A Very Demon Christmas [Demon Hunters 1] (8 page)

Opening the cupboard that held glasses, he removed two tumblers and set them on the counter. From the determined tilt of her chin, he wasn't going to bother ordering her to accept his agenda. Holly was a sexual submissive—the perfect partner for him to play with, but that didn't erase her intelligence or free will when she was out of his bed, or in their case, his shibari weave. Submissives had the power in every D/s relationship, because dominance—sexual or any other kind—only worked when the sub was willing.

For him to hope his mood-altering talent would work to change her from stubbornly suspicious to compliant, after his other gifts had failed to have any effect, needed a practicing, rose-colored-glasses-wearing optimist. Worst-case-scenario thinking was more his specialty.

He had a few vials of mind wipe in the fridge, but the thought of using the chemical memory eraser on Holly made him nauseated. He'd never used the stuff. Never had to, since he'd always handled the business of rearranging a human's perception with his own bag of tricks. Who knew what kind of side effects the witch's brew would have? Damn stuff could be the equivalent of a lobotomy. That was the usual result of too many memory alterations. The idea of doing that to Holly made him even queasier. He rubbed his stomach absently. For once, he was going to follow instructions to the letter, before he even considered resorting to the potion.

Digging out his cell, he found Belinda, the cadre's on-call witch, and keyed in a quick text:
5 hr mems, h fem, how much mw? sides?
He hit Send.

Still mulling over the problem, he hauled out the scotch, set it on the counter, then grabbed the ice bucket and filled it with cubes. For whatever reason, Holly was immune to his talents. Grumbling about his rotten luck and lousy timing wasn't going to protect her. What he needed to do was get over her fragile human status and treat her as if she were a female demon, tell her the truth, and hope like hell she believed him.

Even then, she still wouldn't be safe. She was human and much too vulnerable to every kind of nasty predator out there. Besides, humans who'd learned too much about his world disappeared permanently unless a full-blood demon was willing to be responsible for them. And what were the odds of him talking an unmated full-blood male into accepting her as his ward? If he could find a candidate, would Colin trust another male with Holly?

Not very damn likely. His demon side was already screaming to claim her. But taking her and keeping her were entirely different. If he kept her, then she'd be in danger every time he hunted. What if he didn't win one of the death matches? Pretty much a given—no one always won. Then she'd die too. Not acceptable. No way. No how. Never happening.

His cell played the opening notes of “The Sorcerer's Apprentice,” announcing Belinda. “Too cryptic?” Shit. He was getting as bad as Duec.

The witch came back with a friendly laugh. “Let me see. You have a human female you want to use mind wipe on to erase five-hour-old memories, and you're worried about side effects. Did I miss anything vital?"

"You got it."

"There's something different about your voice—are you all right?"

Balanced on a razor's edge of insanity, was an accurate assessment.
“Fine."

"Uh-huh, sure. Then why are you considering mind wipe?"

Since Belinda asked, Colin bit back an automatic snarl and coughed up the truth. “I can't alter her memories. I can't even read her."

"How do you know she has memories you need to erase?"

He dug deep and softened his roar of frustration to a growl. “I've talked to her."

Strange smothered noises came from Belinda.

His jaw tightened. “You better not be laughing, or I'll paddle your ass even if you are a mistress. There's not one fucking funny thing about this whole mess."

She cleared her throat. “Of course not. Mind wipe will do the job, and one vial will be enough. Side effects vary from human to human, but in general the keener the mind, the more effective the potion. A really bright subject will lose her short-term, mid-term, and probably a fair sized chunk of long-term memories."

"So mind wipe works pretty much the same as if I did multiple memory alterations on the same person."

"Very close, which is why it's seldom used, but if the alternative is death, then a few memory lapses might sound great."

"Yeah, got it. Thanks for the info.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone.

Still scowling over the sickening idea of damaging Holly's mind, he dropped ice into the tumblers, added a generous splash of scotch, and then water until the amber liquid was a finger width shy of the rim. He made another for himself, minus the water.

