A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (24 page)

“Good of you to follow me, lycan.” Balthazar wagged a finger at him as if he were an errant child. “I tried to let my two girls here work out their differences, but they can’t seem to get along.”

“Work out our differences? She tried to drown me!” Tresa said.

“And you’re trying to get her arrested. What good is she to me locked away in some jail cell?” The demon sighed as though pained. “Well. That’s neither here or there, I suppose. I have a proposition for Darius.”

Her nape tingled, her skin suddenly crawling. “Darius,” she warned quietly, tugging on his arm. Balthazar’s proposition would be tempting; it always was. She looked around desperately for any way out, any escape.

On the road beyond them, a lone figure strolled, a giant hiker’s pack strapped to his back. A couple of cans dangled from it. He was
dressed shabbily, and bearded. A hat pulled low over his face.

The cans clanked together and Balthazar’s gaze followed hers. Dismissing the drifter, the demon looked back at the two of them.

“What are you offering?” Darius asked.

“Darius, don’t
listen
. He—”

“Just a way to reverse your curse. Isn’t that what you’ve been asking for?”

Her pulse skittered at her throat. Of course Balthazar knew just what to offer. The one thing Darius wanted most.

Darius’s arm tensed, the muscles bunching under her grip. “You can do that?”

“Of course. I initiated your curse. I can undo it.”

“Darius,” she whispered. “Be careful.” No one won when they played with a demon. She knew that better than anyone else.

Darius glanced down at her, and she could see in his expression that he understood her warning. This demon hadn’t survived through the millennia by making mistakes.

“What’s the catch?” Darius demanded, his gaze turning back to Flannery.

“Catch?” Balthazar sounded affronted.

“There’s always a catch,” Tresa snapped.

“Ah, well, reciprocation is only fair.”

“What do you want in exchange?” Darius pressed, his handsome features harsh and unyielding in the glow of the moon.

Flannery’s head cocked at a menacing angle, the movement eerie and animal-like. Then Balthazar’s demon gaze swung to Tresa. “Kill her. Free me.”

The words shocked through Tresa like an electrical current. She should have guessed this would be his price.

“Go to hell,” Darius growled.

“Aw, I know you’re fond of her, but consider it. Your curse. Ended. Mortality can be yours again. Isn’t that what you want, my friend?”

“I’m not your friend.”

Darius took her hand and started to lead her away.

Flannery’s voice reached out, stopping them with the seductive pull of her next promise. “I meant the
entire
curse, of course. Every lycan in existence would be no more. They would be just men. Just women. Think of the lives saved…”

Darius stared straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away, but Tresa felt the tremor that ran through him.

The prospect of ending the curse altogether… Future generations would be saved.
She weighed the danger of one demon on the loose versus thousands of lycans. It seemed obvious.

She released Darius’s hand and whirled around. “Do you mean that?” Her voice came out almost a squeak.

“Tre—”

She held up a hand to cut off whatever Darius was going to say.

“Of course I meant it. Your life, and the lycan curse is ended.”

“I won’t do it,” Darius quickly said, forcing her around. “How could you think I would even—”

“How can you not?” she returned, her voice thick. “It’s not about me.” At the hot emotion swimming in his eyes, she added in a softer voice, “It’s not even about us, Darius. You can save lives… so
many
lives.”

“I can’t hurt you.” His breath fell raggedly. “I love you, Tre.”

The words arrowed directly to her heart, painful as any wound. Because she hadn’t heard them in so long. And she had never expected to hear them again.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, refusing to say the words back and make this that much harder. “You’re strong. I know you can do it. You will. Because it’s the right thing.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’d do it to myself if I could.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. “Please, Darius. Don’t make me beg.”

“Please, Darius,” Balthazar echoed. “Listen to her. She wants you to. If you truly love her, do as she asks. And you really would be saving so many lives. Here. You can use this. Flannery always keeps this on her.” Balthazar fished out a Swiss Army knife from her pocket.

“Shut up,” Darius spat, never tearing his gaze from Tresa.

