the hallway and freedom. Her fear ratcheted down a notch.
Vivien willed herself to stay calm, to stay rational. Use her logic.
Her gaze dropped to his arm, and again she saw the dark dried blood staining the sleeve of his linen shirt. She remembered the demon raking him with yellowed talons.
An unexpected jolt of anger stabbed her, and she had the fleeting thought that she'd like to have at the thing for hurting Dain.
That was just not logical. Not at all. Because logic told her she shouldn't care that he'd been injured-he'd abducted her, for heaven's sake-and that there were no such things as demons, or sorcerers…
Before her eyes, Dain passed his hand over the stained shirt, the movement imbued with masculine grace. His palm was broad, his fingers long and strong, his wrist and part of his forearm bared by his movement to show sun-kissed skin over corded muscle. Light glowed at his fingertips, and in a heartbeat the bloodstain was gone, the torn cloth gone, the sleeve immaculate.
"Nice trick." She almost choked on the words as she reused her gaze to the open hallway and freedom.
"No trick. Just proof. I need you to believe me, Vivien." He said her name low and smoky and so sultry she expected to feel steam coming off her skin. "I need you rational. Calm. Because I need your help."
Dain was so close, she could feel the heat of his body, could smell a hint of citrus from his shaving cream and the scent of his skin, masculine and tantalizing. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Not daring to turn and look at him, not trusting herself or the crazy urge to fist her hands in his shirt and rub up against him, she stared straight ahead at the open door.
What was wrong with her? Was she some sort of freak that terror made her horny?
She'd been attacked by a gray-skinned, eight-foot-tall monster with teeth. Really big teeth.
Her house had been burned to the ground.
She'd lost everything, maybe even her sanity.
And all she could think of was the need, no, the compulsion, to touch Dain Hawkins, skin to hot skin, to run her tongue, her teeth, along the strong column of his throat, to kiss his hard mouth.
It was like someone-something-else was alive inside her skin.
No… not something else, but maybe a part of herself that she'd never known, never recognized.
She shivered.
She'd never had much of an interest in physical intimacy, had convinced herself that her lack of libido was normal given her hectic schedule and career-oriented lifestyle. Every test her doctor had done came up negative, so she'd accepted the fact that she was just one of those people who wasn't all that interested in sex.
Until now.
Now, with her world crashing down around her, she thought she'd do just about anything to have Dain Hawkins lay his big, solid, naked body over hers and-
"I'm asking you to stay," he said, his voice low, his breath fanning her cheek. "Stay long enough to hear
me out, Vivien. The door is open. It isn't my intent to hold you prisoner, only to hold you safe. The choice is yours."
"You won't stop me if I walk out of here?" Breathless. She was breathless.
"No, but I will follow you. I don't know if hybrids or even demons will seek you out when you leave my protection. I don't know what they were after when they approached you. And I still need your help." He gave a low laugh, short, dark. "So, for now, where you go, I go."
Where you go, I go.
Yeah, right. Everyone always left her, but he was saying that he wouldn't. And she was supposed to trust that? Trust him? He'd leave. Just like everyone else did.
On a sharp exhalation, she acknowledged the fact that the thought of him taking off bothered her. She didn't even know the guy. Why should it matter if he left her?
Because if he was telling the truth about the whole demons and hybrids thing, then she definitely didn't want to be alone to face them.
Wasn't that an ugly little jolt of reality?
Yeah, reality. That was the thing she needed to figure out. How could she believe this? Any of it?
As though he had read her mind, Dain's lips quirked in a scant smile. "Watch."
In an instant, he began to glow with bright light, a supernova. He was haloed in it. Then a thick fog swirled up from his feet, twining and winding around his body and hers until it joined them, bound them, blocked out everything else.
"Believe me, Vivien. Trust what you see." His voice was a low rasp, and she was lured, tantalized, wanting to believe. "You are a scientist. Wouldn't you like to know what this is? How it works? Wouldn't you like to catalogue my secrets?"
"This isn't science," she whispered, lured nonetheless by his words.
What was truth and what was trickery?
She took a step, froze, then spun to face him.
"Everything will be fine, Vivien," he said, his voice low, a little rough. "Trust me, and we'll do just fine."
He wanted her to trust him. Problem was, she didn't know if she could trust herself.
Her gaze collided with Dain's, liquid silver, scorching heat. Her skin felt sensitive, like she'd sat in the blistering sun for hours. She could barely stand the feel of her T-shirt and jeans. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
OhGodOhGod. What was happening to her?
She was so hot, so edgy, her nerve endings on fire.
But if she could just have Dain Hawkins, have him naked and pounding hard, then the fever would ease. It would ease.
On a sharp exhalation, she stumbled back, wrapping her arms tightly about herself to still her shaking.
She needed to think of something other than the craving to touch him, kiss him, feel him deep inside her.
She needed to get a grip.
Falling back on decades-old habits, she began to mentally catalogue evidence and information, focusing on what she knew. In information was strength, safety, reassurance.
Problem was, she didn't have a whole heck of a lot of facts to categorize.
She rolled her lips inward until her teeth cut against the soft tissue with a distracting pain. Dain stood in front of a very cool-looking gilt-edged mirror, watching her. The mirror reflected a great view of his denim-clad ass.
He was one of those guys who just looked amazing in a pair of faded, worn jeans.
Wrenching her gaze away, she walked to the bank of windows that faced south, stared out at the CN Tower in the distance and the white curve of the Skydome. Oh, yeah, reality check… the powers that be had renamed it the Rogers Centre how many years ago? Two? Three?
Reality check? What the hell was reality? Nothing that she was overly familiar with right now.
She was actually believing him about the sorcerers and the demons. Her gut was telling her it was true, and despite her years of scientific study, she still put faith in instinct, because her instincts were usually right.
Leaning forward, she let her forehead rest against the cool glass.
After a moment, she looked around the penthouse. Dain's personality was evinced in the clean lines and artful surprises. As uniquely as he chose to dress, his decorating style followed suit and spoke of his taste. Unexpected splashes of color added a certain flamboyance to the vast and open space, a spark of life. She thought there must be at least five thousand square feet here, divided into rooms not by walls but by furniture placement and style. What appeared to be priceless antiques mixed with modern pieces in a way that shouldn't have worked together but did.
In the northwest corner was a staircase that led to a second floor and what she assumed must be a bedroom.
She turned away. Dain Hawkins's bedroom was the last place her mind, or any other part of her, ought to linger.
Squinting at the painting on the opposite wall, she thought it might be a Picasso. Wow. She wandered closer, studied the amazing placement of shape, the unique use of color.
Dain closed the door-it was only in that instant that she realized he had left it open this whole time-and shot her a glance.
"Would you like tea?" he asked. The question struck her as funny.
Apparently, taking her strangled laugh as a yes, he moved to the kitchen-state-of-the-art with cherry cabinets that gleamed with a rich patina, stainless-steel appliances and hardware, black granite countertop with a trio of blue glass vases gracing the end. Everything about the place screamed of wealth. Class with an unexpected twist.
Lifting the kettle, he brought it to the sink. The sight of his strong, long-fingered hands-one on the handle of the kettle, one on the tap-made her shiver.
She glanced down, stared at the floor, struggling to find her equilibrium, and she realized she was missing a fuzzy green slipper. In her fear and fury, she'd pegged it at Dain's head and hadn't retrieved it. She imagined it was lying somewhere in her driveway amidst the wreckage of her home. Her life.
The single slipper she had on looked strange without its mate. Bedraggled. Sort of sad.
"I lost my slipper," she said. She'd lost everything. The slipper just made the scale tip beyond endurance. Silly, she knew, but it was either focus on the slipper or dissolve in a sobbing, sniveling heap. She opted for the slipper.
Dain studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. He raised his right hand and unfurled his fingers with the same gesture he'd used earlier, a graceful, showy twist. It made her think of a fencer with a foil.
Sparks of white light fanned through the air.
"There," he said. "Now you have two slippers. Fuzzy, neon green."
He smiled, his hard mouth curving in a way that made her lose her breath, lose her thoughts.
She felt that smile slide through her, all the way to her toes. Why him? Why did he elicit this response? Ciarran was gorgeous. So was Darqun. But she'd barely noticed them. Why was it only Dain who shot her libido into overdrive?
With a shake of her head, she sank down on the chair beside her and froze. There were two slippers now. Fuzzy, neon green.
"How… ?" Her head jerked up.
Somehow, he'd made her slipper appear out of nowhere, so maybe he could do that with other things.
"Can you do that with my life? With my house? Wave your magic wand"-she paused as he shot her a look- "wave your magic hand and fix everything?"
He turned on the stove, put the kettle on the element. "Yes." Her heart swelled with hope, only to deflate as he continued. "And no. It's technically possible for me to repair your home with magic, but it's impossible for other reasons. Too many humans are aware of the destruction. We prefer to maintain our anonymity. In fact, our laws demand it."
"Who's 'we'?"
"I told you," he said patiently. "I am a sorcerer."
Her gaze slid to his white, white sleeve, her fuzzy green slipper, and back to his face.
"Then why are you boiling the water? Why don't you just use that… that"-she slashed her hand through the air, frustrated-"that magic, or whatever you call it, to boil the water?"
His smile deepened, a flash of white in his stubble-darkened face, wicked, dangerous. Enticing.
Dark, aching lust stirred deep inside her, and she almost moaned. Her blood was roaring in her ears. She thought that if he took even one step toward her, she'd leap on him in a wild frenzy.
"I like gadgets."
"I wouldn't call the stove a gadget." Her voice had a low, breathy quality, and he pinned her with a look that made her think he knew exactly what dark, secret longings tugged at her.
"It is to me." He shrugged. "Knobs, dials, switches… I like to play with things."
Play with me.
It wasn't until the humor faded from his face and his features got hard and hungry that she realized she'd said it out loud.
Oh, God, yes. Play with me.
She'd jacked him sky-high from the first second he'd seen her. Dain dropped his gaze to the kettle, but it didn't help. Vivien Cairn was as hot as a Georgia sidewalk in July; he didn't need to look at her to feel the burn. Dared not look at her, because the problem was, he wanted to take her up on her invitation.
He liked her look-sleek, strong, sexy. He liked her bravery, her resilience. She'd been dumped with a heavy load and had yet to lose it. Actually, it was incredible the way she had coped with everything that had been thrown at her this morning, taking it all in, analyzing, assessing, her analytical mind working through the possibilities and quickly reaching conclusions that, to her, must be incomprehensible. He admired that quality in her, respected it.
He glanced up, found her watching him. He liked the way she looked at him-as though she'd take him down and take what she wanted.
Fuck. He wanted that. Wanted her. Because damsel in distress or not, he had a feeling that Vivien was a take-no-prisoners kind of girl.
He was on dangerous turf.
She was inviting him to play with her, her hazel eyes sultry and dark, her lips parted in a way that begged him to kiss her.
"Backgammon?" he asked, his voice rough.
Her gaze raked him, leaving Dain with no illusions about the game she wanted to indulge in.
Dr. Vivien Cairn had one hell of a strange reaction to having her life turned upside down.
And damn him, but he was tempted.
He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, hold her close. Offer her comfort.
Yeah, right.
Altruistic bastard, that was him, for sure.
Not.
He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him, screaming his name.
But he needed Vivien for other reasons, reasons that involved the wall between dimensions and the safety of mankind. He wasn't enough of an asshole that he'd put everything the Compact worked for at risk just to get laid.
If he did that, he'd be no better than the Ancient, betraying everything he believed in.
Only, from the second she'd opened her front door, raked him with a look that screamed sex, then raised her gaze to his and let him read the shadows in her eyes, he'd had no doubt that with her, it would be more than a single hot night. And that freaked the hell out of him.
Now, keeping his focus on his actions, he prepared the tea, sandwiches, and a mandarin-orange-and-spinach salad. He figured she must be hungry.
She didn't offer to help. Wise lady. Standing hip to hip in the kitchen would not be their best plan, not unless the plan was to melt into a steamy puddle on the floor.
Instead, she moved around the penthouse, spending a few minutes by each window, gliding from one to the next, looking out. The loft had a great view, but he didn't think she really found it all that engrossing. He figured she was more intent on avoiding him after that little interchange than she was on admiring the scenery.
"Lunch is served," he said, pouring the balsamic dressing over the salad and giving it a quick toss.
She pressed her lips together and turned to face him, her body outlined by the nimbus of winter sunlight that poured through the window at her back. Jeans. Black T-shirt. No bra. His gaze lingered longer than it should have.
"Thanks. Actually, it's breakfast for me." The husky tone of her voice made electricity ramp through him.
Deliberately, he lowered himself onto a stool at the far end of the granite kitchen island, poured two mugs of vanilla-bean tea, and added milk to one. He cocked an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head.
"I take it black, thanks."
It took her a few minutes to work her way closer. She flitted to the side table, picked up the coffee-table book of American roadside mailboxes and thumbed through it.
"I like the rooster," Dain said when she got to the page.
She smiled a little, nodded, put the book down, drifted closer. Finally, she gingerly climbed onto the stool at the opposite end of the island, leaving empty space between them.
Safe space. A "no-fly" zone.
He pressed a button on a remote, and a nice bluesy jazz colored the air. She cut a glance at him, then quickly looked away.
"You okay?" he asked. "I know this must all seem very strange."
She shifted a little on the stool, getting comfortable. "I'm used to strange."
Yeah, he supposed she was, given her line of work. She dealt in the gruesome and the macabre. And yet, she retained an aura of artlessness-natural and unforced- that he found incredibly appealing.
"Vivien, I'm sorry about your house."
Her gaze snapped back to his, her eyes wide and a little lost. He felt that look like a blow to his gut.
Pressing her lips together, she studied him for a moment, then said, "Thank you. I am, too. There were a lot of… memories in that house."
Memories. He understood that. Understood sweet recollection that would only grow hazy in time.
"You'll make new memories in a new house," he said, striving to reassure. The look on her face told him he'd fallen flat.
"No, it isn't the house memories I was talking about. The truth is, I haven't lived there all that long. Just a few months."
"Then what?" He pushed her mug of tea along the granite counter toward her.
"The furniture, the rugs, the paintings. I don't really care. They were only things. I can buy new things." She turned the mug of tea, slowly spinning it round and round. "It's… the photos. And the stuffed teddy I won at an amusement park. The T-shirt I still had from my high school boyfriend. I never wore it or anything; I just liked knowing it was in the drawer." She shrugged and turned the mug again. "Nothing of value to anyone but me."
Her soft statement kicked him hard. He knew about her high school boyfriend. He'd been incinerated in a car crash, the remains identified by dental records.
Dain tapped his fingers on the countertop, wondering what the hell to say. He knew about loss, knew about pain, but he wasn't about to share a deep moment of commiseration.
"So, uh, how did you end up working in forensic anthropology?" he asked.
She glanced at him, her brows drawn together in a frown, and then she laughed. "Why does this feel like the horrible, strained conversation I had on my last blind date?"
Dain smiled, then sent her an exaggerated leer. "Hey, baby, what's your sign?"
"I said blind date, not pickup in a bar."
"Get picked up in bars often?" he asked with a laugh.
"No, I…" She paused, frowned, shook her head as though trying to grab a thought that kept slipping away.
For a second, she looked incredibly lost and afraid.
He half-reached for her, wanting to touch her, to reassure.
"What about you? You get picked up often?" she asked, her voice falsely bright.
He meant to throw out a line, something funny and charming that would make her laugh. Instead, he told her the truth. Because she didn't deserve a line.
"No. I'm more of a lone wolf."
She played with her mug a little more, then slanted him another of those sexy, sideways glances.
His magic stirred and rippled, though he didn't summon it, and he tensed, wondering exactly what the hell was going on here. The damned demon bone he'd been carrying around lately must have really scrambled his senses, because Vivien was mortal, and mortals didn't call sorcerer magic.
She looked away, toyed with her salad, then took a sip of tea, and the odd sensation inside him dissipated.
"So you were going to tell me about your career path," he said, keeping his tone light.
Laying her fork flat on the countertop, she stared at it for a long while. He thought she wouldn't answer, would keep her secrets to herself, and he was startled when she didn't.
"My high school boyfriend, Pat. He died. MVA- motor vehicle accident." Her tone was flat. Emotionless. And it was in the lack of expression that he read her heartbreak. She didn't let herself feel. He understood that, understood her, because he, too, was adept at building walls, locking himself away.
"Between the crash and the fire, there was almost nothing left to identify. They had to use dental records."
She shook her head, lifted her fork once more, tapped the tines lightly against the rim of her plate. "A day after his funeral, I changed my course selection for my freshman year at college to include all the prerequisites for the forensic anthropology program." She fell silent, blew out a breath, gave a shaky little laugh. "So… yeah… that's my story."
Dain had known all that. It didn't come as any surprise. Still, he felt the rawness of it, the loss, heard an undercurrent to her words that told him there was more to it than that. She had shared this with him. Why? Maybe because she needed to let it out.
For some crazy reason, he was glad that he was here to listen.
"Your whole story?" he asked, not certain why he prodded, not certain why he even wanted to know. But he did.
Her brow furrowed, and her reply was slow in coming. "A part of me-a big part-has always blamed myself, because I let him go off angry, let him leave when he was in such a fury. Macho posturing and teenaged testosterone." She tapped the fork on her plate again, faster, a brief, staccato burst. "I can't believe I'm telling you this." She shook her head and whispered, "For a very long time, I wished I could have sixty seconds of that night, just sixty seconds to live over again."
Dain nodded, stunned that she'd shared this with him. Touched. A little freaked because he understood all about regret and blame and wishing you could have just that one moment to do over. Jesus, what was it with Vivien Cairn touching the live wire of his emotions?
What was it about her that made him want to open his mouth and let his own dark tale pour free?
He knew exactly how she felt, exactly how strong the yearning could be, the aching wish to have a chance to say good-bye.
"And now what do you wish?" he asked, knowing he should just let it go. Not ask. Not care.
"Now?" She blinked, gave a shaky laugh. "I don't wish. There's no point. If wishes were pennies…" She met his gaze head-on, and he saw old pain, resignation, and strength. Incredible strength. "Those seconds are gone, and I can never retrieve them."
He inhaled sharply. Those seconds are gone. Gone, like Moria and Ciel were gone. Too late.
"In an instant, that moment is gone, and it's too late," he murmured.
"Yes," she whispered.
She was watching him, her gaze focused, and it made him uncomfortable, the knowledge and understanding he read in her eyes, the connection to her. It also made her unbelievably attractive to him.
"I've never talked to anyone about Pat. Never told anyone about keeping his T-shirt." She frowned at her salad, stabbed a leaf and ate it.
Vivien Cairn was one tough lady.
One tempting lady, on so many levels.
And he wanted her with a hard-edged intensity.
The demon bone was locked up tight in the vault, had been since the second they'd returned to his penthouse, so he couldn't blame his raw lust on its dark aura. There was no one to blame but himself. He had no business lusting after her, no business liking her.
He needed to focus on the task at hand. He needed her help to determine if his suspicions about the contents of the red gris-gris bags were fantasy or fact. He needed answers.
And he needed to stop thinking about raking his arm over the countertop to clear it, laying Vivien across it, ripping that skimpy little black top off her body, jerking her jeans down her hips.
Licking his way along her naked skin, inch by luscious inch.
He shot her a glance, found her watching him, her stunning hazel eyes heavy-lidded, her lips moist and parted. Oh, yeah. She was back to eyeing him like he was dessert. He saw her pretty white teeth and the tip of her tongue… thought of all the places on his body that he'd like to feel her teeth and tongue.
Fuck.
He was so screwed.
Swiveling his ergonomic, ecofriendly task chair, Javier Saint aimed the remote at the flat screen on the opposite wall, turned it on, and cranked the volume.
God bless MTV.
There were times he enjoyed the quiet. This morning wasn't one of them. Actually, he'd started to crave noise. Maybe he was hanging with Darqun too much.
He spun his chair to face the bank of three computers before him. His little hobby. He did love his IT.
A faint tingle skittered across his skin, and the air shimmered for an instant, then coalesced into a man's form.
"You could have used your key," he said with a cursory glance at Darqun. Ragged cargo pants, white T-shirt, brown leather jacket that looked about a hundred years old. Javier sighed. "You ever gonna learn how to dress?"
"Key's no fun. You know I like riding the dragon current. And, no, not if learning how to dress means emulating your style. I'll take my T-shirt over your hand-stitched Italian silk any day."
"Peasant," Javier said, lacing the word with mock derision. "Anyway, find the key, and use it. Or knock. What if you'd beamed yourself in here at an inopportune moment?"
"What? You mean if you were amorously occupied? I'd have disappeared before anyone knew I was here. This place is big enough that I could get lost for a week." Darqun laughed. "Or maybe I'd have hidden in the corner and watched."
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah." Darqun reached over Javier's shoulder and helped himself to the remaining half of the grilled vegetable and goat cheese sandwich on the plate. "Beamed myself in here? You've been watching too much classic TV." He chewed, swallowed. "How do you eat this vegetarian shit all the time? A man needs meat. Meat."
"I'm a sorcerer, not a man."
"A sorcerer needs meat." Darqun sent a flash of light from his fingertips, and the smell of grilled chicken laced the air. "Now that's a sandwich."
With a grunt, Javier shot him a look. "Take a page out of Ciarran's book. Learn a little restraint."
Darqun took every opportunity to use his magic, to stretch his wings, so to speak. He'd spent centuries trapped in a dark pit, robbed of sight and sound and magic. It was the same reason he hated the quiet, hated to be alone, the same reason he hung with Javier or one of the other sorcerers just about every waking moment. The only time he didn't was when he had a girl with him. Usually a different one every night.
Grabbing a spare chair, Darqun dragged it over. "Vivien Cairn's house erupted into an inferno this morning," he said.
Oookay. That was unexpected news.
"With a little help from a full-blooded demon."
Javier sat a little straighten "What the hell?"
"Yeah, my thoughts exactly." Darqun wolfed the last bite of the sandwich. "And it turns out Dr. Cairn owns six red velvet gris-gris bags."
Even more unexpected, and faintly creepy. What were the odds that the forensic pathologist they approached to examine their charm bags just happened to have a little collection of her own?
"Crazy coincidence, bizarre hobby, or relevant fact?" Javier's fingers were already flying across the keyboard, searching for anything he could find on Vivien Cairn. Break through a firewall here. Hack a password there. No worries.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Darqun said, his tone flat.
"Bizarre hobby?"
"Yeah. Maybe. But there were hybrids crawling all over her place, and that was a full-blooded demon in her basement this morning. Dain smoked it while Ciarran and I took out a half-dozen hybrids in the cornfield and at the tree farm."
Javier stopped typing and turned to stare at Darqun. He gave a low whistle. "Heavy artillery. Gotta ask- what were they doing there?"
"I thought they followed us there. Dain agreed… at first. But somewhere along the way, he became convinced otherwise. Now I'm not so sure, either. Something feels off. Dain figures they were there already, looking for her charm bags." He paused, gave a low laugh. "I figure Dain's interested in her charms, if the way he went off like a bomb is any indication. He did the whole you-no-touch-my-woman thing."
Javier opened his mouth, closed it. Darqun had to be kidding, except his expression was straight.
"Dain's not exactly the type to go caveman over a woman," Javier said. "Hell, he's got himself locked down so goddamned tight, he barely tolerates friendships. No way he'd let down his guard. Not our Dain. Especially after what went down with the Ancient. You sure you weren't seeing one of his illusions? He does love to conjure."
"Nope. He went feral over her."
Javier digested that; he had no idea what to make of it. "If Dain's right and the demon was there for Dr. Cairn's gris-gris bags, how did it know she had them?" he asked.
"Got no clue." Darqun shrugged.
Narrowing his eyes, Javier focused on the pounding beat of the music. He let his thoughts spin until confusion gave way to conviction.
His skin prickled.
He had a hunch, a crazy one, but something in Darqun's story had him thinking…
"What was in those charm bags, Dar?"
"There was no time to look, but I'm guessing pretty much the same shit we found in the gris-gris Dain brought back from New Orleans and the one he nabbed at the Ancient's the night Clea almost died. Human bones, skin, hair. Colored stones. Dust. There's a hint of sorcerer magic about each of the bags, but there's an even stronger demon aura clinging to this stuff. It feels like there's a remnant of demon magic in the bones and sorcerer warding around the bags."
Little bags of bones and skin and hair. Little bits of a dead human. It struck a chord. Javier lifted his feet and swivelled his chair around. Did it again and again. He brought his foot down, slamming the chair to a stop midspin.
"Bones from the same human or different humans?" he asked. He definitely did not like where his thoughts were leading him.
"No clue. They're pretty old, and I don't want to go poking through them just in case I destroy something. I figure Dr. Cairn's the specialist, so she's the one to examine them."
"Where are the bags now?"
"Dain kept two, divvied the rest up between me and Ciarran. Said something about not wanting them all together in one place unless there were a couple of us around to babysit them."
Javier winced. Oh, man. He definitely had not wanted to be right about this one. But Dain was obviously thinking along the same lines. "Dain's right. You have them with you?"
"Yeah. Burning holes in my pockets. I came straight here or I would have locked them up somewhere safe."
"Good. That's good." Javier swallowed. "If you go to Ciarran's or Dain's, don't take the bags with you. Lock 'em up in your vault. Set wards and spells. Keep those bags apart. Don't put them all together in one place until you hear from me."
"You thinking what Dain's thinking?"
"I dunno what Dain's thinking, man. I'm thinking something pretty crazy. I'm thinking that the goddamned demons have a pile of those bags sitting on a shelf somewhere, all nice and ready to go. I'm thinking the Ancient's fingerprint is all over this, like a puppet master. And I'm thinking we're in for a load of trouble if they get their hands on the rest of the bones."
Darqun leaned in, looking over Javier's shoulder at the screen. "You remember what I told you on the phone this morning, about the caduceus and the killings and the doctor I met?"
"Yeah." Javier could feel Darqun's tension, hear the edge to his tone.
"Everything's connected, my man. These freaky little bags, the burnt demon bone Dain found. The Solitary." Darqun paused, then continued. "And I'm betting those murdered humans are connected somehow, too."
With a soft tap-tap-tap, Javier's fingers flew over the three keyboards, and a whole bunch of ideas swirled around in his thoughts.
Frankenstein, Golem. Re-animation.
Certainty coalesced, a cold, ugly ball in the center of his gut.
"Blood sacrifice," he said. "I'm betting the demons plan to use what's in those charm bags and maybe the blood of those murdered humans to raise the goddamned dead."
Darqun's breath hissed from between his teeth. "The question is, who do they plan to raise, and why?"
Rick Strasser rolled the bill into a narrow tube and snorted the white line he'd cut so neatly on the glass tabletop. With a leer, he offered the bill to the girl.
She shook her head, smiled. "I don't need it. I just need you. Can I have you, Rick? Can I suck you dry?"
"Yeah, baby." Damn, she was hot. All that sleek dark hair, and that body. Legs and ass, and her breasts barely covered by that flimsy little black top. No bra.
Sashaying over less than ten minutes after Rick had arrived at Illusion, she'd agreed to come home with him. Agreed? Hell, she'd insisted-one more trophy in Rick's poorly kept tally.
"Come on," she said, running her tongue over her lower lip, her gaze dropping to his crotch. "I'm tired of waiting. I want you. Now."
The coke rushed through him, making him feel like frigging Superman. He pulled her to him, kissed her sloppily. His nails scraped her skin, scoring the tender flesh. She didn't seem to care about his lack of finesse. Good. Maybe she liked it rough; he sure did.
Heart chuffing like a little engine on a big hill, Rick shoved at his pants, helped her help him out of his shirt. She was moaning, purring, and he hadn't even touched her yet, hadn't done much more than tear off her shirt. Man, she was hot for it. He backed her to the couch, but when he tried pushing her down, she balked.
"I want to be on top. Let me be on top." Her voice a breathy whisper.
"Yeah. Yeah, sure," he mumbled, so hard, wanting it so bad. He didn't care if she was on top, on the bottom, hanging from the frigging ceiling, so long as she let him shove it in her.
The leather of his couch was cool and smooth at his back, and she was as hot as a sauna climbing up his front.
"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah." He hissed and closed his eyes as she sank down on him, taking him inside her, hotter than frigging lava. She started to move, slowly at first, then faster. He rocked up to meet each thrust. The coke kept him high, and it kept him hard, holding off his release.
His head fell back; the room started spinning, and suddenly he didn't feel so good. She was pulling him into her. Pulling him out of himself. Taking something from him…
"Hey!" Did he manage the protest or just think he did?
Something wasn't right. He didn't feel… right She was moving, harder, rougher, laughing. She was…
Fuck, what the hell was she doing?
Squinting up at her, he saw the glitter of the diamond necklace at her throat. A … the letter A. Her name-did he know her name? Had he bothered to ask?
Anne? Amber? Ariel?
He tried to lift his hands, tried to feel her waist, to stop her, to push her off. Only he couldn't. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak. He could only feel. Feel the cold inching through him, terrifying, the warmth leaching away. Like he was bleeding, only he wasn't. Was he?
Rick tried to focus, tried to see her, but the room had gone so dark and hazy. Panic surged like an acid wave, burning his gut and his throat. His vision had narrowed to a tunnel, and all he could see was… fuck. Fuck. He tried pushing it off, but his arms wouldn't move.
Getitojf. Getitoff. Getitoff.
The girl was gone, and in her place, crouched over him with yellowed talons and spittle-flecked lips, was a hideous thing, a pruned hag with twisted features and lank, greasy hair. Glowing eyes and a vicious sneer.
A monster.
What are you?
The lips twisted in a parody of a smile. Blackened teeth. Lesioned gums. "I am your fantasy and your nightmare. I am succubus. I am death."
It cackled like a frigging witch, and Rick twitched and bleated, desperate to move, to get away, frozen in place like a pinned bug, while the thing writhed and moaned and pumped up and down. Scuttling over him like a cockroach, it thrust its face close. He could smell rot, decay. Death.
He felt dry, desiccated, like his life had been sucked out of him.
With a sweep of its purple tongue across its lips, it reared back, raked a knife-edged talon across his belly. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. There was only the endless echo of pain and horror in his mind. Against the backdrop of rap music pumping from his stereo came a vile sucking sound, like a vacuum seal torn open, and then another, louder.
The monster raised its head, shimmered, changed, becoming once more the gorgeous girl he'd picked up at the club. Her lips were smeared with blood, and Rick gave scream after soundless scream as she pulled out glistening loops of his intestines, red and wet.
She reached up into him, high on the left, and ripped out a dripping organ. The pain and the hot burn that followed was unbearable.
"Your spleen," she hummed. "A lovely, delicious little bag of blood." She smiled. "I sealed your artery. Wouldn't want you to bleed out and die too quickly. I can only claim the best parts while you're alive. Besides, I like to savor my food."
Sobbing, choking, Rick snuffled and begged. No words. No sound. Please. Please.
She pulled a length of his intestine taut, her movements careful, delicate. Baring her teeth, she tore out a chunk, and Rick felt it. God, he felt it.
"Prairie oysters are a delicacy in some places," she said, reaching down to stroke his testicles.
Rick felt the flow of his urine, hot against his skin.
With a faint slurp, she continued her meal.
Whatever was wrong with her, it was getting worse. Time had melted away like an ice cube in the hot sun, and Vivien couldn't find a trace of it. She had huge holes in her day, chunks of time gone, missing. Hours that she knew had passed but that she couldn't remember. That terrified her.
She stared out at the lights of the CN Tower, bright against the dark night sky, and shivered. It was late. Past midnight.
Anxiety chewed at her. She couldn't remember what had happened in the past four or five hours. She'd lost those hours, and she had an ugly suspicion that she wouldn't like them if she found them.
Dain had taken off right after lunch, had hightailed it out of the loft so fast she'd had no doubt he was running from her, from the hot and heavy come-on she was laying on him.
Choices, choices.
Sex with her, or escape.
He'd picked escape.
Which was nothing new in the life of Vivien Cairn. People tended to desert her. Her dad. Nana, who'd taken care of her when she was little and then just up and disappeared one day, never to be heard from again. Her mom, who was so emotionally distant that she might as well have been completely absent. Pat, who'd left her in anger and died.
So she dedicated her life to finding answers. Not for herself, but maybe she could offer closure to others who'd been left behind. She couldn't figure out the puzzle of her own life, but she could figure out the riddles of other people's deaths. She could offer comfort to the families whose loved ones never came back.
Sighing, Vivien tried to stop the pity party. She rarely let herself get down in the dumps, but right now, she couldn't seem to stop. Her mood was probably triggered because she was terrified of her memory lapses. And by the events of the day, the losses, the stress.
God. Why was she thinking about all this now? Tonight?
Because of Dain. Because of the foreign emotions he roused in her. Because the fact that he had fled her less-than-subtle advances was humiliating, and the fact that she was so out of control that she'd pushed him to leave, doubly so.
Her cheeks actually heated with embarrassment as she recalled how, with a quick rundown of where the TV remote was stored, a password for the computer in the kitchen, and finally, a stern admonition that she stay put and keep the doors and windows locked, he'd left with an alacrity just shy of the speed of light, muttering some comments about wards and spells and being safe inside the penthouse.
So he had left. Just like she'd known he would. Just like everyone did.
She was honest enough to admit that if he'd stayed, she would have jumped him whether he wanted her or not.
Talk about conflicted.
What she'd done after that had started out mundane enough. Washed the lunch dishes. Used the time alone to take a nap and shower. She'd whispered a prayer of thanks when she discovered a couple of packaged toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.
She'd also seen three rolls of gauze, three boxes of sterile gauze pads of varying sizes, a suture kit, and a scalpel. Odd things to keep in one's bathroom. Wariness trickling through her, she'd taken a toothbrush and ignored the surgical supplies, choosing not to dwell on them or the reasons Dain might keep such a stash in his medicine cabinet.
Heaving a sigh of relief at finding her purse on the couch-she vaguely recalled grabbing it as they left her burning house-she'd gone to the kitchen, called her financial adviser at her bank and her agent at her insurance company, and left messages for both of them. Her BlackBerry was nowhere to be found. Probably burned to a crisp along with the rest of her stuff. But she kept a small, handwritten address book for emergencies, and this definitely qualified as an emergency.
She remembered firing up the computer in Dain's kitchen, intending to create a file and document her observations of everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. E-mail it to herself so she didn't store anything on his hard drive.
And that's where the mundane had slipped into the bizarre, because from that point on, she couldn't remember a thing.
Not a single blessed thing.
All she knew was that she'd come to herself about forty minutes ago and realized that she'd lost time again. At least it wasn't a full twelve hours like it had been before. How long? Five hours? Four?
The scariest part was that when she'd come to, her slippers were nowhere to be seen, and her feet had been ice cold. Like she'd gone out barefoot in the snow. Where? Where had she gone? What had she done?
Needing to focus on something, a task with a firmly defined outcome, she'd made a methodical search for the missing slippers and found them pretty quickly out in the hallway by the elevator.
The discovery had left her feeling frightened. Out of control.
In an effort to regain some semblance of control, she'd gone to Dain's kitchen, hauled out ingredients, and thrown together a quick dinner, one of those chicken-rice-pineapple-in-a-single-pot-ready-in-thirty-minutes meals. It was warming on the stove.
At a loss now, she turned from the window and looked around for something else to occupy her, something that would busy her hands and mind and keep her sane.
Her mom. She needed to call her mom, tell her what had happened. That definitely would not keep her sane, but she had to do it, anyway. Despite their lousy relationship, her mother needed to be told about the fire.
And maybe, maybe just this once, she'd come through for Vivien with a little support and comfort.
Picking up the phone, she dialed her mother's cell. She'd already put off the chore long enough, telling herself she needed to wait until evening because her mother was en route, flying back to the West Coast after her visit with Vivien. But the unfortunate truth was, she'd have called her mom last even if she lived on the same block.
Araminta answered on the third ring, her voice cool and cultured.
"Hi, Mom."
"Vivien? You're lucky you caught me. I just got in."
Yeah… only luck had nothing to do with it.
"How was the flight?" Vivien paced the length of the kitchen as she spoke.
"My flight? No, Vivien. I'm still in Toronto," Araminta said. "I am at the Royal York. I spent the day at an anti-aging show. Amazing the things people can do to hold on to their youth."
Vivien shook her head as the reality of the situation hit her. Araminta hadn't flown home to the West Coast. She was still in Toronto, attending a show. When she'd left Vivien standing in the road-was it only last night?-she hadn't even mentioned that she was staying in town.
Clenching her fist, Vivien wondered why the realization hurt. Why she let it hurt.
"Listen, Mom," she said, her voice cracking. "I've had a really eventful day."
After hearing a concise version of the tale, her mother was silent for so long that Vivien was tempted to ask if she was still there.
"Are you hurt?" Araminta asked, and there was just enough emotion in her tone to shock the heck out of Vivien.
"No, I'm fine. I'm with a"-what was she supposed to call him?-"a friend."
"Amy?"
Vivien couldn't help but smile at the approval in Araminta's voice. For some reason, her mother liked Amy. "No, not Amy. Someone else."
Araminta heaved one of her impending-nuclear-destruction sighs, pointed out that Vivien had best notify her bank and credit card companies, and wondered with preternatural calm whether the damage would be covered by Vivien's home insurance.
"Yes, Mom. I'll call the bank and the insurance again in the morning. And, yes, my policy will cover this."
The conversation petered out pretty quickly after that. Vivien gave her mother Dain's telephone number in case she needed to reach her and completely ran out of things to say after that.
"I'm at the Royal York. Ask for me at the desk. I'll come down," Araminta said, and Vivien had the odd notion that her mother was offering her a place to stay.
She murmured a noncommittal reply.
"Well, you have lost only things. Nothing that can't be replaced," her mother said, matter-of-fact as always. "Good night, dear."
Nothing that can't be replaced. Vivien shook her head as she put the receiver back in the cradle. Her photos of her whole life. The huge stuffed teddy she and Amy had won together at Wonderland the year they first met; she could still remember the sense of euphoria as she'd been handed her prize. All her clothes and shoes. Her furniture. God, the list was enormous.
She closed her eyes, and a memory of the demon in her basement came to her.
Oh, yeah, she hadn't lost anything that couldn't be replaced -except her naive belief that the world's worst monsters were human and that her work and testimony had helped to convict some of them and see justice done.
Vivien slowly exhaled as a shudder came over her. And along with everything else, she'd lost another chunk of time today. What had she done all afternoon? Where had she been?
And what about last night after her mother had left? There was a full twelve hours missing there, a whole night up until the point that Dain had appeared on her front porch, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recover even a flicker of memory.
She'd made notes on her previous episodes. Jotted down conjectures. Started a file filled with articles on any possible cause for what was happening to her. That was all gone now, incinerated. She'd have to start over.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she sighed. The episodes hadn't come so close together before, and she felt like she wasn't just losing time; she was losing herself. Turning, she splayed her fingers on the cold glass of the window.
The oil on her skin would leave a handprint, she realized, but she didn't pull away.
I was here. I'm alive. I'm still me, despite everything.
I'll find that lost time, I'll find it. And I'll find out where I was, what I did.
She couldn't say how long she stood there, her mind spinning through a whole slew of terrible possibilities and conjectures, stirring them and stirring them until they melded into a dark and frightening sludge.
Suddenly, an odd awareness skittered through her, and she shivered. The air seemed to shift and bend, a warm stroke against her skin that sent every nerve into tingling sensitivity.
She knew even before he spoke or made a sound.
Dain Hawkins was back.
His footsteps sounded against the hardwood floor, drawing closer, until she sensed him right behind her.
Luscious, hard-bodied, irresistible Dain.
That was okay. She'd resist. She was a little more in control of herself now than she had been at lunch… she hoped.
"Vivien." Oh, God, the way he said her name, so low and sexy, like he was tasting it. She didn't turn, didn't dare look at him. Instead, she stared out at the distant lights.
He'd come back. He hadn't deserted her. He'd come back.
She almost snorted in derision, caught it at the last second. Of course he'd come back. It was his penthouse.
