Demetrius (9 page)

“Where?”

Numbly, she pointed down the hall. He recognized the deviation in her demeanor. She was going to go into shock. The last ten minutes sunk in and her mind was rebelling. He needed to do something.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. She stumbled, not putting much effort into her movements, yet he continued his relentless pace. There were others involved in all of this and he didn’t know who, but he felt it imperative they gather as much as they could and leave as soon as possible.

She tried stopping, but he tugged her along. She yanked her hand out of his.

“No, wait. His room. I’ve already checked the library. His room and the cabinets in his office.”

Demetrius didn’t want to split up, but it’d be the smart thing to do. Unless her mind shut down and he found her collapsed in Edgar’s office.
“His room first.”

Callista nodded and backtracked back out to the main area. She stiffly avoided looking at the floor and headed around the circular path to another hallway.

“His office is across from his bedroom.”
She might be holding up, but not for long.

Following her into the dark bedroom, neither one of them turned on the light. She searched the nightstands and he ransacked the closets. Dumping bins and boxes, he found nothing that screamed “Demons for Dummies.” He grabbed the last container and dumped it. Photos.

One caught his eye. Edgar, a fair beauty, and a little blonde girl sat on the steps of the mansion. A happy family photo. A happy little girl.

Sliding the picture under the pile, he buried the rest of them back into the box. It would do Callista no good to see any of it.

She finished searching his dressers and peeked under the bed. Dropping down, she slithered under the bed. Demetrius waited by the closet. She was still in that damn dress and he didn’t need to get hard watching her wiggle on the floor. Not minutes after he’d killed her father.

Rolling back out from under the bed, she rose on her knees—again, another image he needed to pretend he didn’t see—and threw a large book up onto the bed. “I found something.”

Now that one screamed ancient, dark textbook.

“I’ll carry it. We need to search the office.” He grabbed the book and tucked it under his arm. The thing must’ve weighed ten pounds.

She rushed out the door and disappeared into another room.

“I looked through the desk earlier this week.” She gestured to the wall of cabinets. “All of those are locked. We have to find the keys.”

“No need.”

He handed the book off to Callista. Aiming a fist at one set of doors, he punched it.

And fuck, that hurt. But it loosened the bolts enough he could pry his fingers behind the door and rip it off. He did that for all five locked cabinets. His bloodied knuckles throbbed. He had no time for the pain. The skin and any damaged bones would heal soon enough.

They ripped documents from the shelves, scanning them quickly, discarding them just as quickly. Callista’s father had saved everything: receipts, ledgers, bills, notifications.

“Here.” Callista paged through a small leather bound notebook. “It was my mother’s.”

She tossed it to him and grabbed another notebook. A folded piece of paper fell out. He snatched it before it hit the floor, handing it back to her to ensure they had everything—not because he had an insane need to help her any way possible. He looked into the cabinet.

Old journals and notebooks lined the shelves.

“Grab as many as you can. Once we get outside, we’ll flash back to my office.”

They both stacked piles. He took as much of the burden as he could. Nodding when he was ready, she led the way to the upper level and out the front door.

Once they stepped outside, he caught her eye. “My office.”

She flashed first and he followed.

Chapter Nine

Callista dumped her stack of journals onto Demetrius’ desk. They tipped and scattered, hitting the keyboard, knocking over the pen cup. The urge to care was too much for her.

A chair hit the back of her knees and she collapsed into it.  

Demetrius issued orders into his phone. She dimly registered his words.

Everything blurred. Blinking, she realized it was from tears.

Oh god, her father.

Burying her face into her hands, she gave in to the weeping.

How could he? He killed her mother!

He killed her mother?

The tears streamed down her face.

He was gone. Her only family.

She leaned her elbows on her knees. The grief was too much, she couldn’t hold her head up.

He had killed her mother. And he was gone. Forever.

Her shoulders shook, she dropped her head even further, cradling it in her arms. Now her entire body shook with her sobs.

Lifted into strong arms, Callista wanted to curl into his embrace. She started to, then saw the grit and grunge on his sweater, remembered how it got there.

“Put,” she hiccupped, “me,”
hiccup
, “down.”

“Callista…”

She hated him for the placating tone in his voice.

“Now.” And damn, if she could quit hiccupping, she’d sound more serious. “You k-killed him.”

“There was no other way.” His voice gentled. “I knew it. Your father knew it.”

“I h-hate you.” Weeping swamped her.