Gulping down a breath, pain and sorrow wringing her heart, Tresa lifted Darius’s hands to her throat. When he started to pull away, she clung all the tighter to his wrists. With his strength, it would be so easy. Just a twist of his hands.

“You can do this. You’re strong.” She held his horrified gaze, knowing he understood she didn’t mean just physically.

Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Do it.”

Inside, words whispered through her that she dared not say aloud, afraid they would stop him from doing what must be done.

I love you. I love you.

Eyes still closed, she slowly removed her hands from his and lifted her chin in offering.
Not thinking about whether it would hurt or not… or about what came after. If the fires of hell waited for her like she’d always believed.

She thought only of Darius. Her love for him. And the wrong she would be righting. The lives she would be saving. That would be enough.

Suddenly he wasn’t touching her anymore. His hands were gone. There was a rush of wind and a sharp, grinding crunch.

By the time she opened her eyes, it was over.

T
WENTY-SIX

D
arius dropped the witch’s head as if he held a viper. It thudded at his feet and her body followed a split second behind it. Tresa gasped, her wide eyes fixing on what was left of Flannery.

Instantly the dark shadow emerged from the fallen corpse, whirling and thickening until it took shape, became corporeal.

Darius pulled out his knife, his gaze searching, ready to find the mark of the fall and plunge it in.

He knew demons could look like anything. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Balthazar. He was enormous. Tall with the muscled body of a man. Random bone-colored spikes protruded from his dark flesh. The demon flung back his head and released a triumphant roar, flexing his sinewy flesh.

Darius scanned him, desperately hunting for a glimpse of the mark. He didn’t see it.

“Darius!” Tresa cried out his name. He felt her hand on his arm.

He risked a glance at her horrified face. “Get back, Tresa!”

A throaty laugh rumbled out from the demon. “Thank you for my freedom, dog.” He flexed his taloned hands and stalked closer. His talons caught the moonlight, shimmering with deadly intent. “And I congratulate you on being the first victim these hands shall finally tear apart.” He nodded at Tresa. “And she’ll be next. I’ll enjoy ripping her head from her body for all the years she’s thwarted my will.”

With a roar, the beast in Darius broke free and he charged, his blood burning through his veins with the violent urge to kill. To protect Tresa. Even if he stood no chance against this monster, he would fight to his last breath.

Balthazar sprang to meet him with an eerie screech. The two clashed, collided with pummeling fists and slashing claws. They writhed in a mad, twisting dance.

Pain shot through Darius and he fought through the agony, the talons shredding through his clothing into muscle and sinew. Tresa’s screams penetrated the fog of pain, the sound giving him strength, and he fought harder. For her. If he fell, she was dead, too.

Suddenly Balthazar howled and arched, releasing Darius. Free, he staggered back, panting as he watched the demon twist in a circle, trying to reach behind him, groping for something that was out of his reach.

And then he saw the hilt of Flannery’s Swiss Army knife sticking out from the glowing handprint on Balthazar’s back.
The mark of the fall
.

Tresa stood just beyond him, her hand still poised in midair from stabbing Balthazar, a shocked expression on her face, as if she couldn’t believe she had actually done it. She’d taken down the demon that had possessed her for over two thousand years and sent him straight back to hell. Pride mingled with the relief and love he felt for her.

The hideous body started to blur and turn to shadow again. The knife fell to the ground. There was no longer anything left to hold it in place.

Then Darius spotted the man he’d noticed on the road earlier. The backpacker. He stood off to the side, his shadowed face observing the mad scene.

Balthazar’s shriek died away as his shadow faded. A moment more, and there was nothing but a wisp on the dark night.

Tresa moved to Darius’s side and he pulled
her close, the sensation of her body against his the greatest comfort. He forgot his wounds, the pain radiating through him.

“You did it, Tresa. You’re free!”

“He’s gone? For good?” Tresa’s voice shook with disbelief. Her eyes welled with moisture. He hugged her closer.

The stranger stepped forward and Darius and Tresa exchanged looks, unsure what to do with man who had just witnessed the unexplainable.

“Nasty creature.” His voice was deep, almost melodious. “He’s where he belongs now.”

