A Demon's Desire (6 page)

Seeking help from the only man capable of
giving it.
The thought was not entirely hers, but she accepted
it. It was the truth; there was no one else who could help. She had
made a deal with the devil. As long as he kept his part, she would
keep hers. There was no more debating.

Tristan smiled and blinked, releasing her
from his spell.

“You can save her?” she ventured, uncertain
if she were ready for an honest answer.

“Yes, Emma.” The calmness of his dark voice
soothed her. She looked away and glanced around at the burning oil.
It smelled of musky earth and fresh ocean. The window above the bed
was open.

“I brought Isolde,” she said awkwardly. “I
don’t think she likes long car rides.”

“I don’t either,” he said.

“Used to turning into a bat and flying?” she
asked.

“You have a charming family,” he said with a
chuckle.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I’m sorry,
but I didn’t know how else to explain you. I told them … well, that
we’re dating.”

“I have no problem with that. Why don’t you
come in?” His voice changed, as did his face, and Emma felt again
they were on a fence and he was assessing her. The air tensed until
even the shadows were wary and waiting. The feeling made her
queasy. She glanced around.

“No,” she said. “No.”

His eyes were hot enough to make her skin
warm. The sense passed, and she met his gaze once more.

“You feel it,” he said. “It was meant for
you?”

“I’m going to eat now,” she told him. She
closed the door until she could no longer feel his eyes on her.
Shivering, she crossed the living room to the breakfast counter at
the edge of the kitchen.

“Isolde likes my casserole,” Mama said.

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor, where
Isolde stood devouring a plate of meat, noodles, cheeses, and
vegetables.

“I like him, Emma.” Mama lowered her voice.
“He’s reserved but very nice.”

“Don’t get used to him, Mama,” Emma advised.
“Think of him like every other man, a commitment-phobe.”

“Emma-doodle, you’re the
commitment-phobe.”

“Mama, don’t call me that.” Emma flushed.
Mama had a way of making her feel like she was waist high, yet Emma
also felt as if she were twice as old as her mother, that in the
absence of her father, she was their only buffer between the
sweetness of Amber and Mama and the evils of the world.

Her eyes strayed to Sissy’s room. First a
curse from a black witch, then the devil. She was doing an awful
job of taking care of her family. Depressed, she sighed.

“Really, Emma, you haven’t dated in so long,
and you didn’t even tell us you started seeing someone new,” Mama
went on. “I didn’t know about Tristan; neither did Amber.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mama,” Emma said. “I’m
not bringing riffraff to meet my family.”

“You don’t bring
anyone
to meet your
family.”

“Don’t get lippy, lady,” Emma warned.
“Besides, there’s a man here now, isn’t there?”

“You still haven’t told us anything, like
where you met, how serious you are, or anything about him,” Mama
said pointedly and dropped the plate of casserole in front of
Emma.

“Mama!” she exclaimed as casserole splattered
across the counter. “It’s not serious. We’re just dating. His name
is Tristan, and he owns an … herbally type store and has a dog.
He’s a health nut. I met him when he pretty much saved me from a
gang of street urchins after I lost my car keys. Happy?”

“You’re as stubborn as Sissy in the toy
aisle.”

“What do you
want
me to tell you?”
Emma asked in exasperation.

“Your
feelings
.”

“I don’t have any,” Emma replied gruffly. “I
stuff them all in my toes so they can’t come out.”

“I’ll get answers from Tristan,” Mama
said.

“Oh, you’re welcome to try.”

“I’m just happy you finally got over that one
guy, Adam. It’s been long enough. We talked about the devil today.”
Emma choked on her mouthful of casserole at Mama’s words. “Tristan
is a really interesting person to talk to.” Emma nodded, coughing
until her face was red, and pounded on her chest. “You okay?” Mama
asked, pouring a glass of water.

Emma swallowed a mouthful of water.

“He’s been with Sissy all day, but he came
out once, and we talked about a few things,” Mama went on. “He’s
nice and sharp, I think maybe even as smart as you.”

“I’m glad you like him, Mama. You can keep
him and toss me back.”

“Emma!”