Angry at herself, she shoved little-girl-lost back into the shadowy corner she belonged in.
"Did you go out?" he asked. "The front door was unlocked." He definitely didn't sound happy about that.
Had she gone out? She had no idea. The realization made her sick.
Glancing down, she noticed a long, red scratch on the inside of her right forearm. How had she gotten it? Where? She had no idea about that, either.
She sighed, said nothing, wishing she had an answer to give him. To give herself. Finally, she just shook her head and was immensely grateful when he didn't press.
"It appears that your mother is a lady of restraint," Dain said from behind her, his tone wry.
So he'd heard at least part of that conversation. Vivien sucked in a breath, kept her gaze locked on the window and the view.
"That's my mother. As restrained as they come." As distant as they come. As far away from her daughter in both body and emotion as she could be. "It isn't as though she heard about the fire from a third party and then spent hours worrying about where I was or if I was hurt. She said she's been in workshops all day and hadn't seen the news."
And the truth was that, whatever their differences, Vivien believed that Araminta would have worried. They weren't estranged, just strangers who happened to be mother and daughter.
She still didn't look at him. Wanted so badly to look at him. Touch him. His absence throughout the afternoon hadn't changed a thing. She was still so hot for him she was about to go up in flames.
"So, yeah, not much cause for her to worry." She turned toward him at last.
"Perhaps she does worry. Perhaps she's just… guarded with her emotions," he offered.
She thought he knew a whole lot about being guarded, that he locked his own emotions away behind a wall.
There was just something about the way he seemed so controlled, so… alone. And she had no idea why she thought that.
"Speaking with the voice of experience?" she asked.
To her shock, he answered. "Yeah. Something like that."
Guarded emotions. They had that in common. Only, she'd blurted her whole life story earlier over spinach salad, while she still knew pretty much nothing about him. And why was she so curious? Because something about him intrigued her, and it wasn't just a physical thing, though there was definitely that, in spades.
He stepped closer, his faded jeans hugging lean hips and muscled legs, his linen shirt hanging loose, the open neck revealing the skin of his throat, the bulge of muscle across his chest.
Unsmiling, he stood before her, his dark hair in disarray, as though he'd ruffled the shaggy layers with impatient fingers, his silver eyes bright against the frame of dark lashes. She'd never seen anyone more beautiful than Dain Hawkins.
White-hot attraction sizzled through her, a gnawing need.
She blinked, made herself remember the feeling of standing against the wall in her basement, watching the demon's head roll across the ground to land at her feet right after Dain had lopped it off.
She forced herself to confront the truth of his magic. She couldn't believe she was actually accepting this. She made herself remember exactly who and what he was.
He was a sorcerer, a stark and savage warrior. He wasn't just beautiful; he was incredibly dangerous.
Why did that ramp up her libido?
She'd never in her life been attracted to dangerous guys. Mental gymnasts and great intellects were more her style, the kind of guy whose brain far surpassed his brawn.
No, actually, that wasn't true. Who was she kidding? She hadn't had a style. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of guys she'd dated. Truth was, since Pat's death she'd pretty much never been attracted to anyone.
Until Dain Hawkins.
The way he looked at her right now, his lips drawn in a hard line, his silver eyes gone dark, took her breath away. She could swear he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
A very scary thought.
"Anyway"-she wrapped her arms around herself- "I don't want to talk about my mother."
"Let's talk about bones, then," Dain said, his voice touched by a faint rasp.
She felt the drum of her heartbeat, once, twice, then Mr. In Control turned and led the way to the kitchen, while she stood there watching him go, wishing he would just grab her and haul her up against him and-
Whoa . .. don't go there.
Something dark and primal roared deep inside her, and she found that she very much wanted to go there.
In the kitchen, Vivien found two red velvet bags waiting for her on the granite countertop. They were similar to her own, but…
"Those aren't mine."
"No. One is from New Orleans. I retrieved it on a recent trip. And one was found in the home"-Dain gave a strange little smile, more menace than humor-"of an old friend"
"Doesn't sound like you think much of that old friend anymore."
Male? Female? Inexplicable jealousy bit at her.
"He was my mentor," Dain said, and Vivien realized she'd actually aired her little green monster out loud. Okay, great. What else could she do to embarrass herself?
"So, uh, where are the ones I collected?"
"Safe. Your belongings are safe, Vivien. Locked away in a vault."
"My belongings," she mused, and laughed. "There's not much left. A few charm bags that you have locked away. My purse, minus my BlackBerry and my wallet, because those were in my other purse." She paused. "But at least I nabbed the picture of my dad." She only wished she had all her other pictures. The ones of her and Amy. The ones from high school and university.
"Where is your father now?" Dain asked.
Where? Another question with no answer. Was he dead or just gone? And why was Dain asking these questions? Why did he care? She shrugged and looked away, her gaze sliding to the stove.
"Oh," she said, latching on to an excuse to change the subject. "I, um, made you some dinner. It's on the stove-" She stopped short as she saw the look on his face. Shock, as though her making him dinner was completely astonishing.
"Thank you." The way he said it was incredibly sincere, incredibly sexy.
"It's only quickie chicken-"
"I'm used to doing for myself or paying others to do for me." Dain leaned one hip against the counter. "It has been a very long while since anyone did me a kindness simply because they wanted to." He cut her a glance. "So, thank you."
The sincerity was there, in every syllable, but his words made her think again that he seemed so solitary, so alone, his walls firmly in place. At least she'd cracked hers wide enough to let Amy in. She had a feeling he didn't let anyone close.
Swallowing, she shifted her focus to the two red velvet gris-gris bags before her, the sight bringing both comfort and distress. The familiarity of them was welcome. The urge to touch them and examine them, not so welcome. It was deep-rooted and intense, a powerful compulsion.
She was drawn to whatever was in those bags.
"Do you need anything, any special equipment to examine them?" Dain asked.
"Not yet. I won't be able to say for certain until I see what's inside," Vivien murmured, already moving closer. "Do you have gloves?"
The question barely left her lips before Dain handed her a pair. In her mind's eye, she recalled the shimmer of light at his fingertips, the way he'd turned his sleeve from a bloodstained, torn mess into pristine perfection, and the way he'd conjured a fuzzy green slipper out of thin air. She figured she didn't need to ask where the gloves had materialized from.
She reached out, then gasped as Dain's warm fingers closed about her wrist. His thumb stroked lightly back and forth over her skin, sending a shiver up her spine.
"You're hurt. What happened?" he asked, his head bent as he studied the scratch on her forearm.
Didn't she wish she knew?
"I…" His touch left her breathless, and she pulled her wrist from his grasp, overwhelmed by her response to him. "I must have scratched myself."
He caught her wrist again, his gaze locked on hers as he brought his fingers to the cut. She felt tingling and a bright sensation, like the sun on her skin. When she glanced down, the scratch was gone, but her arm still felt sensitive in the place it had been.
"A day, and you'll be good as new," Dain said, dropping his hold on her.
"Thank you," she whispered, wishing his words were true, wishing she'd be good as new. But some deep instinct made her doubt that.
Turning to the countertop, she lifted the closer of the two bags. Red velvet tied with red thread. Just like the ones she collected.
A cloying unease wheedled through her, and with a quick glance at Dain, she put the bag down. It felt off. Menacing. Which made no sense. How could an old, decaying cloth bag be menacing? Shaking her head, she picked up the second bag, frowning as the same unpleasant aura-a sensation of wrongness-oozed through her.
The cloth slid from between her fingers as she gasped and jerked away.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Dain rested one hand against the granite counter and leaned forward to look over her shoulder.
Her pulse ramped up. She was buffeted by conflicting urges: one, to jump up and scuttle to the opposite side of the vast loft, to run away from the heat that scored her; the other, to fist her hand in Dain's shirt and drag him close. The latter urge was definitely the stronger of the two.
Lick him. Bite him. Draw him deep into her core.
Nothing gentle. She wanted rough, untamed ecstasy. The craving mushroomed, a pulsing ache.
She closed her eyes for a second, fought against the primal yearning. No matter how much she argued with herself that the urge was outrageous, she couldn't seem to get it under control. Her lids flipped up. The loft shimmered, and an odd sensation sifted through her, as though her body was sand pouring from a bucket.
She'd felt this before. It always came as a frightening herald right before she blacked out, lost all recollection of time. She froze, feeling sick and scared, terrified that she was going to open her eyes to find that hours, or even days, had passed and she would have no clue what had happened during that time.
Oh, God. What was happening to her?
Dain was watching her, his eyes pinched with concern, and she wondered what he saw etched on her face.
By sheer force of will, she corralled her rising panic, locking it away. She would master this. She would.
"Nothing's wrong." She dragged in a breath, struggled for calm. "I just felt strange for a second."
For a second? She'd felt nothing but strange for weeks.
Carefully, she reached out and opened one of the bags. It was a little larger than the ones she owned, heavier. She catalogued the contents out loud, sensing that Dain was listening with careful attention. Skin. Hair. Both appeared human. A smooth round stone. Her guess was polished rose quartz. A small glass vial, sealed with red wax. She thought the contents might be soil.
"Very similar to the items in my charm bags," she commented, and Dain made a low, noncommittal sound. "I think the bone is older, and the other items more recent… but I'd need to do some tests to be certain."
She withdrew the bone. It was the left pubis of a long-dead man, jagged breaks marking the places where the superior and inferior rami should have connected to the ilium and ischium.
"This is a pubic bone," she said. "From a male."
"How can you tell?" Dain asked.
He didn't sound skeptical, merely curious. Like he genuinely wanted to know.
"Imagine there's another bone on the other side, connected in the midline to join the two sides of a person's pelvis. If I lay my fingers along the bottom of the two bones"-Vivien spread her index and middle fingers apart, creating a V-"I'd see an acute angle. Like this. Like a peace sign, upside down."
Dain stepped closer. She felt his breath at her nape and she shivered.
She glanced at him over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn't. He was too close. Too big. Too male. Too tantalizing.
Their gazes collided, and whatever he read in her face made his pupils dilate, his jaw clench.
Kiss me. Taste me.
The thought came from nowhere, hitting her, visceral and deep. Frightening her, because she didn't understand where it came from. Her blood roared in her ears, the moment spinning out like cotton candy from a drum, until finally, finally, he eased back an inch.
Jerking her attention to the bone in her hand, Vivien made a vague gesture. "This bone is likely from a male, because a male usually has a narrower pelvis, a small angle, just like this. A female has a wider pelvis, a larger angle. More like an L." She clenched her fist, then spread her thumb and index finger apart, showing him exactly what she meant.
"Are the bones in your charm bags also from a male?"
Vivien hesitated, staring at the bone in her hand, feeling that it was evil somehow, even though she knew that was ridiculous. Bones weren't evil.
She thought of all the murders she'd worked on over the years.
Bones weren't evil, but people could be. Were they hardwired that way, or was it a choice?
"Yes. All my bags contain skeletal remains from the same male." She glanced at the pubis in front of her, carefully eased it back into the bag, and pulled off her gloves. She didn't want to touch it anymore right now. "Though without further tests, I can't say for certain if this fragment is from the same skeleton as those."
But she could say for certain. The fine hairs at her nape rose, and she felt a tide of conviction slap at her. She knew that it was from the same skeleton. How? Instinct wasn't enough. She just knew it, felt it, as though the bones spoke to her. And no matter how crazy that seemed, she couldn't make light of it, couldn't deny it. She shuddered, freaked out and unnerved.
The bones were all from the same person.
Murder, desecration of a body, the horrors of human actions were nothing new to her. As a forensic anthropologist, she saw things every day that other people couldn't even conjure in their nightmares. But something about these bones and the things she felt when she touched them left her cold.
Had it been that way with the bones in her own charm bags? Had she noticed this before? She couldn't say with certainty, and that only exacerbated her distress.
She wet her lips, glanced at the charm bags, and whispered, "Someone hacked apart the corpse, stuck the pieces in a bunch of bags, and scattered the bits to the four corners of the earth."
"No, I don't think they did," he mused. "I think the body was disinterred years after the burial and the bones scattered then."
Vivien jerked around in surprise, found Dain so close she could see the individual lines of silver that fanned through the darker pewter of his irises.
His expression was blank, detached, controlled. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
God, he had such a sexy mouth.
Deep, aching need uncoiled in a powerful wave, sensitizing every nerve, every cell inside her.
"It's the magic," he rasped, staring down at her, his expression hard. "Dark magic."
Was it? She didn't think so. The longing was her own, freed from a secret place inside where it had lain dormant until now. Until Dain. The scent of his skin was delicious, citrus, spice and man. She wanted to lick him, taste him.
And just like that, she was crushed by the weight of her arousal, by the need to touch him, take him, make them both scream.
There was nothing gentle or sweet in what she wanted from him. She wanted raw, rough pleasure.
She wanted to draw from him power and life.
What was she thinking?
She shuddered. These urges were stealing her mind. They spiralled up from deep within, feral, leaving her aching and baffled and half afraid of herself, of the part of her that she'd never before known and certainly didn't recognize.
It was as though there were two parts of her. The part she knew well, rational, analytical. And the part that craved sensation. Craved sex.
Her gaze shot to Dain.
Craved him.
Stumbling away, Vivien practically ran across the penthouse, ignoring Dain as he called her name. She jerked open the glass door that opened to the terrace at the far end and sucked in a breath of dry, frigid air. The wind cut through her T-shirt, fanned a few desultory snowflakes through the open door.
The cold felt good. Real. Recognizable.
She stepped out onto the enormous terrace, inched away from the door.
"Vivien!"
Backed up against the brick wall, she pressed her palms against the glacial surface. Desperate for space and distance, she prayed he wouldn't follow.
Then she prayed he would.
He did.
Dain stalked her, one step forward for each she retreated in a sideways slide along the wall, and she shook her head wildly from side to side.
"Please," she whispered, the word snatched by the wind.
She was shaking from the cold, from terror and confusion, panting with the power of her arousal.
She would kill to have Dain Hawkins's naked skin against her own.
"Vivien?" Dain stepped close. "Come inside. Talk to me. I can help."
His voice was low, soothing, pouring over her, the sound stroking her like a caress. A harsh stab of desire sliced her to the core.
"I'll die if I don't have you." She jerked in shock
as she said the words, realizing in that instant that she believed them. The need to touch him, to taste him, to feel him pumping deep inside her, was a living torment coiling through her. "Is that what you meant about dark magic? That these feelings are outside my control?"
His mouth thinned, and she saw speculation and wariness and concern in his gaze. "No. The vestige of demon magic isn't strong enough to follow us out here. Which means that whatever the hell you're feeling, whatever the hell I'm feeling, is real. And it's ours. Something between us. No dark magic involved."
He was stunned by that, shocked that he wanted her as she wanted him, that, somehow, she'd made a little crack in his wall.
"If it's any consolation," she said, "I'm as freaked out as you are."
"No." He made a hushed laugh, low and incredibly sexy. "It's no consolation."
She could hear the sound of her own harsh gasps.
"Then let me have you," she whispered.
His head snapped back as he sucked in a breath; then his gaze raked her slowly, lingering, his eyes going black as his pupils dilated.
"Fuck," he said. One word, rasped in his smoky voice, hard-edged with lust.
Touch me. Oh, God, please touch me.
With a low growl, he hauled her up against him.
For an instant, Dain just held Vivien, his heart pounding in time with hers, his chin resting against the crown of her head, rubbing lightly over the spiky wisps of her hair.
The taut lines of his muscles were flush with hers, rigid testament to his hard-won control. She wanted none of his restraint and all of his fervor. She craved him, a dark forbidden need.
"This is not a good idea," he rasped, but still he held her close, the faintly citrus scent of his skin beguiling her, making her want to lean close and breathe him in until she was filled.
Deliberately, she shifted her hips against his.
Catching her wrists, he dragged her hands up above her head and pinned her with the weight of his body against the frigid brick wall. He was wire-tight, in control, and she wanted to break down that wall, free the power she felt pulsing just beneath the surface.
He looked down at her, unblinking, his features hard and beautiful, shadowed by the night.
"Please," she whispered.
A myriad of emotions chased across his features. Speculation. Bewilderment. Wariness. Lust.
He still held her wrists in his grasp, and she liked that, liked the feeling of him holding her, while at the same time she ached to drag her hands free, to shove them under his shirt, touch the heat of his skin.
Letting his weight come fully against her, he moved his free hand to her nape, tipping her face to his, and he kissed her. Rough. Urgent. His lips hard on her own.
She moaned, heat scorching through her, a fever, a blazing desert sun. There was no cold brick wall, no bitter wind, only Dain, the heat of him, the press of his body, a delicious, heavy weight.
Hard, demanding, his mouth moved on hers, his tongue tasting her, licking her lips, her teeth, twining with her tongue until she thought of nothing but the lush taste of him.
The scrape of his teeth over her lower lip made her moan. Luscious, urgent pleasure. She'd never felt this way. Never wanted anything, anyone, the way she wanted Dain Hawkins, like she had a killing thirst that only he could slake.
She loved the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the crushing sensation of his body pressed to hers.
Yanking her hands free of his grasp, she shoved them under his shirt, drew her nails along his skin. Hot. Smooth. The ridges of his abdomen-layers of lean muscle-twitched at her touch, his response making the burning current of her desire coil through her veins, setting her on fire.
She tore her mouth from his and licked the base of his throat, tasting a faint hint of salt. With a sultry laugh, she closed her teeth on skin and muscle, and was rewarded by a hiss of pleasure.
Longing twisted in her gut, so keen, so deep.
He groaned and slid his hands down her back to her buttocks, dragging her tighter against him, dragging his teeth along her neck. Then he took her mouth with his, claiming her, wet and rough.
Aggressive.
She hadn't known she would like that. But she did. Oh, God, she did.
The taste of him was like wine, like chocolate, like whipped cream, decadent and wicked. With a moan, she thrust her tongue into his mouth, feeling the smooth edge of his teeth.
Her hunger swelled and thrashed and grew.
Suddenly, her body, her tissues and cells, were like sand, sifting within her, whirling like a storm. The sensation was frightening, something she'd experienced… when? Oh, God. This was her warning every time she blacked out. This was the sensation of her body, her grasp on reality, sifting away from her.
There was something to this, something she ought to notice, to understand, but it evaded her, was just beyond her grasp.
Dain stilled, stroking his palm along her back, a soothing caress. Tears pricked her eyes. He'd sensed the change in her, connected on some level though they barely knew each other. How was that possible?
Emotion swelled, not just lust but something else, something that was based on liking him and wanting him and aching just to be close to him.
The scent of him, so lush and male, tantalized her, and she couldn't think, couldn't draw a full breath. His mouth pressed to hers, hard, wet, and hungry; the stubble of his jaw was rough against her skin, an erotic rasp that made her shiver.
Dain stroked his hand up under her T-shirt, along her ribs to the underside of her breast, and stopped there, his fingers warm against her skin. Heat spiraled through her, a flash fire, and she arched her back, aching for his touch. Her fingers curled into the muscle of his shoulder as he shifted his hand to run the pad of his thumb over her nipple.
"Oh, God," she exhaled, the sound turning to a soft cry as he took her nipple between his fingers, rolled it, squeezed it. She cried out, harsh, guttural, her passion so rich she could barely stand.
Pushing his knee between her thighs, he pinned her against the wall, his hard, hard body pressed against hers.
The solid ridge of his erection was thick in his jeans. Reaching down, she traced him through the cloth, the broad head and thick base. The harsh rasp of his breath spoke of arousal, excitement.
Longing cycled through her, higher, tighter. She wanted the solid, smooth length of him in her mouth. She wanted to suck on him, draw on him.
She felt like she needed him as she needed the breath in her lungs.
Fill me. Fill me. Let me take you, let me slake the hunger.
Her nipples ached. Her sex ached.
Wet. Ready. She was so ready.
Dain moved against her, dragging up her T-shirt. She clung to him as his mouth closed around her nipple, a hard suction, his teeth scraping on the sensitive peak. Her legs buckled, and only the press of his body held her upright.
Yes. Yes. She sifted her fingers through his thick silky hair, holding him against her. The scent of him-male, hot, sensual-teased her, intensely erotic.
Opening her eyes, she saw pale light all around them, shimmering, dancing. They were wrapped in a bright glow.
She blinked.
No. Not wrapped. Bound.
And the light fed her hunger.
Dain gritted his teeth. They were both still fully clothed, and yet desire cycled through him, leaving him so aroused he straddled the edge between pain and pleasure. From low in his throat, a dark groan escaped him.
With her nails curled into the skin of his back and her teeth closed against the corded muscle of his neck, Vivien undulated against him. She made him so hard he thought he'd burst.
"Please," she whispered. And all he could think about was getting inside her.
Inside Vivien.
His Vivien.
Damsel in distress. Warrior vixen.
He wanted to keep her safe, and he wanted her at his back in a fight. She called to him on so many levels, eased through his barriers as if they were smoke. Because she could understand. Vivien could understand about loss and betrayals and walls put up to keep out the pain. Vivien could understand him if he let her.
She'd cooked him dinner, for Christ's sake. When was the last time anyone had done anything like that for him? When was the last time he'd had anyone in his life who'd cared enough to bother? When was the last time he'd wanted to let anyone get that close?
But she was human. Mortal.
Christ. She had him breaking all his rules.
She could never be just one night.
"Hungry. So hungry," she breathed, reaching for him, stroking him through the worn denim of his jeans, making his pulse hammer.
His cock jumped as he rocked against her hand.
Yanking down the zipper of her jeans, he slid his fingers into her underwear, feeling soft skin and silk and lace. Pounding need ramped him up, but there was something else in the mix, a soul-deep attraction.
Even his magic was drawn to her, called up without his conscious will in a glittering halo that crackled about them. Christ, that was new.
He kissed the curve of her breast and the sweet spot at the hollow of her throat. Her breath left her on a sultry little moan.
Everything about Vivien pleased him, drew him, made him want things he hadn't allowed himself to think about for centuries.
Beneath his touch, her skin was smooth, hot, and he pushed his hand lower, right between her thighs.
He meant to go nice and slow, to ease his fingers inside her. She was so wet, tight, so smooth and hot.
She was so sexy, so beautiful.
Fuck, he wanted to be inside her.
With a slick thrust, his fingers slid deep, the heel of his palm gliding tight against her clitoris. She was so fucking sweet.
The breath hissed from between her teeth, and she did a luscious grind, her hips driving into his hand. He pulled back, pushed his fingers in again.
"Dain!" She screamed his name, high and short. The sound cut off as she sank her teeth into the muscle of his chest through the linen of his shirt, her body jerking in his embrace, her legs taut and squeezed tightly together.
It took him about three seconds to figure out that his Vivien had just gone off like a firecracker. Christ. He'd barely touched her.
A surge of lust spilled through him.
He held her tight against him, his breath rasping and shallow. Emotion and, yeah, pride, filled him, primitive, satisfied, even though his cock was rock hard and screaming for release.
He'd done that, taken her over the edge, fast and hard.
Shaking, she buried her face against his neck.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry. I've never… I've never… that was so… fast."
Yeah. She was so damned hot for him. He couldn't think of a bigger turn-on.
She shivered, burrowed against him, and it suddenly hit him where they were. Outside in the winter wind, under the night sky and stars, rammed up against the frigid wall on his terrace.
He was so cranked, so into her, he'd lost all reason.
"Shhh." He kissed her temple. "Don't be sorry. Christ, Vivien… it's a turn-on for me." He'd barely touched her and she'd come unraveled. Talk about a gift to his male ego.
Just thinking about it was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to rip her pants off and sink inside her so deep and fierce that he got lost.
She gave a short little huff against his throat, rubbed herself against him in a sinuous glide.
He wanted to fall into her. Feel her writhing underneath him. And he wanted to come deep inside her. Again and again, all night long.
Skimming his hand along her waist, he figured he'd get them inside where it was warm, rev her up again. Hell, they had all night, and he wanted her to come for him again. Wanted her to scream his name and give that sexy moan.
He eased his weight off her, gave her a second to catch her breath.
And then he froze. Jerking his head up, he looked around at the open door to his loft, the shadowed terrace, the lights of the city.
With one arm tightly around her, holding her close, he scanned the vicinity, tension coiling through him, overriding the heat of passion.
Demon aura spilled through the night air. But it was different than anything he'd ever encountered, overshadowingeven the residue of the demon bone that he'd been carrying around for days, a residue that leached through the vault it was locked in.
A full-blooded demon. Here? In his loft?
Impossible. The place was warded and spelled, and nothing from the demon realm could pass uninvited. But the thing was close. Very close.
Not in the penthouse. Outside. Here.
Strange aura. Maybe demon, but not… dark. Something else entirely. Where the hell was it coming from?
Beneath him, Vivien wriggled until she got free of him, and he realized that she, too, was looking around uneasily. Probably picking up on his weird case of nerves, because it was impossible for her to sense demons as he did.
But she had a kernel of magic somewhere inside. He sensed it now and recalled that Ciarran had as well. Some humans had that. Psychics. Healers. But that wasn't enough to let her sense demons.
Maybe that bit of magic in her soul was the spark that had ignited his power. He'd have to think on that later, because right now, he had a demon to hunt.
"Vivien," he said, the word coming out heavy and harsh.
Christ. He didn't want to leave her. Not for a second.
But the strange aura was all around them, blending with his light magic, spiralling up to the sky. The thing was damned close. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was standing right next to him on the terrace. Power and magic and strength, but not like any demon he knew of, and definitely not light sorcerer.
So what was it? And where?
He was all for riddles, so long as he was the one posing them. This puzzle he didn't like-at all.
He jerked back, looked up at the roof. Yeah, the roof. Must be.
Casting a quick glance at Vivien, he felt like he'd been slammed in the gut. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair mussed, her eyes hazed with passion.
He'd never seen anyone more beautiful.
"Vivien, I need to go."
It almost killed him to leave her.
Fucking choices. There was only one he could make if he was going to be able to live with himself. He'd guarded the wall for centuries, his duty too deeply ingrained to be ignored.
"Go?" Such betrayal in a single word. It was a knife to his gut. "Why?"
"There's something up there, Vivien." He jutted his chin at the roof, and then some instinct made him ask, "Can you feel it?"
Her dark green-gold eyes were wide, wary.
"Yes," she whispered.
Well, hell. How was that possible?
"I need to find it. It's what I do-guard the wall between dimensions, keep the demons in check. And you need to stay here." He grabbed the thick pipe that ran up the side of the building, then swung up to balance on the terrace ledge. He shot a last glance at Vivien.
He was losing her. He could see it in her expression. She was scared, bewildered, her body aching as his was. But he had to leave her before he lost the chance to catch the demon.
"Vivien, that thing you sense is a demon. You need to
go into the loft. Don't leave for any reason. Don't open the door for any reason. Not to anyone. You'll be safe inside, and I'll be back as soon as I can."
This was not what he'd planned. Not what he'd wanted. The thought drew him up short. From the second he'd laid eyes on Vivien Cairn, nothing had gone as he'd planned.
She was staring at him, her expression blank and bruised, and the demon aura was fading fast, the trail rapidly growing cold.
He needed to hurry if he was going to catch the thing before it disappeared altogether.
"Vivien, baby, go inside. Stay put."
She didn't move, so he leaned over and gave her a little nudge. She didn't even glance at him as she walked to the open terrace door, somnolent, like she didn't have a clue about where she was. Maybe even who she was. Something here was definitely off beam.
He hesitated, torn. Duty pulled him in one direction, and his concern for Vivien pulled in the other. Why did everything have to be about fucking choices?
"Nod at me, Vivien. Nod at me so I know you'll stay put," he snarled, needing to know she'd heard and understood. Needing to know she'd be safe.
Drawing on his magic, he summoned his acacia-wood staff and closed his fist around it as it answered his call, sparking with light and power. Though every sorcerer drew magic from the dragon current, each also had the ability to summon a single perfect weapon, one suited to his unique skills and talents. His was a staff of acacia wood, imbued with power and light magic.
Her gaze flicked to the staff, and the sight of it seemed to get through to her. Maybe she remembered seeing it when he'd fought the demon in her basement. Whatever the reason, she drew a deep breath, nodded, and stepped inside, pulling the glass door closed behind her. Her actions were jerky, as though she was barely aware of what she was doing.
Something wasn't right.
Worry bit at his gut. But she was inside. Warded. Protected.
For good measure, he cast an extra spell, taking no chances with her safety. Through the glass, he saw her almond-tipped, green-gold eyes watching him.
Then he grabbed the undulating current of the continuum, visualized the roof, the place he wanted to be, and disappeared.
Dain circled the building for the third time. Nothing. No demons. No hybrids. Not even a human with a psychic talent.
The only supernatural in the vicinity was him.
He'd hunted through the building, the roof, the alleys and streets that fanned out like a maze, but there had been nothing for him to find.
It was as if the demon he'd sensed hadn't been there at all.
He could almost believe he'd imagined it, except his gut was telling him that the threat was real. He'd learned to trust his instincts. The few times he'd ignored them, mortals had paid for it with their lives, and the Compact had suffered betrayals and defeats. Now his gut was screaming that something dark followed Vivien Cairn, wanted her, hunted her.
And he was bloody well not going to let it get her.
A bitter wind swirled down from the north, biting through the linen of his shirt. He hadn't thought to take his coat. His mind had been occupied elsewhere.
Stepping into the shadows, he quickly looked around, made certain he was alone, and conjured his long coat, transporting it from the penthouse. Better, though this frigid weather was giving him a hankering for the tropics.
Frustration gnawed at him. Not even the canniest demon could hide its trail so well. Out on his terrace, he'd been certain he felt a disturbance in the dragon current, the continuum, a strange turbulence in its normally smooth glide. But his search had turned up nothing.
Tipping his head back, he looked up to the windows of his penthouse. Vivien was in there, warded and spelled with enough magic to keep her safe.
She was there with her sleek body and sweet mouth. So damned sweet.
What the hell had he been thinking out there on the terrace?
A dark smile curved his lips.
That was just it. He hadn't been thinking. He'd been following pure instinct.
She was human. Mortal.
The truth was, he couldn't guard her safety every second of every day, not unless he made her a prisoner. Even if he could find a way to protect her, eventually she would die like all those of her species. Like Moria. Like Ciel.
And he would be left alone once more.
He'd learned to live with it, the great gaping gulch in his heart, the loneliness. He didn't want to let her in, to care for her-perhaps love her-then lose her and need to learn the lessons of loss all over again.
He scrubbed the back of his hand along his jaw. Christ. Tennyson had been wrong, that shit about it being better to have loved and lost. Dain figured he obviously hadn't tried it. It was better to feel nothing. Nothing at all.
He definitely didn't plan on loving anyone ever again, least of all a mortal who was being actively hunted by demons.
The sound of a woman's giddy laughter echoed along the empty street, and he turned to watch a couple scurry from a nearby building to a black Infiniti parked at the curb. Feet sliding on the ice, they clutched at each other, dipped and swayed, but didn't fall.
Something about the scene made Dain's chest ache with that same choking feeling he'd had outside Vivien's burning house.
Man, he was edgy. And it didn't help that he knew Vivien was up there, in his loft, waiting for him. Or that he knew going back up there right now would be a big mistake.
He chose his lovers with care. Always. One night, nothing more. Vivien threatened his ability to stick to that rule. He had no doubt that once he took her, made love with her, he'd want another night and another until he wouldn't be able to let her go. Already, he didn't want to think about letting her go.
Man, it was like he'd bonded with her the instant he'd seen her, connected on some deeper level. And that made no sense. He felt like she was a soft mist, finding the cracks in his walls, sliding through in places he couldn't block. She warmed the darkest, coldest places inside of him, the ones he had locked away long ago, so deep and tight that he barely knew where to dig to find them.
What the hell was he doing? He'd known Vivien for a. day.
The thought brought no comfort, because, for a sorcerer, time had little meaning. It was instinct that mattered. Instinct and magic. And instinct was telling him that Vivien, with her brave heart and beautiful soul-a woman who used her unique intellect to see justice served, who battled mortal monsters as he battled supernatural ones-was special in every way.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Dain glanced once more at the windows of his loft, then abruptly turned away. He couldn't do this. Couldn't let himself care about her. Couldn't let himself feel.
It was so much easier to put up a front, to keep it all for show. Laugh with his comrades but keep his own counsel. Make love to a woman who wanted what he wanted-a single night, knowing they'd never see each other again, knowing there was no emotion to the deed. Easier still to use his hand, all by his lonesome.
So much easier to pretend that he wasn't frozen from the inside out.
Because the alternative was to let himself care, feel, trust.
Trust. Now there was a concept. Yeah, he'd trusted the Ancient. His adviser, his mentor.
Look how grand that had turned out. He'd spent centuries as the Ancient's acolyte, immersed in learning, trying to move past his grief, his bitterness, by losing himself in a quest for knowledge.
And then somewhere along the line, he'd realized
something wasn't right, that the Ancient had changed. There had been signs, small ones at first, then more blatant proof. Dain had spent a century doubting himself, his trust in the Ancient slowly eroding, his trust in himself a double-edged sword. He'd pretended to trust the most powerful sorcerer among them, even though he'd suspected betrayal.
He'd been a spy, a mole, watching, waiting.
He hadn't been surprised when his worst suspicions had ended up as truth, but he couldn't say he'd been happy to have been proven right.
Worse, he felt like he was the betrayer, the one who couldn't be trusted because he'd kept what he knew from his brothers in the Compact, and it had almost cost Ciarran and Clea their lives.
One more burden of guilt to add to his list.
Rubbing his knuckles up and down the center of his chest, he shook his head. He didn't want to think about these things, didn't want to thaw. Didn't want to let Vivien's heat melt the core of ice he'd nurtured for centuries, to free the emotions he'd buried.
Which meant he wasn't going back up to his penthouse right now.
He blew out a breath. One last circuit around the block. Check out the construction site on King Street and the new condo building that was still half empty. It would give him time to cool off.
Hopefully, Vivien would be asleep by the time he returned to the loft.
Funny, he'd never thought of himself as a coward.
Setting off, he walked the distance, welcoming the activity, the distraction. The construction site was clear, but as he jogged to the next block and rounded the corner of the condo, his body went on alert. Something had been here. Something with a familiar freaky signature aura, like the one he'd sensed out on his terrace. The same demon? Maybe. He couldn't be sure.
He wasn't even certain that it was a demon. There was something off about the trail, just like there'd been something off out on his terrace.
There was also a recognizable trace here. Hybrids. Dead ones. But no remnant of sorcerer magic. So what the hell had killed them? The only natural predators of hybrids were sorcerers.
Or demons. But why would a demon kill its own minion?
Jogging to the back of the building, Dain eased around the corner. The place was in the final stages of construction. Piles of refuse overflowed the two massive trash containers. As he rounded the first container, his senses went on overload. The continuum twisted and writhed, warning him that there was a disruption in the weave of dimensions, a wrongness.
He smelled a hint of brimstone and the stink of hybrids, and in the mix was the bizarre aura that was demon and not demon. What the hell was going on?
A faint moan carried to him. He slid his staff along his palm, adjusting his grip, and moved forward to find a single dying hybrid lying in the shadows, its fist curled tightly, ragged edges of red cloth protruding from between its fingers.
Kneeling by the creature's side, Dain saw a hissing, bubbling mass to the right, the putrid remains of another hybrid.
"Who attacked you?" he asked.
The hybrid's eyes opened and rolled toward him, like black, soulless marbles. Fear flickered there, and then nothing, as though it knew that whatever threat Dain posed could be no worse than what it had already experienced.
"Why were you attacked?"
"S-s-s-succ…" The hybrid's eyes stayed locked on his for an instant, then flicked to its hand.
Dain reached out and uncurled the hybrid's fingers, finding a red cloth bag. He pulled it free just as the hybrid's body jerked and spasmed, then finally disintegrated in a hissing, bubbling ooze.
Rising, Dain scanned the area, then studied the bag in his hands. It was torn, the contents disturbed, and the magic that warded it disrupted. He peeled apart the edges of the cloth to find a lock of hair, a glass vial of what looked like sand, and not much else. No bones.
Damn. Whatever had attacked these hybrids had taken the bones.
If he'd had the slightest doubt that the demons were planning something around these gris-gris bags, it evaporated like alcohol exposed to air.
Slowly, he turned a full circle. Whatever it was, the thing was gone, but he felt a distinct trail, its odd signature aura, leading to the rear door of the condominium building. He shoved the remains of the charm bag in his pocket and moved.
Bypassing the building's security was a breeze. A touch of his acacia staff to the lens blanked each camera; a touch of his hand and a shimmer of light opened the locks. He refracted light, sending the rays scattering in all directions, effectively making himself invisible to the security guard at the desk. The guy didn't even look up.
Dain shoved open the door to the stairwell, pausing only long enough to get a track on the demon's trail. Up. Five flights. Ten. His feet pounded the stairs. On the eleventh floor, he exited to the hallway, every sense humming.
There was magic here. Thick, dark magic, clouding the air in a choking haze.
Third door on the right. He didn't need any special abilities to get inside. The door was unlocked, already cracked open an inch.
Not good. Not good at all.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
The sharp scent of death crawled into his nostrils, metallic, heavy, blending with the unmistakable ammonia of drying urine.
Reaching behind him, he pulled the door shut, flicked on the lights, and took in the scene.
Chrome and glass coffee table littered with a razor blade, a couple of rolled bills, and some white powder.
Rap music pumping on the stereo. Flat screen on the far wall.
A guy sprawled on a black leather couch.
White and red patterned shag rug.
Wrong.
White shag rug.
Red blood.
Baunn sat in the smoky cantina in Chihuahua, Mexico, his back to the wall, a half-empty bottle of Dos Equis on the metal table in front of him. It wasn't a nice area of town, which suited him just fine. He wasn't in a nice mood.
The place was crowded, every seat taken. Dust hung in the air, visible in the halo of light that surrounded the naked bulb. The metal tables and rickety chairs boasted a patina of eternal filth.
A sullen-faced, pockmarked kid-Baunn pegged him at eighteen, maybe twenty-at the next table stared at him in challenge. His chin jutted forward, his lips twisting in a sneer as he met Baunn's gaze. He was lulled into a false sense of macho supremacy by Baunn's spun gold hair and denim-blue eyes.
Ah, the idiocy of youth.
Waving a hand near his beer, Baunn shooed away the flies, picked up the bottle, and took a slow swig. His eyes never left the kid's face.
With an expletive, the boy got up and went to piss in the barrel in the corner. Good choice. Better than getting in a pissing match with Baunn.
His beer gone, Baunn considered ordering another. But what was the point? Delaying the inevitable wouldn't change the outcome.
The bones were gone. He knew it. Putting off the chore wouldn't change the ending. He just needed to go see the empty hole with his own eyes.
Asher, the Ancient, must have thought he was being all cryptic and shit, but Baunn wasn't an idiot. Clearly, Asher and his demon allies planned on resurrecting the dead. In order to do that, they needed all the body parts, though how the hell they'd find them from all around the globe mystified him. Their goal was re-animation, kind of like Frankenstein, only with human victims' blood and demon dark magic as the catalysts instead of electricity.
A charming thought.
He rose and strode through the front door onto the street. The buildings were tight up against each other, faded and shabby, a couple so dilapidated he wondered if they'd last the week. Baunn walked down the street, rounded the corner, and made his way to the alley that ran behind the cantina. Alley was too generous a word. It was a guttered cesspool, stinking of old garbage and puke.
A cursory evaluation proved he was alone, so he grabbed hold of the dragon current, disappearing from the alley in Chihuahua and taking form once more a hundred fifty miles north at Paquime, Casas Grandes.
Before him stretched sun-bleached excavated ruins of mud and gravel, ancient living spaces that had been built around a common water source. In the moonlight, they were shadowed, eerie. Baunn paced off four hundred steps from the main group, passed the ruins of the market area and the I-shaped ball courts, and finally came to a square courtyard with the remnants of rooms fanning out on all sides.
Following human custom because Shay would have wanted that, Baunn had buried him at Paquime. His best friend, his brother in everything but blood, Baunn had put Shay deep in the ground here, in the place he had once been happy, raising scarlet macaws and human children.
