A Demon's Desire (12 page)

“I’m not a witch anymore,” she reminded him.
“I’m too old for them to throw out of the casinos, and I make a
point of losing when I can afford it.”

“You do what you do, and leave me to what I
do,” he said.

“Fine, son. I want to meet this Emma’s
family,” she continued. “I’m still your mother, you know, and I
want what’s best for my son.”

“It’s not that serious,” Tristan objected.
“She’s the first woman I’ve known so long without sleeping with
her.”

“Have mercy, son!” she exclaimed. Tristan
laughed huskily. “It must be serious then.”

“I’ve got to help her family first. If we all
survive this, you can meet them,” he said. He leaned forward to his
computer and looked up when his mother said nothing. She was
staring at him, the look on her face revealing he’d hit close to
home with his statement. “Do we all survive this?” he asked
warily.

“I don’t know. I can’t See that far,” she
said. “Anyway, I came by to tell you I think one of the snots
downstairs has been pilfering some herbs.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, unwilling to
look away. She avoided his gaze and stood.

“Where’s Isolde?” she asked.

“With Emma. She’s in danger, Mama,” he said.
“Whatever spell you put on Isolde, she’s all that’s protecting Emma
and her family.”

“You need that protection, too. Isolde is
your protector.”

“Emma needs her more. I don’t know what it is
about her, but I can’t stand the thought of someone like that being
a victim of something like black magic,” he said. “She’s beautiful,
gentle, proud, and so sweet I feel dirty around her.”

“Everyone has their secrets,” his mother
said. “You’re the sweetest man I know.”

“I’m the only man you know,” he reminded her
with a faint smile.

“I’m being serious, Tristan. I may be your
mother, but I still wouldn’t put up with you if you were anything
but an angel. A dark angel, maybe, but still an angel.”

“Dark angel?” he echoed. “I’ve heard that
term far too often lately. I’m the farthest thing from an angel,
dark or otherwise. I’m not good enough for a woman like that.”

“You
are
good enough for her,” she
chided. “When will I meet her?”

“Mother, please,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’ve got to take care of something first. If we all survive this,
you can meet her, though I’ll warn her about your tongue.”

“You’re so cruel to me sometimes,” she said.
“You’re leaving again tomorrow? For how long?”

“I’m not sure. I hope to be back within the
week,” he said. “Got plans for me?”

“You’ve been near your whole life. It was
strange to find you gone,” she said in a softer tone then added
with a flash of heat, “Without calling me, when you know I’m
worried.”

“I’ll call you every day,” he said. “When I’m
done, I’ll let Emma know a dragon-tongued old lady wants to meet
her.”

“Dragon?” she snapped. “Before this is over,
you’ll have a greater appreciation for me, you ungrateful boy.”

“Unless you want to tell me what you Saw
…”

“You know I can’t. Just be careful,” she
said. “The ladies are waiting for me. Check in with me daily,
son.”

“I will, Mother,” he said and watched her go.
He could tell she was beyond worried. He rubbed the back of his
neck, wondering what it was she saw that he couldn’t yet and
concerned he wouldn’t figure it out in time to help Emma and her
family. When he heard the door close, he picked up the phone again,
dialed, and returned his attention to the computer.

“Lora,” he said as soon as the woman picked
up.

“Tris?” Surprise was in her voice. “It’s been
awhile. Are you coming up to Baltimore?” Her voice lowered a notch,
and Tristan smiled. There were few things as predictable as an
ex-girlfriend who wanted to be anything but
ex
. Lora was the
only witch Tristan had convinced to return to college and make
something of herself, even if he was too afraid to take a chance
she’d reject him if they had a legit relationship.

“Not exactly. I need a favor,” he answered.
“You still working for the state police?”

“Yep. What can I do for you?”

“I need to research suicides off the Bay
Bridge about two years ago.”

“Sure, I can help.”

He settled into his seat for a long day of
research and repelling Lora’s attempts to hit on him.

Chapter Five

He felt the disturbance long before Emma
worked up the nerve to call. He paced, eyes on the notepad beside
the computer, and stretched. It was nearly two in the morning. He
glanced at his phone before sitting once more on the couch and
reading his cramped writing filling several pages of the
notepad.