“How’s Amber?” she asked, wanting to change
the subject away from Tristan.

“Stressed, exhausted,” Mama said. “I’ve been
coming over to make sure she eats, but she wouldn’t sleep before
today.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she murmured.

“Darlin’, you’ve done what you could. It’s in
God’s hands,” Mama said gently. “We need to concentrate on taking
care of your sis, too.”

Emma nodded. Her appetite fled at the thought
of her tormented sister. She pushed the plate away.

“Have you called into work?” Mama
continued.

“I told them a few days ago I’d be gone a
month. They won’t call for another week and a half or so,” Emma
said.

“You’re not getting paid, though.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mama. I’m good enough
with my money.”

“Well, if it gets to be too hard on you to
send me money, stop doing it,” Mama said firmly. “You sacrifice too
much sometimes.”

“No, Mama,” Emma assured her. “I’ve got the
money. I make more than enough, and it’s just me and my car. I’m
able to save quite a bit.”
And I can sell the car next month,
when I’m totally broke.

“All right,” Mama said, unconvinced. “My old
boss called and said the admin support staff should only have a few
more weeks on furlough. I know he can’t type, so I wonder who’s
been writing his memos for him.”

“That’s good, Mama. Fortunately, no one is
willing to lay off a computer tech, or I’d be worried about
mine.”

She finished eating and changed into
sweatpants and a T-shirt, brushed her hair and teeth, and tied her
hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck. It wasn’t even
six-thirty yet, and her tired body was ready for bed. Mama was in
the chair watching a movie when she returned to the family room.
Emma plopped down on her side on the couch. Isolde stood beside the
kitchen for a long moment, sniffed, and made her way to Sissy’s
room. She nudged her way in, and Emma turned her attention to the
movie.

* * *

Tristan left Isolde with the sleeping girl
and stepped into the living room a couple hours after dark,
surprised to see Emma sound asleep on the couch and Mama dozing in
her chair. His movement caused Mama to stir. The matriarch of the
family rose and smiled before shaking her daughter awake.

“Emma!”

Emma grumbled. Tristan gazed at the sleeping
woman, once more caught by her classic features and the pure aura.
Her curvy shape was clad in running pants and a T-shirt. Her long,
silken hair was captured at her neck. His eyes drank her in, and he
felt a stirring in his loins as he realized
she
was the
prize for this job.

Mama succeeded in rousing Emma at last. Emma
swung her legs over the side of the couch with a sigh and rubbed
her face.

“I’m up, I’m up,” she muttered.

“I made up the front bedroom for you both,”
Mama told Tristan.

“He gets the couch, Mama,” Emma said with a
pointed-- if drowsy-- look at him.

“Nonsense.” Mama eyed her. “He’s a guest, and
I don’t have a problem if you share a room.”

“What? It’s against all your Biblical
principles!” Emma argued.

“Emma, I’ve watched enough TV to know how
things are.”

“Mama, TV has nothing to do with this,” she
objected. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“If Mama doesn’t mind, it’s not a problem
with me,” Tristan ventured.

“I know you’re an adult,” Mama said and
started down the opposite hallway.

“Shall we keep up appearances?” he challenged
as he stepped beside the stubborn woman. Emma frowned but rose. She
crossed her arms and strode forward, out of his reach.

“I know you like pillows, Emma,” Mama said
from the hallway, voice muffled as she dug through a linen closet.
“Here are two more.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Emma said grudgingly and
accepted them.

“Sleep well, stubborn one,” Mama said and
kissed her cheek. Emma mumbled in response and marched into the
guest bedroom. “You, too,” Mama told Tristan with a gentle squeeze
of his arm.

“Thank you, Mama,” Tristan said with a small
smile. He followed Emma and closed the door. She glared at him from
the opposite corner of the room.

“You get the floor,” she snapped.

“
You
get the floor,” he replied. He
removed a pillow from the bed and tossed it to her. “We made a
deal. I won’t break my word, even if you’re lying beside me.”

Her jaw clenched. She stayed where she was,
staring at him with beautiful, large green eyes, then snatched a
blanket and tossed it on the floor.

“I sleep with the lights on,” she informed
him crisply.