And he'd buried the damned bones with him.
Closing his eyes, Baunn called his magic, let it swell in his veins. How long since he had allowed himself to summon it like this, since he had used magic for anything more than catching a ride on the dragon current?
How long since he'd believed he had the right to it?
He was the sorcerer's equivalent of a ne'er-do-well, and right at this moment, he wasn't particularly proud of that.
With a heavy heart, he unearthed the coffin far below the surface, below even the excavated ruins. He sloughed off rock and gravel and yellowish brown sandy loam. There were bones there, small, avian, remnants of the macaws that had once been part of this society, and there were bits of pottery, reminders of lives once lived.
And there were a sorcerer's bones. Shay's bones.
Baunn drew close and stood staring down at the skeleton. The right hand was disturbed, stretched out when it should have been crossed on the chest, the bones of the fingers spread and extended, as though something had been dragged from their grasp.
Because something had.
Shay had given his life to protect the mortal realm, and Baunn had done as he had sworn-put the charm bag with the bones of Bezal, the Solitary's keeper, in Shay's grave so he could guard the wall even after his death. Those bones were meant to stay buried, meant to stay lost.
Only, the bones were gone, and Baunn had an ugly suspicion he knew exactly who'd come to claim them.
Tipping his head back, he felt the breeze touch his skin, warm and soothing.
He wondered what the temperature was in Toronto. Probably twenty degrees below glacial.
Why the hell had the Compact chosen Toronto as home base? What was wrong with Acapulco or Mexico City?
He bloody well hated the cold.
Dain glanced to his left. There was a set of keys and a wallet on the entry hall table. He lifted the wallet, flipped it open. Rick Strasser. Age thirty-two.
The air was rank with the aura of dark magic.
No great riddle to figure out here. The serial killer the Compact was hunting had crept out from under its rock again. It had killed a group of hybrids outside and a human in here, and the question was, why?
Using the tail of his shirt, Dain wiped the leather clean and put the wallet back exactly where he'd found it. Not that his fingerprints would lead the police to him, but he didn't want to cause unnecessary frustration for the human forensic team.
From where he stood, he studied the room, taking his time. He could detect no evidence of forced entry. There were no bloody footprints. Just a dead guy with his gut ripped open and his intestines tumbling over the edge of the couch to puddle on the floor like the coils of a glistening garden hose that had been gnawed on by a rat.
Christ
No needing his staff at the moment, he conjured it away, walked closer, and studied the corpse.
Where was the blood? With Rick's belly slit wide open, right up the middle, there should be a great pool of it congealing on the floor.
So why was there only a small puddle seeping into the white carpet?
The body looked dried out, desiccated, as though all life had been sucked out, the capillaries and veins collapsed, even the cells robbed of fluid. Dain squatted low, peered into the gaping wound. The internal organs were shredded… chewed…
What the hell had happened here?
Demons killed their prey and ate it. All of it. Muscle. Bone. Organs. Same with hybrids. They didn't just rip their meal open, suck the blood and life away, and leave the rest.
They had a waste-not-want-not mentality.
So the group of hybrids that had been annihilated outside hadn't done this deed.
Dain rubbed his fingers along the side of his jaw. He was betting that whatever had done this wasn't demon. The signature was off beam, and though the aura that hung in the room was dark, he'd bet his Porsche and his Ferrari it wasn't demon.
So the Compact had been wrong.
They'd been looking for the wrong thing, coming at these murders with a full-blooded demon in mind. It wasn't. It was… something else.
The hybrid had said something-S-s-s-succ … Wariness trickled through him. He had no liking for the turn his thoughts were taking.
In all his time as a sorcerer, he'd never encountered the type of creature he suspected. But he knew someone who had.
So maybe it was time for Baunn to come home, time for the black sheep to revisit the fold. He'd look into that later. Right now, he had a corpse to deal with.
Snagging his cell phone from his back pocket, he flipped it open and dialed Ciarran.
"Something I need you to take a look at," he said.
"Aren't you enigmatic," Ciarran observed sardonically.
"So I've been told," Dain replied, careful with his words, not quite trusting technology. You never knew who might be listening in. He gave Ciarran the address. "Bring Clea. Her medical knowledge might be relevant. And, Ciarran, don't drive. Use the dragon current. Haste would be appreciated, and the less chance of outside observers at this point, the better."
He'd barely closed the phone and tucked it in his pocket than Ciarran and Clea arrived, a shimmer of air and a bulge in the continuum the only warning. Clea looked around, taking everything in with a cursory glance. She pressed her lips together as she stared at
Rick, then took a deep breath and got down to business, conjuring a set of gloves and snapping them on.
For a girl who'd come into her sorcerer powers only a couple of months back, she was remarkably adept.
"Time to play CSI" Dain said.
"I'll do my best. It's not exactly my area of expertise." Clea reached out and lifted the wallet from the side table, mimicking Dain's earlier actions.
"We need to work quickly," Dain pointed out. She nodded in reply, her eyes haunted, her jaw set.
Ciarran stepped in front of her. "You don't need to do this, Clea mine. There are other ways we can seek answers. We can allow the mortals to do their job, then visit their records for the information we seek."
Leaning forward, she rested her cheek against Ciarran's chest for an instant, and Dain felt the crackle of energy, of magic between them, a shared loop of strength and power.
Something inside him twisted and shifted, an aching, a longing, and Vivien's face swam before him.
With a shake of her head, Clea straightened and stepped away. "I want to do this, Ciarran. The mortal lab will be too slow. We can do everything faster. This monster needs to be caught." Moving toward the corpse, she carefully skirted the small pool of blood.
"Did a demon do this?" she asked.
"No," Ciarran replied, his face impassive. "Not demon. Not hybrid. Something… other." He shot a glance at Dain.
"Now look who's talking in riddles," Dain said.
"He hasn't been dead very long. There's no rigor. I could check liver temperature to try and determine exactly how long, but I don't want to disrupt the body." Clea tipped her head to the side and frowned. "There are parts missing."
"Yeah, I saw that. Looked to me like his liver and half his stomach," Dain said.
"Then I guess there's no chance of checking liver temperature to determine how long ago he died." Clea peered into the gaping cavity. "The spleen's been ripped out. Splenic artery's cauterized. Looks like an animal gnawed on his guts. The duodenum's missing, and a good chunk of the ileum."
Ciarran cleared his throat.
"Oh, sorry." She glanced up. "Those are the first parts of his intestine. It looks like they've been ripped out and… eaten?" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed before going on. "But I wasn't talking about that when I said there were parts missing. His left baby finger is gone." She shook her head. "Actually, no, that's not accurate. See?"
She took the dead man's wrist carefully between her fingers and lifted his hand. "The skin is slit open and the flexor tendons cut, the extensor expansion severed. He's missing the bones of his left baby finger."
"The last body was missing its left kneecap," Ciarran muttered.
Bones.
A charred demon bone. Little red velvet bags of bones. And now, missing bones.
Fucking bones.
"The last guy. What was his name?" Dain asked, a gnawing unease tearing at him. He knew what this was about. Somewhere deep inside, he knew. He just needed to find it, find the piece that would solve the riddle.
"Gavin Johnston," Clea said, frowning down at the corpse's hand.
"No obvious connection there, but that doesn't mean anything." Dain flipped open his phone, dialed Javier.
"Jav? I've got two names for you. I want history, genealogy-trace these guys way back. To primordial sludge if you can. Gavin Johnston. Rick Strasser. And while you're at it, get the names of the other victims and check them out as well."
"No," Clea said, looking up. "The others weren't missing anything. Just these two. It looks like some are killed for food and the two most recent for food and parts."
"Check other cities," Ciarran said, his expression grim. "Have him check similar killings in other cities. Countries. I have a bad feeling about this."
Dain relayed the information and hung up, then dialed 911 to leave an anonymous tip about a noisy neighbor. He gave Rick Strasser's address.
"We're out of here in two minutes," he said as he hung up. "Let the mortals claim their own."
"There are epithelials-skin-under the nail of his index finger." Clea frowned as she conjured a sample kit. "I think he scratched his attacker."
"We can't leave that for the mortals to find," Dain said.
"I know. I'll scrape it, and we can take it for analysis."
Her words nagged at him. He froze, shot a sharp glance at the corpse.
Scratched his attacker.
Flashes came at him, of the open door of his penthouse when he'd returned to find Vivien on the phone with her mother.
The scratch on Vivien's arm.
The odd way she'd acted when he'd asked her about it.
The fact that she hadn't answered his question about her leaving the loft.
The demon in her basement. The hybrids watching her house.
Scrubbing his hand over his jaw, he tried to figure out exactly where his thoughts were leading him. Damn, he'd always liked riddles, puzzles. So why did he really hate this one?
What the hell was he thinking? That she was a demon?
Not possible. She'd sat in his SUV surrounded by three sorcerers, and not one of them had sensed demon aura. He had the Solitary's charred bone and the fact that it dulled his perceptions as an excuse, but what about the others?
"Ciarran," he said, and the other sorcerer turned toward him. "You sense anything about Vivien Cairn? Anything unusual?"
Given his demon parasite, Ciarran was particularly adept at recognizing demons. Like called to like.
He narrowed his eyes at Dain, shrugged. "A blighted seed."
Dain stared at him, stunned. He'd been plastered all over Vivien not an hour past, and he hadn't sensed a thing. The aftereffects of carrying around the scorched demon bone were stronger than he'd thought.
"A blighted seed," he repeated. Some humans had a spark of magic at their core. They called it a sixth sense. Sorcerers named it a blighted seed. And Ciarran thought Vivien had that spark.
It meant that somewhere back in her family tree, one of Vivien's ancestors had mated with a magical being-a sorcerer, because demons couldn't procreate.
So where the hell was all this leading him other than a big, convoluted circle? What was he thinking? That Vivien had slipped out of his apartment and offed Rick Strasser?
In her fuzzy green slippers?
There had to be a simple explanation for the scratch on her arm. Maybe she'd had it all day, hurt herself as they ran from her burning house.
Maybe he just hadn't noticed it.
Yeah.
"And pigs fly," he muttered.
Morning sun streamed through the massive windows of Dain's loft, bright against the blond hardwood floor. Vivien leaned her elbows on the granite kitchen counter and glared at the sky, thinking it ought to be cloudy, stormy, gray, and miserable. Just like her. She wasn't completely certain why she felt so angry. She only knew that she was. Angry. Embarrassed. Mortified.
But it was deeper than that, uglier. He'd left her. Dain had left her. Just like everyone else.
She took a slow breath, blew it out.
God, what was she thinking? It wasn't like they were in some kind of deep relationship and he'd decimated her trust by walking away. She barely knew the guy… only, she felt like she did, like she knew the depths of his heart and the secret pain of his soul. Why did she think that?
And why did she feel a terrible deep fear that he wasn't coming back, that she'd hear tomorrow or the next day that they'd found his body, or maybe just his charred remains… God. She needed to get a grip.
It was really very simple. Her mood was sour because Dain had chosen not to return to the penthouse last night. And she'd wanted him to. Wanted it so badly it had been a physical ache. Physical. Not emotional. She had to stop blurring the line in her mind between the two concepts.
After the way he'd kissed her, touched her, she'd thought he would come back to her. She'd waited for him, worried about him, the hours ticking by while she flipped channels between decorating shows and late-night news and scarfed down an entire container of Chunky Monkey. She'd have felt guilty about that if there weren't still two containers left.
Wouldn't you know that the guy would stock his freezer with her favorite flavor? At this rate, she was going to put on a pound a day.
Finally, as she'd lain on the couch, drowsing, she'd gotten a curt phone call. She didn't want to look too closely at the emotions she'd felt when she'd heard him tell her to stay in the loft with the doors locked and bolted. Telling her to stay safe.
Just like he'd strong-armed her into the SUV and locked her in.
Male chauvinist jerk.
Except he wasn't. She thought of the way he'd listened to her when she'd explained the difference between the male and female infra-pubic angle, the expression on his face. He respected her.
So what was it with the alpha-male routine?
And the worst of it was, a part of her liked it, liked that he wanted to protect her, keep her safe. Maybe it was because no one had ever bothered to think about her that way before. She couldn't explain the psychology of that, didn't even want to try. It was probably something dark and deep and ingrained in her psyche.
She let out a groan. She needed to get away from here, away from Dain. Needed to start organizing her crazy, upside-down life.
She needed to walk away. Before he did.
Let yourself care about people and they leave. Or die. Same difference.
Dropping her gaze, she glared at her fuzzy green slippers. Not exactly appropriate footgear for heading out on a snowy winter's day. It was the only thing stopping her from storming out of here without a backward glance.
That, and the fact that she'd been hunted down in her own home by a demon. And now she no longer had a home.
Oh, and, yeah, the fact that she didn't have a coat and it was freezing out there.
And the fact that she'd put her clothes in the washer when she woke up this morning, unable to face wearing the same T-shirt and jeans and underwear for another day. Which left her wearing nothing more than a sheet, toga-style.
All good reasons not to go running off without a damn good plan.
Narrowing her eyes, she considered her options, then marched to the phone and snatched up the receiver. She'd call Amy, ask her to bring clothes… except Amy was away on an all-inclusive vacation in Mexico.
At the moment, Vivien wished she'd jumped all over Amy's invitation to join her.
There were other friends she could call, but should she? Did she really want to drag anyone else into this crazy mess?
That would be a definite no.
With a sigh, she set the receiver back in its cradle.
Coffee. That's what she needed. Nice, strong, black coffee. She headed into the kitchen and meticulously searched every cabinet and drawer. She even checked the freezer. Vanilla-bean tea. Chamomile tea. Black tea. Green tea. Orange pekoe tea. Every frigging color-of-the-rainbow tea, and not a single coffee bean in sight.
No beans. No packets. No tins. Not even a jar of instant.
Stay put. Stay safe.
She closed the cupboard door with precise and painstaking care, her blood boiling. What did Dain think she was, a five-year-old who didn't know better than to open the door to a stranger?
Only she was angry at herself as much as at him, because she almost appreciated his autocratic perspective.
Jerkily, she slammed the faucet to the "on" position, snatched up the kettle, and shoved the spout under the stream of water. It looked like preference or not, her beverage of the morning was tea.
What kind of person didn't have coffee anywhere in his home?
The kind who smelled so good she wanted to lick him.
God. After Dain's call, she'd gone to his bed, climbed in, and slept naked between his sheets. They had smelled like him, citrus and spice and incredibly tantalizing. She hadn't showered yet this morning, so she smelled like his sheets. Which meant she smelled like him.
The thought sent heat stabbing through her.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to gently set the kettle on the counter. Boots or not, coat or not, as soon as her clothes were dry, she was out of here. She could make it the two blocks to Yonge Street, find a good hotel, check in-
Using what credit card?
Damn, damn, damn.
Her mother was at the Royal York. She could go there. Dear God, what a thought.
She turned on the range, lifted the kettle, set it on the burner. Stared at the clean stainless-steel lines. Even Dain's kettle was expensive. Elegant. Amazing.
She thought of his hands on the kettle, lean and strong, and then she thought of his hands on her, his fingers sliding into her…
Oh, she'd been bit so bad.
The following morning, Dain stood on the street outside his penthouse. Vivien was up there, in his home, likely in his bed since there was only one. He doubted she'd chosen to sleep on the couch.
He hoped she hadn't chosen to sleep on the couch.
He wanted her in his bed, preferably with him right there with her.
What the hell was wrong with him that he was thinking this way? After last night, he had his suspicions about Vivien Cairn, and he wasn't liking them very much.
Only, he still liked her, wanted her.
And his suspicions were just that. Suspicions. He wasn't even certain what he suspected. That she was a demon? Not bloody likely that he and Darqun and Ciarran would all have missed that little fact yesterday. Besides, there were no female demons, not precisely. But there were succubi, alluring female versions of their male demon counterparts, rare creatures that had surfaced only a handful of times since the Compact of Sorcerers' inception.
Dain had never encountered one, and he was having a hard time believing he'd encountered one now.
Problem was, he wasn't certain he could trust himself to see what he ought to rather than believe what he willed. He had made that exact mistake so recently with the Ancient. He'd suspected his mentor of betrayal and had chosen not to believe the evidence he unearthed. A poor choice, as it turned out.
Emotion had no place in such decisions.
At least he'd learned that lesson well, so he'd spent last night at Ciarran's, because he'd needed a little distance from Vivien and the nearly overwhelming urge to get her naked and flat on her back.
After a quick detour out to the charred remains of Vivien's house, he had ended up sitting with Ciarran and Clea, and the biggest bowl of popcorn he'd ever seen, watching a twelve-hour marathon of X Files reruns. Ciarran and Clea were rabid for it. He figured they liked the dark undertone and the irony of the whole truth-is-out-there-trust-no-one mentality.
Yeah, he could understand that sentiment. Trust no one, not even his brothers in the Compact of Sorcerers. The Ancient, the one they should all have been able to count on, had switched to the dark side. So how was Dain supposed to trust anyone?
Only problem was, he felt that refusing to completely trust them was his failing.
Christ. His head was so messed up.
He was tired. That must be it. Sorcerers needed little sleep, a few hours once a week was usually enough, but he hadn't managed any shut-eye in the past thirteen days. An outside limit. Add to that the energy he had expended to heal his myriad wounds, and he was burning the candle at both ends with a blowtorch.
Dangerous, because periods of sleep were necessary to replenish depleted magic, and he definitely could use a reload.
Tonight, he needed to get some sleep or he might lose it.
The cell phone in his back pocket vibrated. He yanked it out and flipped it open. Technology still amazed him. It was no challenge for him to remember a time when the Compact of Sorcerers had communicated in a far less time-efficient manner. Mail coach and Pony Express.
"Yeah."
"Javier's got some information about your succubus theory that I think you might be interested in," Darqun said. Dain could hear the ever-present pump of the bass beat in the background. Darqun couldn't bear silence. "Why don't you swing by?"
A visit with his comrades held little appeal, which was exactly why he was going to meet with them. Because this wasn't a social visit. Duty over personal preference. They'd spoken on the phone last night, filling each other in on details, tossing out ideas. Javier had promised to investigate a few things, including the possibility that the killer wasn't a demon but a succubus.
The corpse's desiccated state had twigged something in Dain's thoughts, something he'd read in one of the Ancient's illuminated texts.
"Yo, Dain, you there?" Darqun asked. "You meeting us, or what?"
Dain paced three steps, turned, and paced back, thinking of Vivien in his loft and how badly he wanted to be there with her, picking up where he'd left off the night before. He wanted Vivien underneath him, her sleek body naked, her hands gripping his ass while he pumped into her.
Not gonna happen, not until he figured out what the hell was going on, because right now, he was so twisted up inside he could barely think straight.
He blew out a breath. "Yeah. I'm on my way."
"Head to Javier's place. We'll all meet there. Oh, and bring Dr. Cairn."
Of course. Bring Dr. Cairn to a gathering of sorcerers. Irritation and unease twitched through him. He'd done this to her, dragged her into a situation where he'd turned his suspicions on her, damned mistrustful bastard that he was.
Worse, he'd dragged her into the secret business of the Compact. When they were done with her, the bones identified, her role completed, one of them would wipe her memories. Likely Darqun; he was the most skilled at the process.
It would not be a nice thing. Not a nice thing at all.
Though it was an easy matter to remove a recollection of a fleeting glimpse, it was a much trickier endeavor to wipe away anything more significant than that, the risk increasing the more detailed and ingrained the memories.
Some human brains had a way of resisting when they were tampered with. He didn't want to find out if Vivien's was one of them.
Fury slicked through his veins, and with it came a protective urge that hummed like electricity zipping along a wire. In that instant, he came to a non-negotiable decision.
They weren't touching Vivien's mind.
Every thought, every memory, belonged to her. If Darqun thought that Dain would let him go poking around, he had a little surprise coming.
Dain wasn't going to let them make Vivien forget him.
But he couldn't trust her if he let her remember him. Who might she tell about the Compact? What form would betrayal take?
Last night, as a temporary measure, he had set a spell to make certain she didn't share any vital information with anyone she happened to phone while he'd left her alone, but that would only work in the short-term. The long-term was another matter entirely.
So he was back to the beginning, nursing his suspicions and paranoia like a piss-warm beer.
The Compact had a whole shitload of trouble to deal with: an unknown killer and a plot to bring over the Solitary that seemed to have something to do with the bizarre murders, with the gris-gris bags, and with Vivien Cairn.
He would be wise to stay the hell away from her until things got figured out.
Maybe the demons just wanted her for the same reason Dain had sought her out-because she was a bone specialist.
Yeah. And pigs fly.
That expression was growing on him. Just like everything else about Vivien.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he decided to tackle one thing at a time. With his gaze locked on the window of his loft, he dialed his number, waited for Vivien to answer. She grabbed it on the tenth ring.
"Vivien? We're going for a ride. Come down. I'll be waiting for you at the front doors."
Frigid silence. Not a good sign. Maybe he should have phrased that as a request.
"Vivien?"
"I'll be down when I'm down. My clothes are in the dryer." She cut the connection.
Dain was left holding a dead line. He blew out a breath, conjured his keys, and headed for the closest of his three parking slots.
With a grim smile, he slid his hand into the pocket of his jeans and did a quick rearrange, wondering why the sound of Vivien's voice, even curt and angry, had jacked him up and made him harder than stone.
A HALF HOUR LATER, VlVIEN ARRIVED IN THE LOBBY, showered and dressed in her freshly washed and dried jeans and T-shirt. The choice had been that or the toga. She spotted the gleaming yellow Ferrari Testarossa parked right out front and didn't have a second's doubt that it belonged to Dain.
The car suited him. Expensive. Showy. Sexy as all hell, if you were into that sort of thing. She'd never thought she was; guess she'd thought wrong.
Wasn't she just the shallow creature?
The Ferrari was fifteen feet away, she figured, give or take. A quick mental pep talk primed her to face the hammer of the winter wind in nothing but her T-shirt. Shoving open the glass door of Dain's building, she sprinted the distance and threw herself into the passenger seat.
"N-nice wheels," she said through chattering teeth, looking out the front windshield rather than at Dain. She was a coward, true, and she didn't care. "Can you crank the heat?"
"You're cold," he said tersely. "Why didn't you wear a coat?"
She shot him her duh look.
He'd showered. Shaved. Dressed in different clothes. A blue-gray shirt that made his eyes light from within, picking up the variegated shades of pewter and silver; black jeans; and a shearling coat. He looked good all cleaned up, but she missed the dark stubble, the beat-up jeans. The hint of danger.
He turned to fully face her then, his gray eyes narrowed against the morning sun, the color startlingly bright against his dark lashes, and pinned her with a look that was a little savage, a lot sexy.
In that instant, she realized that the danger was very much there, no matter how nice he cleaned up. She shivered.
"I didn't wear a coat, because I don't have a coat. Or shoes." She wiggled her green-slippered feet. "Or a change of clothes. My house burned down, along with everything I owned. Remember?"
He looked like she'd slapped him. Guess he hadn't thought of that.
"Sorry, my oversight," he murmured with a tight smile. "I figured you would have grabbed one of my coats out of the closet."
Grab one of his coats. The thought of being wrapped in his clothing, the scent of him surrounding her, was incredibly intimate.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Oh, she should not have looked at him. She definitely should not have looked at him. But the damage was done, and now she couldn't make herself look away.
"Yeah," he said, though she hadn't asked a question.
He stared at her for a moment, then gave that same grandiose gesture with his hand that she'd seen him do when he'd retrieved her missing slipper out of thin air. In an instant, her jeans and T-shirt were gone, and she was clothed in black wool slacks, stiletto boots that felt like they'd been made for her feet, and a dark green cashmere sweater under an even darker green cashmere coat.
With a gasp, she ran her hands along her arms, her waist, her thighs.
A low hiss caught her attention, and she jerked her head up to find Dain watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, hungry. His expression made her think of the way he'd touched her on the terrace, the way he'd made her come.
It made her want him with a fevered ache, despite all the upheaval in her life, despite her frustration and anger at the way he'd abandoned her last night. And that frightened her, because her reactions to him were so overblown, so intense. Why?
She felt like there were two Viviens inside of her, the one she knew and someone else, someone wicked and sensual and wild. Someone she didn't know at all. And both Viviens ached for Dain, wanted him on so many levels.
With her gaze locked on his, she stroked her hand slowly up the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast. She wanted him to look at her just like that, like he was going to drag her into his lap and take her right here, right now.
She knew she was acting outrageously, felt like she was watching herself on a video, but she couldn't make herself stop. Truth be told, she didn't want to make herself stop. The interlude on the terrace last night had been like a tiny little appetizer, and she wanted the main course. Wanted to devour the main course.
"That color…" Dain tapped out a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel. "Yeah… that color looks good on you. It, uh, goes nicely with your hair."
She pressed her lips together against a smile, disarmed.
"Thank you." She could hear the husky quality to her voice. "These clothes are gorgeous." Classy, simple lines. High quality. Beautiful. Things she would have picked for herself-except for the high-heeled boots. Rats were more her style.
But the boots were stunning.
She studied him for a moment. "How do you do that? Can all sorcerers just… I don't know… create stuff out of thin air?"
"Everything comes from something, Vivien. I am a conjurer."
Well, wasn't that response just chock-full of useful information?
"Where does the magic come from? What exactly is it? How did you bring the clothes to me?" Her questions rushed together. She turned in her seat to face him. "Explain some of this to me. And while you're at it, tell me something more about demons and hybrids and sorcerers."
"The explanation would take far longer than the questions, but I'll give you the short version." He took a deep breath, blew it out in a quick, hard huff. "The realm of man is connected to a multitude of dimensions by an eternal river of elemental energy and its tributaries. Sorcerers call it the continuum, or the dragon current, light and dark in perfect balance. Some mortals call the tributaries ley lines."
"So where do sorcerers fit in?"
"We are guardians."
This was the most bizarre conversation she'd ever had. Mostly because she believed everything he was saying.
Vivien gave a short, incredulous laugh. "And demons have the same sort of magic as sorcerers?"
His lips curved, a tight, compressed smile. "No."
She blinked at the cold finality of his tone.
"But Ciarran and Darqun can do the same things as you?" she prodded.
Dain shrugged. "All sorcerers have magic. Each of us is unique in our choice of weapons and our mode of delivery. And I have no scruples about using my gifts." He sent her a wicked grin. "My comrades think me grandiose. A showman. And they're right. Ciarran is by far the most restrained. He refuses to use magic for the mundane."
"Magic for the mundane? What does that mean?"
"He would have taken the clothes off his back to warm you; he would not have conjured. He reserves his magic for guarding the realm."
Interesting. "But you don't."
"No. There's no law against it, and trust me, sorcerers are subject to a multitude of laws. I think of it like this-what's the point of being a billionaire if you don't spend your money?"
Billionaire. "That's an analogy, right?"
He didn't reply.
In a way she was glad. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"Okay, but even a billionaire has a finite amount of money, right? Is your magic finite? Are there limits?"
Dain shot her a sharp glance. "There are limits. A rapid depletion of reserves can be difficult to balance."
"What would deplete a sorcerer's reserves?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, his jaw clenched. His fingers closed tightly on the steering wheel, white knuckled. Touchy subject. One he clearly wanted to avoid.
After a moment, she broke the growing silence. "So, um, my clothes, the ones I had on when I got in the car. They're the only things left from my stuff, from before the fire. Did you poof them into thin air, or what?"
"They're in the closet at the penthouse, Vivien."
"Good," she said, trying to get her head around all of this. "That's good."
The possibility that everything was gone, that those clothes were the only things she owned, was overwhelming. Maybe there was something left, something salvageable…
"I want to go to my house."
"No." Just that. A simple refusal, quiet, firm. He watched her, his gray eyes bright against the fan of dark, dark lashes. "It's too dangerous."
Her instinct was to rail at him, demand answers, throw open the car door and stalk off. But that was emotion pushing her to poor choices, and she'd had lots of practice at locking those away. She still didn't know the depth of the danger that stalked her, but she knew it was out there. Dain had been quite clear about that, and even if she wasn't inclined to trust him fully, she'd seen the demon with her own eyes.
"You've been there. To my house." Something in his expression, his tone, made her think it.
"Yeah, I've been there."
"What's left? Anything?" Her voice caught on the last word, mostly because she knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"Vivien-"
"Just tell me." She shook her head, silently willing him to understand. "Just tell me."
He drew a slow breath, reaching across the space between them and taking her hand. Warm, strong fingers. Callused palm. She focused on that instead of on the pain in her heart.
"There are hybrids staking out the place. A dozen on quick count." He paused before continuing in a low tone. "Everything is gone. The house is rubble. The garage, too. Your car. The evergreens on the south side of the house."
That made her choke on a sob. Those trees had probably been a hundred years old.
She closed her eyes. What was the worst of it? The fear? The hybrids lurking, waiting? The loss of everything? The way her whole life had turned upside down? The fact that she was cut off from everything known and familiar? She dared not call anyone-not her mom, not her friends-because involving anyone else might put them in danger.
Dain's grasp on her hand tightened. "I'm here with you, Vivien. You're not alone."
Opening her eyes, she turned her gaze to his, found him watching her with such interest, such focus, as though there was no one else in the world but her. Her heart twisted; her throat locked.
"I can't let myself rely on that," she said. "Can't let myself rely on you. I've been a one-woman show for a very long time."
He stroked her cheek with his free hand, the most gentle touch, and she felt like she was melting, her emotions buffeting her, though she willed them back to the box she usually locked them in.
"Vivien," he said. Only that. But it was enough. Oh, God, it was enough. She thought he understood exactly how she felt, exactly how hard it was for her to let anyone in.
Leaning across the scant space that separated them, she pressed her lips to his, then drew away, back to her side of the car. Back to her own space.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression taut, his gaze sharp. He drummed his fingers in that quick little rhythm against the steering wheel.
"I want to be inside you right now," he said bluntly, his voice a low rasp. It sounded as though the admission cost him dearly.
Jerking her head around to stare out the front window, she took a couple calming breaths, his words sending her libido flaring like a match. She ought to be appalled, but on a visceral level, she was thrilled. Enticed.
What he said, the way he said it, made her ache. Because, yeah, she wanted him inside her right now, and she didn't care if he had pretty words and romantic gestures. She just wanted him, raw and hard. And that was crazy, crazy, crazy.
She swallowed. "Glad we got that all out in the open."
The silence spun out, vast as the winter-blue sky, and the air was heavy with tension.
Swallowing, she looked down, fumbled with the seat belt until it was securely fastened. Finally, she cleared her throat, shot him a glance, and muttered, "Wherever we're going, I want coffee first."
Dain quirked a brow. "Your wish is my command."
She could think of a whole lot of ways to take that, and every one of them was naughty and raunchy, sending sweet, sharp tingles of awareness skittering through her.
Shifting into gear, Dain sent the Ferrari from zero to the speed of light in a single breath.
"Guess you never heard of defensive driving, huh?" She slapped her free hand into the grab-handle out of reflex, but relaxed after a couple of minutes. The truth was, she liked the feeling of flying along the road.
"You're okay, right?" Dain asked, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "You seemed a little out of it last night after we… yeah, after…"
"After you made me come?" she asked, her voice like smoke.
Dain made a strangled sound, and his jaw went rigid.
Her breath locked in her throat. God, had she just said that?
"I'm fine, Dain." Tense and ill at ease, Vivien looked out the side window, then down at her lap. "Fine."
Only she wasn't.
She was overwhelmed, sexually frustrated, exhausted despite a night's sleep, and she was afraid. Everything she had known all her life was gone-her assumptions about the world, her sense of security and success, her home, maybe her sanity.
Somehow, between her house burning to the ground and getting slapped with the knowledge that part of the world was populated by sorcerers and demons, she'd been treated to a double dose of the fact that she'd been slowly slipping away over the span of months.
Her little problem wasn't going away. It was getting worse. The terrifying truth was that she'd zoned out two nights past for twelve hours, and again yesterday while Dain had been gone. The hours before midnight were a complete blank for her. She'd come back to herself in the foyer of his loft, with the front door wide open and that long deep scratch on her arm. Her bare feet had been ice cold, as though she'd gone trekking through the snow barefoot.
And she'd felt like she was going to sift away again on the terrace, after Dain had… after she'd gone off like a well-shaken soda tin.
Whatever was wrong with her, the episodes were coming fast and hard.
She glanced at Dain. Should she tell him? When she'd called her mother last night, half out of daughterly duty-the obligation to tell her about the fire-and half out of daughterly desperation, she had so needed to talk to someone. But, as usual, Araminta had been distant, reserved. She supposed that in her heart, she hadn't really expected anything different.
But, somehow, she felt that Dain would understand.
She didn't just need to talk with someone; she needed to talk with him.
"Any… magic in your family?" he asked unexpectedly.
"Excuse me?" A snort of startled laughter burst free. Magic? Well, her mother was a witch, but she didn't think that was what he'd meant. "Um… no."
He frowned. "Are you adopted?"
"Adopted?" Vivien laughed again, taken aback by the question. "Where did that come from?"
"Curiosity."
"Well, no. No, I'm not adopted." She paused. "Are you?"
What an odd conversation.
His brows rose. Well, what had he expected with such a left-field question? What was good for the goose…
"No."
Vivien cocked her head. "Do sorcerers have parents?"
"No, we hatch from eggs dropped to earth by passing meteorites." He shot her a look. "Of course we have parents."
"Scientists are taught never to assume," she protested, stung.
He looked at her again, his gaze lingering, sliding from her face to her neck and lower.
"That sweater really looks great on you," he said huskily, and looked back to the road.
Vivien glanced down, realizing that she still wore no bra, and the soft cloth made no secret of that. And now that he'd made her think about it, the cashmere felt sinfully good against her skin, against her nipples.
Her eyes met his for an instant, and then they both quickly looked away.
Taking his hand from the gearshift, Dain flicked on the stereo. Vivaldi drifted out to fill the space. Beautiful, but Vivien couldn't handle it right now. She wanted something raw and pounding, something that would drown out her feelings and worries and fears. Drown out the pounding of her pulse.
She was glad when Dain hit the third button, cranked the volume, and the raunchy sound of "Highway to Hell" filled the car.
Vivien gave a short laugh, darkly pleased by the coincidence, because damn if she didn't feel like she was driving fast and hard straight to hell.
Amy Lassiter curled her fingers around the paper cup of her tall non fat caramel macchiato and glanced around the interior of Starbucks. The place was practically empty. Only one table was taken, near the back, four women chatting and laughing, the sound grating on Amy's nerves. It made her feel all the more alone.
Last night had been a killer. She felt exhausted, drained. Lousy. And she couldn't shake the memories of that guy…
She closed both hands around the paper cup, lifted her coffee, and blew on it while she stared morosely out the front window at the busy street. A shiver chased down her spine, and she wondered where the draft was coming from. God, she was so cold. Lately, she was always so goddamned cold.
She sipped on her coffee, barely tasting it, wishing it would warm her.
Staring out the window at the slushy street and the bundled pedestrians, she thought that she really should
have gone to Mexico, despite Vivien refusing to go with her. She should have gone alone. But at the last minute, with her suitcase all packed and ready and the cab waiting at the curb, she'd backed out, decided she just couldn't do it.
Maybe because of what had happened the last time. Maybe that was the reason she hadn't wanted to go alone. Memories, especially dark ones, were a bitch.
A yellow Ferrari pulled up to an open spot at the curb a few stores down. The guy who climbed out piqued Amy's interest. Definitely hot. Dark hair, amazing build, angular features. His movements were all male grace and power, and there was an energy about him, an impression of… She shook her head, at a loss to pinpoint exactly what it was about him that was so riveting.
He rounded the car, opened the passenger door, leaned in, and spoke to his companion. Amy caught a fleeting glimpse of the woman in the passenger seat, blinked, looked again. She almost choked on a sip of coffee.
Vivien?
No, the hair was wrong, too short, and Vivien rarely came downtown anymore unless it was work related. She said she disliked crowds and that lately being around too many people made her uncomfortable. That was one of the reasons she'd given Amy for not wanting to go to Mexico. The crowds in the airport, the plane, the restaurants, the clubs.
The stunning guy nodded, closed the door, sauntered toward the coffee shop. Amy shivered. She was mesmerized by the way he moved, so in control, confident. Something swelled inside her, a secret urge, powerful and frightening. Not lust. Something darker. It made her want to suck away that masculine confidence, pare it down to nothing.
Swiveling on her stool, she watched him hold the door to let an older lady in before him. His gaze slid over Amy, impersonal, then skidded back, sharp, alert. Like he saw her. Not just the outside but inside, to the harsh part of her soul that was growing stronger every day, the part she was starting to be afraid of. The part that wasn't quite hum-
With a little gasp, she dropped her gaze, told herself she was imagining it. After a second, he moved to the counter, ordered one coffee and one tea. On his way back to the door, he paused to add milk to the tea. She noticed that he left the coffee black.
Vivien took her coffee black.
Yeah, and so did a million other people.
The older lady was having trouble fitting the lid on her coffee, her hand shaking. With a few quiet words, the guy opened a conversation, taking the lid from the old lady's hands.
Amy's gaze flicked back to the Ferrari. The passenger door swung open, and the woman climbed out, paused, her face visible to Amy in a three-quarter view. In that instant, any hope that Amy had harbored about mistaken identity vanished. She'd thought the hair was too short, but now she had no doubt. It was Vivien with a chic new cut and some uber-expensive clothes, black slacks, hunter-green coat.
Incredulity surged, followed by hurt.
Vivien had ditched her for a guy.
Fisting her hands at her sides, Amy tried to control her rapid gasps, aware that her reaction was overblown, even frightening, but she was helpless to change the way she felt. How high school was this?
But Vivien hadn't even mentioned this guy, hadn't shared her reason for declining the trip. She'd deserted Amy right when she'd needed her most.
Tears stung Amy's eyes. There was so much going on, so many frightening changes, and she would give anything to be able to confide in her friend. She was in a mess so deep that she didn't know how to claw her way out-wasn't even sure she wanted to.
Right now, she knew her emotions were about as predictable as an earthquake, only she didn't know why, couldn't figure out what exactly was going on with her. Massive mood swings. Crazy dreams. Sleepless nights.
She was way too young for menopause and way too old for teenaged hormones. Which left what? Anger-management issues?
Vivien had ditched her for a guy.
A sharp slap of fury made her stiffen.
Heart pounding with snarling indignation, she grabbed her purse-how darkly poetic that it was one Vivien had given her-left her coffee behind, and darted through the door. She slid through the slush, unmindful of the dirty gray spray she kicked up, staining her jeans, or the harsh expletive hurled at her as she shoved a teenaged boy to the side.
Rage and an ugly sense of betrayal spurred her forward until she skidded to a stop some ten feet away, frozen, quivering like a dog on a hunt. Indecision rocked her, and she slid sideways into a recessed doorway, her rage deflated. Should she confront Vivien? And say what? That she was jealous?
Or should she slink into the shadows?
The old Amy would definitely have slunk, but the new Amy…
She watched as Vivien started forward in the opposite direction, her gait odd, as though she was sleepwalking. Staring straight ahead, moving at a slow, jerky pace, Vivien headed for a boarded-up building three doors down. And then she did the strangest thing. She eased her shoulder through a broken window, then her head, then the rest of her body, and disappeared inside.
Oookay. That was weird.
Turning, Amy glanced back at the Starbucks just as Ferrari Guy came through the door. He took one step, two, and suddenly his whole body went on alert. He splinted to the car, yanked the door open, swore when he found it empty. Cold fury shimmered from him in waves; she could feel it even from this distance.
Wrapping her arms tightly across her belly, Amy took a step farther back into the shadows. Her head was so messed up. Part of her was furious at Vivien. Part of her was worried. What the hell was she doing in that deserted building?
His body language vigilant, the guy turned right, left, scanning the vicinity, looking for Vivien, and at least that eased Amy's conscience. Then he looked straight at her, narrowed his eyes, and she knew he could see her, despite the wall and the awning and all the people passing between them. She knew he could tell what she'd become, what was inside her.