The only alternative to wiping her memories was a guardian. Any of the other demon hunters—the only demons he was tight enough with to ask this kind of favor—presented exactly the same risk he did. Holly's protector would have to be a civilian, except where was he going find an honorable full-blood civilian up to the job? Her guardian had to be the best—and he was the best of the demon hunters. Hopeless pretty much summed up the situation.

Colin thought about Zinja, Thad's dead mate. There was simply no place safe enough from the kinds of monsters stalking demon hunters and their families. Back to square one—he had to talk to Holly. He needed every advantage he could get, so he dug out a tray to serve the drinks. Then he added the ice bucket and the scotch before he strode into the living room.

"Dear God, you've already healed, haven't you?” Holly paled even whiter than her usual light cream. Her skin glowed like moonlight against the black silk of his new favorite robe.

He set down the tray and shrugged. “Pretty much. Have a seat."

"Are you going to answer my questions?"

"Yeah.” Colin held out a drink and waited until she'd settled her gorgeous round butt before he handed over the tumbler.

"Start with your name. I don't want to call you Master right now.” Her voice quavered as she made the demand, but her chin moved up a stubborn notch.

He swallowed a sigh of relief that she'd let him off easy. “Colin Donahue."

"Holly Anderson. Nice to meet you.” She gave him a shaky smile. “I'm a private duty nurse.” She waited for a couple of seconds, then prodded. “This is where you tell me something about you, like what kind of work you do."

He shook his head, needing a lot more time before he tackled that subject.

"All right, let's try again. What happened after you left the club? Were you mugged?"

"No."

"Fine,” she said with sharp exasperation. “Then why don't you tell me what made you choose such an intricate tattoo?"

He threaded his fingers through his hair again and dived into the deep end. “It's not a tattoo. More a birthmark. I'm part air demon."

Her eyes narrowed. “Not funny."

"Not meant to be."

"Air demon?” she echoed.

He nodded.

The lightened cream skin on her face and cleavage paled further to sickly ghost tint. He watched carefully for any sign she was going to faint or scream. “Half air demon,” he corrected her.

Holly took a healthy slug of scotch. Her eyes watered, and she swallowed a couple of times before she choked out another question. “What's the other half?"

At least she was still talking to him. He resisted an urge to rub her back, not sure she was ready to accept his touch, which made him feel like more of monstrous freak than usual. “Human. My mother was human."

"You said was. She's dead?"

"Yeah."

Holly swallowed again and set her drink back on the tray with shaky fingers. She covered his free hand with hers. “I'm so sorry."

"Old news.” He brushed away her sympathy but not her hand.

She gave him a sympathetic squeeze. “Even an old wound can still hurt.” After another quick squeeze, she let go of him and picked up her drink. “Let's say demons are real and they are a separate species. Have you ever seen one that didn't look, well, human?"

Her tone was let's-humor-the-crazy-guy, so he stuck to the facts. “Yeah."

She didn't pursue the subject. “Tell me more about what being an air demon means. Can you fly?"

"No. I'm human-dominant and latent.” A pathetic note of self-pity crept into his voice, and he cleared his throat.

"I don't understand. What does latent mean?"

"That I'm never going to turn into a demon."

He expected skepticism and forced himself to dial back his automatic defensive attitude, wanting—needing her trust.

"Why does not turning into a, please forgive me, but it seems apt, monster make you sad?"

Her genuine sympathy surprised him. The monster reference wasn't anything he hadn't said about himself. It still stung. He kept his tone reasonable. “Demons aren't monsters, just another humanoid species. Growing up, I dreamed of flying. I still do. But I will never fulfill my potential. The demon mark reminds me of what could've been. So yeah, it still makes me a little sad."

What a wild and fun party guy. Come on over and bandage my owies, baby, and listen to me whine. With a line like that, how could she resist? But because she trusted me, she's here and in a world of danger.

"Perhaps you will shift someday."