“I don’t,” he countered and flicked off the
switch.

She swore, and he smiled, sensing her unease.
Tristan stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers, not at
all tired. His mind swam with awareness of the sultry siren a few
feet away. He could smell her, the musky scent of warm honey water
and amber, the scent of a woman with a body he would gladly plunder
once this was over.

He forced his thoughts to Sissy, to the
source of darkness. He needed some information and suspected Emma
would be his last resource. He feared releasing his shadows into
her to learn the truth. He didn’t like dealing with his darkness
anymore than he had to. Perhaps a secondary approach would work
with her, a subtler one, through Mama and Amber. They, too, might
know what he needed to learn about Emma’s history and when her
first brush with darkness had been. The shadows in Sissy’s room
might tell him if he asked, but shadows knew only what their
creator told them, not the entire story.

She tossed and turned. He sensed her negative
energy: fear, anger, anxiety. It was more than him that caused it;
it was the darkness itself.

Em and Sissy are both afraid of the dark.

Tristan sensed no threat aside from that
within him. He sat and crawled to the foot of the bed, seeing her
as plainly as he would during daylight. She was curled in a ball on
her side, surrounded by a small fort of protective pillows. Her
eyes were open, staring, her body far too tense for sleep.

It was not a natural fear, he assessed, but
one caused by trauma. She appeared no older than a child huddled in
the dark against the threat of an elusive boogeyman. Only Emma was
too old for fanciful fears or boogeymen, and something about her
drew both the man and shadows within him. He sensed her passion,
buried with her emotions.

In her toes
, he recalled overhearing
with some amusement. She was the kind of woman a man didn’t let
go.

Mine.
The sense was natural, applauded
by the darkness and human parts of him as well.

“Beware the monsters under the bed,” he
whispered.

Emma jerked and looked up at him, raw terror
crossing her face. He knew what she saw when she looked at him in
the dark: the gleam of demon eyes and nothing but shadows.

“Son of a bitch!” she swore. Anger and
apprehension warred, but anger won out, and Tristan drew back to
lie down as she rose. “I swear, Tristan, if you’re … Christ, I
don’t even
know
what you are, but if you hurt anyone in my
family-- ”

“Rest, Emma.”

She paced. Tristan relaxed and folded his
hands behind his head, letting her fume and debate over what was
the lesser of two evils: the boogeyman under the bed or the one in
it.

Finally, Emma slung a pillow at him and
climbed onto the far side of the bed. Tristan watched in amusement
as she created a small wall of pillows between them and then curled
up into a tight ball once more. He waited until she stilled before
summoning the shadows and commanding her to sleep. Her body
responded, unfolding like a flower. He rolled to face her,
disassembled her fort, and hugged a pillow, content.

Chapter Three

He woke up before she did and left her in
peace to join Mama at the small dining table. Mama was reading a
book, her toast forgotten on a paper plate in front of her.

“Why is Emma afraid of the dark?” he asked as
he sat down opposite her.

Smiling, Mama set her book aside and
stretched to reach the counter, pulling a box of cereal off of it
to place on the table.

“Strangely enough, Emma’s only been afraid of
the dark since she’s been an adult. She was mugged in a back alley
one night, not that it stops her from walking in them, so that
might not really make a difference. I don’t know,” she replied.

“Do you know when she started turning on
lights everywhere she went?”

“Maybe a few summers ago. I thought it was
kind of cute. She leaves a trail of light behind her.”

“Her fear seems unusually strong,” he
commented. “Almost phobic. Aside from kids, I’ve never seen an
adult like that.”

“Are you a counselor or something?”

“I do occult consulting and routinely run
across phobias or paranoia people mistake for supernatural
issues.”

“Well,” Mama said thoughtfully, “a couple of
years ago she was seeing a boy named Adam. Well, not a boy, a man,
I suppose, though y’all are all kids to me. Don’t remember his last
name. Never met him. Never knew she dated him until she broke up
with him, as usual. She’s real private like that. The only thing
she said about him was that he was a jackass. I guess that was
about the time she started turning on lights. You’re the first boy
she’s dated since then. Where are you from? Your accent is so
pretty.”