His gaze was arctic cold. Scary. Dangerous.
Amy slid her hand into her purse to touch her good-luck charm, the one she'd picked up a couple of years
back on that last trip to Mexico. The soft velvet of the charm bag warmed in her hand, and her confidence surged.
Because she could be dangerous, too.
Dain felt an undulation, a shift in the continuum, a gong of warning. Hybrids. They were close, and there was more than one.
Where the hell was Vivien?
Coming at him from opposite directions, he sensed two distinct auras that bore her signature, a faint one coming from the shadowed doorway of a nearby store and a stronger one leading to a half-boarded-up broken window of a deserted building. He stared at the shadows, pinning his full attention on the figure who huddled there. Not Vivien, but someone who knew her, who carried something that had once belonged to her…
A woman in a puffy black jacket scuttled from the recessed doorway and hurried down the street, away from him.
Wariness surged, a dark slither through his veins. Something was wrong here, very wrong, but right now his priority had to be finding Vivien.
He focused on the hybrids, funneling his magic to his senses until he could pinpoint exactly where they were, where Vivien was.
The boarded-up building.
Taking off at a dead run, he refracted light, veiling himself from human sight. He grabbed hold of the continuum and transported himself inside. The place was dim, littered with refuse from demolished walls and shattered light fixtures. At the far end was a staircase, precariously listing to one side. He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, skidding to a dead stop when he hit the landing.
Vivien stood in the middle of the empty space, surrounded by ribbons of sunlight that cut through the cracks in the boards nailed across the windows. Dust particles danced in the light and disappeared in the shadows.
"Vivien!" he called.
She didn't move, didn't turn, just stood there, her eyes closed, her body shaking, her face tipped into a beam of sunlight. Christ. What was she doing in here?
Dain looked around, tasting the flow of dark magic. Brimstone stained the air.
Hybrids. Four of them.
The shadows in the corners shifted, separated into four menacing figures, muscled, tall. They prowled toward him, toward Vivien.
"Go," he snarled. "I offer you one chance. Take it."
Unlike demons and their minions, sorcerers were not indiscriminate killers. He presented the hybrids with an escape clause: run like hell. If they didn't choose to take it, they were dead.
In that instant, Vivien's eyes flipped open, locking onto his, and he reared back, stunned. Her eyes were white and gold, a swirling pearlescent haze, like an opal or a vast field of snow in bright sunlight.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
What the hell was this?
No time to think. The hybrids came at him as one, creeping forward with knives at the ready; their dark glowing blades were demon weapons, beyond what a hybrid's limited power would normally summon.
Dain called his acacia staff, his one perfect weapon, just as a hybrid lunged, not at him but at Vivien. The need to keep her safe slashed at him, stark and defined. He leapt into the creature's path, bringing his staff up to knock the hybrid back. It shrieked like a howler monkey and spun away.
Whirling, Dain hit low and hard, sweeping a second hybrid's legs out from beneath it. Vivien. Nothing mattered but Vivien. And she stood in the ray of sunlight, opalescent eyes open, seeing nothing.
His gut twisted and churned, a slurry of worry and violent anger funneling through his veins. Had they done that to her? Cast some dark magic?
In a millennium of battling demons and hybrids, he had never seen the like. Its unfamiliarity made him doubly alarmed.
Feeling the spill of his own magic gliding along every nerve, he punched and kicked and parried, aiming to keep his own body between Vivien and the stinking hybrids.
Dust swirled around them, kicked up by their feet, carrying the scent of mildew and rat shit from the rotting boards. Skirting to the right, he avoided a particularly nasty spot where the rot had worn right through, leaving a gaping hole, but the hybrid that sprang at him was not so nimble. It howled as its foot slid into the hole, cloth and skin scraped away by the ragged edges of the wood.
That howl fed Dain's fury, made it blaze and roar.
Again, creatures of darkness hunted one he cared for.
Again, they threatened a mortal life, a life of special value to him.
They'd been offered their reprieve, and they'd declined.
So he would offer them the only alternative-death.
A hybrid caught Vivien's wrist and tried to drag her toward the stairs as its companions came at Dain from opposite sides.
He battled his rage, willed his temper under control. Calling up the wall of calm that was his facade, he willed himself to believe in that calm, because to let the hate and fury overtake him right now was to risk Vivien's life. He needed rationality and strategy, not mindless anger. He needed the safety of the wall he'd built around his emotions.
So why was it so hard to summon? Why did the cool veneer fail to heed his summons?
Because this was Vivien in danger. Vivien whose life was at risk.
Fuck.
He raised his staff, blocking a killing blow; then he spun into the hit, using his body to throw the hybrid off balance. The creature stumbled and fell, and Dain brought the end of his staff down with enough force to crush its windpipe. The acrid smell of bubbling flesh told him the hybrid was dead, disintegrating, but he had already turned away to face the next as it struck.
A glowing blade hacked at him, cutting his forearm to the bone. The pain spurred him to action, a reminder that he was the only thing standing between Vivien and these disgusting things.
With his blood roaring in his ears, Dain sprinted forward, into the path of the hybrid that had Vivien in its grasp. She wasn't struggling, wasn't fighting; she just stood there, her eyes wide and blank.
Strange that she had the strength to withstand the hybrid's pull.
Before he could fully process that thought, the thing's head jerked up, and whatever it saw in Dain's expression made it freeze. It dropped its hold on Vivien and paused in indecision, as though tempted to flee.
Black emotion surged and swelled, the ancient, tempered pain of losing Moria and Ciel blending with his rage at this threat to Vivien.
Panting, Dain wondered if he'd have the strength to master his rage and let the hybrid go. He never had the chance to find out. At the last second, the creature bared its teeth, brought its taloned hands up, and flew at Dain just as another hybrid landed on his back, hooked its arm around Dain's throat, and stabbed its blade into his side.
The breath left him in a sharp whoosh.
Burning pain, a deep and tearing agony. He felt his blood, a hot river, running down his side.
Whatever pretense of calm he had conjured evaporated now, and he loosed the hate and the rage, grabbing the hybrid on his back and swinging the thing forward, slamming it into its partner, sending both demon-minions to the ground in a knot of tangled arms and legs. His hands slick with his own blood, Dain grabbed the head of the closer hybrid and twisted until there was a loud snap. He kept going, wrenching the head from the body, sending a spray of deep crimson spurting across the other hybrid, the floor, the nearby wall.
In a fury, he grabbed the next hybrid, yanked its blade
from its grasp, and stabbed it through the heart with enough force to shatter the bones of its chest, crushing it, pinning it to the wooden floor like a bug as the blade sank deep.
His chest working like a bellows, he pulled the knife out and spun as the last hybrid freed itself from the hole in the floor and lunged at him. With a sharp upward slash, he gutted the thing, sidestepped, and let its own momentum carry it tumbling end over end down the stairs. With his breath coming in harsh gasps, he pressed his hand to his bleeding side, staring at the twisted body until it started to bubble and pop.
Fucking hybrids. Fucking dead hybrids.
He whirled and his gaze sought Vivien. As though unaware of the violent tableau that had unfolded before her, she stood where he'd left her, her silhouette dark against the nimbus of light leaking through the boarded window at her back, her eyes opalescent, shimmering and milky and blind.
"Vivien!" He was beside her in a blink, running his hands over her, turning her so he could make certain she was unharmed. "Christ, what the hell were you doing in here?"
She swayed, moaned. "So hungry," she breathed.
Her eyes flashed to hazel-green, then flickered shut as she slumped in his arms.
Forcing his body to let go of the killing rage, Dain closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the Ferrari's steering wheel, and rested his forehead against the backs of his hands. He'd carried Vivien back to the car, using magic to refract light, making them and the Ferrari invisible to humans.
Christ, he was exhausted. He'd gone too long without sleep, and his wounds were serious enough that he felt their burn in the worst way. He pressed his hand to his side, and it came away covered in blood.
But Vivien was safe. Here, beside him.
This time, he hadn't been too late. This time, he'd kept the woman he cared about safe.
Powerful relief shimmered through him, offering a strange sense of rejuvenation, followed immediately by wariness. From behind the rigid confines of the walls he had built centuries past, his emotions slunk free. Unwelcome. Unwanted.
Sitting up, he turned his head to study her. Her face
was relaxed, her body slumped against the door as though she'd fallen asleep. He'd almost believe she'd never left the car, except her clothes were smudged with dust and a smear of his blood where he'd touched her with stained hands. Her right sleeve was torn; it had probably snagged when she'd slipped through the boarded-up window.
She didn't move, didn't blink.
Dain blew out a slow breath, winced as the gash in his side screamed in protest.
His magic was depleted, which wasn't helped by his lack of sleep, but he called enough of it to heal his wounds to a certain degree and to clean up his appearance and Vivien's. He shifted in the seat and touched his side once more. The hybrid's blade had bitten deep. Bastard had nicked his kidney.
Vivien stirred, sighed.
He didn't have a clue what to make of any of this. He'd left her alone for all of ten minutes, and she'd ended up at a hybrid party.
What had she been doing in that building? What was up with her eyes and the way she'd phased out completely?
So hungry.
The words she'd said to him just before she'd passed out made no goddamned sense.
But the gnawing guilt that tore at him was no mystery. He'd left her alone, unprotected, while he went to get coffee. He should have warded and spelled the car, just like he'd done to the loft when he'd left last night. Nothing in. Nothing out. It should have been second nature.
He'd thought it unnecessary, because he could see the car from the window of the coffee shop. And he hadn't
conjured the coffee in the first place, because he hadn't wanted to drain his reserves of magic on something so paltry. Brilliant strategy. Instead, he'd pretty much pilfered his entire backup reserves to protect her from the hybrids.
His error could have cost Vivien her life.
"Vivien?" he said softly.
He looked over at her. Her hair stood up in a spiky, artful mess, dark brown touched with a kiss of bronze, a whisper of red, stray wisps touching her cheek, her nape.
Reaching out, Dain laid the backs of his fingers against the smooth, soft skin of her cheek, brushing aside a lock of hair. He examined her face, strong even in repose. His gut clenched as he again thought of the way her eyes had looked as she stood in the bright beam of sunlight. She had seen nothing, been aware of nothing.
He had no idea what they'd done to her, or why they'd done it. What did the hybrids want from her?
Yeah, he was way past the point of imagining he'd led them and the demon to her house that first morning. They'd been there already, watching her, waiting for the right moment to take her.
Why, why, why?
And what the hell had made her go into that building? He had no answers, no explanations.
As they had the night he'd found Rick Strasser's body, suspicions oozed through his mind. But suspicions of what? That Vivien was a killer? That she was in league with the demons? That she was a succubus?
Now that Ciarran had pointed it out, Dain could sense a very faint spark of magic in her, so faint he would have missed it if he wasn't looking. Hardly enough to make her a succubus. Barely enough to mark her as a blighted seed.
Christ, she was beautiful. Brave. Resilient.
Everything she knew had turned inside out, and she'd coped, uncomplaining.
She shifted in the seat and turned her face fully toward him. But she didn't rouse.
Soft. Warm. Alive.
Safe.
He'd kept her safe.
He shook his head. If he had one iota of sense, he wouldn't let himself get emotionally connected to her.
He ought to leave her in Darqun's care, or Javier's.
The thought made everything inside him roar with fury. Emotions ripped at him-guilt, remorse, relief, affection-no gentle swell but a dark, crashing wave that would drown him if he let it.
So much for having one iota of sense.
Vivien opened her eyes and stretched.
Turning her head, she found Dain watching her intently. His gaze locked on hers, and for an instant, she thought he smiled, the curving of his lips so bare and fleeting that she wasn't certain.
"What?" she asked, rubbing the back of her hand along her nose.
"Your eyes…" He looked so serious, so scary.
Alarm crackled in her chest making it feel tight and clogged.
Though she waited a good thirty seconds, he never
finished the sentence, just stared at her in that oddly intense way.
She sniffed, rubbed her nose again, feeling like she might sneeze, like she'd sucked back a whole lot of dust.
"How do you feel?" His tone was clipped.
"Ummm… fine," she replied, puzzled, then shook her head. Images flashed at her, bright glowing blades, screams, and blood. A chill crawled along her spine. A nightmare? "Did I fall asleep while you were getting the coffee?"
Dain stared at her, his gray eyes so dark they were almost black, his wonderful mouth drawn in a grim line.
Something flickered in his eyes, something frightening and dark and cold. Vivien pressed back against the seat, crossing her arms over her chest. The images flashed stronger-Dain fighting, his side red with blood.
"Vivien," he said, "what do you remember about the past half hour?" What did she remember? Nothing. Just a dream, rife with blood and death. Only, it seemed so real.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
Oh, God. Had she lost time again? Her breath locked in her chest, and it took everything she had to maintain the facade of calm.
"Dain, is something wrong?" He just looked at her, and that made her afraid. "Dain?"
"If there's something going on, Vivien, you can tell me. Trust me. I'll keep you safe."
His words, low and as soothing as warm tea, made her eyes sting with tears. He asked her to trust him. He said he'd keep her safe. And, God help her, she wanted to tell him all her fears, all the things that had been happening to her. Wanted to trust that he would do as he said, that he would stay with her, help her.
Hope burbled, and she shoved it down with ruthless speed.
Other than Amy, she'd never been able to count on anyone. And she wasn't about to make the mistake of thinking that Dain was going to be different. He wanted something from her, needed her help to study the bones in his possession. As soon as he didn't have need of her anymore, he'd be gone. He would. Just like everyone else.
So why did a part of her believe in him, believe he would bleed to keep her safe? Again, an image flashed of Dain, standing before her, blood staining his side. She cut him a sidelong glance. There was nothing to see other than his shearling coat. No sign of blood.
She mustered a smile. "So, what happened to my coffee?"
He studied her a moment longer, and she thought he saw way too much.
Finally, he shook his head, glanced about. "Yeah, sorry." His lips curved in a tight smile. "Somewhere along the way, I forgot about the coffee."
She laughed, baffled, glanced out the window toward Starbucks. "Do you want to get some now? I'll wait here."
A quick huff of air escaped him. "Not gonna happen."
With a turn of his hand, he conjured a cup of coffee. His expression grim, he handed it to her and started the car.
* * *
The Ferrari hummed and purred as Dain guided it along the icy road, as if it were a part of him. Vivien's mood improved with each sip of her coffee, though she wondered at Dain's pensive silence and the probing glances he cast her way. Her attempts at conversation fell flat, and after a time, she gave up, turning her head to watch the passing scenery as they drove north.
Dain's cell rang, and he turned down the stereo, fished out his phone, and flipped it open. He listened for a moment, his expression intent.
"No," he said bluntly. "The shares closed up thirty-five cents at 44.87 dollars."
She could hear the sound of a reply but not the actual words.
"The breakup bid will come by the end of next week. Fifty-two to fifty-eight dollars a share."
Again he listened to the person on the other end.
"Fifty billion dollars." He fell silent, shook his head, and said, "Kohlberg Kravis Roberts."
As Vivien listened to the tone of his voice- commanding, in control-she was reminded of exactly who he was in the human world.
Dain Hawkins, business mogul, worker of magic, benefactor. He bought up foundering companies- sometimes on his own, sometimes with a consortium of other investors and buyout firms- turned them around, and made them hugely profitable in record time. Every article written about him stressed the fact that he made certain people kept their jobs, kept their paychecks. His companies offered great benefits: health insurance, on-site child care, pension plans. She'd read a piece in the National Post a while back about how his companies were introducing a revolutionary program to help the sandwich generation cope with both small children and elderly parents.
He shot her an apologetic glance as he ended the call.
"Why do you do that?" she asked, wanting to know what made him tick.
"Do what?"
"Interact in the human world. Do business. Why don't you just live off… magic?"
He shoved his cell phone back in his pocket and scrubbed his hand along the side of his jaw.
"The reasons are convoluted," he said.
"I'm listening."
He cut her a glance, a quicksilver flash focused on her for an instant. "Sorcerers are subject to rules and laws. We can give people the means to save themselves, but we can't save them if they are sick or dying. We can't jump in and use magic to make everything right. The mortal world of business gives me the opportunity to impact humans without breaking the rules."
There was something in his tone that made her wonder… "Purely altruistic reasons, huh?"
"Not entirely." He chuckled, a low sexy sound that slid through her like a mellow wine. "I enjoy the challenge. I like mortals. Over the years, I've developed friendships. It's an easy matter to cast illusion and have others see me as aging at the same pace they do." His tone changed as he finished the thought, taking on a faintly pained note.
Vivien stared at him, frowned. What did he mean by that? That he didn't age at the same rate as humans? The thought startled her. Dismayed her. She thought of
herself growing old while he stayed young. And then she wondered what made her ponder such a thing. Likely, he would be out of her life in short order, and it wouldn't matter what rate he aged at, because she'd never see him again. And that just plain sucked.
"So you interact with mortals in order to better their lives and for friendship. But getting rich has no impact on you, right?" she teased, attempting to throw off the tinge of melancholy her thoughts wrought.
Dain changed lanes to avoid a slow-moving car. "Getting rich has no impact at all. Finances are of no concern to a sorcerer."
She believed him. There was something in the way he said it that made her certain it was true. She'd already seen him conjure so many things out of thin air. He could probably do the same with money. Which suggested that his motives really were altruistic, that he wanted to help people. Just like she wanted to help people. God, did he have to be so likeable?
He said nothing more, and she mulled over what he had revealed, the hint of pain in his tone when he'd spoken of others aging and of friendships.
"Do you miss them?" she asked softly. "The humans who have grown old before you?"
He shot her a glance, mercury bright veiled by dark lashes.
"It's rather… unpleasant to be left behind."
Her head jerked up, and her breath locked in her throat. It was unpleasant to be left behind. It was horrible. It was debilitating. He knew it, and she knew it, and it made her sick to think he would go, that he would leave her behind. And then it made her angry at herself that she was thinking this way. He shouldn't matter to her. She couldn't let him matter to her.
"So tell me about your friend Amy," Dain said. "I heard you leave her a voice mail that you were okay."
"First week of university, I met another girl who was as confused as I was. We were both trying to find the Med Sci building. That was Amy." She smiled at the memory. "Turned out that getting totally lost together was the start of a beautiful friendship. We had a lot of firsts together. My first time out all night partying. First visit to an amusement park. That was a great day. One of those perfect sunny, breezy days, and we were queasy from too much popcorn and cotton candy and too many roller-coaster rides. We won a stuffed bear, and we swore we'd be friends forever."
She swallowed, horrified when the last words caught and cracked. She was melancholy over a stuffed teddy bear that she'd won years ago and then shoved on a shelf and not thought about in ages. Why was she so choked up?
"And were you? Friends forever?" Dain asked, his voice low and warm and filled with such infinite understanding that she almost started to sob.
"Yes, but lately…" She shook her head.
"Lately she's let you down?" he asked gently.
"No," she whispered. "It's the other way around. Lately there's been a distance between Amy and me, and I feel like it's my fault. I know it's my fault. I've let her down, and I'm sick about it."
"Then fix it."
His blunt advice made her blink, made her smile.
"No shades of gray, huh? Just black and white." She laughed. "You are such a guy.'? And as soon as the words slipped free, she couldn't help but think of how much of a guy he was. Hard muscle. Sinew and power. And just like that, it was back, the part of her that was lust-crazed and mindless, the part of her that was unfamiliar and scary and… hungry.
She must have done something to give herself away, because Dain slanted her a glance that was purely wicked, his lips curving, slow and sexy.
Oh, she liked that look, liked the heat it drew from deep inside her. She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, feeling incredibly light-headed.
Desire twisted through her, a sharp sudden ache, and without thinking, she reached over and slid her hand through his open coat, between the buttons of his shirt, until her fingers rested against the naked skin of his chest. Energy crackled in the air, and her fingers tingled like she was getting a series of mild electric shocks. Dain's magic, she thought.
He swung his head and pinned her with a look that was pure male heat.
The urge to climb across the console, straddle his thighs, and press her mouth to his, her body to his, was nearly overwhelming. On one level, she was tempted to do just that, while on another, more rational, level, she wondered if her body had been taken over by aliens. Which wasn't exactly rational.
Her breath locked in her throat. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled. From the heat of a simple touch and the slurry of emotions that rocked her.
Her pulse was pounding, and her mouth went dry. She jerked her hand back, dropping it to her lap.
"Sorry," she said. Only she wasn't. She wanted to touch him again.
"Vivien, whatever the hell this is between us, it's not a good idea."
His words were a cold splash of reality, and she felt his rejection deep inside her. She looked at him with a sidelong glance. His jaw was set, his gaze on the road. In that moment, he looked so cold, so aloof, a million miles away from her.
"I know that," she whispered, suddenly miserable. "You made that pretty clear when you didn't come back to the loft last night."
Oh, God, why had she said that? His rejection had hurt her.
"It's… complicated, Vivien."
Complicated. Because he was a sorcerer and she was a mortal. But that wasn't the whole of it. She sensed something else, some reserve, some wall he chose to erect. She remembered thinking exactly that when he'd stood apart from her in his loft, leaning against the window, surrounded by an invisible moat that kept anyone and everyone at arm's length. She sensed that same distance now, suspected that it was created with deliberate intent.
There were depths here that she had no understanding of. What Dain allowed her to see of him barely scratched the surface.
Turning her face to the window, she tried to blank her thoughts, watching the scenery as they took the exit ramp. In a rapid-fire burst, a series of sharp images came at her, glowing blades and blood. She had dreamed that
Dain took a blade for her, put himself in harm's way to keep her safe.
She sank her teeth into her lower lip, the visual slipping away, leaving her antsy and nervous.
Her world was topsy-turvy, and Dain Hawkins was the most solid thing in it.
Of course it made sense that she would gravitate toward him, want what comfort he could offer.
Only, she knew that wasn't the reason she felt this way about him.
Two days or two decades, she felt like she knew him, was connected to him in a way she had never been connected to anyone else.
He cared about what happened to her.
He cared about keeping her safe.
And she liked that feeling. Liked it a lot. Which made her feel extremely uncomfortable because she'd never thought of herself as a person in need of a protector.
No, it wasn't the protector persona that was the issue. It was the fact that she felt certain, on a soul-deep level, that Dain truly cared about her.
Pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, she wondered where her analytical skills had disappeared to, where her ability to assess and evaluate had gone, because all she was left with were emotional upheaval and confusion.
"We're here."
She opened her eyes as they pulled into a long driveway that led to a mansion. No other way to describe it. The place was walled and gated and had a massive fountain in front and an expansive lawn that spread out like a picture postcard, all pristine white snow and pretty trees.
The house was two stories and had amazing masonry work, a slate roof, and stained-glass front doors- basically a magazine dream. As they left the car and headed for the house, Vivien was immensely glad that she was no longer dressed in a thin T-shirt with only her slippers on her feet. The sweater and coat Dain had conjured for her were soft and cozy-warm.
The air was cold and crisp, and her breath puffed white mist as she asked, "What are we doing here?'
'Visiting.'
'Who?'
'Friends.'
Lovely. He was a real fount of information.
"Can you please try for something other than enigmatic?'
His hard mouth curved in a smile. "I've been told it's a long-standing failing."
That smile turned her insides liquid.
"It's Javier's house," he said grudgingly after a moment.
His tone made her laugh. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
He arched a brow and caught her hand to steady her as her foot slid on an icy patch. Her skin tingled at the contact, a sharp sensation that wasn't quite a sting, and she had the crazy thought that when he touched her, his power, his magic, flowed between them. Unbidden, an image of the light she'd experienced on the terrace, flowing around and through them, feeding her hunger, leapt to the forefront of her thoughts. A delicious shiver played across her skin. She had the urge to twine her fingers tighter with his, to shift her body closer.
She glanced down at his broad, strong hand, his skin darker than her own. She wanted to lick his fingers, run her tongue between them, suck on them. Suck on him.
Her heart gave a hard kick against her ribs, half arousal, half fear. Where were these thoughts coming from? Unnerved, she pulled her hand away.
They reached the double door, a dark oak with inlaid stained-glass panels. Dain gave a perfunctory knock, pushed open the door, and led her inside to a marble-tiled entry hall.
"The perks of three centuries of friendship," he said with a shrug. "I can just walk in."
The comment made her gasp. Three centuries of friendship. Holy flying fish. She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Is that how old you are? Three hundred years?" The possibility boggled her mind.
"Nah, that's how old Javier is. He's the baby."
The baby.
Which meant Dain had lived more than three centuries. That explained why he sometimes slid into formal speech, a pattern that made him sound gentlemanly, courtly. Like someone from another time.
Because he was.
There was no way for her to grasp that. "You've been alive more than three centuries?'
He shot her an enigmatic look. "Much more."
"What of wives? Lovers?" she blurted. "Are you always alone?" The thought horrified her, and she considered what he'd said in the car about mortal friendships and making himself appear to age. "I can't imagine living that long and watching all those you love die."
Dain froze, so still, so silent.
"Dain?" Vivien stepped close, wanting to offer comfort, certain that her words had dragged some dark memory to the fore. Minutes ticked past, and she thought he would not speak, would not tell her-
"Those I loved died centuries past," he said flatly. His eyes met hers, the color washed cold, ice on asphalt.
There was a harsh twist in her heart, a heavy sorrow, layered and deep, as she wondered whom he had loved and how they were lost.
"My daughter, Ciel. My wife, Moria," he said, the words low and rough. "It was a very long time ago. I was young, fresh into my power. Cocky. Foolish. I came home one day to find that a demon had been there before me. I thought merely being a sorcerer conferred safety to them."
The very absence of emotion in his tone told her he held his pain in a cavernous pit, hidden, his suffering done in silence. The fact that he shared it with her left her awed and a little afraid.
"Oh, my God. Dain, I'm so sorry for your loss." She laid her hand on his arm, shaken.
"My loss?" The words were laced with self-derision. "You mean my failing."
His failing. God, she knew that feeling of self-recrimination. How many times had she wondered if Pat would still be alive if she hadn't let him drive off that night, angry? If his death wasn't at least partly her fault. She knew all about self-blame.
"Dain-"
"They were mortal, human." He cut her off, his tone harsh. "And I failed to keep them safe. It came and killed
Ciel first, quickly, and I count that as a gift." His lips flattened in a hard line then he whispered, "Imagine finding comfort that she died in a heartbeat."
There were no words. She could find no words to offer in the face of the horror he described.
"Moria was less fortunate. Her suffering was prolonged, the gouges cut in her flesh with precise care. Her body was warm and soft, her eyes not yet clouded over when I found her. Likely, she had been dead only a few moments." His gaze locked on hers, cold, barren. "My hatred of demons, my vow to destroy them, extends beyond my commitment to the Compact of Sorcerers. No matter what, Vivien, if I find a demon, I will destroy it, see it gone from the mortal realm."
Abruptly, he turned and walked down a long hallway that led to the back of the house, leaving Vivien little choice but to follow.
He'd had a wife. A daughter. And they'd died how many hundreds of years ago?
His words tunneled deep into her heart, made her feel fragile and broken and unbearably sad. He was so alone, his pain and hatred his closest companions.
And he'd chosen to share them with her.
Vivien blinked against the sting of tears, wondering why she felt like crying as much for herself as for him.
The hallway opened into a massive sunken living room. White on white. And on the far wall was by far the largest flat screen Vivien had ever seen, tuned to MTV.
On the coffee table was a pile of red velvet charm bags, and she recognized her own among the group. Dain had told her they were locked away, safe. Here? At Javier's house?
Conversation died as they stepped into the room, and every eye turned to them. She recognized Darqun and Ciarran, but the other two people were strangers.
"Hey, Dr. Cairn. You look… better than last time I saw you." Darqun rose and walked toward them. His gaze flicked over her, appreciative. She read a spark of attraction there, but her own response was flat. Despite his significant visual appeal-stunning face, stunning build-Darqun didn't call to her.
For her, it was Dain. Only Dain.
"Call me Vivien. Please." She smiled. "I feel better, thanks. The wonders of a hot shower and some clean clothes."
Darqun's brows rose, and his gaze shot to Dain. Vivien was left with little doubt that he imagined they'd showered together. Now there was a thought. She swallowed, visualizing rivulets of hot water running over Dain's naked body. And soap. Oh, the things she could do with soap.
Dropping her gaze, she studied the toes of her boots, forcing herself to silently list the bony landmarks of the humerus. It helped. By the time she got to the capitulum, she was feeling a little more in control.
Darqun and Dain were talking about the charm bags and the bones.
"… need to determine if they're all from the same male."
"Any luck finding a link between Gavin Johnston and Rick Strasser?" Dain asked.
"Not yet. Javier's working on it."
Vivien frowned. Gavin Johnston. Rick Strasser. She should know those names. She did know those names. But why?
With a shake of her head, Vivien looked around the room. There was another woman there, sitting beside Ciarran. Vivien hadn't expected that. For some reason, she'd imagined this Compact of Sorcerers as some kind of guys-only club.
The woman rose and strode toward her. She was shorter than Vivien, perhaps five-five or five-six, with dark brown shoulder-length curls, dancing brown eyes, and a warm welcoming smile.
"Hi," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Clea Masters."
"Vivien Cairn."
"I read your paper on identification of human remains by amplification and direct sequencing of mitochondrial DNA. Very cool."
"You read that paper? Why?" Vivien asked, startled.
Clea laughed. She had a nice laugh, friendly and warm.
"I was in med school until a few months ago. I was considering pathology or research. Then I had a small"-she shot a glance at Ciarran and raised her brows-"change of career. Come on, let me introduce you to Jav. You know Ciarran and Darqun, right?"
"Hello." Vivien shot Ciarran a smile, then shook Javier's hand when he offered it.
With the introductions complete, Dain said something to Darqun, who nodded and said, "Yo, Jav, you got some of that vanilla-bean tea?"
With a quizzical tip of his head, Javier shrugged. "Uh, yeah, maybe."
"Why don't we go make some?" Darqun asked.
Clea snorted. "That's man-speak for let's go talk without the womenfolk," she muttered to Vivien. Then with an arch look at Ciarran, she turned away and pulled one of the white wing chairs forward, settled into it, and reached out to open the laptop on the coffee table.
"We might as well start without them," she said.
Vivien glanced at Dain. "Sorcerer business?"
"Just going to make some tea," he replied, but the tension in the smile he sent her branded his words as a half-truth at best.
Turning back toward Clea, Vivien exchanged a look of female understanding. So maybe it was a guys-only club after all.
"You think they believed you about the tea?" Javier snickered as he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and flopped onto it, his white teeth flashing against the dark stubble shadowing his jaw.
"No, but tea would be great, thanks for offering," Dain said with an edge of sarcasm.
Javier held up one hand, palm forward, and rose to cross to the range.
"Yo, Darqun, you're closest to the fridge" he said. "You wanna grab breakfast?"
"I ate already," Darqun said, and there was an odd inflection in his voice that made Dain look at him quizzically.
Darqun shrugged. "I hit Abe's Eats again."
"Why?" Javier asked. "After what you said about the place yesterday…"
"I dunno. I just feel like I dreamed about it, and I'm not done with it, you know?"
"No," Dain said bluntly. None of them knew because none of them had prophetic dreams like Darqun did.
He watched with barely leashed impatience as Darqun pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside.
"What's in here?" Darqun asked, dragging out a white cardboard box. "Those sweet cheese puff things with the cinnamon sugar?"
"Yeah. And some of the lemon ones, too."
Carrying the box, Darqun snagged a stack of napkins as he passed the counter and made his way to the table. Dain watched him with growing edginess. He wanted to tell them about what had happened on the way up here, but at the same time, he wasn't in any rush to share. How fucked up was that? Resolutely, he focused on keeping his cool.
"What?" Darqun asked, catching Dain's expression.
"I thought you said you ate already."
"But these are those cheese puff things!" He used his thumb to split the gold sticker that read mattisse patisserie, popped the lid off the box, and tunneled in to snag a cake.
"Why are all the gris-gris bags in one place?" Dain asked, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and index finger lightly against the lids.
"We wanted Vivien to look at all of them at once," Darqun said around a mouthful of cheese puff. "And with the house warded and spelled, not to mention five sorcerers in one place, the charm bags are safe."
Dain couldn't argue the logic, but still he felt wary, edgy. Exhausted.
"Sit down before you fall down." Ciarran's voice was low as he came up beside Dain and dragged a chair away from the table. "When did you last sleep?"
Dain sat, a little annoyed at the big-brother treatment, but since he lacked a defense, he made no comment. "A couple of weeks ago."
"A long while." Ciarran studied him. "But not long enough to drain you this much." He moved a step closer, and Dain tensed as threads of light spun out from Ciarran's hands, the strange crackle of his foreign magic playing over Dain's skin.
He forced himself to stay in place, though the urge to leap up and pace away was strong. Ciarran's healing touch augmented the quick fix Dain had done on himself in the car, but the sensation of it was strange. He wasn't quite comfortable with Ciarran's new power, the peculiar blend that was both light-sorcerer magic and demon darkness.
Yeah, the whole demon thing really didn't work for him.
But Ciarran had been his comrade for centuries; Dain had known him before the demon parasite nested inside of him. He meant well and had become really interested in acting the part of healer ever since hooking up with Clea, so Dain forced himself to tolerate his ministrations.
"A demon blade nicked your right kidney," Ciarran said, passing his gloved hand over Dain's lower back and then moving to his arm. "And your forearm, again. Would you like to tell us about it?"
Dain felt the other sorcerers' attention sharpen and focus on him.
"I stopped on the way here for a little social engagement with four hybrids in a gutted building." Dain eased his chair back onto two legs. "They had Vivien, and they did something to her, something I've not seen before. She was in some kind of trance, and her eyes were spooky, pearlescent white swirled with gold. Lights on, no one home."
"What?" The word exploded out of Javier. "How did they get to her?"
Dain had thought about that during the entire drive up here, and the conclusion he'd reached didn't sit very well.
"They didn't get to her," he said flatly, his mind spinning webs of scenarios, all of which were fucking lousy and none of which made much sense. But as he went over it again and again, one conclusion was irrefutable. "They didn't get to her," he said, feeling incredibly weary. "She went to them."
Moving to the couch, Vivien sat and tried to focus on the task. She felt strange, her head woozy and light, her insides coiled tighter than a DNA helix.
"I thought we could set up a database to catalog the contents of each bag," Clea said, drawing Vivien's attention. "Just tell me what you need included."
Vivien blew out a soft breath. She found it both fascinating and daunting that these powerful sorcerers needed her help. The least she could do was concentrate.
With a glance at Clea, she asked, "Can't you identify the remains through magic?"
Now there was a twist. She was asking that question in all seriousness, as though magic was just another experimental variable.
"No." Clea shook her head. "These bones are spelled and warded with ancient power. That's why Dain approached you in the first place, Vivien. He has some ideas… suspicions- we all do. But suspicions aren't enough. We need to deal in absolutes."
Vivien tried to concentrate as she and Clea began their task, but her mind was on Dain, and she sensed his return before he arrived, not by sound or scent… but by instinct She felt him heating her blood, electrifying her nerves. She was connected to him, and she felt that he was… hurting. His right side, a deep aching pain.
Suddenly, flashes came at her, like a scene viewed under a strobe light. Creatures that were men but not men. They had knives, attacking her, running at her, and Dain was there, standing before her, a solid barricade letting no harm befall her.
He hadn't left her, hadn't deserted her. He'd protected her…
From what? And when?
She'd been so hungry.
Frowning, Vivien tried to remember, tried to drag the bits of information into a cohesive whole. But there wasn't enough there for her to grab on to, and the images snapped out of focus and disappeared, leaving her feeling cold and confused.
Was it a memory or something conjured in her imagination?
Turning her head, she watched Dain enter the room, and, yes, he did seem to be favoring his right side just a little. His gaze met hers and she frowned. He looked cold, distant. Tired. Vivien almost asked him what was wrong, and then she realized they had an audience and that discussion might be better left for a private moment.
He rounded the couch and eased down next to her. Her fingers actually twitched with the need to touch him. Leaning forward, he set a mug of black coffee on the table. For her.
She shot him a smile of thanks.
"Is there a scientific way to identify for certain that these bones and the skin and stuff are all from the same person?" Darqun asked, plopping down in the second wing chair. "Can you look at the DNA?"
"With bones this old, I think that's out of the question," Clea said, and cast a questioning glance at Vivien.
"We could create a profile from mtDNA," Vivien said, dragging her attention away from Dain. "The remains are old, the skin samples necrotic, so RFLP and STR are out, because there's no possibility of nuclear DNA extraction."
Javier settled on the ottoman, his knees splayed, his forearms resting on his thighs. He glanced from Vivien to Clea.
"I speak eleven languages, ladies," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "But whatever you were just using isn't one I'm familiar with. Wanna try again? In English this time?"
Darqun laughed. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind the DNA-for-dummies version myself."
"Sorry. I can't help but slip into geek mode sometimes," Clea replied.
"Ditto for me." Vivien took a breath, mentally paring down her response. This was a topic near and dear to her heart. She knew she could ramble on long enough to put them all to sleep. "RFLP and STR are two common means used to analyze DNA extracted from the nucleus of a cell. Older biological samples that lack nucleated cellular material-things like hair, bones, teeth-can't be analyzed by those methods."
She glanced around to be certain everyone was following her, and as her eyes met Dain's, she got derailed. He was watching her, his expression hard, remote, but his eyes were alight with interest and, what? Respect? Pride?
An odd feeling filtered through her, and she quickly looked away. Too late. Her skin tingled, and a jolt of heat shot through her as he shifted position, his thigh coming flush against hers. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and dropped her head as though examining the bag in her hands.
It was happening again, a powerful jolt of lust slapping her at the most inopportune time.
Not now, she thought, more than a little desperate, willing the surge of desire away. She turned the charm bag over and over in her hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Dain's sleeves were rolled up, his forearms bare, taut skin over hard muscle. Her ill-timed yearnings ramped higher. She swallowed. Not now, not now, not now.
"But we, um…" She dragged in a breath, gathered her thoughts. "We can use mtDNA-mitochondrial DNA. We'd need access to a lab-"
"Done," Ciarran interjected. "We'll give you a lab at CD Pharmaceuticals."
Vivien glanced at him, the quick movement of her head leaving her faintly dizzy. She focused on what he'd said, ignoring the woozy feeling slithering around in her gut.
CD Pharmaceuticals.
Ciarran D'Arbois. CD.
"Your company?" she asked him.
"Mine, and now Clea's," he replied.
His voice seemed to carry a hollow ring, as though it echoed through a long tube. Vivien frowned, closed her eyes tightly, and opened them again, wide. Ciarran swam in and out of focus, a fuzzy haze.
Leaning forward a bit, Ciarran stared at her, frowning.
"Her eyes, Dain," he said, and she wondered at that. Her eyes? What about them?
Dain moved at her side, his thigh shifting against hers, his forearm brushing her wrist. Electricity ramped through her, from the point of contact on her skin, through her muscles and tendons, until she trembled.
Suddenly, she felt so hungry, starved-not for food, but for… Dain.
Her body felt strange. Oh, God, she knew this sensation, pounding aching need and then the loss of herself. Terror surged. It was happening again. She was going to black out. She was going to-
Unable to help herself, she leaned into him, pressed her nose to his neck, and breathed in the lush scent of Dain's skin. He stiffened as she snaked her tongue out and tasted him.
A stream of lust melted her like a sugar cube.
No! No, not now!
Jerking to her feet, she froze, gasped, vaguely aware of Dain rising at her side.
And just like that, her body turned to sand.
She sifted to nothingness. The room and the floor spun away, and everything was gone, all gone, and she was in a vast black space with no light, no air.
She knew this place. She'd been here before. She'd-
"Vivien!" Dain's voice. "Vivien, stay with me."
She wanted to. She really did.
But she was sand. Sand. Nothing but sifting sand.
Araminta Cairn paced back and forth over the carpet of her suite at the Fairmont Royal York. Her hair was impeccably coifed, her makeup sedate, refined, applied with a sparing hand. The stiletto heels of her elegant black pumps sank into the carpet with each step.