Emma’s dream had been much more accurate than
he expected.

Adam Merchant committed suicide by jumping
off the Bay Bridge, which connected mainland Maryland to the
state’s outer banks. The rest he could piece together, with the
exception of what made Emma fear the dark. Whatever happened was
not available online, in public records, or even in newspapers at
the local library, where Lora had kindly agreed to go.

Olivia’s whereabouts were another unknown,
though he suspected she wasn’t far from either Emma or from Adam’s
likely burial place of Baltimore. He could follow her through the
darker side of his abilities once he dug up whatever object she’d
tagged in Sissy’s room.

His phone buzzed and hopped. He snatched it
and answered.

“Tristan?”

“Yes, Emma.”

“Tristan, Amber and Mama were …” Her voice
trembled. “They were in an accident. I’m so sorry to bother you,
but I … I …” …
need you.

He almost sighed at her thought, even if her
voice spoke other words.

“Could you come back?” she asked, with an
edge that bespoke her expectation for his rejection. It took great
courage for Emma to ask another for help, and Tristan was proud of
her despite his irritation.

“Of course, Emma,” he said.

“Thank you, Tristan,” she whispered.

“How are they?”

“Mama’s okay, but Amber is in the ICU.” She
regained her control and hid the note of vulnerability. “Sissy and
I are here at the hospital. And Isolde. She likes car rides.
Tristan, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he asked, rising. He shut his laptop,
grabbed the notepad, and walked to the bedroom, tucking the notepad
in his bag. He was changed and ready, his clothes clean, his bed
made once more.

“I haven’t been as good to you as you’ve been
to me,” she said with a small sigh. “I was thinking about it today.
I treat you like you have lice, and you’ve only treated me with
respect, and given me a chance when everyone else laughed. Sissy’s
alive because of you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he
replied. “I think it’s time for us to have a talk, Emma.”

“I know.” The note of anxiety was back in her
voice. “Can you hurry?”

“Yes, Emma.”

“Thank you.”

He gathered his things and left quickly,
reaching the hospital as dawn stretched across the sky. He left his
bag in the car, aware of the shady characters lingering everywhere.
They noticed him, too, and those not fast enough to flee were
swallowed by darkness and shadows.

Isolde waited outside the ER doors, guarding
them from the shady characters. The dog recognized his scent from a
distance and wagged. She rose and sniffed the air as he
approached.

“Hello, Isolde,” he greeted her and knelt.
“Good girl. Stand guard.” Isolde sat again and butted his arm with
her hand. Tristan smiled and handed her the contents of his pocket,
a pack of half-eaten crackers, before rising.

He entered the modest-sized hospital, pausing
in the ER to greet a sleepy teen manning the information desk. The
teen fumbled and stammered under his gaze, so Tristan followed his
instincts to the second floor. He pushed through the doors marked
ICU into the antiseptic-riddled scents of the hospital. He spotted
Emma as he rounded a corner. She stood in the middle of the hall,
speaking to two doctors and a nurse. Sissy was asleep in her arms
with her cherubic face resting on Emma’s shoulder.

By her profile, Emma was ill herself. Her
face was pale, her eyes glazed. He sensed the shadow clinging to
her, sensed her distress and apprehension. She nodded to something
one doctor said, a queasy look crossing her face. With a weak
smile, she handed Sissy to the nurse and moved away, trotting down
the hall.

Tristan followed with a frown. Emma darted
into the first bathroom she found, holding her mouth. He waited
several minutes before opening the door. She leaned over the sink,
rinsing her mouth. From the portable dentistry kit resting beside
the sink, this was not the first time she vomited. She glanced up
and caught sight of him in the mirror. He entered, closed the door,
and locked it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said and
tucked away a toothbrush before reaching for mouthwash.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like you’re mad at me,” she answered after
rinsing her mouth once more.

“Right now, I am. All you’ve needed to do was
talk to me, and I’ll help you,” he said in agitation. “How are
they?”