“And where’s that?” Darius asked, starting to think this guy wasn’t all he appeared to be.

“Where all demons belong. The fiery pit that gave life to him.”

“Who are you?”

The man studied them, looking Darius over and then Tresa. “We’ve been watching you for some time.”

Tresa pulled back, clearly startled. “Who is ‘we’?”

Darius detected the faintest smile curve the stranger’s lips. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The stranger turned his gaze on Darius, angling his head thoughtfully. “Interesting that the two of you should have found each other.
Two damned souls that should not have chased after the light.” He smiled then. “But you did.”

Darius’s legs suddenly felt unsteady. Hope that he had never dared allow himself swelled inside him. His fingers laced with Tresa’s.

The stranger continued, “Call me a
friend
. One who’s fond of delivering second chances.”

“Second chances?” Tresa’s voice trembled with excitement. Her gaze slid to Darius, widening suddenly. “Darius!” she cried. “Your eyes!”

His hand flew to his face. “What?”

“They’re not silver. They’re… green.”

Green? He knew his eyes had been green once. He could still remember his mother’s green eyes and his uncle telling him his eyes were like hers.

“They’re beautiful.” Tresa’s palm slid across his cheek tenderly. “You’re free. Your curse is gone.”

His hands clasped both her arms. “You’re free, too.”

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly he worried he was crushing her. But she didn’t seem to mind. Her hands gripped his back, clutching him as though she would never let go. With no thought to their audience, they kissed like it was their first kiss. The first kiss of the rest of their lives—lives wiped clean, free of stain and soul-draining darkness.

After a moment, Darius pulled back. Remembering they weren’t alone, he looked toward the stranger, but he was gone.

“Where’d he go?” Tresa whispered, scanning the area all around them.

“He’s gone.”

“How…” Her voice faded and a faint smile brushed her lips. “It doesn’t matter. I’m betting we’ll see him again. Someday.”

His chest swelled with a weightlessness he’d never felt before. With one arm around her shoulders, he guided her toward the car. “Let’s go home.”

She paused, her hands smoothing over his still-wet shirt, slicking it to his chest. Her eyes gleamed up at him in the night. “Um, where is that?”

He glanced up at the waxing moon, realizing he no longer felt its pull. He wasn’t a slave to it anymore. He didn’t need to rush back home and lock himself up inside his prison in a week’s time. He could go anywhere. The world was his. And Tresa’s. They were both free to do whatever or go wherever they wished.

He lowered his head and kissed her, slow and deep. Coming up for air, he murmured against her mouth, “We’ll figure that out.”

E
PILOGUE

S
IX MONTHS LATER…

T
resa opened her eyes to a bird’s musical call. A slow smile spread across her face as she recalled last night. All her nights lately. She toyed with a lock of her hair and gazed up at the ceiling. The blades of a bamboo fan whirred overhead. She stretched her arms, pausing to marvel at her sun-browned skin. Morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, promising another glorious day.

Rising, she slipped on the sheer robe at the foot of the bed. Tightening the sash, she strolled out to the balcony, already guessing what she would find. Darius swam with strong, steady strokes through the cerulean water, as he had every morning since they’d arrived at their island paradise. Sultry breezes, sun warm on your skin. It had always been a fantasy of hers, but now it was reality. Her reality. Hers and Darius’s.

She leaned down to rest her elbows on the iron railing, watching in admiration as he emerged onto the white-sand shoreline. Her gaze roamed over his familiar form lovingly as he took the steps leading up to their balcony two at a time.

Halfway to the top his eyes alighted on her and a wide smile curved his lips. His white teeth stood out against his skin. Time in their paradise had bronzed his skin. Reaching her, he pulled her into his arms, plastering her to his wet body.

“Good morning,” he murmured against her lips after a long, thorough kiss. “What do you want to do today? I was thinking breakfast… after a little nap, hmm?”

He pressed long, savoring kisses to the corners of her lips, her jaw, her neck. And she knew he had anything but a nap in mind.

“I don’t know.” Her fingers trailed across his lovely chest. “I thought we might go into Bridgetown to see a doctor.”