She was agitated, a frame of mind so rare that she'd had to pause and think about it before she could decide exactly what it was.
This was not a good time for Vivien to be out there alone. Not a good time at all.
"My daughter is not answering her cell," she said over her shoulder to the small group assembled around the dining table of her suite.
Someone made a soft sound, perhaps sympathy, and Araminta glanced at the gray-haired woman standing off to one side.
"The number she provided me with last night simply rings and rings when I call. No voice mail. Nothing." She resumed her pacing, stopped by the window, and stared out at the city view. Straightening the flowered curtain until it lay in a pristine line, she continued, "I sent her an e-mail as well. No reply. And that isn't like her."
Pausing, she took a breath, paced out ten more steps, her hands loosely clasped at the small of her back. She didn't want to look at those in the room with her. She just wanted to get the words out, because to ask for help from anyone was so against her nature, so foreign as to make her skin crawl.
"Vivien is out of her depth. That debacle with her house was the start of it, but she sounded quite vague when I spoke with her last night. Quite distressed."
Smoothing her hand over her sleek bob, Araminta realized she was fidgeting and froze. On a slow exhalation, she turned, willed herself to be still as she looked over the silent group.
"I had assumed after our phone call that she would hop in a cab and come here. I did tell her exactly where I was staying. But she isn't here. I don't know where she is," she finished brusquely. She was annoyed with Vivien for disappearing. Annoyed with herself for worrying.
Araminta pursed her lips. Vivien never did behave in a way that Araminta could understand. They were nothing alike. She was her father's daughter.
Raising her chin, she met each set of eyes in turn.
"I need her found. Right now. No excuses. No explanations." Turning away from them, she looked out the window once more and finished softly, "I simply need her found."
Clea stepped from the guest bedroom into the wide hallway. Her gaze was shadowed, her demeanor tense.
Through the open door, Dain could see the faint movement of Vivien's chest as she breathed. It didn't look like she had moved at all since he'd carried her to the bed after her collapse. He made to step inside, but Clea blocked his path.
"I'd like to speak with you for a moment before you go in," she said, and he forced himself to relax, held himself from shouldering past her and falling to his knees by Vivien's bedside. Crazy, he knew, but he thought that if he just stayed beside her, nothing bad would happen to her.
Reaching behind her, Clea pulled the door closed with a soft click. She stepped away, walked along the hallway, and stopped on the far side of the next doorway as though she didn't want her words to carry into the room to Vivien. Turning her head, she met Dain's eyes. He strode toward her, his gut clenched in a tight knot.
He had a feeling this wasn't going to be good.
Clea's gaze flicked behind him, and he felt Ciarran come up beside him.
"How is she?" Dain asked.
"Her BP is eighty-eight over sixty. Costal breathing, short and shallow. Lips cyanotic." Clea shook her head. "But there's something else, something my training doesn't explain."
"Her eyes…" Ciarran said, and Dain glanced at him. "Were they white like that when she was in the building with the hybrids?"
"Yeah." Dain recalled the pearlescent gleam of Vivien's eyes earlier in the day, and then again just a few moments ago as she'd bolted from the couch. He'd never seen the like, had no explanation for it. But right now
there was only one question that mattered most to him. He looked at Clea.
"Tell me how she is."
"Dain." Her voice was laced with distress, and she shook her head. "I think she's… dying."
Dying.
The hallway narrowed to a black tunnel with a single point of light aimed at Clea, and then burst, expanding into a vortex of pain and denial.
Don't feel. Don't care. Don't want.
He tried to shut down, tried to ice over. But he felt as if he'd been staked through the heart.
Dying. That was not an option.
"Let's get her to a hospital, get her to her own kind," Dain snapped.
"That won't be a solution." Clea looked at him in obvious dismay.
"If a human hospital won't do," he grated, "then you fix it."
Clea glanced at Ciarran, then turned her attention back to Dain. "There's something more you need to know." She reached out, hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm.
His whole world became focused on Clea's warm hand against the skin of his forearm, his only link to reality. Everything else tunneled in, and he was left with no awareness of the periphery. Because Vivien was dying, and he wasn't supposed to care.
Only he felt like his insides had been shoved through a wood chipper.
"I can't fix this, Dain," Clea said. "Apart from the fact that it would break the Pact, I don't know how to fix her.
I've got two years of human medical school, and none of my training taught me how to work on sorcerers or-" She made a sound of frustration. "It appears that she's starving."
Dain shook his head. "What do you mean? She's not wasted or emaciated. She's got an athlete's body, all soft skin and toned muse-" He paused, shaking his head. Way too much information. "She eats. I've seen her eat."
He suddenly, remembered what she'd said after the hybrid attack, about being so hungry.
"She's not starved for food, Dain," Clea said softly.
No. Of course not. He knew then what Clea was trying to tell him, and he didn't want to face it. Despair sank deep and grabbed hold of him with a barbed hook.
He was peripherally aware of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Darqun and Javier joined them.
"She's starved for… life" Clea continued.
To his right, Javier gave a sharp hiss.
"The way her eyes turned white… I thought maybe a brain tumor," Clea said.
No, Dain thought, his body rigid, his heart thudding a harsh rhythm in his chest. Not a tumor.
"So I tried that thing that Darqun's been teaching me, using magic to go in and see-"
"You tampered with her mind?" Dain rasped. He'd sworn he wouldn't let them do that. He needed to keep Vivien safe. Her thoughts. Her memories.
He was doing a piss-poor job at this.
"No! God, no," Clea gasped. "I wouldn't even try."
"She did a life-force evaluation, Dain. You know that's harmless to humans," Darqun said as he came
off the wall where he'd been leaning, listening to the exchange.
"Harmless to humans. Yes, see, that's exactly the thing…" Pressing her lips together, Clea paused, and when she spoke, her tone was wary, hesitant. "Maybe you need to go in there and do that scan again, because by my read, Vivien Cairn is not human."
Dain could feel his pulse, slow and steady, but that was wrong, because he knew his heart had stopped, stopped and cracked wide open.
Not human.
"And she isn't a blighted seed, is she?"
Of course, he'd sensed it, known it, suspected so many variations. He'd thought she had a spark of magic inside her, as the occasional human did. Some mortals had sorcerer blood somewhere in their past. Not enough to lend them vast power, but enough to let them sense the continuum. Humans referred to the phenomenon as psychic ability or ESP. He'd thought that was all Vivien had.
But he'd been wrong.
Clea shook her head, confirming what Dain already knew. They'd all felt it. The sudden surge of magic that had twisted the continuum as Vivien passed out downstairs, the wave far too powerful for her to be a mere seed.
She was a supernatural, coming into her full power. And how the hell was that even possible? What the hell was she?
Not sorcerer. Which left what… demon? There were no actual female demons, only succubi, and those were extremely rare.
The pain in the center of his chest was sharp, jagged, like ice cracking into a million fragments inside him. How had he missed it? How had they all missed it?
"So what is she?" he asked, his tone bleak and harsh. "A succubus?"
Last night, standing in the apartment with Rick Strasser dead on the couch, Dain had already begun to suspect it. He'd called Javier, asked to check out the possibility.
Only, he'd been thinking about the murderer, not about Vivien.
Jesus. Vivien.
"She's not human, and she isn't a sorcerer," Clea said.
None of them framed the rest of the thought. They didn't have to. Not human. Not sorcerer. Which left only a succubus, the female equivalent of a demon. Dain reared back, feeling as though he'd been hit by a hammer.
"I don't know," Clea mused. "This is all so new to me. But Vivien's aura is almost like yours, Ciarran, a blend of light and dark."
With his blood roaring in his ears, Dain battled for control, and won. Barely.
Light and dark. Demon dark.
Polluted by demon magic.
His Vivien.
Panic ripped through him.
Dain struggled to master his thoughts, to reach deep inside for the coldness that had been his companion for centuries, the frozen reserve.
Jesus, he was halfway in love with her. With Vivien. A succubus.
And he was sworn by both duty and hate to wipe out all demons.
Where the fuck did that leave him?
He'd lived off the one emotion he allowed himself- hate-fed off it for hundreds of years. Demons were the enemy. There were no shades of gray for him. He wasn't supposed to make exceptions. He wanted to barricade himself behind that hate now, to rebuild his wall, brick by brick.
Only he couldn't find it. Couldn't fucking find it.
Moria. Ciel He'd failed them. They were his bittersweet, ancient memories, turned to dust hundreds of years past.
But Vivien wasn't dead. She was alive. And he needed to help her, needed to save her.
This time he wouldn't fail.
What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell was he thinking?
She might be more than a fledgling succubus. She might be the killer they sought.
His emotions rocketed to the danger zone, so raw and powerful, scraping him like jagged blades. He spun away from the others, sheer will holding him back from pounding his fist against the wall. He knew they watched him, gave him a moment of space, and he reined himself in, turned slowly back toward them.
Again, he thought of Rick Strasser, lying on his couch with his belly slit open and his guts chewed to shit.
"She's not the serial killer," he said, his gaze pinning each of his comrades in turn, even as he searched their faces for the truth.
He sure as hell didn't trust himself to make this call. He was too involved.
A vast despair swallowed him. He was bound to her, on a soul-deep level. The link between souls that could happen only between two creatures of magic synergy had happened here, bonding him to Vivien, to a woman who might be a demon.
No. He took a step back. His every instinct screamed that there was another explanation and he was missing it, too close to see the forest for the trees.
"I don't know," Clea whispered. "If she is the killer, I don't think she knows it. I don't think she knows what she is. She mumbled a few sentences while I was in there with her, and from what she said, it seems she thinks she's having a mental breakdown, blacking out, forgetting hours at a time. If she's killed anyone, Dain, she doesn't remember it… if that's worth anything."
"It isn't." He held Clea's gaze for the longest time, disgusted by himself, by the urge to grab on to her words and cling to them like a shining beacon. Because- what?-if Vivien didn't know she was a killer, then that made it okay? His head was so messed up.
"One thing I do know," Clea said, unwavering. "Whatever is going on in her body right now, she's in pain."
Dain raked his fingers through his hair. He'd heard enough.
Vivien, his Vivien, was in there suffering, alone. The thought ripped a jagged hole in his gut.
His Vivien might be a goddamned demon. Possibly a vicious killer. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
The pain that swelled inside him was a sucking mire, threatening to overwhelm him if he let it.
Don't let it. Lock it down.
He realized his breathing was harsh and fast, and he focused on that, on each and every breath, slowing it down until the steady pull and blow was under control. Until he was under control. Mage of illusion, weaving a front.
"We need to keep her alive," he said, his tone as barren as a drought-parched plain. Because they needed answers, needed to know for certain exactly what she was, what threat she posed.
Needed to know if she was part of some grand plan that involved bits of bone in red charm bags and dead humans and a plot to bring the Solitary into the mortal realm.
On the most primal level, none of that mattered. In truth, he needed to keep her alive because he couldn't bear the thought of letting her die.
"Dain, I think she's a succubus," Javier said, stepping forward so they stood face-to-face. "But I don't believe she's the killer."
A succubus. A legend.
Jesus. When he'd asked Javier to check it out, he'd been thinking of the serial killer. How had everything gotten so freaking twisted?
Dain raked his fingers through his hair. "I need to help her." He glanced at the others, each in turn. Just let one of them try and nay-say him. "Tell me what you know. I need to help her."
"I don't know a hell of a lot." Javier shrugged. "The definition on Wikipedia calls succubi 'female demons.'"
"Wikipedia? What the hell kind of reliable resource is Wikipedia?" Dain growled.
"A convenient one," Javier snapped, clearly offended. "And it wasn't the only place I checked. Not by a long shot. I've been researching this nonstop since last night. The archives are pretty bare on this one, and trust me, I looked hard. There's a lot of conjecture and tall tales. Very little fact." Javier snorted. "History paints succubi as night demons, spirits that come to men while they sleep to steal their breath-and their lives."
"Steal their lives? How?" Clea asked, moving closer to Ciarran.
"By having sex with them." Javier spread his hands as Darqun made an inarticulate sound.
"Perfect. Sex as murder weapon." Dain grunted. "Well, history paints sorcerers as wizened, white-bearded old men with star-speckled pointed hats and big wands."
"So what's your point?" Javier frowned.
Dain looked around the group. "That is my point."
Just because a story labeled Vivien as a demon didn't make it true. He wanted proof. He needed proof. And until someone slapped him upside the head with some solid evidence, he was going to believe that Vivien was good.
"You say that history paints them as night demons, but are succubi truly demons?" Ciarran asked.
"Most of the original texts disappeared along with the Ancient, but from what I can find through online archives and databases, yes and no. Succubi are the female form of the demon, with males outnumbering them ten to one.
But some texts refer to them as 'female energy beings,' not inherently evil, though centuries have passed since the first was described, and nothing good has ever been attributed to them."
"Enough with the history lesson, Jav," Dain snarled, losing patience, wanting to be in there with her, wanting to fix this, to make her well, keep her safe. But how was he supposed to do that if he didn't know what the enemy was? And what if the enemy was Vivien? Christ. "How the hell do I feed her?"
He couldn't deal with this, couldn't handle it, for a multitude of reasons. Because of Moria and Ciel, their loss at demon hands still a poorly healed wound in his soul.
Because he was sworn to uphold the wall between dimensions, sworn to combat the demon horde. If Vivien was demon, she needed to be sent back, or killed.
Fuck that. Fuck that.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. A red haze seemed to cover everything. She was bonded to him, her soul with his.
"Easy, Dain," Ciarran murmured.
Vivien was… Vivien. Smart and strong. Brave and beautiful. So vitally alive.
"Right now, all we know is that she's an energy being," Darqun said. "She's an energy being who sucks the life from her prey. Clea says she's starved for energy, and you want to keep her alive. So how the hell do we feed her?"
Dain stared at him, feeling the question come at him like a million wasps, pricking him into stinging awareness. He closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and opened them once more. He knew the answer deep in his gut and had no desire to face it.
"What do we know about how a succubus feeds?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.
"I don't think she has to kill to feed. A lot of the stories just talk about the succubus having intercourse with a sleeping male. Most of them don't say a word about killing him. She just needs to draw the life force." Javier met Dain's gaze; then he dropped his chin and slapped one palm against his thigh a couple of times, clearly weirded out. "So, um, yeah… she can probably just, you know, have sex with a guy about a dozen times, and that should give her the juice she needs."
"Have sex with a guy? What guy?" Dain snarled, feeling like every primitive part of his psyche was on high alert.
Holding his hands up, palms forward, Javier took a step back. "I dunno. A guy."
"Take her out to a bar or something. She'll have no trouble finding someone." Darqun grinned. "Hell, twist my arm and I might volunteer."
Dain stared at him, feeling a black rage overtake him. The thought of Vivien with a guy, any guy, especially Darqun, made him sick. Sick enough to kill. Christ.
Darqun's smile faded, and his brows rose. "Sorry, my man. A joke in poor taste."
Scrubbing his hand back and forth along his jaw, Dain faced the lousy truth. He wasn't taking Vivien to a bar. Not by a long shot.
"She'll feed from me."
All eyes swivelled to him, shocked, wary.
"Yeah, um, probably not a great plan, Dain," Javier said. "You wanna feed a she-demon your energy, sorcerer energy?"
"I'm with Jav on this one," Darqun agreed.
"I'm sorry, my man." Javier shook his head, his tone solemn. "But you need to go find a mortal and stick him in her bed."
Dain moved before he could think, before he could even draw breath. His forearm slammed across Javier's throat, pinning the other sorcerer against the far wall.
"I'm thinking that she fucking doesn't lie down with anyone but me," he snarled.
Javier yanked on his forearm. Dain froze, realizing what he'd done. With a conscious effort, he mastered the lacerating rage that clawed at him, dropped his arm, and stepped back.
"I'm thinking she'll die if I don't save her." He fisted his hands at his sides, forced his voice to a more level tone. "I'm thinking I'll die if anyone else touches her."
There was a moment of silence at his admission, the words hanging like storm clouds on the horizon.
"She can harm you if she chooses to," Ciarran said. "She can draw too much, drain you."
"Can she?" Dain asked, his mouth twisting. She'd already harmed him, already wormed her way through his barriers and made him care. Already drawn forth emotions he had believed long buried, harm of the most insidious kind, unplanned, unintended, but harm nonetheless.
And he couldn't even blame her for it, because he'd let it happen, let her mean something to him almost right from the start.
He looked at Clea, wondering how she faced the dark part of Ciarran's soul. "So what's the plan? How do I do this without endangering myself or anyone else?"
"Vivien can build a wall," Clea said. "In her mind, Dain. She needs to see it, real and solid, build it brick by brick, to stop the flow when she takes too much. She doesn't have to drain you."
The words were quiet, intense, and Dain had no doubt that Clea spoke from experience. He stared at her, feeling suddenly awkward. Feeling as though he was seeing her for the first time.
Was that what it had been like for her and Ciarran? Had she drained him? Was she dangerous to him?
If so, how had Ciarran brought himself to trust her, to believe she wouldn't suck him dry?
How the hell was he supposed to trust Vivien? She was a succubus, whether she knew it or not.
But maybe Ciarran hadn't trusted anyone but himself.
All at once, Dain remembered lashing out the first morning he'd met Vivien, the dark rage that had swelled from the charred demon bone to lick at him even as the flames devoured Vivien's house, and he recalled Ciarran's words of advice: Build a wall Hold it bach
So the ability to close down the flow must work both ways.
Vivien moaned then, a low sound of pain that carried through the closed door into the hallway, sending his pulse ratcheting up a notch.
His thoughts swirled like a cyclone and settled on one thing.
He didn't need to trust Vivien.
He just needed to trust himself.
VlVIEN CURLED ONTO HER SIDE, THE TERRIBLE gnawing in her gut spreading through her body, bright spikes of pain. She was cold and so hungry, and she wanted Dain.
With all her heart and with every sensitized nerve ending in her body, she ached for Dain.
Okay-she panted as the pain crested and waned-she needed to analyze. Evaluate. Investigate. Another wave came at her, and she breathed through it, just as she did when she ran her five miles three mornings a week.
The lost time, the strange hunger, the feeling of her body's cells and tissues sifting like sand… What was wrong with her?
With a moan, she shifted on the bed. She could think only of the all-consuming hunger.
Dain. Dain. Dain.
He could help her; he could fix this. If he would only come to her. If-
The bedroom door opened, and light from the hallway spilled into the room. She turned her head. Just that small movement was almost more than she could manage. She had expected Clea, but it was Dain, standing tall and broad in the doorway, haloed by the light.
Her heart wrenched, an ache that was not an ache, a joy that was bittersweet.
Touch me. Kiss me. Put yourself inside me and make me whole.
She hungered for him.
He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him.
There were no lights on in the bedroom, and the drapes were pulled shut. A thin sliver of late-afternoon sunlight broke through a slit between the heavy panels, casting the room in an insipid glow.
Dain took a step forward, his eyes locked on hers. There was no expression there, nothing, and that frightened her far more than anything else.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked, feeling certain he knew the answer.
How crazy was that? He wasn't a doctor. And his friend Clea wasn't, either. She'd mentioned that she'd completed two years of medical school before moving on to other things. But for some reason, Vivien was convinced that Dain knew what unnamed condition was tormenting her, knew how to fix it.
He moved to the edge of the bed. She could smell his skin, citrus and spice. So delicious.
For a moment, he just stared down at her, his expression strangely blank, remote. A suspicion nudged her that he was holding himself back, holding himself apart.
His mere presence made her burn, made her feel alive, calling to the hunger inside her, feeding it and assuaging it at the same time.
He leaned in, slow, careful movements. His fist knuckled into the mattress close to her head, bearing some of his weight. Without thought, she tipped her face enough that her cheek touched the side of his wrist. The contact made her gasp, warmth and light and a crackle of energy sparking against her skin.
Unexpectedly, her gut clenched, not in pain but with lust. Hard-edged lust. This was insane. She wanted him despite how sick she was, how terrified. She was so eager for him that she hurt, low in her belly, like she would die if she didn't make love with him.
There were a million reasons why this was sheer madness, but they didn't seem to matter, melting away in the face of the crashing desire that washed away her fears.
Oh, God. Oh, please.
Her gaze shot to his. Anticipation heated her, and she wanted to taste him, needed to taste him.
Kiss me.
Shaking his head, Dain slid his arms underneath her thighs and shoulders, then rose, lifting her against his chest. She whimpered, pressing her face to his neck, and breathed deeply. The scent of him intoxicated her.
"I'm taking you home, Vivien," he said, his breath ruffling her hair.
She felt dizzy, weak, the room spinning, or perhaps she was spinning.
Home. Yes. No… wait… She had no home. But she did. If Dain was with her, she was home. Oh, God, what was she thinking?
"The loft, Vivien. I'm taking you to the loft. We need some privacy for this…"
For what? The question skipped away.
"Okay-" She broke off, gasping as a wrenching pain tore through her, so sharp she felt certain it would rip her in two.
Panting, she tried to ride it, to breathe through the torment. It would end; if she could just hang on, it would end.
She buried her face in his neck, let her mouth open and trace her tongue along his skin. She had never tasted anything so good. A moan slipped from between her parted lips, and she felt his muscles tense. Certainty rode her. If she could just have Dain naked against her, his heavy body pressing down on her, his mouth on hers as he pumped into her deep and hard, then the pain would end.
"Hang on, Vivien." He strode to the bedroom door, balancing her as he opened it. She buried her face in his shoulder, aware of him striding through the house, aware of a slap of cold air as he carried her to the car. She heard the roar of the engine and the harsh rasp of her own breathing as she shivered and pressed the base of her skull against the seat back.
The trip back to the penthouse passed in an endless river of pain, of hunger such as she had never known. She was vaguely aware that they were driving, moving, the scenery flashing past at a dizzying rate, but her entire focus was consumed by the ripping agony that twisted and writhed inside her. She was empty, aching with that emptiness.
She wasn't even aware of how she got to the loft-
Dain must have parked the car and carried her-but her next coherent awareness was of the butter-soft leather couch at her back and the spill of late-afternoon sunlight through the banks of windows.
Vivien whimpered as he began to draw away. She couldn't bear it if he left her, wouldn't survive it. She knew that.
She felt hot, wild, more than a little desperate. All she wanted to do was tear the clothes from his body, run her tongue along his smooth skin, kiss his lips, and, yes, lower. She wanted to lick him, suck him. A pulsing desire pounded through her, wrenching aside the pain and leaving only a dark and undeniable need.
Vivien stared up at Dain and felt her heart twist like a wrung-out rag. She couldn't stand it, couldn't bear the need to be held by him. It wasn't just a physical ache, but an emotional void, a feeling that if he left her, she wouldn't survive it. On some level, she was linked to him, knew him, knew his regret and anguish for all the hurts and imagined failures of his past, the shining honor of his heart and the goodness of his soul.
Terror sluiced through her. How had he come to mean so much to her in such a short time?
Another wave of pain came at her, blanking all thought, all reason. There was only the pain, the dark, sucking bog of agony that pulled at her until she was consumed by it.
"Don't leave me," she whispered. Everyone had left her. Always.
"I won't leave you." Christ. Dain felt like the promise was ripped from him, leaving a gaping wound. Bad enough that he uttered the damned words; worse that he meant them with everything he was.
He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't.
He was so tied up in her agony, feeling it slithering from her body into his, a connection that made him feel desperate to take it away. All he wanted to do was keep her safe, keep her whole, protect her from everything, even herself.
She didn't even know what she was, and the truth was, neither did he. In a thousand years, he'd never encountered the aura she was throwing off. Yeah… Clea was right. Dark and light magic, mixed, like Ciarran, only not like Ciarran.
Talk about a goddamned riddle.
One thing he did know was that he needed to help her, care for her.
Love her.
No. Not that.
Not that.
Dain pulled back, stared at her, the beauty of her body outlined by her tailored clothes. The perfect curves of her breasts, her waist, the flare of her hips, and those long, long runner's legs, toned and strong. Christ, she was so sexy.
His emotions were in turmoil, carrying him feet first down a luge course with no safety brake. He strove for the cool distance he always called up when he was with a woman. Control. He needed to be in control, but right now he was clinging to the edge of a cliff by his fingernails, and the earth was crumbling away.
Because, with Vivien, distance wouldn't come.
He wanted to share with her, to feel. Wanted to know emotion and connection as he came into her. She made him feel alive, more alive than he had felt in centuries.
Christ, he was so screwed. She was a succubus, he reminded himself. A succubus.
A succubus who had no idea what she was, no idea what she needed to take in order to survive.
What he needed to give to her.
It had come down to that now. To need. Hers. His. It couldn't be denied. He didn't want to deny her.
But his magic was depleted, by the wounds he'd sustained at the hands of the hybrids and by his own stupidity in failing to seek rest when he needed it.
There was genuine danger in this deed.
She could drain him to the point of exhaustion, and if he was wrong, if everything was a sham and she was well aware of what she was, then she could take the opportunity to kill him.
Praying-mantis style. Bite the head off her lover during sex.
He could do this. If Vivien pulled too much, he'd build the damned wall and stop her just as Clea and Ciarran had described.
A thought slammed through him, that his brothers in the Compact had trusted him to do this. Despite all recent betrayals and the poorly mended tears in their brotherhood, they placed their trust in him.
Dain's gut clenched as Vivien writhed on the couch in silent misery, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. She was in such pain, and he couldn't bear that.
Leaning close, he touched her cheek, felt the flicker of magic spark in him, through him, into her. Just a taste. She sighed, a sound of release, and he touched her again, a soft stroke of his hand, a taste of his magic, and her expression shifted, changed. His touch had eased her.
"How're you doing, love?"
"Better." Her voice was low and husky. "When you touch me, it's better. The pain goes and I just feel…" The words trailed off as she raked her gaze along his body, and he got her message loud and clear.
Hunger roared through him, cutting loose the moorings of his control. Slowly, Dain unbuttoned his shirt, slid it off his shoulders, then his shoes, socks, jeans, liking the way she watched him, the heat and aching need she revealed. Naked, he came to her, calling every reserve he possessed, holding in check the maelstrom of passion and emotion buffeting him.
And it didn't matter that she was succubus, that she needed to feed from his energy. This was wholly about that and not about that at all. It was about his need to take care of her, keep her safe. It was about the fact that whatever the hell she was, she mattered to him more than he dared admit even to himself.
He wanted her any way he could have her.
Leaning down, he slid one hand under her shoulders to raise her up and caught the hem of her sweater with the other, peeling it up and over her head in a smooth drag. She arched up, licking along the inside of his forearm.
"You taste so good," she whispered.
Methodically, he moved to her slacks, undid the button and zipper, shimmied the cloth down her thighs, her calves, his hands skimming hot flesh as he went. Her skin was gorgeous, white and pink and gold, the swell of her breasts and her hard nipples tantalizing and lush.
He wanted to fall on her, lose himself in her, take her to heights that made her quiver and scream.
Pliant beneath his touch, she watched him, her eyes dark, more green now than hazel. Her gaze roved his naked body, hungry and hot.
"Oh, my God, you're so… amazing," she breathed, scraping her nails over his chest, his collarbone, to the cap of his shoulder, where she traced the outline of his dragon tattoo with her index finger.
"I like this," she whispered, her voice tight.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow little panting breaths, each one raising her breasts toward him, a temptation. He sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, what he feared was little more than a harsh grimace.
Suddenly, she surged upward, reaching for him with a sexy little moan that made his balls tighten and his cock swell.
He caught her wrists and straddled her, using his strength to subdue her and press her back to the couch. Apparently, she liked that. Her eyes were sultry as she watched him, her body undulating beneath him.
Dragging her hands up above her head, he let his weight come fully against her as he kissed her mouth, her neck, running his tongue along her skin, tasting her.
She was sweet, so damned sweet. He wanted to claim her, love her, make her shudder and moan.
Desire kicked him, and he kicked back. He was in control. In control If he let her take too much, she'd kill him.
The power of his magic gathered and swelled, called by her, by him, by the passion that swirled around them, through them. He could feel the trail of it weaving through the air, and if he let it, the magic would flow from him into her, connecting them.
His terms.
He could do this. He could make love to her without loving her.
Christ. Where had that thought come from? From inside him, a tiny seed.
And he knew that this wasn't about having her feed from him; it was about the way he felt, the feelings that had cracked his walls. This was about Vivien. His Vivien. He wanted to claim her and let her claim him. He wanted to share this with her. He wanted her.
Vivien moaned as Dain raked his teeth up along her neck, her jaw, his mouth finding hers. A ripe and greedy hunger roared through her. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She writhed underneath him, the feel of his naked skin and solid muscle driving her wild with longing.
Tentatively, then harder, she pulled on her trapped wrists, held in the band of his strong fingers.
"I want to touch you, run my hands over you… please," she moaned.
"Later," he said, and then kissed her again, full-mouthed and wet.
And she stopped trying to free her hands, because on some level, she liked this. Liked the feeling that he was in control.
Oh, God, this was so out there, so-
Her thoughts spun away as he kissed her, rough, teeth and tongue, and, oh, she liked that. She didn't want soft and gentle. She wanted wild, unrestrained. Wet, deep, the heat of him poured through her, and she took it, fed on it, on his warmth and strength, and on something more, something bright and sparkling and electric in the air around them. Like static electricity, only nice, ramping through her like a shimmering light.
She was so hungry for him, so hungry. Yet through the thrashing storm of her need, she felt his reserve, his… suffering. This was hard for him; she could sense that, feel the way he held a part of himself back.
"Dain." She breathed his name, a whisper, a plea. She needed something from him, needed… the light. More light.
But more than that, she needed him. All of him. The parts he locked away from her. She wanted them with a greedy longing. Because he had taken parts of her that she had sworn never to give, bits of her heart that she was so afraid to share. He had coaxed them free, and they were his.
Barely able to contain her arousal, she squirmed beneath him, arching her back. His mouth closed around her nipple, sucking lightly, then harder, teeth scraping at the sensitive peak.
It was more than pleasure. Whatever terrifying thing ailed her, his touch made it fade. There was no more pain. There was only him. Only Dain.
Some part of her realized that her responses were too greedy, too fast, too out of control, but she couldn't summon the will to care. He was wonderful, sinful, dark and delicious as he kissed her and touched her, his breath shuddering, his body hot and hard.
She didn't care. Didn't care if it was too fast. He let her wrists go. Yes, she ran her hands over his naked body, his skin hot to her touch. Flat, male nipples and the hard planes of his chest, and on his right shoulder cap, a tattoo of a dragon, stylized, the ink dark against his skin. Sexy, so sexy. With a moan, she arched up and ran her tongue along the outline, tasting salt.
A wave of passion drove her, stealing her breath, leaving her trembling and wet. Oh, God, she wanted him. Needed him.
She let her hands slide along his corded arms, then lower, over the ridges of his abdomen. The muscles jumped beneath her touch. She could feel him holding back, and she wanted him as wild as she was, aching as she was aching.
Dark, primal hunger cycled through her.
Panting, she twisted her torso so she could lick his chest, his belly. Her hunger ramped up, so keen she almost cried out. She needed this, needed him, ached for him. She was half mad from it, this darkly enchanted craving.
A shudder coursed through her, flame erupting in the pit of her belly as she closed her hand around his thick, hot length. She reveled in the feel of his skin, satin smooth and so erotic.
From base to head, she stroked the length of his cock. She was on fire, light and heat shimmering around and through them, binding them.
Their gazes met, locked. They were both gasping for breath.
Something tore free inside her, an unfettered longing that claimed her. Take him. Draw from him.
She slapped her palms against his shoulders, pushed him flat on his back.
He watched her, his amazing gray eyes bright in the dim light, and he let her have her way. He let hen She sensed his strength and power, his control. Rearing up, she looked down, studied him, so perfectly formed, all chiseled planes and smooth skin over hard muscle.
Palming his thick erection, she leaned in, savored him with a slow stroke of her tongue, licking him all the way up his shaft. She shivered as his hands fisted in her hair, and his breathing became harsher, faster. He groaned as she worked her mouth around the broad head of his penis, sucked him deep, smooth and slick, the taste of him making her moan.
Sharp huffs of air left his lips, and his hips rocked to meet her. She loved this. Loved it. The taste of him and the power to make him moan with primitive need, the ability to chisel away just a little of his reserve, nudge aside his control, drag him free of his self-imposed fetters.
Just as he had set her free of the pain that had racked her, the weakness, the dizziness. So much better now. She felt like she'd been jacked up with caffeine or had had the most amazing sleep of her life. She felt giddy and tingly, her skin crackling with energy.
God, she almost believed she could see a halo of light around them, bright and warm.
Ah, the light… She did see it, could feel it, a shimmering glow around them both. His magic, she realized. It made her so hungry.
She sucked his cock, hard, her teeth raking lightly over sensitive skin. Dain hissed and rocked up, pushing into her mouth, pulling back, pushing again, full and thick. His breathing was harsh, his muscles tense. His control hard-won.
The scent of him and the uneven rasp of his breathing drove her wild. The feel of his hands on her skin.
She pressed into his touch, moaned when he scraped his thumb over her nipple, then caught the sensitive flesh between his fingers and pinched her, lightly, a little harder, enough to make sensation riot through her.
With a gasp, she arched her body, eager for his touch. The ache at her core was so strong, so compelling, it was beyond longing or desire. She would have him because she must, because without him, she thought she would not survive.
Crazy thoughts. Unreal. But she was convinced of their truth. She needed Dain inside her, filling her.
Not just the physical. Not just the hunger. But the part of her that was filled with care, the part of her that ached to heal him as she healed herself. Together they could only be stronger than either was alone.
With a low sound, he closed his hands about her waist, then turned her and brought her up on her knees, her chest pressed to a pillow, the thick, hard jut of his erection tight against her buttocks. His palm glided along her hip, her belly.
His breath was a harsh rasp against the back of her neck.
"Oh, please, please," she breathed, throbbing and wet and shaking. She thrust her buttocks back against him, felt her skin heat and the air crackle and, oh, God, she would die if he didn't push inside her, smooth and slick.
Dain mastered himself with effort as he ran his palm over her firm round buttocks, traced the C-curve of her spine. She was drawing from him, a steady pull, his magic flowing like a stream, glittering, smooth. And with it came a surge of emotion, unwelcome, unwanted, a feeling that threatened to pull him under if he let it. He liked this, liked the sensation of slaking her need.
She wasn't just drawing it; he was giving it to her with free will, and she was giving something back to him. A warmth. A closeness.
Oh, yeah. He wanted to do this, wanted to give her what she needed. Truth was, he felt a dark thrill at the thought of his power feeding her, saving her, making her whole.
Sliding his hand between her legs, he pushed two fingers into her slick, hot core. She moaned, rocking her hips, and his cock throbbed. She was so responsive, so lush and sweet.
He withdrew, pushed into her again, deeper. Fuck, she was so wet, so tight around his fingers.
"Oh, God, Dain. Please. Please." Her breathy gasps wound him tighter. He gave a ragged gasp as he eased between her thighs, pushing at her opening. A shallow thrust stretched her, opened her, dragged a short little cry from her lips, and she wriggled back against him. He splayed his hands across her hips, holding her still.
Hard and deep, he thrust all the way inside her, so slick and tight. She liked that, crying out, angling to take him deeper, and the ache of desire spiraled through him. He shoved his fingers through her hair, closing his fist on the short, soft strands and then letting them slide free.
"Dain, I want… I need to… I need to…" She was wriggling wildly now, trying to get free, to face him.
Sweet Vivien. She didn't even know what she needed, but he did. He could feel the steady tug as she drew his magic, and she wanted more. She wanted to face him and control the flow.
His cock was brick hard and heavy, throbbing.
Vivien. His Vivien.
He'd tried to stay remote, to give her only what she needed in order to survive. His body. A dose of his magic.
Christ, he couldn't do it.
He wanted to feel what she felt, know the emotion swelling in her heart, swelling in his own.
Stroking his hand along the sweet soft skin of her bottom, he nudged her thighs wider apart. With a luscious little moan, she opened to him.
He thrust harder, deeper, and desire roared through him, almost painful in its intensity.
His magic slid around them, bright, sharp, cocoon-ing them and flowing in a way so foreign it caught his breath.
"Oh, yes. Oh, please." Beneath him, Vivien thrashed and moaned. She arched her back, sheathing him so deep and tight and hot. A cry wrenched from his throat.
Sweet. She was so sweet.
And he was so not in control. His body screamed for release, straining deeper and deeper still.
Sweat slicked his skin, and hers.
She whimpered, thrashed, cried out as he pumped into her again and again. Harder, faster.
Her whole body went bowstring taut, and she froze, a high, short cry torn from her, her hot, wet sheath contracting around him.
Bright light arced through him. The air crackled and danced with power.
Build a wall. Build a wall.
When? When she took too much?
Only she wasn't. She was taking and giving back.
She was coming still, shudders coursing through her body, staccato cries torn from her lips.
His blood roared. His cock was impossibly hard, and he thrust into her, his pleasure keen and sharp, his climax yanked from him in a wild rush of crashing waves.
The ripple and glide of his magic spun between them, stoking a dark, forbidden ecstasy, until finally, finally, with a soft sigh, she collapsed down on her belly. He let his weight fall upon her. Their breath intertwined as she tipped her face to the side, toward him, and he eased over to press his mouth to hers.
"I feel so"-she laughed softly-"I don't know how I feel. Good. Amazing. Better than amazing."
She squirmed, and he lifted up on his forearms, enough to let her roll over. She kissed his shoulder. Licked him. Bit him gently.
"Oh, my God," she moaned, wriggling her hips. "You're not going to believe this, but I want… I want to do it again. Right now."
The sound of her laughter sank into him, a secret pleasure.
He tightened his embrace, lowered his face to her neck, and breathed in her scent, mixed with his, an erotic combination. His cock stirred and hardened, and he felt his magic stir as well, called to her on some deep and inexplicable level.
Emotion rocketed through him, protective, insistent. He would keep her safe. He would find a way.
And if it turned out that succubi weren't just energy beings but full-fledged demons?
The thought was too ugly, too vile to taint the moment.
He would hold to his duty as sorcerer, protector of the mortal realm. He would betray her if he must.
Only, somehow, he'd find a way to keep her safe.
And how screwed up was that?
Glenn Stewart shoved the long greasy strands of his hair back from his face. He was twitchy tonight. Privacy was a limited commodity; he had maybe an hour before the room he'd borrowed needed to revert to its owner.
An hour would be more than enough.
Pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he glanced at the woman. She stood by the door, her arms locked around her waist, hugging herself, her expression guarded.
She was a looker, with smooth, dark hair, and those legs. Damn. Her stiletto heels were a turn-on, but the rest of her looked all buttoned-up conservative and too expensive for his taste. Still, he couldn't wait to see what was underneath those clothes.
There were only two problems that kept this scenario from being picture perfect.
The disdainful look on her face as she sized up the room.
"What the fuck did you expect?" he snarled. "The Taj Mahal?"
And the fact that she was a little older than he preferred.
The thought made him grin. Anyone older than fifteen was older than he liked. His preferences ran to young girls, wide-eyed and innocent. And scared.
But this bitch had come on to him, had refused to take no for an answer. Hell, she'd come on so strong, he'd thought she'd go through with it right up against the wall in the alley. But now, leaning against the door with her eyes wide and her lips pressed together, she didn't look so certain anymore.
Glenn watched as she looked around the room. There wasn't much to see. Peeling paint. A carpet that might once have been beige but now looked gray under a greasy coating of grime. He jerked his thumb at the naked, stained mattress.
"Get undressed and get on there. Oh, but leave on those heels. I like those high heels," he said, turning to the small table under the window.
There was a bottle there and two glasses, one of which contained cigarette butts floating in an inch of water. He unscrewed the lid on the bottle of cheap scotch and sloshed some of the amber liquid into the glass that didn't have butts floating in it. He figured that meant it was pretty close to clean.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman undo her coat and shrug out of it, then glance around, looking for somewhere to put it.
"Drop it," Glenn barked, enjoying the rush of power he got from ordering her around. "The floor's good enough."