Colin spoke briskly, trying to shake off his regret for dragging Holly to his violent world and think clearly. “If I were ever going to change, then it would have happened at puberty."

"That's the usual pattern?"

"As usual as anything about half bloods—they're rare."

"How rare?"

He shrugged. “I've never met another."

"Then there could be exceptions to the puberty-or-nothing rule."

He turned away from her gentle concern. “Anything's possible."

"Like being able to read minds?” she asked a little bit too shrewdly.

"Except for yours."

Her lips curved, almost a real smile. Plainly her exception status pleased her. Only because she didn't have a clue what kind of risk her immunity caused.

"You seemed surprised when I mentioned the time we spent together at the club.” Her cheeks grew pinker, a big improvement over the ghost look.

"You're right,” he admitted, working hard to keep his mind on the problem instead of how much he wanted to trace her blush back to her breasts. “I thought that I'd altered your memories of me—us."

"Was that what the burning looks were about—memory altering?” She averted her eyes, grabbed one of his suede pillows to her round little belly, and hugged the cushion tight enough to blanch her dimpled knuckles.

Burning looks
almost made him grin, even though he'd gotten through to her enough to scare the brave little slave. “Yeah."

"What happens if someone remembers you?” The skin around her eyes tightened with fears he wanted to erase.

The smile teasing his lips vanished before it began. “Depends."

"On what?” she whispered.

"On how much they know."

"Say they knew where you lived, knew you were a regular at La Ceinture Noire, and knew that you'd been injured in some kind of violent encounter?” Her soft words rushed out in one long breath.

"Then they'd be a couple of facts short of a death sentence."

Her pretty eyes widened. “Are you serious?"

"As a natural disaster."

Holly clutched the pillow with one arm, swallowed a second, more cautious, sip of her scotch, and nodded slowly. She seemed to believe him.

What worried Colin was her blank expression. The idea of real demons living right here in Treeland had to be tough to accept. He hated pushing her so hard, but accepting the reality of his world was her best hope for survival.

"Can all demons"—she paused. Her hand trembled as she brought the glass to her lips and swallowed more scotch before continuing—"read minds and change memories?"

He glanced away, not wanting to chance seeing her fear of him. “No, just me."

"Except with me."

"Except you,” he agreed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Be a lot simpler if I could."

Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I want to remember you."

Colin was such a sick bastard that her foolish words warmed his black heart. He yanked his thoughts back to reality. Somehow, without terrifying her any worse than he already had, he needed to make her understand that knowing him could be fatal. The ego balm of her memories weren't worth a bruise on her gorgeous ass, let alone her life. He had to ensure she took the risks seriously. “Remembering me is a death sentence."

Her pale skin grew even whiter.

Way to not terrify her.

Then she shook her head in denial. “I'm safe with you."

He wanted to groan with frustration and roar with pride at the same time. She trusted him to protect her, and his dominant nature reveled in the best gift she could give him. But protecting her—really protecting her—meant keeping her far away him. “You're safer away from me."

While Colin sought for the right words to convince her, Holly changed the subject. “Being latent must have made you feel like you didn't fit anywhere."

She waited for a long moment, but he didn't jump in to volunteer personal information. So she tucked the pillow back where it belonged, wrapped a curl around one finger, and chattered on. “I know how that feels. All my friends growing up came from traditional middle-class families. You know the kind—one mom, one dad, two and a half siblings. Weird in this day and age, but that was life in a small town where the tempo was a half a century behind the rest of the world. I never knew my dad, barely remember my mom. My grandmother raised me on a small pension. So I never had the right clothes or the right anything to fit in with the rest of the crowd."

Finally her nervous chatter petered out. She scrubbed her hands together and then tucked them under her thighs.

You fit perfectly with me. Clothes not required. In fact, I love you naked, but you do look gorgeous tied up in my rope.

Then the sense of what she'd said seeped through Colin's thick skull. She didn't know her parents. Maybe she wasn't as completely human as she looked. That would explain why he couldn't read her. “Tell me what you do know about your parents."