“Mama will be discharged at eight. She has a
sprained wrist and will probably need an MRI for her neck. Amber
might have spinal cord damage and …” She cleared her throat. “ … a
broken bone or two.”

Tristan’s anger eased at her distress. “How
are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said at last. “Being strong.
Dealing with the doctors, police, and insurance companies, and
Sissy and the freaks.”

“Thank you for calling me.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I know you
have your own life. I just couldn’t think of anyone else I really
wanted you to be here.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell
me you’ve been sick?”

“It’s not important,” she said and
straightened. “I deserve it.”

“What did the freaks offer you?” he pursued
and stepped closer. She pulled her head back to meet his gaze. He
saw her debating whether to resist or give.

“Mints,” she said, bitter amusement crossing
her features. “Demons like fresh breath, I take it.”

“Let me help you, Emma,” he replied. “You’ll
be no more obligated to me than you already are.”

Her bravado faltered, displaying her fear and
uncertainty. She nodded, and he offered a hand. She took it.

“This might hurt a little,” he warned with a
half smile.

“Famous last words.”

He drew her into him, cupped the back of her
neck with one hand and steadied her with his other hand at the
small of her back. For once, she didn’t resist him but
surrendered.

Tristan kissed her, reveling in the
sensations caused by her slightest touch. She relaxed against him,
welcoming and yielding. He coaxed her mouth open, savored her
taste, then tightened his grip on her.

Tristan felt her tense despite his attempt to
be gentle. He released his shadows into her, commanding them to
find their brethren and return. Her body shuddered, but he worked
her lips, suffusing her with warmth while the shadows within
chilled her. She responded almost desperately, and he felt some of
her pain and loneliness, distress and yearning. When he withdrew,
both of them were breathing raggedly. Tristan released a puff of
black smoke above her head.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he
squeezed her. Her scent wrapped around him, its subtlety only
making him want to be closer to her, to engorge himself on her
elusive essence.

“Who supports you while you shoulder the
world?” he murmured into her hair.

“I don’t need anyone,” she said in a tiny
voice.

“Stubborn girl.”

She pressed herself against him and relaxed,
letting him support her.

Incredible.
There was no other word
for the sensation of having her pliant in his arms, her sultry body
pressed against his. It was a tender surrender, one he suspected
would not last long, but one he would relish while it did. Tristan
memorized her heady scent and softness, her lingering taste in his
mouth and her arms around him. He’d never met a woman capable of
ensnaring his senses or calming the raging darkness within him.

“Tristan, they’ll never leave my family
alone, will they?” she asked.

“I don’t think they will. It’d be much easier
for me to protect them and you if you’d trust me enough to tell me
who it is that’s after you.”

“I love them so much. I couldn’t bear it if
anything else happened,” she whispered. He felt her give like the
first drops of rain after the tension of a gathering storm.

“Let’s go talk.”

She nodded in silence.

He took her hand and led them out of the
restroom and down the hall until he found a waiting room with no
one in it. Emma sat in the chair next to him, looking broken. He
squeezed her hand, and she shook her head to clear her
thoughts.

“A few years ago, I met this guy named Adam.
Total charmer, handsome, sweet, and he seemed so genuine,” she
started. “I was a freshman in college, and he was a senior. I was
on top of the world that he even noticed me. He was my tutor for
math. I hate math, but he made it simple. We started talking then
hanging out. I’d heard from friends he might be seeing someone, but
I never brought it up, and neither did he. One day, we’d stayed out
late at a coffee shop. When he took me home, he kissed me. It was
the beginning of this disaster.”

“I take it he wasn’t single,” Tristan said,
keeping the anger out of his voice.

“Not even close. He had a few different
women,” she said with a frown. “One was Olivia, another freshman.
She was kinda strange. She was very goth. I never thought she was a
witch, and I never thought such things as black magic existed. She
found out about Adam fooling around on her and flipped out. His
other girlfriends sort of … disappeared. One moved out of town
suddenly, and another one jumped off the Bay Bridge. I don’t know
what happened to the third one. She just looked real sick and
stopped coming to school. I didn’t think anything about it at the
time.