Yeah, the floor was good enough for her. Maybe that's where he'd fuck her, right there on the stinking, grimy carpet.
She made a soft sound, and he squinted at her. In the alley, he'd thought she was too old for his taste, much closer to his own age than to her teens, but here in the dimly lit room, she looked younger.
Her coat hit the floor.
He liked that; she was gratifyingly obedient.
As she turned toward the mattress, he caught a glint of something shiny and bright, and he prowled closer, his eyes riveted on her necklace.
"This real?" he asked, closing his hand around the diamond-encrusted letter A.
He inhaled, liking the smell of her. Reminded him of bubble gum, or maybe cherry…
Damn, up close, she was younger than he'd thought. No lines on her face. No puffiness under her eyes. Just smooth skin and pink lips. She was little more than a girl.
His rod got real good and hard.
"I asked you a question."
She nodded, chewing her lower lip, uncertain. "Yes, it's real."
Glenn gave the necklace a hard yank, but the chain remained intact. Squinting, he looked closer. The links were heavy and thick.
That was fine.
He'd let her wear it while he fucked her, and then he'd take it. He knew a couple fences who would give him a few bucks for it.
"I don't need to do this," she said, so soft he almost didn't hear her.
He grunted. Maybe she didn't, but he did. Now that he'd seen her up close, he knew she was young, nice and young.
And scared.
"Yes"-he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back hard so she looked at him-"you do, pretty little girl. You can't wind my key and not finish the game."
She laughed then, low and husky, her hands reaching for his shirt. She fisted the cloth and tore it wide, the sound of rending material loud in the silence.
This was his best shirt, for chrissake.
"Hey!" he snarled, and backhanded her across the face.
She slammed against the wall, slid down it to the floor, and slowly raised her eyes to his. They glittered in the dim light, a strange color-gold and black, swirling like a tornado.
Glenn felt the first twinges of unease skitter through him.
Gracefully, she rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. Her features changed, becoming ageless and marble-cold. Frightening, though he couldn't really say why. He just felt like something in the room had shifted, the pendulum of power swinging away from him.
He backed up a step, spread his hands before him as a greasy, queasy sickness seized him.
And then she smiled.
Where in the fucking hell had all those teeth come from?
"Get undressed and get on there," she said, mimicking his earlier words and tone.
Glenn's heart slammed against his ribs. No, he didn't think so. But against his will, his hands shifted to his belt, the leather sliding from the buckle with a soft swish.
Fear dialed up a notch to terror.
What was this bitch doing to him?
He wasn't taking off his clothes by choice. He just couldn't seem to stop.
He didn't want to do this.
Only, he was doing it. His fingers found his button, his zipper, the metal rasping as he undid his pants.
He was panting, sharp, raw gasps, but he couldn't speak, couldn't cry out, couldn't stop himself from getting naked and crossing to the stained mattress.
She stalked him, movement for movement.
"On your back," she said, and against his will, his mind screaming its resistance, he lowered himself as she instructed, feeling the broken springs dig into his flesh.
And the whole time, she watched him with her glittering, terrifying eyes.
Why hadn't he noticed her eyes in the alley?
His heart hurt. It hurt. It was beating so hard and fast he felt sick. Cold sweat beaded on his brow and drenched the hollow of his back and the pits under his arms.
He could smell his own fear.
Jesus. Jesus.
"You like little girls," she said as she straddled him, one knee on either side of his quivering body. "You do things to little girls, and you make them cry. Make them scream. They beg you and you like that."
He wanted to tell her it wasn't true, wanted to tell her anything, anything.
Only he couldn't. His mouth wouldn't work, nor would his limbs. All he could do was lie there.
Besides, it was true. All of it. Everything she said.
"I don't have to do this," she murmured, raking one sharp nail along his belly hard enough to draw blood. "But I want to. Because you made a mistake, Glenn, years ago. You played your nasty little game with a girl that I know."
He screamed. He did. He screamed long and hard, but there was no sound, no release, no help.
"Take heart, sweet prince"-she laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, both sensual and terrifying-"your life force will be used for a greater good."
I don't know what you're talking about. Please, please let me go. Please let me go. He knew his mouth formed the words, but they stalled inside of him, unable to break free.
"I know," she said, soft, soothing. "I know."
She licked her lips, and then she raked her fingers down his belly, gouging deep.
Vivien awoke in Dain's bed. Her eyes drifted open to the first faint promise of sunrise, a purple-gray hint of light. She lay there for a moment, drowsy and replete, staring out the window at the sky, cloudless and vast and beautiful. Dain's heartbeat was a steady thud beneath her cheek, his arm heavy across her shoulders. She felt formless, boneless, far more relaxed than she ever recalled feeling in her life.
She felt wonderful, altered, the chrysalis opened, the butterfly set free, as though all this time, she had been encased in a confining shell.
Inhaling the scent of Dain's skin, she smiled. They had made love on the couch. Then against the wall, fast and torrid, overcome before they could make it to the bed, his warm hands underneath her buttocks, the smooth cool wall at her back, her legs locked tightly about his waist. She'd screamed high and loud as she came; she felt warm now just thinking of it.
Eventually, they had reached the bed. Made love again, with slow, lazy kisses and building need until she'd climbed atop and taken him so full and deep, riding them both to stunning release.
And each time, she had felt the golden glow of his magic suffuse her, bright and glorious. She didn't know how to describe the sensation of that… almost like she was sucking the most delicious, decadent milkshake through a straw. She'd felt so hungry, so greedy; she'd sucked and sucked, and, God, it had been so good. Was that how sorcerers made love? By sharing their power?
She supposed it was.
After they'd made love again and again, she'd lain beside him and he'd rolled on his side, pulled her against him.
"Sleep, love," he'd murmured drowsily. And she had, her eyes drifting closed with his words dancing through her thoughts. Sleep, love. A careless endearment; surely nothing more.
Now, she turned her head, raised up a little, and looked at him. His face was relaxed in sleep, his hair tousled. Oh, he was beautiful, sinfully beautiful.
Hunger surged inside her. She wanted him again, even more now that she knew him. Knew the feel of his long, strong fingers on her body. Knew the throbbing thickness of him as he pushed inside her and the taste of his mouth as he kissed her. She wanted his mouth on her nipples, sucking them with hard, tugging pulls, and she wanted the heat and power of him pumping deep.
He'd made her come how many times? Six? Seven?
Right now, she wanted to raise the count to eight… nine. She wanted to make love with him again.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Make love. Just a term? Or was she feeling something for this man, this sorcerer, something frightening and foreign.
She'd been in love once in her entire life, with Pat. And after what had happened to him, she hadn't dared let anyone in. Because everyone left. They always left. Nana, there one day and then just gone, disappeared without even a good-bye. Her dad. Her mom, who had never really been there for her in any emotional context. And Pat. Pat, who had died such a terrible death. She hadn't allowed herself to love, because she refused to open herself up again to that kind of hurt.
Even in university, she hadn't had crushes the way her friends did. The only person she'd let in was Amy, and that was mostly because Amy had refused to go away. She'd just been there, a solid friend, until Vivien had no choice but to care about her.
Right now, looking down at Dain's sleeping face, thinking of the way he'd made love to her, the way he spoke with her, listened to her, the way he'd protected her, she was terrified. She thought this feeling that bubbled inside her like champagne, like Alka-Seltzer, like Pop Rocks, was love. The thought left her dizzy.
Slowly, she eased out of Dain's embrace, careful not to rouse him. She felt an odd sensation as she broke contact, like an electric shock, very strong, and then a snap, like the recoil of an stretched elastic band. She glanced down, froze. Her fingertips were sparking with light, an odd, purple glow. She stared at it until it faded. For a second she just stood there, getting her equilibrium back.
Her gaze slid to Dain. He shifted in his sleep, and she felt a little guilty for the shadows beneath his eyes that told of fatigue. It seemed she'd exhausted him.
Resisting the urge to touch him, to splay her hands over his warm skin and wake him, she stood by the bed and studied him. He was so tall, so broad, his big body taking up space even in the massive king-sized bed. Her gaze raked him, from the swell of his chest to the dark line of hair that ran down his belly, flanked on either side by the ridges of his abdomen. The sheet twisted at his hips, obscuring her view. But she knew what was under there.
Temptation stole through her again. Let him sleep? Wake him?
His breathing was slow and even, revealing the depth of his slumber. She'd never felt more energized, while he seemed totally drained.
The urge to care for him, protect him, curled through her like smoke.
Poor guy. After the marathon she'd made him run, he needed his rest. And she needed a few minutes to wrap her head around all of this.
Abruptly, she realized she was hungry, ravenous.
God, she was starving for… ice cream. She was glad that Dain's freezer held a stock of Chunky Monkey.
Naked, she prowled to the kitchen quietly, the first streaks of dawn guiding her way. She rounded the counter and opened the freezer, feeling incomparably free and sensual. Even the waft of cold air on her skin was lovely.
She'd never walked around naked in her life. But right now it seemed right. Dain's love-making had left her feeling liberated, vital, so alive, attuned to every sensation.
She almost felt like she was powerful, a magical creature like him.
Smiling, she grabbed a container of ice cream, collected a spoon, scooped out a bit. The flavor burst on her tongue, banana and chocolate, and she closed her eyes. Oh, man, had anything ever tasted so good?
Yeah … Dain.
The thought made her shiver. And he was there, just a few steps away, she could…
No. He needed to sleep.
With a smile, she turned, and stopped dead in her tracks. Next to the sink, the normally tidy countertop was covered in… stuff. Her curiosity piqued, she moved closer. A plastic tray sat in the sink, the cold water running into it in a steady stream, and in the tray were color photos. Her photos. From high school. Through the rippling water, Pat smiled up at her.
Her heart twisted in her chest.
Next to the sink, a glass cutting board was propped up on an overturned pot, damp photos arrayed side by side, draining. Lengths of paper towel were spread next to that, with more photos laid out, faceup. These were dry, the edges curled.
Tears pricked her eyes as she set aside the carton of ice cream, reached out, and traced the edge of a picture, her emotions raw and ragged. Dain had done this. He'd retrieved her photos. Cleaned them. Not by magic, but with his own hands. Oh, God. When? After they'd made love, while she slept. He had been here in the kitchen, doing this for her. Giving her back something she had thought gone forever.
For a time, she just walked slowly along the counter, looking at each photo, treasuring each memory.
She paused, staring at one picture in particular. Amy and her mom, sitting at a table in some cafe. Vivien remembered that day. It wasn't long after that Amy's mom got too sick to leave the house.
Amy. Suddenly, she ached to talk to her friend, to hear about the escapades she was having in Mexico. To laugh with her. To tell her about Dain.
Dain, who had sat in this kitchen for hours, cleaning and salvaging what photos he could. For her.
Her gaze slid to the phone, then to the wall clock. Too early to call Amy now, but soon. In the meantime, she'd collect her messages. Retrieving the container she had set aside, she wandered toward the phone, dipped a spoonful of ice cream, and licked it clean. Putting the container on the counter, she lifted the receiver, dialed her home number, and keyed in the code for her voice mail. She played her messages, forwarding to the next and the next.
Seven messages from her mother, back-to-back.
Shocked that her mother had called so many times, she felt a surge of guilt that she hadn't thought to check in with her again; usually Araminta wouldn't leave that many messages in the span of a year. And she hadn't sounded all that worried when they'd last spoken, so Vivien hadn't even thought to call.
With another glance at the clock, she decided it was definitely too early to call now. She'd give it at least another hour.
She listened to the next message. It was from Amy. Her voice was thick with tears, and she sounded desperate.
"Please, Vivien, if you pick this up, call me. It's about midnight now. Call me. I don't care how late it is or how early. Please, just call me. I need you."
A chill wafted over Vivien, raising the fine hairs at her nape. The only other time Amy had called sounding this distraught was when her mom had died.
She dialed Amy's cell.
"Vivien?" Amy's voice rose on a plea.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to see you. Please. I really need to talk to you. Can you meet me for a coffee?"
"Meet you? Aren't you in Mexico?"
"No." Amy choked on a sob. "Meet me. Please. The Second Cup at College and Euclid? Remember when we used to go there all the time?"
Vivien hesitated for an instant, a million thoughts zinging through her mind, the foremost being the question of safety. She needed to be there for Amy. She just needed to figure out the safest way to accomplish that.
Was she in danger if she left Dain's loft? More than once, he'd mentioned staying inside, staying safe. Abruptly, a sharp image of the demon in her basement formed, complete with gray cracked hide and row upon row of yellowed teeth.
Not something she'd like to meet while she was alone in a dark alley.
Ribbons of early morning light crawled across the blond hardwood floor. What could happen on a crowded street in full daylight?
Soft, snuffling sounds carried through the phone.
"Amy, come here for coffee"-wait, Dain didn't have coffee in the loft-"or, um, or tea. We could have tea."
Amy was sobbing in earnest now, hysterical little gasping chuffs that made Vivien feel like the lowest of the low.
"I-huh, huh-need to see you alone. Last night was-huh-Please, Vivien…"
How many times over the years had Amy been there for her, no questions asked? Every time Vivien had ever needed her. The only person in her life she'd been able to count on without question.
Vivien glanced at the window again. In all her life, she'd never heard of a demon attacking anyone on the streets of Toronto in broad daylight.
Actually, until two days ago, she'd never even heard of demons at all.
She shook her head. The truth was, she couldn't hide in Dain's loft forever. Danger or not, at some point she had to pick up the scattered and scorched bits of her life.
Wait… what had Amy said? I need to see you alone.
"Amy… How do you know I'm not alone?"
"I saw you," Amy whispered, the sound echoing hollowly across the phone line. "Yesterday. With that guy. You ditched Mexico, ditched me, for him, didn't you?"
Guilt ground through her. Well, that clinched it. She hadn't ditched Amy for Dain, hadn't even met Dain when she'd declined Amy's invitation. But she doubted her friend was in any frame of mind to talk this out logically. Whatever was eating Amy, it was big.
She was sobbing harder now, great, pained gasps that broke Vivien's heart.
"Amy, it's okay," she said. "I'll meet you. Half an hour, okay?"
"I'm sorry, Viv, I just… I just…"
"I'm on my way, Amy."
It wasn't until after she hung up that Vivien realized she had no money. Not for coffee, and not for a cab. She had the purse she'd grabbed when she'd fled her burning house, the one she'd shoved her dad's picture into. In it she'd found mascara, lip gloss, and some loose change, but her wallet, her credit cards, had been incinerated along with her house.
She considered waking Dain, but then he'd want to go with her, and she knew Amy didn't want an audience. Actually, she'd been pretty clear on that point. She'd sounded freaked out, hysterical.
More than that, she didn't have the heart to wake him. She could only imagine how many hours he'd spent cleaning and laying out her fire-damaged photos. After making love to her for hours. She needed to let him sleep.
Chewing her lip, Vivien considered her options. She'd have to walk. The coffee shop they'd decided on really wasn't all that far, and she could take main roads. Plenty of people would be out and about at this time, on their way to work or school.
Surely no demon would nab her in public.
With a snort, she realized she was getting paranoid.
"We're talking a cup of coffee with my best friend in the full light of day," she muttered. "Not a meeting in a warehouse in the dead of night."
Rummaging through a series of drawers, she finally found a pen and some paper. She left Dain a note on the kitchen counter and headed for the living room to gather up the clothes he'd conjured for her the previous afternoon. A quick shower in the guest bathroom and Vivien was dressed and ready to go.
She found Dain's shearling coat in the front closet and his key ring in the pocket, but there was no sign of the cashmere coat he had conjured for her the previous day. She frowned, wondering where it had gone.
Perhaps they had left it at Javier's.
Pulling Dain's coat from the hanger, she slipped it on, pausing for a second just to savor the feel of it, the weight of it on her shoulders. At the front door, she tried the various keys until she found the one that fit, then stole into the hallway, locking the door behind her.
The hallway was brightly lit. Still, she paused, looked around, alert for danger. A snort escaped her. She felt like some kind of international spy.
In a coat that was ten sizes too big.
Turning her face into the collar, she inhaled deeply. It smelled like Dain. She felt a stirring in her blood, hot and thick, a dark craving, a need to go back into the loft, back to Dain's bed, climb in beside him, touch his smooth, hard body. Kiss his sexy, sexy mouth.
Hungry, she thought. I'm hungry for him.
Closing her eyes, she pictured herself, up on all fours, Dain naked behind her, driving into her. Oh, God.
In a matter of days, she'd gone from believing she was experiencing a psychotic break to having a fullblown case of nymphomania.
This was turning out to be one hell of a week.
"What is it with the early morning roll call?" Javier snarled, sliding into the booth across from Darqun. "And why would you pick this place? It smells like, I dunno, burnt toast and moldy newspaper."
"An appetizing combination." Darqun looked around at the gloomy booths, the dented counter, the layer of dust on the photographs that lined the walls. Abe's Eats. The place had grown on him.
The waitress shambled over now, topped off his coffee, and filled a cup for Javier. Friendly as ever, she slapped down a menu and narrowed her eyes at him, fuzzy wisps of her white hair falling in her eyes.
"You've been here three mornings in a row," she said, more accusation than observation, then turned and headed back to the counter without waiting for his reply.
"Why are we here?" Javier sniffed his cup suspiciously.
"Two reasons," Darqun replied. "First, I like the coffee. A good cup of coffee is worth its weight in gold."
Javier narrowed his eyes and shook his head quickly, his brow furrowed. "You're here for the coffee? There's a Starbucks up the street." He lifted his cup, took a tentative sip, grimaced. "Jesus. So what's the second reason?"
"I could tell you it's because Abe and Ida have owned this place for fifty years. They're barely scraping out a living now. I figure it's my good deed of the day to slap down some cash here."
Javier glanced over as Ida slammed a plate laden with greasy eggs, bacon, and sausage in front of the only other patron in the entire place, then he looked back at Darqun, clearly appalled. "So slap down some cash and let's go eat somewhere else. Somewhere with fewer dead animal parts on plates."
"No can do, my man. I said I could tell you it was because I wanted to drop some cash for Abe and Ida. Actually, they're going to win a hundred grand today in some draw they don't even remember buying a ticket for. So they're set."
"Would that draw have anything to do with you?"
Darqun shrugged. "I dreamed about this place and about the intern I met here. For some reason, I came back yesterday, got to talking with Ida"-he jutted his chin at the waitress-"and it just felt right. Two mortals spend their whole lives working and they don't get any rest, not even in their twilight years…"
"Yeah, you sound like a greeting card," Javier said, but Darqun knew he understood.
Technically, by helping out these two old people, he was breaking the Pact. But since his interference didn't affect life-or-death matters, he could get away with it.
He preferred to see it as skirting the rules, maybe nudging and bending rather than breaking them.
The diner's door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air along with a blond guy with a laid-back walk that camouflaged his underlying edge.
"And here comes reason number two," Darqun said.
Javier's head swivelled and he exhaled harshly as he spotted the new arrival.
"Well, fuck me," he said.
"No thanks, Jav." Baunn gave a tight smile that barely curved his lips and definitely didn't reach his eyes. He nodded at Darqun. "But shove over and I'll join you for breakfast." The smile turned dark as he tossed a small red velvet bag on the table. "You ever hear the one about the sorcerer and the succubus… ?"
Head down, Vivien stepped out the front door of Dain's building into the biting wind. Holding the collar of his coat close about her face, she made it about ten steps before realizing this was a lousy plan. She stopped dead, recalling again the terrifying monster that Dain had battled in her basement.
What in heaven's name was she thinking, blithely heading out on her own? It hit her then, a cold, sharp slap of truth that was ugly in its glaring blatancy. This wasn't about letting Dain sleep. It wasn't about being independent and picking up the charred remnants of her life.
This was about being a coward.
By leaving the loft and putting her life at risk, she was putting up emotional roadblocks, running out on Dain before he had the chance to run out on her.
God, she was so screwed up.
She needed to go back upstairs and wake him, because any other path was sheer idiocy.
Turning, she took a step but slammed into something hard.
The breath whooshed from her lungs. Adrenaline surged and on instinct she brought her knee up, hard.
"Jesus." The guttural rasp was accompanied by deflecting hands shoving her knee out of the danger zone.
She stumbled, fought for balance, and her head jerked back as a hand caught her arm, steadying her. "Oh, my God, Dain!"
His mouth was drawn in a grim line. He stared down at her, the dark stubble on his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes making him look very dangerous, and a little frightening.
Like he'd been pushing the limit and had gone way past the safety zone.
Desire jolted her as she stared up at him, and she thought she'd like to push him further, not just past the safety zone, but right into screaming redline.
She craved the danger in him.
Oh, that was one hell of a revelation to have standing out here on the frozen sidewalk.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice smoky and morning-rough. And mightily pissed off.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and in that second, she realized he was wearing next to nothing. No shoes. No shirt. No coat. Just a pair of black boxers riding very low on his hips.
Vivien caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as a sharp sliver of awareness arrowed through her, chased by a strong dose of incredulity.
"Are you crazy?" she gasped. "It's freezing out here. Get inside where it's warm."
"I didn't take the time to dress. Where are you running off to?" There was an edge to the question, one that made her feel odd. A little guilty.
What was it with her and guilt today?
First Amy, now Dain. She had issues with people running out on her, and here she was angsting over running out on them.
She needed therapy.
Blowing out a quick breath, she shook her head. "I left you a note."
He stepped closer, dropping his arms to his sides, and she could feel the heat of him despite the swirling wind. Magic? Was he using magic to stay warm? She supposed he must be. Using it, too, to cloak them from view, because several people had walked past them, and no one had so much as glanced at the six-feet-three nearly naked, glowering male.
Reaching out, Dain rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, anger glinting in his eyes. But still his touch was gentle. She shivered, acutely aware of him, his touch igniting her as she recalled all the things they'd done last night, the images bright and clear in her mind.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Every thought, every emotion, was etched in his expression. The worry, the frustration, the wary concern.
"I was coming back to get you," she whispered.
"Were you?" he asked, his tone dark and tense.
His expression taut, he slid his thumb along her cheek, her jaw, until his fingers curled around the back of her neck. She shivered, remembering how he'd held her like that when he'd kissed her, raw and rough and hungry.
Okay. Breathe. She needed to breathe, because he made her light-headed.
"I don't leave your side, Vivien," he rasped. "Where you go, I go."
Her pulse sped up. She realized that she ought to be annoyed that he had followed her, ought to be irritated by his proprietary words and actions. But she wasn't. She was oddly touched that he wanted to keep watch over her and keep her safe.
Besides, she'd been on her way back to get him, so she couldn't be angry that he'd beat her to it.
Whatever he read in her eyes, it drew a tight smile. He closed his strong fingers around her wrist, dragged her against him, the power of him swirling around her, leaving her breathless and dizzy. A sharp twist of desire made the pit of her belly do a slow drop.
The air hummed and buzzed, the stimulating sensation touching her skin, sliding into her, like radio static made palpable. Warmth and light surrounded her, an undulating current.
With a low sound, Dain brought his mouth down hard on hers, one hand spread flat against her back, the other pressing against her buttocks.
Oh, sweet Lord.
Heat and need rushed through her body like a flash fire, the crackle of electricity ramping up, scorching her. Smoldering hunger consumed her, and it took everything she had to drag herself away.
She felt like she was addicted to him.
Her gaze ran the length of his leanly muscled body. Whoo, She supposed there were worse things in life.
"Dain, I have to go," she said, not even trying to conceal her regret. "I said I would meet someone. I take my commitments seriously."
"As do I." His voice was a rich, low rumble, sliding through to her core, carrying shades of meaning she knew she couldn't hope to understand.
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, and then he said, "I woke up and you weren't there, and all I could think of was you and those hybrids and-" His lips compressed in a thin line.
His tone was barren, edged with tension, touching something in her soul.
Vivien looked away. She couldn't deal with this, not here, not now when Amy was waiting. She had to go. She slipped into science-girl mode, protecting herself with queries.
"Hybrids? What hybrids?" She recognized the word; they'd explained demons and hybrids to her that first morning in Dain's loft. But she had no idea what he was talking about.
At that moment, the sun caught on the side mirror of a passing car, reflecting back in a bright burst, and suddenly, flashes of memory spun through her. Dust and screams and the scent of rotting wood. Soulless eyes, vacant black marbles without mercy or remorse. Glowing blades and a single beam of sunlight Blood. Dain's blood-
She jerked back, her gaze raking over him, relief surging as she found unmarked skin.
Uneasiness sluiced through her. She couldn't do this now. It was too confusing, too intense. There were so many questions. About him. About herself.
And she had the feeling that it was going to take a very long time to figure out the answers.
"We need to talk," she said, and couldn't help but smile as wariness tinged his gaze. Typical guy. "But not now. Right now, I need to be somewhere else."
Everything in its proper file folder, to be taken out and examined at the appropriate time. That was the way she did things.
And the folder she was working on right now belonged to Amy.
"I need to go," she said, then blew out a breath. "In my whole life, there's only one person I could ever count on besides myself, one person who never ran out on me. And right now, she's asking me to be there for her. So I need to go."
Dain made a smooth gesture with his hand, and then he stood before her fully dressed-a light brown T-shirt with a multicolored key ring stenciled on the front, dark blue jeans, a navy pea coat. But his expression was tight and pinched, as though he was in pain.
"Where you go, I go," he said again, implacable, his eyes narrowed and mercury-bright, framed by his thick, dark lashes. "I need you safe, Vivien. I just"-he raked his hands through the shaggy, sexy layers of his dark hair-"need you safe."
She thought of the story he'd told her about his wife and daughter, and her heart twisted. She swallowed against the lump growing in her throat.
God, she wasn't the only one who was messed up.
"Fine." Vivien shrugged, as though it didn't matter, as though her heart wasn't breaking for him because she'd figured out that this whole macho-man-take-care-of-woman thing was about what had happened in his past. As though she wasn't secretly, fiercely pleased that he wanted to keep her safe. Because it meant he cared about her. Just like staying up all night restoring her photos meant he cared about her. It meant-
Oh, no, she wasn't going there, wasn't floating away on fluffy dreams and hopes. He loomed over her, waiting.
She forced a smile. "It's too cold to walk, anyway."
Turning, she headed toward the yellow Ferrari, but he caught her arm, stopping her, and opened the door to a black Porsche Boxter.
"This one. It draws less attention."
She blinked and bit back a laugh as she realized he was serious.
"Where to?" he asked.
"The Second Cup on College and Euclid." With a shake of her head, Vivien got in the car.
Dain shut the door before rounding the hood.
She studied him through the windshield. With the dark stubble along his jaw and his hair a shaggy mess, he looked a little unkempt, bed-rumpled, and a whole lot sexy.
He glanced at her, and a pang of dismay wrenched her heart. With the sun full on his face, he looked utterly exhausted. Drained.
And he definitely didn't look happy.
Dain breathed in the scent of Vivien's skin as she accepted his hand and climbed from the car to the curb outside the coffee shop. She smelled like his soap, his shampoo, and herself-kind of like vanilla and… sex. The combination was acutely erotic.
"Thanks." She shot him a sexy little side glance.
He stared down at her, at the wisps of dark hair framing her face in spiky disarray, at her sweet little nose and her huge hazel-green eyes, so keenly intelligent. Emotion swelled, a deep pool, and he barely stopped himself from hauling her against him and kissing her, branding her as his. But he'd already done that last night and look where it had gotten him, cranked right into the danger zone on so many different levels.
Yeah, he'd given her whatever he could of his body and his magic. And he'd given her something else, something he had shared with no one before her. He had offered Vivien a view of the deepest part of himself, had told her about Moria and Ciel, had let her walk right past his defenses and see the secret pain in his heart.
That sharing had tempered it, not made it less but made it bearable. Because he had shared it with her.
What the hell was he thinking? Vivien might not have a clue what she was, but he did. He knew. She was a succubus, the female equivalent of a demon. His sworn enemy.
Only, he knew for a fact that demons could choose, that good and evil weren't preordained. Ciarran had chosen to bury the evil that infested him. From everything he'd seen, Vivien didn't have a sliver of darkness in her.
Fuck. He scraped his hand through his hair. Fuck.
He stared down at her and felt an overpowering urge to drag her close and kiss her and protect her. From herself. From the knowledge of what she was.
He wanted to keep her safe from the whole Compact of Sorcerers. And from himself.
A faint frown marred her brow, and she reached out, laying her palm against his cheek and running the pad of her thumb lightly over the skin under his eye.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I kept you up so late."
She had. And he'd loved every second of it.
"And then you kept yourself up even later with my photos." She smiled, stroking her fingers down his cheek, along his jaw. "Thank you. I can't tell you what that means to me, Dain. God, you're amazing."
She was looking at him like he'd given her pearls. Diamonds. Like he'd given her the world, instead of a handful of damaged photos.
"My pleasure." He meant it. It gave him pleasure to please her.
"You didn't use magic," she said. "You cleaned each one by hand."
He'd considered using magic to make the photos whole, make them as they had been before the fire, but somehow, that had just felt wrong.
"I wanted it to mean something. To show you-" He felt naked, barren, as though she saw right to his core. "I needed it to mean something."
Dragging his gaze from hers, he closed the passenger door, then leaned his butt against it.
His eyes felt like he'd rubbed sand in them, and his limbs were heavy. Man, he was tired. Bone weary. Drained. Maybe that explained the way he was feeling. Edgy. Restless. Horny.
What the hell was up with that? He'd made love with Vivien how many times last night? And still he wanted her, stronger, more keenly. And he knew it had nothing to do with her succubus powers and everything to do with her. Just her.
He felt connected to her. From the way she'd looked at him just now-the expression on her face a window to her thoughts, her eyes shadowed with worry as she stroked his jaw-he was left with no doubts that she cared about him a whole hell of a lot. He found that damned appealing. He liked it that she cared.
And equal to that liking was a sense of despair. Where the hell was this thing between them heading except right over a cliff? It was dangerous. She was dangerous to him.
Right now, he was running on empty.
Scraping his hand along his jaw, he watched her walk away, all bundled up in his oversized shearling coat.
She'd almost reached the door of the coffee shop when she paused, turned, walked back the way she'd come. She stared up at him, her eyes shimmering.
"Dain, go home," she said softly, laying her fingers across his lips. "You look so tired, and I feel terrible for dragging you out. Please, go home. I'll take a cab back. It's broad daylight. What could happen?"
What could happen? Far more than she could ever imagine.
He was touched by the way she looked at him, concern manifested in her expression, her movements, her words. Christ, how long since he'd had anyone care about him? Worry about him?
It made him wary. And it made him warm. All nice and fuzzy warm, because he liked knowing she cared.
That left him feeling like a heel, because half the reason he was standing here with her was because he wanted to protect her, and the other half was because he wasn't certain if he needed to protect others from her. Protect himself from her.
She had no idea what she was. A succubus. And he had no idea what that entailed, other than the most amazing sex he'd ever had and a feeling of union through his magic the like of which he'd never known.
His head was as mixed up as a shake in a blender.
Vivien was… Vivien. No way was she dark. Evil.
But what about the fact that she was a succubus? She was an energy being that none of his comrades in the Compact had encountered in a millennium, and she just happened to show up when there was some kind of supernatural coup going on? Just happened to be around during a murder spree?
His comrades were trusting him to stay on the right side of the line, to hold true to their ideals and not be tempted into betrayal. He was trusting himself to choose the right path.
Jesus.
Was this how it started, with tiny steps that blurred the boundary? Was this how it had started with the Ancient? With uncertainty about exactly where the boundary lay?
What would he do if Vivien turned out to be dark, if she allied with the demons?
The thought left him cold. He couldn't make himself believe it. He hadn't seen one shred of evidence to suggest she was going that route, and he couldn't make himself judge her just for being a succubus.
Fuck, what the hell was he doing? Falling in love with his enemy?
The thought twisted him up. Love. He didn't want to love her. Love brought pain and loss. Only, try as he might, he couldn't seem to will it away, couldn't seem to find the wall of ice he'd built for centuries.
"Don't look at me like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"I don't know… so fierce"
Fierce. Yeah, he could imagine his expression if it reflected the turmoil inside him.
Rising on her toes, she pressed her cheek to his, drew back. She put her hands in her pockets. Her brow furrowed. "Oops… small problem." She shot him a self-deprecating smile. "I'll take a cab if you lend me a twenty. I seem to have burned through my liquid assets."
She looked up at him with a gamine grin, and all he could think about was that he couldn't lose her, couldn't let anything happen to her.
"Um… burned through my assets-get it?"
What was she asking him? Man, he was so out of it. Her smile faltered as she studied his face.
"Ooookay," she said, her smile fading completely. "Guess it wasn't funny. So, yeah… I can walk back. It isn't that far."
"Sorry." He shook his head. "My mind wandered."
Then the realization hit him that, just like he'd forgotten that her clothes had been destroyed in the fire, he'd also forgotten that she didn't have a wallet or a dime to her name.
Oh, he was doing a fine job of taking care of her.
"No cab. I'll wait out here," he said tightly, frustrated with himself. "But take this."
He hauled out a wad of cash and shoved it into her hand.
Eyebrows raised, she peeled off a bill and handed the rest back to him.
"I'll pay you back."
He laughed shortly, not really amused. Unable to resist touching her, he caught her wrist and pulled her close, then ran his lips along her cheek. Her skin was soft, silky. He buried his face in her neck, traced his tongue along the underside of her jaw.
With a gasp, she jerked away, her gaze locked with his, her pupils huge and dark.
"Later," she whispered, "we'll finish what you just
started, and then you're going to explain to me what's going on. With me. With my body." She paused. "With us."
Now there was a thought. Explain what was going on. Tell her that she was a succubus, that she needed sex to survive. That was going to be one hell of a conversation.
Looking down at her, the attraction was so strong, a fierce, gnawing need. He actually had to force his hands to his sides to keep from hauling her back against him. Was that a succubus thing?
He didn't think so.
He thought it was a Vivien/Dain thing.
Because, yeah, he'd been horny before, but this… well, this was right out of the ballpark. He didn't just want sex. He wanted hen Wanted to know the secret parts of her, her dreams, her wishes. Wanted to know everything about his smart, brave, sexy Vivien. Everything.
"None of that" she admonished, but her voice was shaky. She pressed her lips together and continued. "Dain, I know you're here to protect me, but how close do you need to be?" She gestured at the large plate-glass windows of the coffee shop. "Can you maybe stay in the car? Amy was pretty specific about wanting to see me alone, and I think it would hurt her to see you out here, glaring."
"She won't see me," Dain said.
"Does that mean you'll stay out here, or does it mean something else?" she asked warily, her eyes narrowed.
He shrugged, not feeling the need to explain that he'd be right beside her, refracting light, invisible for all intents and purposes.
Vivien studied him an instant longer, and then she smiled, pretty white teeth and a tiny dimple in her right cheek that he hadn't noticed before now.
He found that fascinating. It made him wonder what other little things he could discover about her.
Uh, yeah. Kibosh that. Finding out that the woman he was halfway in love with was a succubus-possibly a demon-was probably enough mysterious discovery to last a good long while.
Halfway in love with.
He stared down at her and thought, Maybe not just halfway.
Her gaze locked on his, and whatever she read there made her lips part and her eyes widen.
"Dain," she whispered, like his name was a song, a prayer. Like he mattered to her more than anything.
Christ. He dug deep and found the place he was most comfortable being, wrapped in ice, cool-headed, cold-hearted. Yeah, in his dreams.
"Go on," he said gently. "I'll be right there with you."
Dropping her gaze, she turned and made her way into the coffee shop.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Dain watched as she wove between tables until she reached an isolated booth in the very back. A woman was sitting there wearing a heavy, black, down-filled coat; a black knitted hat pulled low on her forehead; and enormous dark sunglasses. Inside. Even though she wasn't in direct sunlight.
Instinct stirred deep in his gut, oozing through him in a greasy glide.
There was something familiar here, something in the woman's posture, the tilt of her head, the tiny spark of magic he sensed about her.
She'd been there yesterday.
She'd been in Starbucks, watching him, dusted by an aura of magic that wasn't quite light and wasn't quite dark. She was the person he'd sensed out on the street right before he'd gone tearing after Vivien into the abandoned building.
Opening himself to it, Dain tested the flow of magic, the river of the continuum. It was sullied, tainted by the presence of… what? Something strange. Hybrids. He could sense them nearby. Three, maybe four, of them a couple blocks away. Which came as no surprise. This area was a hybrid warren-like an anthill, with the hybrids as ants.
But there was something else, something far more powerful. Dark and not dark. Malevolent. Eerie.
A full-blooded demon?
Not like any he'd ever encountered.
Whatever the hell it was, it would have to come through him to get to Vivien. He didn't have a second's doubt that Vivien was its prey, which meant he needed to be a hell of a lot closer to her than he was right now.
Without remorse for her forfeited privacy, he closed his eyes, visualized the shadowed booth in the back of the coffee shop, visualized Vivien.
Damn. He'd already been drained by his wounds, and then sharing his magic with Vivien last night had dragged him pretty close to empty. His power should have replenished while he slept, only for some reason it hadn't. Usually he could catch the shimmering current of the continuum without effort, the process so ingrained it was as instinctual as breathing. But today he felt the cold touch of the plate-glass window as he filtered through, the sensation numbing and unpleasant. The sound of liquid hitting a cup burbled in his organs and cells as though he were being poured, the scent of coffee rich in his nostrils, the experience of transporting himself far slower, far more intense than usual.
There was a sharp twinge of pain as he took form, refracting light, and he was inside, the hum of conversation buzzing in his ears, along with the whir of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs. Pressing his back against the wall, he stood beside Vivien's friend Amy, veiled from sight, his entire body pinging with flickers of pain.
Dain took a second to breathe through it, waiting until the discomfort passed. Materializing from one place to the next hadn't hurt like that since he'd first come into his power. If there was a gas gauge for magic, his empty light would be flashing.
He looked through the glass windows to the street. He couldn't see it, but he could sense that whatever had raised his hackles was close. Dark magic was in this coffee shop, around it, above it, a cloudy aura twisting and weaving like smoke.
As Vivien approached, Amy tipped her head to watch her and slid one of two paper coffee cups across the table.
Trusting no one, Dain quickly assessed the coffee and found it untainted by drugs or poison. And found Amy smeared with demon magic. Not coming from her, but around her.
"I got you a coffee. Black," Amy said, her voice raw, as though she'd been yelling for hours, or crying. She was obviously strung tight, and she looked blatantly relieved as Vivien slid onto the upholstered bench across from her.
She looked as though Vivien had brought her hope.
He understood Vivien's need to go to a friend in distress, and he respected it. He got the big picture here: brotherhood-or in this case, he supposed it was sisterhood. The whole loyalty thing, through good or bad.
He just wasn't certain he believed anyone was capable of total honesty and loyalty.
"Thanks for the coffee." Vivien unbuttoned Dain's shearling coat, slid it off her shoulders and let it pool on the bench.
Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand across the table, took Amy's hand, and just held on. Amy swallowed, her fingers first tensing, then relaxing beneath Vivien's touch.
"Oh, my God, Vivien," Amy whispered. "I'm in so much trouble."
Slowly, she reached up with her free hand and pulled the sunglasses off.
Vivien gasped. "Amy! Your cheek! Your eye…"
Rage scoured Dain as he stared at the woman's battered face. Someone had hit her. She'd been on the street yesterday when the hybrids had attacked Vivien. Had she been part of that? Was that how she'd been injured?
Stiffening, Vivien sat a little straighter, looked around. Her gaze flitted over the place Dain stood, moved on, slid back. A frown creased her forehead.
She could sense him, he realized. Maybe even see him despite the light refraction. That shocked him. Humans couldn't see veiled sorcerers. Guess succubi could, though.
"Who did this? When?" Vivien jerked her gaze back to Amy, continuing to sandwich her friend's hand with both of her own. "We need to call the police."
"No," Amy gasped, and shoved the glasses back on. "No police." She shook her head. "That would definitely be worse than getting punched."
"Amy-"
"No! Vivien, I need you to listen, just listen. Please."
Vivien nodded, looking as though she was about to cry.
"I'm into some bad shit. Really bad." Amy dropped her head, dragged her hand free of Vivien's, and toyed with her coffee cup, turning it round and round. "I've changed into… something I don't recognize. Something I'm afraid of."
She lifted her head once more and wet her lips. "That dead guy, Gavin Johnston. I was… with him."
"Gavin Johnston," Vivien repeated, frowning. Then she sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, my God. He's one of the guys who was killed. Some… friends were talking about him yesterday. I thought I ought to recognize that name, but I wasn't certain why." She shuddered, clearly distressed. "I suppose I must have read it in the paper."
Dain's body thrummed with abrupt tension. What the hell was this? Vivien recognized the name of one of the murder victims-a name that hadn't been in the newspaper. But what she said was true. He and Darqun had mentioned the victims yesterday within her earshot. He just hadn't thought she'd been listening.
But what of Amy? She'd just admitted that she'd been with Gavin Johnston. And she'd been on the goddamned street when Vivien was in the building with the hybrids. He couldn't get his head around the suspicions that pumped through him. Christ. Was Amy the killer? Was Vivien in danger here?
His hackles rose, and every cell in his body went on alert.
Hands shaking, Vivien lifted her coffee, stared into the cup, and set it down untouched. "When were you with Gavin Johnston, Amy?"
"The night he died. He paid me," Amy whispered.
Well, that was interesting.
Dain studied Amy, the dark glasses, the bundled coat, the way her restless hands fluttered around her coffee cup. He opened his senses, trying to determine if she was supernatural, because no mortal had done those murders. The killer's smear of dark magic was all over the bodies.
Pretty much like the smear that was all over Amy, only it was superficial, not strong enough to brand her as the guilty party. Focusing, Dain reached out, trying to decipher exactly what he sensed. Amy had two streams of magic hovering around her but not within-one was dark, and one was light, sorcerer magic, weak and small. A blighted seed.
Had she been hunted? Attacked? Demons viewed mortals touched with magic as a gourmet feast.
"Paid you?" Vivien asked, her tone devoid of accusation or judgment.
"Lab techs just don't make a whole lot of money, and I had so much debt." Amy pressed her lips together, then blew out a breath as Vivien nodded in empathy. "A mountain of it. My student loans. The credit card bills my ex-boyfriend racked up. Mom's home hospice care and all the meds she needed. It would have taken a lifetime to pay them off, and I was so tired of being poor."
"Amy," Vivien said, her voice rough with emotion. Reaching out, she grasped her friend's hand once more, and held on, a solid, reassuring touch.
"Oh, God," Amy whispered. The fingers of her free hand slid aimlessly back and forth across the tabletop.
Dain felt a pang of empathy. Amy was suffering, and from the look on Vivien's face-her tight brow and the pinched look of her eyes-she was suffering right along with her. Which made him want to fix whatever was troubling Amy so Vivien could smile the way she'd smiled outside, with her dimple peeking and her eyes sparkling.
Only, Vivien wasn't the sort of woman who would quietly let someone else fix all her problems, all her worries. Just one more thing about her that he admired.
"It started when I went to Mexico two years ago," Amy said. "After Mom died."
"I remember when you went on that trip." Vivien's gaze slid back to where Dain stood, and she narrowed her eyes, then jerked her gaze back to Amy. Yeah, she could definitely sense his presence. "I was just beginning my testimony at the Roger Pape trial. I couldn't go with you."
Amy gave a bitter laugh. "You wouldn't have wanted to. I stayed in the ultimate dump-cockroaches the size of skateboards. I couldn't afford anything else." She sucked in a breath, shook her head. "At least, not until the last day. See, the afternoon before I left, I found this." Dragging her purse forward along the tabletop, Amy rummaged through it and hauled out a red velvet pouch. She slid the gris-gris bag toward Vivien.
Dain jerked as he felt the slap of dark magic radiating from the bag, far stronger than any of the others. He stiffened against the lure, the ache to suck in that malevolent power, take it as his own. Christ, he was so depleted, he was starving for it, ready to absorb whatever dregs of magic he could claim in order to replenish himself. Light. Dark. He was almost hungry enough that it didn't matter.
Jesus. Was this emptiness, this gnawing ache what Vivien felt when she needed to feed? Jesus,
"I found it in this little stall in Chihuahua, and I got it for you because I remembered seeing one like it on your shelf," Amy said, pushing the bag a little closer to Vivien. "But then I kept it because… well, because it was my good-luck charm. I felt different around it, like I had a surge of energy."
Vivien reached out as though to touch the velvet, then frowned and drew away. She felt it, Dain thought, the smear of malevolence. The darkness.
And she didn't like it.
One more bit of evidence that just because she was a succubus didn't mean she was weighing in on the dark side. Which was just fine by Dain. He'd like to keep collecting bits of proof like that.
"Finding this charm bag was a turning point for me. Right away, everything started to change," Amy continued, her voice soft, sad. "I met a guy, a rich guy, that night, and he took me back to his suite, and"-she shivered-"and that was the night I opened my eyes and started to see the possibilities. He didn't want sex. He wanted me to hit him. Just stand there in a pair of black stiletto heels, my black tank top, and a thong, and tie him up with a couple of silk scarves and hit him with his belt." She snorted. "He gave me a thousand dollars for that. A thousand goddamned dollars"
"Oh, my God, Amy. What have you gotten yourself into?" Vivien leaned closer, her voice dropping. "That's why your fortunes changed after that trip. Nice clothes. The racy little sports car. The new house. You've been paying for it by, what? Working as a… a dominatrix?"
"That about sums it up," Amy said derisively. "It was so easy to do it again. They paid me, and you know what? In a way, I liked it. Liked the power. The danger. Definitely liked the money. I've got this great little setup over at Jarvis and Maitland. I call it 'the dungeon.'"
Vivien drew a deep breath, held it, set it free.
Reaching up, Amy pulled the sunglasses off once more, and her eyes met Vivien's, the puffy purple bruise around her left eye an ugly reminder that she wasn't kidding when she talked about danger.
"Am I shocking you, Vivien? Scaring you?" She swallowed and whispered, "Disgusting you?"
They'd been friends for a long time; Dain could see that. He knew it from the pictures of Amy he'd seen while cleaning up Vivien's photos last night. Vivien was too loyal, too honorable, to judge her friend on any level. She cared about Amy so much that she'd been willing to put herself in danger just by coming here.
"Yes, you're scaring me," Vivien whispered. "But not for the reasons you think. I'm your friend, Amy. I love you no matter what, though I can't say I understand the choices you've made. You're scaring me because I have a feeling there's more to this story, that the part you're about to tell me is scaring you,"
Amy shoved the red charm bag the rest of the way across the table. "Take it." She blew out a soft huff of air. "No matter what I thought before, I know it isn't any kind of good-luck charm for me. And I don't want you to keep it. Get rid of it for me, Vivien. It feels… dark. Evil."
Clasping her hands in her lap, Vivien made no move to take the bag.
"And now there's something dark inside of me," Amy said. "Something awful. Yesterday, when I saw your boyfriend-"
Boyfriend? Dain thumped the sharp surge of jealousy into submission and shook his head.
"-get out of that yellow Ferrari-"
With a start, he realized Amy meant him.
Vivien leaned forward. "Amy, I don't-"
"I saw him!" Amy cut her off. "I thought he was so sexy, so hot. So in control." She pressed her fists together and ground them hard against her forehead. "I had this crazy thought that I wanted to suck away his confidence, his power. It was like I hated that confidence. Like I hated him."
"But, why?" Vivien whispered, clearly horrified.
"I don't know. Maybe because I've barely seen you lately, and I was jealous. I felt like you ditched our trip to be with him."
"No, I hadn't even met him when I told you I wouldn't go."
Amy sighed. "Maybe because of what Glenn Stewart did to me all those years ago. Maybe because he dominated me, abused me. Sometimes, I feel like I want to pay back the entire male gender for what that bastard did when I was fifteen. Kind of fits with my chosen profession, huh?" She gave a horrible, raw laugh. "Maybe I'm just really screwed in the head."
"Amy…" Vivien whispered.
Vivien's sadness, her heartbreak, was there in her posture and her tone and the look in her eyes. Dain wanted to draw her close and take it away. Fix the whole mess and get it gone. Which broke every personal rule, every rule of the Pact
"When I told her what he'd done to me, your mom said I needed to move past it, needed to find a way to work it out of my system." Amy gave a watery smile. "Maybe I took her advice a little too much to heart."
"My mom?" Vivien blurted. "Good Lord! When did you talk to the Ice Queen about this?"
Their conversation dropped to murmurs, reminiscences. Sad laughter.
Dain glanced about, tensing as he felt the continuum twist and writhe. Hybrids on the move, drawing closer. His gaze flicked to the street, his body on alert, a part of him focused on the potential threat while another part mulled over all he'd learned.
He found it just a little too coincidental that everything seemed to revolve around Vivien: She was a succubus. A succubus was killing mortals and gathering bones in an effort to summon the Solitary. Vivien's best friend just
happened to have contact with one of the victims, Gavin Johnston, the night he died. And she happened to have a little red velvet bag of bones, one so heavily imbued with demon magic it almost glowed. Yeah, what were the chances of that?
Baunn lifted his cup, took a sip, grimaced. "Jesus. This is coffee?"
"Bite your tongue," Darqun said, and flicked his gaze toward Ida as she ambled over to the table. She stood over them, glaring, waiting for their order. Amused, Darqun watched Javier study the stained menu, frown, and look up.
"Whole wheat English muffin, margarine, not butter. Sliced fruit, melon if you have it," Javier said. "And-"
"We got eggs," Ida cut him off. "We got bacon. We got sausage."
Snickering at Javier's nonplussed expression, Darqun exchanged a glance with Baunn.
"I'm a vegetarian," Javier said, drawing himself up with dignity.
The waitress eyed him askance.
"So starve," she said, and turned to take Darqun's order. Eggs over easy. Brown toast. Bacon. Without a word, she refilled his cup for, what, the fifth time?
"Uh, just coffee, thanks." Baunn's expression said he figured it was the safest bet. Muttering about surfer boys and pretty hair, Ida scowled at him and walked away without bothering to top off his half-empty cup, or Javier's.
Darqun opened three creamers with slow, meticulous care, poured them into the sludge that passed for coffee, and lined the empties up in front of him. Sludge was okay. There had been a long, long time where he'd had absolutely nothing, so sludge was just fine.
He glanced down at the army of little brown containers- maybe fifteen of them-arranged before him in two neat rows; shifting them around, he made three rows. Better. Looking up, he found both Javier and Baunn watching him narrowly.
"So those bones in the bags are all from the same person? The original summoner of the Solitary?" he asked, continuing the conversation they'd been having before the waitress interrupted them.
"Yeah. Bezal, the original summoner," Baunn replied, his tone flat. "As soon as he brought the Solitary over, the kid knew he'd made a mistake. He found Asher"- he rolled his eyes-"the Ancient. He got help from the Compact, sending the Solitary back."
"How?" Javier interjected.
"They had help." Baunn's expression hardened. "And Bezal was young, maybe twelve, thirteen. He'd brought the demon over by accident, and he never got a boon for the summoning which meant the demon never paid for the trip. The whole thing was outside the norm, so the Solitary's life force wasn't locked to Bezal's the way it usually is between a demon and its keeper."
They had help. Something in Baunn's tone made Darqun uneasy.
"So what happened to Bezal?" Javier asked. "Why didn't he disintegrate when he lost his demon like other demon-keepers? Why didn't his bones turn to ash?"
Good question. Darqun was wondering about that himself. Typically, when a demon was terminated, the demon-keeper turned into a pile of dust. Younger ones disintegrated in a matter of hours, older ones in minutes, sometimes seconds, stolen time catching up with them at an accelerated pace. The longer they'd been bound to the demon, the faster they turned to nothing when it was killed.
Baunn shook his head. "Most keepers are tied to their demon for centuries before it's killed. This kid was only bound for a few days. And his demon wasn't killed; it was returned to the demon realm." He tapped out a quick, staccato beat on the table. "Like I said, the whole thing was outside the norm. Bezal lived out his full life span, and when he died, his family buried him."
"So only Bezal can summon the Solitary?" Javier shoved his dark hair off his forehead.
"Yeah, Bezal or one of his descendants." Baunn paused. "But he died without issue… Or at least, we thought he did until this recent killing spree."
"He did," Javier confirmed. "I traced two of the murder victims back as far as I could, and it seems that Gavin Johnston and Rick Strasser aren't descended from Bezal but from his sister. I think that whoever is setting this plan in the works is hoping that the link will be strong enough, especially if they have most of the original summoner's bones and only need to throw in a few spare parts to complete the picture."
"So why didn't they just burn the summoner's bones in the first place all those years ago?" Darqun asked. "Why divvy them up and spread them all over the earth?"
"Couple of reasons… Burial custom at the time held the bones of ancestors as sacred. More importantly, we're talking a couple of millennia past. To burn bones, you need a temperature of about sixteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit for a couple of hours-not something easily done at that time."
"We need to destroy the bones from all the charm bags we have in our possession." Darqun tapped his fingers on the table. "The less bones hanging around, the less likely the chance of re-animation."
Hauling out his cell phone, he made a call to Ciarran and Clea, brought them up to speed in a few short sentences, told them what needed to be done. With access to CD Pharmaceuticals' labs and resources, they could definitely take care of the problem.
Ida ambled over and set a plate in front of him. No grease. Perfectly done toast. And a fruit cup.
"Nice." Baunn exchanged a look with Javier as she walked away. "I guarantee that if I'd ordered a meal, it would have come with a grease chaser and burnt toast."
Javier shook his head, commiserating, while Darqun tucked into his meal.
"Okay, so what about the gris-gris bags?" Javier asked. "The bones are older, the bags more recent. What's the story on that? You said that his family buried Bezal's remains, so how'd they end up in a bunch of little red velvet bags?"
Baunn's expression darkened. "Yeah, see, that's the lousy part of the story. The help I mentioned… It was a succubus."
Jesus. Darqun's head jerked up. "A succubus," he repeated slowly.
"She originally allied with the Compact, then changed her mind. She used Bezal's bones to try reanimating him, and she would have succeeded if it wasn't for"-Baunn paused, shaking his head-"her lover."
His thoughts spinning, Darqun set down his knife and fork, slammed his full attention dead on Baunn. "What the hell are you saying? That the succubus allied with the Compact because she was in a relationship with a sorcerer?"
Baunn shot him an ugly smile. "Yeah. She claimed it was for love," he said, the word taking on a depth of meaning that was anything but beautiful. "Then she turned on her lover, drained him, killed him."
"Jesus, Baunn. You're talking about Shay, aren't you? You told everyone a demon got him."
"She is a demon," Baunn snarled.
"Baunn-" Darqun broke off, unease raking him with sharp prongs. Okay. He needed to think this through. Succubi were rare, but surely there was more than one. Just because Vivien was a succubus didn't mean she was the same one Baunn was talking about. Did it?
His gaze shot to Javier. "Damn. Damn. Dain's with Vivien right now. Feeding her." He yanked out his cell phone, started to dial, and froze.
The dragon current twitched and writhed with a ghosting of dark magic, and an instant later, the diner's door swung open once more, carrying cold air and a trace of brimstone.
The intern Darqun had met here before, John Weston, sidled inside, no coat, his skin puckered, his expression distraught.
"Your friend's over there," Ida called, and gave a vague gesture in Darqun's direction.
Turning slowly, as though the movement was too difficult, too painful, John caught sight of Darqun, and his whole body seemed to deflate.
Darqun didn't need the guy to say a damn thing. He could smell the brimstone, stronger now, and demon magic and something else…
Horror etched deep lines in John's face, and tension tightened the intern's lean frame.
As their eyes locked, Darqun's gut clenched. There'd been another killing.
Unease ramped up to dread as he dialed Dain's number.
Dain's cell vibrated in his pocket; he pulled it out and saw that the caller was Darqun. Instinct told him he wanted to take this call.
He scanned the coffee shop for threat, using both magic and his physical senses. Nothing in here. But there were definitely hybrids outside, maybe half a block away.
Catching hold of the continuum, he moved himself back outside, near the car, where he had a clear view of Vivien through the windows and an equally clear view of the street should the hybrids come for her.
If anything, the trip out of the coffee shop was slower and more disturbing than the trip in. He leaned his hip against the car as he flipped open the phone.
"Yeah," he rasped.
"Dain, good to hear your voice, man." Darqun sounded oddly relieved. "Was Vivien with you all night?"
Dain's gaze flicked to Vivien, lingering on her profile. "Yeah, she was with me every second. Why?"
"You're sure?"
Oh, yeah. He was sure. "A hundred percent. I spelled and warded my place outside and in. If she left, I woke up. End of story."
"Did she drain you?"
Jesus. What kind of question was that? "Don't ask for details, Dar. You're not gonna get them."
She'd drained him, and him stupidly neglecting himself the past couple of weeks hadn't helped. He should have recharged while he slept, but he hadn't, which made him wonder if just sleeping next to Vivien was enough to let her continue feeding off him.
Dain shook his head. The sidewalk was doing one hell of a freaky sideways slant thing. He leaned his forearm against the hood of the car, resting his forehead against his fist as he battled the strange vertigo.
"She was with him the whole time," Darqun said to someone in the background, then aimed his next comment at Dain. "That's all good, my man."
Despite using the car as a crutch, Dain felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He stopped drawing his magic altogether, not even bothering to refract light and veil himself from sight.
A couple teenage girls walking past spun and did a double take. From their perspective, it probably looked like he'd materialized out of thin air.
"What's good about it, Dar?" he rasped.
"Vivien's not the killer," Darqun said.
Dain stared straight ahead and felt… nothing. Because he'd known that already, had been certain of it somewhere deep inside. Vivien was Vivien, and she was no killer.
"How'd you figure that out?" he asked flatly, blinking against the bright lights that exploded in his vision.
"Two reasons. I spoke with Baunn. Catch you up on that later. But more importantly, there's another victim. Same MO. He was killed last night, which rules out your Vivien. Guy by the name of Glenn Stewart. I've got Jav checking his family tree for any link to the others."
Glenn Stewart He knew that name… He'd just heard Amy mention it.
Christ… Vivien!
Dain pushed himself up off the car, his gaze skidding to the plate-glass window.
Only, the table she'd been sitting at was empty.
Amy, you shouldn't be alone right now." Vivien glanced around as she followed Amy down a narrow corridor at the back of the Second Cup, past the washrooms and a door marked for staff only. "Why don't you come back to Dain's with me, or let me come stay with you for a few days?"
Amy shook her head and kept walking. "I'm not in any danger now, Vivien. The guy who hit me has no idea where I live, and I'm not planning on going near the dungeon any time soon. Not till I figure things out. I'll be careful."
Catching hold of Amy's arm, Vivien dragged her to a halt and waited until her friend turned to face her. The dark glasses hid the worst of the bruising, but Vivien knew it was there. "You were hit, Amy! And you won't go to the police. Did you even go to a doctor? What if your zygomatic arch"-Vivien hissed through her teeth-"what if your cheekbone is fractured?"
"Actually, yes, I went to the hospital and got an
X-ray. I'm not a complete moron"-Amy sighed, shaking her head-"just a partial one." The smile she sent Vivien fell flat. "I'll be fine. I was hit by a first-time client," she said. "And it was my own damned fault. I got cocky. I should have called to check the reference he gave me before I met with him. When I finally made that call this morning, the guy had never heard of him. So it was my bad."
"Look-"
"No, Vivien," Amy cut her off. "I'm fine. Really. I just needed to talk, get it out, you know? And having you listen means the world to me."
Vivien nodded. She knew that feeling. With everything that had been happening in her life lately, she'd been wanting to unload on someone herself. But now was not the time to burden Amy with her problems. Amy had enough shit to deal with all by her lonesome.
Besides, she had Dain.
Vivien blinked, startled. Where had that thought come from?
From her heart, she realized, an incredible warmth rising at the thought. She had Dain. On some level, though words had not been spoken, she knew he was committed to her, cared about her.
He'd listen. He'd help if he could.
He wouldn't leave her.
Wow… just… wow.
"Actually," Amy continued. "I do believe everything happens for a reason. Things have been really creepy for me lately. Really dark. And this scare just gave me a wake-up call. I think it's time to consider early retirement, you know?"
She shoved open the back door and stepped out into the alley. Moving forward, Vivien propped open the door with her hip, watching as Amy unlocked her bike from where she'd chained it to a metal pole that was bolted to the brick wall.
"I don't know how you ride that in this weather."
Amy shot her a smile, genuine, warm, and in that instant, Vivien thought that she'd be okay. She'd find a way through this. Amy had always been like that, finding a way to soldier through anything.
"Vivien." Amy held her bike steady with one hand and stepped over to wrap her free arm around Vivien's shoulders in an awkward hug. "Thank you. For listening. For caring. For not judging."
"I'm worried about you," Vivien said.
"I know." Amy stepped back. "I'm sorry for that."
Vivien watched Amy swing onto the seat and ride away. She leaned her shoulder against the door, the cold air swirling around her, and she wondered how her perfectly ordered life had gotten so out of her control.
She didn't know how she felt about any of this. Her best friend was a dominatrix.
Her boyfriend was a sorcerer.
So, what was next? Her mother was an alien?
It was definitely turning out to be a hell of a week.
Taking a deep breath, she wondered what had happened to the cool, analytical woman she'd always believed herself to be. The woman who never would have believed in demons and sorcerers and magic. Science-girl. Where was she?
Still here, Vivien realized, only with broadened horizons.
A week ago, she would never have bought into any of this. Now she was taking it all in stride. Which, in a bizarre, convoluted way, made sense. Because science was evidence-based, outcome-based. And she had plenty of evidence now that sorcerers and demons were real.
She shivered as the wind swirled through the open door. Part of her was actually relieved by Amy's revelation about her nocturnal activities.
The way Amy had been talking about being into some bad shit and being afraid of herself, her mentioning one of the murder victims-Gavin Johnston-had made Vivien's blood run cold.
She'd experienced an instant of horrified suspicion that Amy was going to tell her she was a murderer, a serial killer hunting down men and ripping their guts open in order to feed. In the same instant, she'd been disgusted with herself for even entertaining the suspicion.
Amy… the girl who couldn't kill a bug.
Who tied people up and hit them for a living.
To each their own. By Vivien's standard, spanking guys for money was infinitely preferable to murdering them.
So many emotions gusted through her, swirling, nipping, sending eddies in all directions, a bunch of little tornadoes dancing around inside of her.
She reached into her pocket and recoiled as her fingers connected with the charm that Amy had given her. She hadn't wanted to take it, but she was certain that Dain would want it. And the scientist in her was curious enough to wonder what about these charm bags fascinated him, and what she felt when her fingers connected with one.
This bag was the worst so far, a black sludge of despair and grief swamping her every time she touched it. Magic? Was it magic? Dark magic in opposition to the light that she'd seen Dain wield?
A sound caught her attention, and a quick glance over her shoulder revealed a man's back and leg disappearing into the bathroom.
She could hear the noise of the crowded coffee shop. In that instant, she thought that the fresh air was far more appealing than the crowd. What was it with her and crowds lately? Great swarms of people made her feel so edgy, like some kind of unseen current shimmered around them, touching her. Sometimes it felt okay, but sometimes it was creepy, leaving her feeling like their energy wormed its way inside her.
She really didn't want to go back through the shop, weave between the tables. She wished she could just duck out the back here and scoot down the alley. A quick walk and she'd be at Dain's car.
It wasn't like there was any danger. She could see the street and the people walking past. It was broad daylight, and the alley was empty except for a Dumpster at the far end, up against the wall. Still, she hesitated because Dain had been so clear in his warnings. He obviously thought that she needed to be wary.
So she'd be wary.
Which meant she'd go out the front.
The air gusting through the open back door was crisp, and she paused to button the shearling coat. Raising her eyes, she was startled to see Dain standing at the mouth of the alley. The sun was at his back, leaving his face in shadow, but she knew the cut of his hair and the shape of his body, the clothes he was wearing.
Stepping out, she let the door swing shut behind her.
Her high heel caught in a rut, and she lurched sideways, losing her balance. Slapping her hand against the wall, she stopped herself from falling. Damn, she knew there was a reason-besides the fact that she was already five foot nine in socks-that she never wore heels. But her choices had been limited this morning: The stiletto-heeled boots that Dain had conjured for her or her fuzzy green slippers. She sighed. It really was time to go shopping.
Glancing up, she saw that Dain had stopped about halfway up the alley and stood, waiting for her.
Glad as she was to see him, she definitely had a word or two to say to him.
He'd followed her into the Second Cup! How could he have done that? Oh, she hadn't seen him, but she'd sensed him, felt him standing close. He'd been there. She was absolutely sure he'd been there almost the entire time, doing some kind of magical cloak-of-invisibil-ity thing.
She supposed the one saving grace was that Amy hadn't known he was there.
"Dain!" she called as she walked forward, babying the ankle that had twisted when her foot slipped. A dull ache radiated through the joint, but she could walk on it, so she figured it wasn't sprained.
He turned fully toward her then and smiled.
Skidding to a stop, Vivien froze, fear raking her with a scraping stroke.
The eyes. Oh, God, the eyes gave it away.
Despite the right clothes and the right hair and even the right face, this wasn't Dain.
Even as the thought formed, the shape writhed and undulated, like oil poured into water, and the face contorted until the thing that stood before her looked nothing like Dain.
It was a monster, its features twisted with malevolence and cruelty, its mouth a wide red slash, the lips pulled back to reveal dark gums and row upon row of sharp, jagged teeth.
A demon.
Cold terror knotted Vivien's chest, making every breath a battle. Her mind skittered through her self-defense checklist but drew a blank. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing.
"Dain!" she screamed, finding her voice as she skidded backward, her boots sliding in the slush. Already weak, her right ankle turned again, sending out a radiating ripple of pain as her back slammed up against something hard. The wall. She felt the hard, rough brick as she eased sideways, her palms scraping along the building.
She was clammy cold, her breath coming in shallow, panting gasps, terror eating at her. Stupid. Stupid. Why had she stepped into the alley?
Because she'd thought Dain was there, waiting for her. Because she'd thought she was safe. Her stomach turned over on a slow, sick roll.
Heart hammering, she choked back a sob, then yelled with all she had. "Dain! Dain!"
"Oh, yes. Please yell. Scream. I like that." The creature smiled, revealing row upon row of razor-edged
teeth. "He won't hear you. I've blocked your cries and the sight of this alley from the street. And I really must thank you. You've done half my job for me, depleting him like that. I'd be surprised if there's anything left in him now."
The words flew at her, but she could barely understand them. How had she depleted Dain?
The demon reached for her, hands like reptilian claws, the nails curved and yellowed, darkened by a crust of dirt. She could smell sulfur and the stink of decay. Death. Old death.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, leaving her feeling woozy and light-headed. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, her fear so strong it was a choking smog wrapping her in stifling, bitter desperation.
Bile burned the back of her throat, and her fear was like a living thing writhing and twisting inside her.
For each step she edged along the wall, the demon prowled forward, stalking her. Enjoying her terror.
Yellow eyes, flecked with red, watched her with lethal intent, and she couldn't look away. Petrified, she was pinned like a bug, breathing so fast and shallow that she felt starved for air, dizzy with it.
One more step, and she came up against a second wall, at right angles to the first. Shuddering, she glanced about. Oh, God, she'd thought she was moving toward the mouth of the alley, but each step had taken her farther in until she was at its deepest point. How… ?
Nowhere to go. Trapped. OhGodOhGodOhGod.
Dain. Dain. Dain.
He wouldn't come. Wouldn't know to come.
No one to save her but herself.
She splayed her hands against the brick, her breath harsh and rasping, her vision narrowed until all she saw, all she knew, was the demon. In that instant, it became her whole world.
Ducking right, then left, she gasped as the thing moved with her, so terrifyingly quick.
She scrambled to the side. In a blur of movement so fast she saw only a vague distortion, it fell on her, hot breath sending puffs of white to cloud the air at her face. Frantic, she struggled under its weight.
The demon pressed the flat of its hand against the center of her chest, a harsh pressure that pinned her in place, the tips of its talons digging through her coat and sweater, into her skin. She could barely breathe, couldn't scream, could only watch in sick horror as it leaned in and let its long tongue uncoil from its mouth in a slimy, fetid ribbon.
With a hum of satisfaction, it licked up the side of her neck.
Nausea churned in her gut, and she renewed her struggles, flailing and squirming, desperate to be free of the demon's weight on her chest. That earned her a grunt and a hard shove. The last of her breath left her in a wheezing gasp.
"A tasty morsel…" It stared at her for a long moment, its expression indecipherable. She thought it looked perplexed, but her vision was hazy, spots dancing before her eyes. "Are you a sorcerer?"
The pressure on her chest eased a little.
"Breathe," it whispered, the rancid stink of its breath choking her as she gulped for air. Then it pressed again, cutting off her air and her ability to scream for help.
Leaning in, it licked her again, and the nausea in her belly rolled up her throat. 'Tasty, tasty, but what are you, my dear? Not a sorcerer, but you taste as rich. Perhaps it is just the sorcerer's magic that you stole."
Its tone, all conversational and polite, was horrific. Chilling.
With one taloned hand, it stroked her cheek, its touch gentle. A moist sound erupted from deep in its chest, an ugly laugh, and with a rapid slash, it scored her neck, raking the sharp edge of its claw down over her collarbone. She felt a stinging pain and the warm swell of her blood.
"Let's have a little taste."
Shaking, she watched in horrified fascination as it licked her blood from its talon. A huff of air escaped it, and it leaned close to lap at her blood as she squirmed and twisted, the rasp of its tongue hideous.
Revolted, she shivered in abject terror, and the truth of that bit at her. No. No! Her fear fed her fury, sending a burst of adrenaline pumping though her system. She was not this creature's meal, and she was not going to cower here, sniveling while it carved her into slices.
Linking her hands together, she slammed upward as hard as she could, ramming the underside of the demon's chin. It's head snapped back, and the pressure on her chest eased. She shoved the heel of her palm against its nose and scrambled away, trying to scream, desperate to scream. Only her dread and panic were so great that the sound locked in her throat, her screams merely echoing in her mind.
Her shoulder slammed against the wall as she stumbled away, sending her spinning to the side. She choked on a sob as she righted herself, ran forward, her feet slipping and sliding, her heels teetering precariously with each step, her ankle shooting bright sparks of pain up her leg.
The alley opened up ahead, just a little farther and she'd reach the patch of sunlight, the crowded street. Safety.
Please. Please.
Something hit her back, hard, and she fell forward, her palms scraping against the asphalt, her clothes soaking up the freezing slush. No time to think. She scrambled and clawed at the ground, desperate to get away, kicking against the hand that closed about her ankle. With a grunt, the demon dragged her back toward the shadows.
She didn't want to die like this. Didn't want to die. Images flashed through her mind, her terror feeding on itself. She couldn't tell what was real and what was imagined, but she recalled blood and bright glowing blades and soulless eyes like black marbles.
As the images hung in her thoughts, certainty coalesced.
Dain had saved her from four creatures yesterday. She remembered that now, the recollection hazy, like a dream.
Flailing and lashing at the demon with her free foot, she clawed at the ground, doing anything she could to hamper its progress. Her efforts were paltry in the face of the demon's strength.
Oh, God, she was going to die, and Dain would blame himself. Blame himself for failing to keep her safe. Just as he blamed himself for the deaths of his wife
and daughter at demon hands, suffering every day for centuries.
Her fault. She would leave him in a living horror, leave him wishing he had those sixty seconds to live over again.
No. No. No.
She didn't want to leave him.
She screamed then, the sound high and frantic, and the monster's foot rocked forward to slam the side of her head in a brutal kick. The alley, the walls, the demon, everything spun in a sickening sway. Dazed, dizzy, she realized it was dragging her behind the Dumpster, and it was humming a happy little tune as it went.
This was not how she planned to die.
She thought of the forty thousand fragments of bones she'd sifted through. Bones of murdered women. And before that, so many cases. Men. Women. Even the bones of dead children.
Her work had helped nail their killers.
Who would find her killer, a monster from another realm? Who would seek justice for her?
A vision of Dain swam through her thoughts.
She didn't want to die. Didn't want to die like this, eaten by a gray-skinned, yellow-eyed demon with teeth the size of butcher's knives.
Didn't want to leave Dain alone, tormented by her loss.
She loved him. Oh, God, she loved him. She desperately wanted to have the chance to tell him. She wanted to live, for herself, for him. She needed to make it through this, needed to make it back to Dain.
Needed that single moment to tell him she loved him.
As the creature dragged her around behind the Dumpster, she saw a glint of metal, silver bright. Her vision was hazy, her head swimming. She saw muddy boots with metal buckles, and she raised her head. There was a gray-haired woman pressed back against the graffiti-covered brick, her face twisted in horror.
The demon's keeper, she realized, Dain's explanations skimming through her thoughts.
The keeper's gaze slid to hers, and away. She'd be no help.
Frantic, Vivien looked around, squinted at the shadows under the Dumpster. Yes, there. Something she could use.
Her scraped hands screamed in protest as she grabbed for a length of metal rod lying in the dirt. A snarl ripped from her mouth, and she swung with all her might, whacking the demon's knee with a sharp crack.
The thing roared in pain and loosed its hold on her ankle.
With a desperate sob, she scrambled to her feet and lurched away, using the Dumpster for support. With the metal rod still clutched in one hand, she turned once more to the mouth of the alley.
A shadow loomed there, broad and tall and forbidding, backlit by the sun.
Dain ran down the alley that cut off Yonge Street, his feet slapping the pavement, fear for Vivien giving him a burst of strength when he had none. He could feel the malevolence, a smear of evil that made his skin crawl.
A demon had Vivien.
The thing was using dark magic to veil itself and the depths of the alley, an effective tool against even an experienced sorcerer at full power. Dain was hunting on instinct, letting his gut lead him, because right now, he was pretty much running on empty as far as magic went.
Guilt and rage and worry spurred him on, an ugly mix. He'd done this to himself, ignoring the signs that his body was in need, basically setting his sights on self-destruction. Trusting no one, not even himself.
A reality check punched him. He'd been set on self-destruct for centuries, pretending he was cool, in control. In reality, he just hadn't given a damn about himself.
And the past couple of weeks had been no different.
He'd been injured, and he hadn't bothered to heal. He'd been exhausted, and he hadn't taken rest. Then last night, with Vivien, he hadn't stopped her from pulling whatever she wanted from him.
Only, that was different. Because he had wanted to slake her need, had wanted that incredible connection to her. It had been unlike anything he'd ever known, and suddenly he'd wanted to feel, because of Vivien.
But now, because of his self-neglect, he was weak when Vivien needed him most.
Anger burned in his gut. He was going to wrap his hands around the demon's neck and wrench its head from its body. Primitive, powerful, stark rage emptied him of all other emotion. There was only the need to reach her, to save her, to kill the thing that threatened her, whether it was by magic or with his bare hands.
Gathering the tattered remnants of his magic, he blinked against the bright spots that swam before his eyes. Sheer force of will kept him moving, because he would not be weak, would not be too late, would not fail her.
He called his staff of acacia wood, the magic it took to summon it twisting him with bone searing pain.
His skin felt icy cold and clammy as he burst through the veneer conjured by the demon's dark magic.
Eyes wide, Vivien turned her face toward him. She was deathly pale, her clothes stained and torn, as though she'd fallen or been thrown to the ground. But right now she was standing there under her own steam, brandishing the metal pipe in her hand like a weapon. Relief was sweet and sharp.
Pride and admiration for her courage surged. Smart, coolheaded Vivien. She'd found something to defend herself with, and from the look of the demon, she'd already given as good as she got.
Snarling, the demon rose from a crouched position, power and menace radiating from it. Over by the wall, a gray-haired woman cowered. The demon's keeper; she was no threat.
The stink of brimstone and sulfur and rancid decay hung in the air, the acrid reek calling all of Dain's instincts and his magic. Only there was so damned little to call.
A thick cascade of dark power oozed from the creature as it spun to face him, sensing a threat. The demon was strong, ancient. It smiled, baring jagged teeth.
"Ah, the sorcerer rides to your rescue, dear. What a splendid coup." It glanced at Vivien, who stood trembling and wide-eyed. "Breakfast"-it looked back at Dain-"and a midmorning snack."
Dain summoned his light magic, every reserve called into play, the dragon current gliding in a wave through his cells, and it hurt, a terrible, deep pain that wrenched his insides into knots because he was pulling up resources he didn't have.
He had not felt so weak, so powerless, since he had held the bodies of his dead wife and child in his arms.
Primal and pure, his rage and pain coalesced. He would not let this thing have Vivien. He would not fail her.
"Run, Vivien," Dain barked. "Get the hell out of here."
Relief touched him as she listened, darting behind him with an oddly uneven gait. There was no chance for him to watch her run for safety, because in that instant, the demon lunged, its lips peeled back, teeth snapping.
Dain shifted to the side, but he was slow, too slow, his movements a pathetic shadow of his usual power. The crack of his staff against the demon's shoulder sent a reverberation along the wood, into his hands, and he almost dropped the damned thing. Christ. He was as weak as a babe.
"No magic left for this fight?" the demon clucked. "That's fine. I'll simply tear your limbs off. One at a time, just to keep things sporting."
The demon's fist caught his jaw. Pain exploded, and Dain stumbled. Down on one knee, he brought his forearm up, blocked a killing blow. A sharp snap told him the bone had splintered under the force, and the pain roared through him as the jagged shards tore through his skin and the cloth of his coat. Nausea churned in his gut. This was not good, definitely not good.
The thing was toying with him. Playing with its food.
Heart hammering, he quickly ran through his options. What options? His breath chugged in and out like a piston.
Darqun had ended their cell phone conversation with the assurance that he and Javier were on their way, that he would put in a call to Ciarran, as well. Problem was, the alley wouldn't be so easy to find. The demon's power was vast, its ability to obscure the alley strong. Dain had followed his heart to Vivien, but his brothers of the Compact had no such shining trail. They might have a hell of a time finding them.
They might not find them at all.
Gathering his strength, Dain rammed the end of his staff one-handed into the demon's belly, and had the satisfaction of seeing it double over and stagger back.
He just needed to hold on until the others got here. He just needed to hold on.
With a cackle, the demon came back at him, closing its teeth on his shoulder, knocking him to the ground as it straddled his chest, the dark ooze of its power coming over him like an oil slick.
He called his magic. Where the fuck was his magic?
Blunted and dull, the remnants of his power came in faltering beats. Light sparked around him, flashes and flares, but he couldn't summon enough to create a glow, and his single perfect weapon, the acacia staff that had seen him through a thousand years, failed him now, sliding from his numbed fingers.
Jamming his thumbs against the demon's eyes, Dain cried out, his shattered forearm on fire as he pressed with all the force he could muster, relying on physical skill now rather than magic. The demon came down atop him, saliva dripping from its teeth.
"Bastard! Get the hell off of him!"
Vivien. Shit. He'd wanted her gone from here. Wanted her safe.
A thud echoed off the walls of the alley, and the demon slumped to the side. Dain grabbed the advantage and shoved the thing off him, coming up on one knee as he struggled for breath.
Blinking against the sweat that ran into his eyes, he saw Vivien standing above him with the metal pipe clutched in her hand, her arms cranked up and back like she was about to hit a home run. He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, not certain what the hell he was seeing-because Vivien was haloed in a shimmering dark aura that snaked and writhed around her like a living thing, a dusky purple glow unlike anything Dain had ever seen.
And she smelled like brimstone, like demon. Was it her? Or was it the stink of the demon hanging off her where it had touched her?
"You fucking… come… through me," she panted, stepping forward until she stood between Dain and the demon, legs planted, body taut. "You fucking get to him through me."
In that instant he knew it didn't matter. Succubus, demon, Vivien was his light. She was everything to him. She was standing in front of him, risking her life, ready to die to keep him safe.
The enormity of that crashed over him in a brutal wave.
He loved her.
Staring at the dark aura flaring around her, a nimbus of purple and gray, he couldn't deny the truth. He loved her. Not halfway, but with all his heart, his soul, everything that he was.
It mattered not what she was; it only mattered what she chose to be. He loved her. And he needed to keep them both alive long enough to tell her.
With a feral growl, the demon spurted forward. Dain dove to get there, to stand with her against it, crying out as his shattered arm screamed in agony. He skidded across the wet asphalt at her feet.
The dark glow around Vivien blasted out at the creature like a bubble, growing and growing and finally bursting in a bright eruption, lifting the demon, punching it back.
Crying out, Vivian sagged, her body dropping like a stone, and Dain barely moved quickly enough to catch her with his good arm before she hit the ground. With a grunt, he tightened his hold, the pain in his shattered arm sending waves of nausea hurtling through him.
The demon-
Fuck.
The thing was up, coming for them, fast.
Dain lashed out, his foot connecting with the demon's skull. The thing blinked, shaking its head back and forth.
Where the fuck were Darqun and Javier?
With a destination clearly pictured in their minds, they could grab the dragon current and be here in seconds. But that was the problem. The greasy wall of demon magic guaranteed that their destination was obscured, their arrival here delayed.
Holding Vivien against his uninjured side, Dain called his magic, desperate. There was only a hollow echo as his power failed him completely.
Mortal. He was mortal, subject to all their limitations and weaknesses. How the fuck was he supposed to protect her now?
Vivien's particular magic quivered just beneath the surface. He could feel it, sense it, and he grabbed at a sick and desperate possibility. As a succubus, she could drain the demon, take its power, pull its life force from its body. Kill it. She wouldn't think of doing that, wouldn't even imagine it. Not unless he told her.
He looked at her, at her wide eyes, her set jaw, his brave, beautiful Vivien. And he couldn't do it. Couldn't set her to drain the demon, to taste its vile magic. Not even to save his life.
But he could do it to save hers. Though he wasn't capable of drawing magic from the demon, he could take the dark smear from the charm bag in her pocket. Welcome it. Make it his own. There was enough there for him to set wards.
Enough there to keep her safe until the others got here.
He would not fail in this.
He would go against everything he was, swallow the disgust for his own actions, and he would open himself to the darkness. He would do it to save her.
Reaching deep, he found the last faint spark inside him, used it to link to the dark magic that smeared the charm bag, a viscous sludge. Nausea roiled in his gut as he dragged the demon magic into himself.
He gathered it, used it to set a ward of protection around Vivien. His lips worked, whispering ancient words and spells, building a wall that would keep her safe. He didn't have enough left in him to ward them both, but Vivien would be safe, at least for a short time. Long enough for Ciarran and Darqun and Javier to come for her. He hoped.
At least he'd given her a chance. And he would fight for her with all that he was. Little enough to offer up against a demon.
Panting, he reached for the pipe Vivien had dropped. His hand connected with hers, and she grabbed on, her fingers lacing with his, her terror and panic clear and sharp.
He groaned as pain knifed through him, whirling, a rush of magic, not his own. Vivien's magic, pewter and ash and blue-flame bright. Shadows and light. The feel, the taste of it, burned through him. He channeled it, a medium for its release.
Fuck. The feel of it was so foreign his head spun, but deep in the pulse of power, he felt a seed of light magic. It was coming from Vivien. Immense power, wild, untamed. She had no idea what to do with it, how to use it.
Could succubi conjure? Cast spells? Set wards? He had no clue.
Vivien's magic pounded through him, foreign, dark, but light, too. A part of her. A part of him.
The demon laughed, a wet, sloppy sound.
"You are no different than me, sorcerer. You are darkness now, light no longer. How easy was it to turn? How easy was it to betray your ideals?"
Shifting closer to him, Vivien pressed against his side. Not for protection. For solidarity, support.
"He is nothing like you," she said, her voice low and hard. "The darkness you speak of-you could fill him with it, choke him with it, and he will never be what you are."
She shoved her hand into her pocket and dragged out the charm bag with its smear of vile power.
The demon's gaze locked onto it and glowed.
Ripping open the cloth, she pulled out the fragment of bone, closed her hand around it, then pressed her fist to the back of Dain's hand, skin to skin. A measure of magic came to him, a greasy slide of darkness and brimstone, and he took it, welcomed it. It was just a tool, and he could bend it to his will.
But he knew it wasn't enough.
The demon lumbered at them, froze, and twisted mid-lunge as though slammed against an invisible wall.
A shadow spread along the slushy ground, and the sound of heels on pavement echoed, off the high brick walls on either side of the alley. Sensing a second threat, Dain spun to his left, again shifting his body to protect Vivien, to stand between her and danger.
"Incompetence should be classified as one of the seven deadly sins," a smooth, feminine voice said, her tone both chilling and heavy with threat.
The demon made a choked sound, its arms coming up as though to ward off a blow. Spinning, it slammed against the wall, moaned, lifted its head, then let it fall.
The woman strode toward them, her heels tapping a rhythm on the asphalt. She was beautiful and icily flawless, everything about her polished to perfection, her hair smooth and dark, a diamond necklace glinting at her throat.
Dain pressed his mangled forearm against his abdomen, blood oozing, warm and sticky, from the lacerated flesh. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself forward until he was directly in front of Vivien.
Shaking hard, Vivien pressed against him, her gaze focused on the woman, her breathing harsh and jagged. She was chalk pale and trembling, a slew of emotions skittering across her features. Shock. Horror. Fear.
And pain.
"Oh, God," she whispered, shaking her head from side to side.
The woman spared them a glance, her gaze lingering on Vivien for an instant, her expression thawing the faintest bit. She moved to stand over the demon, gazing down at it in blatant disgust.
"I told you to collect her and bring her to me. I did not tell you to ingest her."
Vivien. She was talking about Vivien.
The demon hauled itself onto its hands and knees. Bloody streaks marked its face, and one eye hung from the socket. Dain realized he must have gouged it loose during the fight.
Vivien made a sound of distress, her breathing fast and shallow.
Dain dragged the metal pipe forward so he could use it as a weapon. She was warded. She was safe, at least temporarily. And he was going to do anything it took to stay alive long enough for the others to get here and make certain she stayed that way.
"I didn't know she was the one," the demon rasped. "I thought she was a blighted seed. She stinks of sorcerer magic, light magic. I didn't know she was the one you sought."
Dain shook his head to clear it. The demon sensed light magic in her, and Dain sensed brimstone. So who was right?
"Did you hurt her?" the woman demanded icily.
The demon said nothing.
With a glance at Vivien, the woman half turned, her sleek, dark hair swaying as she moved her head. Her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to study Vivien's appearance, her gaze lingering on the blood that stained her collar and the ragged holes torn at her knees.
Was she an ally? An enemy? Dain had the lousy suspicion that she was the latter.
Her lips thinned. She spun toward the demon.
"She is not a sorcerer, you idiot," the woman hissed. "She is a succubus, as I am a succubus. Think on that. It is the last thought you will ever have."
With a moan, Vivien sagged against him.
"A… succubus." She gave a harsh, panting laugh. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God."
He wanted to explain it to her, tell her that it wasn't as bad as it sounded. Offer her reassurance. Only he had no idea what to say, not with the situation what it was. Jesus. He should have told her everything last night.
The demon made a mewling sound as the woman stepped closer.
Dain sensed magic, the same freaky signature that had been haunting him for days, and her words, combined with her aura, told him that here was the succubus they sought. Here was the serial killer.
The realization actually offered him some comfort, because so far the killer had slaughtered only men. Maybe that was something in their favor. Maybe she would let Vivien go.
"Vivien, love, run," Dain ordered, wrenching the words out against the pain of his efforts to call his depleted magic and the dark agony of his shattered arm. "Run for the street."
Her eyes met his, terrified, horrified, and then her gaze shifted beyond him, toward the demon and the woman, and if possible, her face went a whiter shade of pale, shock and dismay bleeding from her to scorch him like an acid cloud.
Dain followed her gaze and grimaced in disgust as the succubus took the demon's face in her hands, dragged the creature into a stoop so their eyes were level, and pressed her open mouth to its gaping maw. Black, oozing ribbons wound from the demon's body, out and around the woman, twining, writhing until her arms and legs and torso were surrounded by the swirling mass. Her skin absorbed the greasy sludge, and after a moment, the demon seemed to cave in on itself.
Beside him, Vivien made a moaning sound of utter horror and revulsion, and Dain reached for her hand, clasping it tightly; then he turned her, gave her a nudge in the direction of the street, his eyes locked on the threat of the succubus.
"Go, Vivien," he ordered.
Christ. The succubus was siphoning the demon's power, absorbing it.
With a choking sound, Vivien resisted his attempts to make her flee, her expression a stark mixture of disgust and dismay.
Stepping back, the succubus let the creature drop in a desiccated pile on the ground, and after a moment, the demon's remains began to bubble and hiss, decomposing in a stinking, gurgling ooze, releasing pungent waves of brimstone and rot that hung heavy in the air.
She turned and studied them, her face pinched. Her gaze slid to Dain, to the pipe he held as a paltry weapon, and then to Vivien. She raised an eyebrow.
"Vivien," Dain rasped. "Go, now. Go! Run!"
"Run?" Vivien echoed, the word tremulous as she shook so hard her teeth clacked together. "F-f-from my mother?"
sis sic sic
Her mother.
Vivien swayed, barely able to stay on her feet, her thoughts whirling. Sick horror bubbled through her, and she swallowed against the hard lump clogging her throat.
The succubus-the murderer Dain had sought her help to find-was her mother.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.
She'd spent her whole life thinking she was human, thinking her mom was ice cold and hard but still human. How was she supposed to process this? How was she supposed to survive it?
Oh, God. Her mother had just sucked the life from a demon and then dropped it on the ground to bubble away as a hissing blob of puke-green sludge.
Desperately, she tried to summon calm composure. What came at her was raw despair.
She'd been lied to her whole life. Her mother was a succubus. Some sort of demonic creature and-
Oh, no. No, no, no.
Vivien recoiled, her chest pulling tight. She was a succubus. She was a demon. She was-
"Am I what you are? A succubus?" Vivien demanded, her voice high find wild, her gaze sliding to the demon's remains.
"So it seems." Araminta gave a tight, closed-mouth smile. "So you are not your father's daughter after all."
"Vivien," Dain said, "it's going to be all right."
She choked on a laugh, hysteria burbling like a free-flowing brook. All right? All right? How? How would it be all right?
She tightened her hold on Dain's hand. He was her anchor, her one real thing in a world gone mad.
"You're quite old to come into your succubus power, Vivien," her mother mused. "I wonder why it never revealed itself earlier, but I cannot say I'm displeased with the outcome."
"How could you lie to me? How could you let me go my whole life thinking…" Vivien swallowed, reined in her escalating panic. "How could you not tell me? How could you let me believe I was human?"
"There was no reason to tell you. To all appearances, you were human. What was I to say? That I would live for millennia, while you would die after a paltry few years? That I was all-powerful, and you were weak and unprotected? Do you think it was easy for me to live with that, to know that it would end so fast? That you would die and fade to nothing but memories and ash?"
Vivien recoiled, her mother's words shocking her. Was this an explanation, a reason that her mother had held herself so aloof, so apart?
It was too much. It was all too much. She didn't know what to think, what to do.
Chilled to the marrow of her bones, Vivien sent a quick glance at Dain. He was looking at her without expression, his gaze shuttered, his lips drawn tight. He looked exhausted, strained to the point of breaking, as though he remained on his feet by will alone.
"What a greedy girl," Araminta said, her tone remote, cool. "You've sucked him dry, spooled all your sorcerer's magic onto a bobbin inside you. Tied it up in a tight coil. You've left him nothing but crumbs."
"What? No, I-" Vivien's gaze shot to Dain's, and she read the truth. She had done this to him. Stolen his magic. Left him running on empty. "Oh, God. No"
What could he have been thinking? Why would he have let her do this to him?
Suddenly, she knew, everything slapping her in a sharp rush. Her heart hammered. She remembered everything. Memories of the time she had lost whirled and dipped, but despite the disjointedness, she remembered everything. Every horrifying detail. The hunger. The need to feed. The overwhelming ache. Walking through the woods outside her house at night, searching for the source of the dark energy she sensed, wanting to inhale it, to slake her hunger. Those things she had sensed watching her-she had wanted to feed on them. Only she hadn't. Something, some inner boundary of ethics and morality had stopped her.
She'd been starving.
That's why Dain had let her pull his power and his magic. Because she'd been starving.
Terrible understanding scored her, leaving her aching to whimper and sob. What sort of creature was she that she could do this to the man she loved?
The haze lifted, and every memory crystallized, clear and harsh. Terrible things. Frightening things.
The battle in the derelict building. She'd followed the trail of hybrid magic, wanting to take it from them, wanting to feed from them.
But she hadn't fed. Couldn't make herself feed on their smeared magic. They'd come at her, and Dain had saved her. She remembered that now.
Dain, standing before her, between her and them, protecting her, willing to give his life for her.
He hadn't left her.
She'd just gotten hungrier and hungrier…
Until last night, when she'd fed from Dain.
Her head whipped around, and she cried out in her horror and despair as her gaze slid across the bubbling remains of the demon and then skidded to her mother and finally to Dain.
"Is that what I did to you? What she did to that demon? Stole your magic? Your life?"
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, bile rolling bitter and vile in her gut.
"Vivien," he rasped, his voice weak, his skin a terrible shade of gray. He was ill. Horribly ill. Her fault.
A nauseating mix of dread and horror left her shaking. She wanted to scream. She wanted to sob and beat the ground with her fists and tear at her hair in a frenzy of panic and despair.
She'd never felt this out of control, this terrified, this desperate. It was too much. It was all too much.
Drawing a shaky breath, she forced herself to be rational, calm. She needed file folders. One for the shock of her discoveries about her mother. One for the horror of what she now knew she was. And the folder at the top of the pile, the one marked urgent, was for Dain.
She needed to fix this. Now.
"I need the short version of the succubus manual. The crash course," she said, turning her gaze to her mother, forcing the churning melee of her emotions under rigid control. In this instant, she was grateful for that, grateful for everything in her life that had taught her how to compartmentalize and keep her cool. "I need to know how to fix this, and I need you to tell me how, because I don't think I have time to figure it out on my own."
Dain was leaning heavily on her now, unable to remain upright on his own. God, he'd saved her. Again. Stood in front of her and protected her even though he'd known what she was. Known she was a succubus. Something dark. Something terrible, like the things that had killed his wife and daughter.
And still, he had stood by her.
She couldn't deal with that right now, with the implications of his actions.
She just needed to fix this. Keep him safe.
"I need to know, Mother. I need to fix this," she snapped. "Tell me. Please."
Araminta studied her with a baffled expression. "Why fix it? He lied to you, or at the very least, kept things from you. Do you think he didn't know that you were a succubus? Do you think he didn't feel your aura? You must ask yourself why he fed you, Vivien. What did he want from you?"
Terrible, hurtful words.
True words.
Of course Dain had known. But then, why had he let her drain him, take so much?
Her mother thought she should feel angry, betrayed that he hadn't told her what she was, hadn't told her he suspected she was the succubus killer. Of course he had suspected her. Vivien was certain of it. But could she blame him?
It didn't matter now.
"You didn't know," she exclaimed. "Why do you assume he did?"
Araminta shrugged. "He fed you. He had to know."
He fed you. Vivien's gaze slid again to the smoking pile of demon sludge that hissed and bubbled on the concrete.
"Do I need to kill to feed?" she breathed, terrified of the answer. "Do I need to take so much from him?"
Araminta pressed her lips together and shrugged. "No."
With a shudder, Vivien forced herself to continue. "Do I need to do this often? To feed often? To feed from"- she stared at the demon's remains-"things like that."
"You need feed only once a year. More often if you like. And you can feed from anything with a life force, even mortals."
She had so many question, but only one really mattered right now.
"Dain's magic-How do I give it back to him?" she asked, her tone tight and high.
"Why would you want to give it back?" Araminta looked genuinely puzzled.
"How do I give it back?" Vivien yelled. "Tell me how to give his magic back."
Drawing herself up, Araminta inhaled sharply. "The same way you stole it."
"Dain?" Vivien smoothed her hand along his cheek. His eyes were closed, his arm cradled across his belly, the jagged edges of the compound fracture poking through muscle and skin and the sleeve of his coat. He was so pale, with lines of pain and fatigue etched on his face.
His body shook uncontrollably, from shock and from the bitter wind swirling down on them.
He didn't answer, and choking fear clawed at her as she pressed her ear to his chest. There was a steady beat there, but, God, what should a sorcerer's heart sound like?
Horror and despair tore at her. She had done this to him, almost killed him. She had done this.
She was a succubus.
The realization was horrific, and at the same time it was almost a relief. She'd known something was wrong with her, desperately wrong. In a way, it was better to have a name to put to it than to wonder and worry blindly.
All those years, her mother telling her, You are your father's daughter. You have nothing of me in you. Nothing. Her mother had been looking for Vivien to come into her power, she realized, and when it didn't happen, she'd thought Vivien was mortal. A disappointment. Oh, God. Right now, she wished she could go back to being a disappointment.
Because look what she'd done to Dain.
She felt as though she would break under the burden of shock and sorrow. There was no enemy to hate, no one else to blame. She had done this.
Which meant… she could fix this. Her mother had said she could give him back his power the same way she had stolen it. Having dropped that bombshell, Araminta had turned and walked away, leaving Vivien on her knees in the frigid slush beside Dain's insensate form.
Her mother had simply left her there, and for once, Vivien didn't care. She would ache for this later, dissect the horror of her mother being a succubus, a murderer. No, she could not deal with that right now.
All she cared about at the moment was getting Dain somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she could make love with him and give him back what she'd taken. What he'd allowed her to take. What he'd offered her freely so she could survive. The magnitude of that gift overwhelmed her.
Swallowing, she looked around, trying to focus on a plan, her panic threatening to engulf her as she stared at Dain lying before her, eyes closed, lips blue. He was alive, but she had no idea how long he would stay that way. He wasn't healing, and he wasn't conscious.
Cold resolve washed over her. If she was to help him at all, it wouldn't be like this, on her knees, drowning in useless remorse.
She needed to get him out of here.
She needed to get him somewhere she could give his magic back.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered. Could she drag him to the car if she hooked her hands under his arms? The car seemed a million miles away. "Dain, open your eyes. Help me. I need you to help me."
"Vivien" he paused, exhaled "I'm so damned tired." With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, he opened his beautiful eyes, blinked, focused on her. He offered a weak smile that tore at her heart. "And you're okay. I told you it would be okay."
"Dain, you need to tell me what to do. What should I do? Take you to a hospital?"
He wet his lips. "No…"
Suddenly, she remembered that night on the terrace, how he'd just disappeared after saying something about the roof. And again, how he'd just appeared before her that morning, clad in black boxers and nothing else.
Could she somehow do that disappearing trick too?
If she had his magic inside her, could she do that? Could she carry them both to the loft?
How? How to do it?
Analyze. Categorize. Evaluate.
Urgency gnawed at her. She needed to figure it out. She was out of time.
She had his power; she just needed to draw on it, use it as she had earlier when she'd knocked the demon back.
Desperate, she called up the fury and fear she'd felt as the demon had attacked Dain. Using those emotions, she dredged up the state of mind that had triggered that terrifying burst of energy. She needed that power, that magic. She needed it now.
Wrapping her arms around Dain, she closed her eyes, imagined the demon coming at them, recalled every nuance of her fear, her horror, her need to protect him.
She felt it, the pulse of magic, warming her from within like the dawn, light touching darkness, swirling, gliding, a bright pain. Tamping down her panic, she focused on the strange hum in her nerves, her veins.
She could do this.
The pain that came at her was a shock. It hurt, God, it hurt, tearing her in two, but through it all, she held Dain tightly, locking her arms around him, holding on to the fear and despair and hope, willing the power to come to her and flow through her.
She heard hard, drumming rain and a boom of thunder, though she was certain it had been sunny this morning. The tang of the ocean drifted into her nostrils, and then the buttery scent of popcorn. She shook her head, confused, forcing herself to hold fast to the image of Dain's bed and the great bank of windows letting in the light. The scent of citrus and spice surrounded her.
Suddenly, she felt as though she'd been hit by a truck, thrown through the air to land hard against the ground. The breath was pushed from her lungs with crushing force. There was only the terrible pain, taking up every molecule of every cell, every thought, every beat of her heart. Still, she held tightly to Dain, felt him solid and real against her as everything else spun away to infinity.
She screamed, the agony almost more than she could bear. Reality splintered apart. She was everywhere. She was nowhere.
And then they were there, in his bed, their wet, slushy clothes staining the sheets.
"I did it," Vivien breathed, rearing up, then louder, "I did it. Dain, wake up, wake up." Her vision was blurry, and after a second, she realized she was looking through a haze of tears.
He moaned, blinked, opened his eyes fully, his beautiful gray eyes, dim with pain. Frowning, he glanced around, his eyes widening as he recognized their surroundings.
"Hi," she said, joy and relief flaring like a sunburst.
"How-" His voice sounded like a blender with a bent blade.
"Magic," Vivien whispered, coming up on her knees and laying her palms against his cheeks.
Dain shifted his big body, sucked in a breath. "Fuck, that hurts."
She glanced at his savaged arm, and tears clogged her throat. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm going to make you better, Dain. I'm going to fix this."
Leaning down, she pressed her mouth to his, but instead of taking, she gave, willed her heart, her soul, everything she was into him. A tingle touched her skin, prickling up like a thousand ants, through her veins, through her pores, from her into Dain.
Such a strange sensation.
Magic.
She drew back, stared down at him.
His gaze slid to hers, brighter now, clearer. Whatever she'd just done, she thought it had worked, at least a little.
"You-" The rasp of sound that came out of him was barely discernible. He swallowed, tried again. "You said you got us here by magic?"
She nodded, stroking his hair, wishing she knew more about all of this. "I just thought about your bed, and with everything I had, I wished we could be there. And here we are."
"Jesus, Vivien, you brought us through the continuum?" Something flared in his gaze-amazement, pleasure, admiration-leaving her uncertain of why he seemed so stunned. "You just thought us here, grabbed hold of a stream of magic, and we were here?"
"I suppose. I don't know. But I can tell you that it hurt. It really hurt."
"Yeah." The side of his mouth quirked in a whisper of a smile. "It gets easier with practice."
That smile sent relief surging through her, so clean and pure that she felt dizzy with the force of it. It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine.
She swallowed, reached for his belt buckle.
"Uh, yeah, Vivien…" He made a strangled sound as she popped his button through the hole and unfastened his zipper. "I don't think I can-"
"Don't think." His rejection sliced her. Maybe he wouldn't want her now. Maybe he was disgusted by her, because of what her mother was. A killer.
No. There was no place for that now. The only thing that mattered was getting Dain well. There would be time enough for discussions and accusations and heartbreak later.
She shook her head, laid her fingers against his lips. "This is the only way. I'm sorry. I imagine you don't want me to touch you. I don't blame you. But it's the only way to give it back, what I stole from you. She said I could give back your magic the same way I took it."
Dain frowned, swallowed, spoke with obvious effort. "You think I don't want you… Christ, Vivien…"
"Trust me," she pleaded. "I know how dangerous this is. I know that if I take too much, I'll kill you, but please, Dain, trust me. I won't hurt you. I swear it. I'd die before I hurt you."
His face twisting with the effort, he lifted his hand, wove his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her skull. Something flickered in his gaze, something dark and tortured. "I'm not big on trust."
Vivien's heart shriveled at his words. Not big on trust. God, what could she do now? He didn't trust her not to hurt him, didn't trust her to-
"But I'll give it a shot. Love isn't worth a damn without trust, is it?"
Her heart stopped, and her breath stopped, and there was nothing but Dain. His words. His love. He loved her.
"Heal me, Vivien. Make me whole." His words were seductive, dangerous. "I trust you. I love you."
"Dain-" She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. How had this moment become her whole world?
"I love the way you say my name, like I'm everything to you," he said softly.
She knew what he was asking for. The words. The love. The emotion said aloud and set free, but she was afraid, so afraid. Everyone she loved left her.
Except Dain. He'd stayed. No matter what, he'd stayed.
Her gaze met his, and she heard the hard beat of her heart, fast and frantic, and suddenly she wasn't afraid anymore.
This was Dain.
For a mere instant and for an endless eternity, she had known him, dreamed of him, waited for him, her shadow-lover, faceless until Dain had come to her. He had been there, in her heart, all along. He had been there, and he had never left her.
"I love you," she whispered, letting her walls crumble as he had let his crumble, so brave.
With a groan, he dragged her down, put his mouth on hers and kissed her. Hot, wet, so deep and full, desire sank through her in a melting swirl.
She bolstered her weight up on her arms, keeping her body off his, desperate not to hurt him any more than she already had.
He didn't seem to care. He yanked her down on the bed beside him, his fingers twining in her hair, his kisses almost brutal in his hunger. Wanting the harsh, ruthless passion that he dragged from deep inside her, she opened to him, welcoming the thrust of his tongue and the feel of his rough stubble against her skin.
Something inside her shifted and surged, a feeling of euphoria and light and power, so keen it was almost painful. It flowed, twining about her muscles and bones, sweeping along her nerves, slick and smooth. Luscious.
She was burning, liquid heat, Dain's kisses and the feel of his body pressed to hers stoked the fire. Open-mouthed, tongue and teeth. She moaned, her power slicking through her and into him, joining them.
"Oh, God," she whispered, sliding her fingers through his impossibly silky hair. She was wet, swollen, so hot for him, she thought she'd come just from his kiss.
She needed him. Right now. As he needed her.
Closing her eyes, Vivien focused on the pulse of power inside her, on the strange and foreign glide of it. Pain and light and heat ramped through her. Terrifying. Tantalizing.
The thick, heavy length of his cock sprang free as she yanked his jeans open. Velvet-smooth skin slid beneath her palm, his erection so hard, pulsing, filling her hand.
His groan, a deep sound of pleasure, tore through her, and she wanted to suck him, take him in her mouth and make him come. Later. Later. Right now, she needed him inside her, needed him deep in her core, filling her.
She yanked her clothes off, awkward, desperate, the energy stored inside her pulsing in time with her fevered need. She wanted to share with him, join with him, her body, her heart, her soul.
Lying on his back, he watched her, eyes slitted and dark with passion. She struggled with his jeans, got them down a bit over his hips, gave up. It didn't matter. His cock was free, straining toward her, so broad and smooth.
She straddled him, moaning as she felt the heat of his cock touch her; reaching down, she positioned him, working the broad head of him into her. With a low cry, she slid fully down atop him, taking him inside her, the sensation screaming through her.
Her fingers were on his shoulders, digging in as she moved, taking all of him, making them both moan. She rocked up, then down, a wild swirl of heat and need spinning between them, a storm, and laced with that was a deeper joining, bright magic pulsing between them like a symphony.
Dain felt her passion, her love, the beauty of her soul, joined to his on every level, reaching through the bond of magic to unite them. She was healing him, the pain in his arm receding, strength and power flowing through him in a heady rush. Her magic was so different from his, smoke and cloud and mist, where his was light. The mixture was potent.
The strength of the blending, her magic and his, was infinitely greater than ever his had been alone.
"You've done it, Vivien, love. You've brought me through it." She had. She had brought him through, not draining his life force but sharing her own.
Their bodies slid against each other, sweat-slicked and hot. He ran his hand along her rib cage to her breast, stroking her nipple, pinching it as she arched her back and moaned, the throb of magic a deep ecstasy between them.
He gripped her buttocks, angling her hips, steadying her. Faster, harder, he drove deep, taking them both into an urgent, swift climb. She was so beautiful above him, lush and sweet and hot. A sharp cry tore from her throat, her muscles trembling as she locked her legs tightly against him, her hands curling into his shoulders, her head thrown back as she trembled with her release.
The feel of her convulsing so tightly around him shoved him to the brink, and he crashed over, great pulsing waves radiating from his cock, shredding his control as he came with a yell.
Breathing hard, he grinned up at her. "Holy flying fish." With a laugh, he rolled her beneath him, pressing his lips to hers to take her gasp of surprise. And he made love to her again. This time just for fun.
Later, much later, Vivien curled against Dain amidst the rumpled sheets, the pillows tossed about, their bodies pressed as close as two could be.
"I'm hungry," she whispered, then laughed at Dain's wary look. She shook her head, amazed that she could find humor in this. "For ice cream."
Dain smiled, rolled from the bed. "I'll get it."
He'd been gone for only a moment when Vivien heard the sound of the front door opening and the murmur of voices. She scrambled for Dain's robe, black silk reaching almost to the floor, the material sensual against her skin. She wandered to the stairs that led down from the bedroom. Ciarran and Clea stood in the hallway, along with a blond man she didn't know.
Dain had sent a text to let them know everything was fine, but it seemed they were looking for in-the-flesh assurance. He was talking to them, clad only in a pair of pale gray sweatpants, his feet and torso bare, the sight so sexy it made her mouth go dry. Sensing her there, he turned and looked up at her, and she thought that the air must be crackling with the heat in that gaze.
She wasn't sure what his sorcerer brotherhood thought of all this-her and him-but she was no coward, so she went down to greet them.
Ciarran gave her his usual grave greeting, his amazing, multihued eyes assessing her from head to toe. Clea was by far more exuberant.
"Vivien!" she cried, and embraced her, sending Vivien's concerns evaporating like dew in the sun. "I'm so glad you're all right."
Dain drew her to his side, his arm looped around her shoulder as he introduced her to the other man, Talyn Baunn. He was as tall as Dain, his hair summer bright, his eyes a pale denim blue.
She shifted to shake his hand, her body brushing Dain's in a slide of silk and a spark of magic, sending her power surging. A shower of purple light sprayed down on all of them like rain.
Baunn's eyes widened, and his gaze shot to Dain. "You said she was a succubus."
"She is… I mean, I am," Vivien said.
His expression intent, serious, Baunn studied her. "You have beautiful eyes," he said, his tone almost quizzical. "The color is unique."
Perhaps from someone else, she might have read it as a come-on, but the way Baunn said the words made it clear they were purely an observation.
Ciarran quickly brought them up to speed about the plan to destroy all the summoner's bones so there would be no chance of a re-animation, ever.
"I just need that demon bone, Dain, and any other charm bags you have," Clea said. "We've got everything else we could get our hands on. I just need to take care of whatever you have in your vault."
Dain went to retrieve them, returning moments later with the charred demon bone and two charm bags.
"Oh, wait, I have one." Vivien crossed to the closet and fetched the bag Amy had given her from the pocket of the shearling coat. She handed it to Clea, glad not to have to touch it for long.
Dain drew her close in a one-armed embrace.
"Anyway, we didn't intend to stay long," Clea said, and shot Vivien a smile. "We just came to get these, and return this." She held out Vivien's purse, stained, marred, and still slightly damp. "I found it on the ground in the alley, near the Dumpster. It took us long enough to find the alley. That demon set up one heck of a smokescreen. I thought the purse might be yours, so I checked for ID, but there was nothing."
"Yeah, it's mine. And no, no ED." Vivien shook her head. "I grabbed the wrong purse when my house went up in smoke. The one with my wallet and cell got left behind, and I snagged the one with mascara and lip gloss and not much else." She rolled her eyes.
"There's a photo." Clea paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I only looked to see if there was ID. So who's the picture of? He looks exactly like you."
Reaching into the purse, Vivien drew out the framed photo. "My dad," she said, and her heart twisted. "My mom always said I was exactly like him. That there was nothing of her in me. Nothing at all." She traced her finger along the picture's frame, thinking of her new reality. "Guess she got that wrong."
Beside her, Baunn inhaled sharply. She glanced at him to find his eyes locked on the photograph.
"May I?" he asked, his voice thick.
Vivien let him draw the picture from her hands, tension ramping through her at the odd look on his face.
Baunn's gaze shot to Dain. "Have you looked at this photo?"
"No." Dain took the picture from him and stared down at it. "Jesus," he muttered, and passed the picture to Ciarran, who had the same odd reaction.
"That's Shay," Ciarran said. "Christe. She's Shay's daughter."
Vivien's tension ramped up a notch, and with it came another shower of light energy, falling like fireworks.
"You'll get better at controlling that," Clea said. "It just takes practice."
Vivien shot her a smile, and then looked back toward Baunn. He was the one who had started this bizarre conversation about her father, and he was the one who would end it.
"My father took off when I was two. He never looked back. You're calling him Shay. How do you know his name?"
Baunn raised his gaze to hers, and he didn't look like the laid-back surfer boy anymore. He looked shocked and amazed and… pleased.
"Shay… I know his name, Vivien, because he was my best friend." Baunn shook his head. "And you're his daughter. You have his eyes."
Vivien felt her shoulders tense, her neck muscles knot.
"He left when I was two," she repeated flatly. "And he never looked back."
Baunn shot a look at Dain, then returned his gaze to Vivien. "He didn't leave you. He was killed. Murdered. I knew Shay. Vivien, he never would have left you by choice."
"Wait," Dain said, frowning. "If Shay was her father, then…" His words trailed off, and he turned to look at her, incredulous.
"What?" Vivien demanded, spinning to look at each of them, already reaching her own conclusions. They knew her father. He was a sorcerer. Her mother was a succubus. Which made her…
"It explains the vibe I got when I walked in," Baunn said. "Your magic, even your soul, may be half succubus, Vivien, but it's also half sorcerer. Your heart is sorcerer."
Two sides of a coin. Light. Dark. It didn't matter as much as she would have imagined.
"Yes," she said softly, turning to Dain, lacing her fingers tightly with his, certain of this. "My heart is sorcerer. My heart is Dain."
"Hello, Talyn." Araminta pulled the door of her suite wide in invitation. "I've been expecting you."
Baunn exhaled long and slow. He pushed off the wall where he'd been leaning, took her invitation, and stepped inside. He didn't bother with niceties, instead getting right to the point.
"We've destroyed the others. Now I want the bones and the bags you've collected, Araminta."
"Yes, I'm sure you do." A faint, bitter smile touched her lips. She turned, walked to the window, and stood looking out at the city lights.
He waited, letting her take all the time she wanted.
"Do you think I killed him?" she asked at length. "Do you truly believe I murdered Shay, then spent nearly three decades plotting to bring over the Solitary?"
Yeah, he did. Most days, he was certain that she'd murdered Shay, that he'd loved her and trusted her, and she'd drained him to the point of no return, leaving him vulnerable to the demon attack. On those days, Baunn's hate was so strong it filled him until there was nothing else. Then there were days that he wondered, why? How? He could have sworn that Araminta loved Shay with everything she was. So why the hell had she killed him?
"Just give me the bones, Araminta." Baunn kept his voice low, his tension locked up tight. They were too well matched, too close in power for either of them to win in a fight. He just wanted the charm bags and the bones she'd gathered from her victims.
There would be another day for him to seek his vengeance.
"Listen to me, Baunn." Her voice had taken on a different tone, fast, a little urgent-so unlike the Araminta he knew that he did listen. "Those men I killed. It wasn't what you think. They were evil. Pedophiles. Rapists. I fed, and I brought justice-"
"Justice? You killed them and stole bits and pieces of their bodies so you could bring the end of the world in the form of a demon. So you could bring the Solitary."
"You dare judge me, sorcerer?" She waved her hand as though shooing away a fly and pinned him with a hard glare. "Your kind kills, too."
Baunn shook his head, knowing the argument was futile. His gut churned at the situation he found himself in, unable to bear the thought of letting Araminta go free but bound by a vow to his dead friend not to hunt her. It felt like a million years ago that Shay had made him swear to keep Araminta safe if anything ever happened to him. Did the fact that she had happened to Shay nullify Baunn's vow?
"Your plan has failed, Araminta. Cede defeat gracefully and give me the damned bones."
"What is it you think I plan, Talyn? At least let me know the full breadth of your accusations."
His fingertips tapped out a quick staccato beat against his thigh. "I think you plan a re-animation of the Solitary's original summoner. I think you've been feeding off mortals to gain strength, gathering the charm bags with Bezal's bones, and murdering his sister's descendants to supplement the missing bits." He studied her, searching for some nuance of expression to give her away. But there was nothing. Just her beautiful, serene face, calm and cold as ice-kissed marble. "What I can't figure out is what you planned for your daughter. Shay's daughter." He enjoyed the moment as surprise flickered in her gaze. "Yeah, we know that Vivien is Shay's daughter. Half succubus. Half sorcerer. Why did you send the demons after her? She was gonna be-what?-the blood sacrifice in your little Frankenstein scenario?"
She drew back as though he'd slapped her, horror flaring before she dragged her mask back in place.
"Until today, I had no idea that Vivien was a succubus," she said. "And until this instant, I had no idea that she was half sorcerer. I didn't know such a thing was possible. I believed her mortal, and I wanted her safe. It was a trade, Talyn. I was to help reanimate Bezal and bring over the Solitary. And in exchange, I was promised two things: Vivien's safety. And Asher's torment. He was to be consigned to the pits of hell, ripped apart in the demon realm again and again, only to heal and suffer once more." She smiled, a tight, perfect curving of perfect lips. "You speak to me of justice? Well, that is Asher's just end."
"You're lying," he snarled, hate pounding him like a storm-stirred surf. "I spoke with Asher. He admitted his involvement. He admitted that he is allied to the Solitary and the demons. Allied to you."
"Allied to me? And you believed him?" She laughed, brittle and dark, the sound so unexpected that Baunn drew up short. "I have lost everything," she said, her voice vibrating with barely leashed emotion. "I have lost Shay. I have lost my daughter. But I have not lost my hate. I will see Asher-your Ancient-destroyed. I will see him suffer and burn. Whatever agreement he made with the demons, I made one of my own to see him destroyed." Her voice dropped to a pained whisper, tinged with venom. "You want to find the monster that murdered Shay? Well, look to one of your own, sorcerer. I didn't kill Shay. I couldn't. I loved him. It was Asher, then and now. It has always been Asher."
Buffeted by hate and rage and a million questions, Baunn watched her cross to the dining table of her suite. She trailed her fingers over a book, then lifted it and turned toward him.
"I know that Vivien is safe. Loved." She looked incredibly sad for a moment, wistful and broken. "I know her sorcerer loves her. He was willing to die for her. And I love her as well. In my way, I love her as well. Tell her that for me, Baunn. Tell her that and give her this gift, the one thing she has ever asked of me."
She crossed to him and handed him the book. He glanced down, read the title, handwritten in a flowing script: The Short Version of the Succubus Manual The Crash Course.
When he looked up, Araminta was gone.
Want to know more about romances at
Grand Central Publishing and Forever?
Get the scoop online!
GRAND CENTRAL PUBLISHING^ ROMANCE HOMEPAGE
Visit us at www.hachettebookgroupusa.comIromance for all the latest news, reviews, and chapter excerpts!
NEW AND UPCOMING TITLES
Each month we feature our new titles and reader favorites.
CONTESTS AND GIVEAWAYS
We give away galleys, autographed copies, and all kinds of fun stuff.
AUTHOR INFO
You'll find bios, articles, and links to personal websites for all your favorite authors-and so much more!
THE BUZZ
Sign up for our monthly romance newsletter, and be the first to read all about it!
VISIT US ONLINE
@ WWW.HACHETTEBOOKGROUPUSA.COM.
AT THE HACHETTE BOOK
GROUP USA WEB SITE
YOU'LL FIND:
NEW RELEASES
•
ORIGINAL AUTHOR AND EDITOR ARTICLES
AUDIO EXCERPTS
BESTSELLER NEWS
ELECTRONIC NEWSLETTERS
AUTHOR TOUR INFORMATION
CONTESTS, QUIZZES, AND POLLS
FUN, QUIRKY RECOMMENDATION CENTER
PLUS MUCH MORE!
Bookmark Hachette Book Group USA @ www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com.
If you or someone you know
wants to improve their reading skills,
oall the Literacy Help Line.
WORDS ARE YOUR WHEELS
-800-228-