He cradled her and where he carried her to, she had no idea.

Lost in grief, she was vaguely aware he had set her down and was unlacing her shoes.

God, her feet hurt. Who the hell thought high heels were a good invention? Sniffling, she dragged her hands from her face. The sight of him kneeling at her feet, gently taking off her heels triggered another round of crying.

Damn him for being considerate.
“I hate you.”

He sighed. “I know.”

She sobbed harder. He picked her up and she still didn’t fight him.

Through her tears, she noticed they were in a large modern bathroom with few embellishments. Everything was quality, from the tiled floor to the corner shower. But nothing extra, nothing…frilly.

Her feet touched the floor and she stood, wrapping her arms around herself, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“S-Sorry. I never cry.”

“You need to.”

He reached into the shower and turned knobs, adjusting water temperature. Turning back to her, he lifted her dress. Like a toddler, she raised her arms automatically. She should fight him, be embarrassed, resist, but she couldn’t. She wanted to be clean but had no will to do it herself.
He led her through the open shower door to stand under the spray.

Shouldn’t there be like six jets in the shower? Her mother had installed a posh bathroom shortly after she’d mated her father. Of course, it had gone into disrepair. Neither she nor her father had a knack for fixing plumbing.

Her father.

The weeping started again. Going through the motions of cleaning herself, she had no idea whether she did any good or not. She let her soggy panties hit the shower floor and nudged them away.

A large, warm body crowded into the shower. She dared not look. She wanted to keep hating him. And if he was nude, hate would be pushed to low priority.

With mechanical movements, he soaped her up, soaped himself up, then turned them around under the spray to wash the suds off.

She felt immensely better, if only the heavy blanket of grief would wash away.

The water shut off and a towel draped over shoulders. He wrapped her up in it and picked her up again.

They were both naked, had showered together. It should’ve been an extremely sexual experience, instead it was necessary. Demetrius cared for her. She’d be grateful one day. Today she was too exhausted to care.

Demetrius laid her on the bed, pulled the covers back and tucked her in, removing the wet towel as he pulled the blankets over her.

He was being sweet. So damn caring, and he shouldn’t be. She hated him. She
needed
to hate him.

“Tell me there was no other way to save him.”

Brushing a damp strand of hair off her face, he murmured, “There wasn’t.”

Burry vision. Damn tears.

Damn demons.

Damn arrogant vampires.

Exhausted, she gave in to sleep.

***

Demetrius tossed a box on the floor and started stacking journals and notebooks into it. He was setting the book of everything demon—he hoped—on top when Ophelia walked in.

She scanned the pile of documents. “At least we made a break in the case, of sorts.”

He agreed, but couldn’t bring himself to verbalize it. Felt like he’d be trivializing everything Callista had gone through.

“Smells like fresh blood.” She drew up next to him and grabbed his hand. “You haven’t healed. You need to feed.”
Her voice dropped an octave, suggestion apparent.

His stomach roiled. He rarely fed from the close knit group he commanded and only in emergency situations. Vampires were sexual creatures, but it did no good to bring those activities into the politics of leading the race. Vampires could be emotionally cold and distant, but their emotions also raged hot and violent. Sex would only compound any conflict between him and his closest friends.

Yet Ophelia offered. A lot.

“I’ll feed later.”

She cocked a leg out, hands on her hips, a stance that put her fantastic body on display. “When’s the last time you fed?”

“Earlier tonight.” At least he’d tried.

“Bullshit. You’d be healed by now. You’re pale, and I can see the lines on your face. Look, I’ll leave your zipper alone, but you need nutrition.”

“I know,” he snapped.

Undaunted, she tapped her foot with impatience.

“I don’t want to feed from anyone right now.” Except from Callista, and he couldn’t.

He turned back to gather up the box of books so he could settle into his apartment and start going through them. Ophelia didn’t leave, but he sensed her moving. When he stood with the box in his arms and faced her, he wanted to howl in frustration.

Ophelia had her top off. Next went her bra. The low riding leathers she wore dipped far enough that he could count all eight abs. She had a phenomenal body, a petite powerhouse of muscle and curves covered in satiny cinnamon skin. Her high, rounded breasts were a perfect handful with dusky nipples a male could sink a fang into.

“What the hell, Ophelia?”

She cupped her breasts, thumbed her nipples, her chocolate eyes suggestive. “Come on Demetrius, aren’t you hungry?”

Because he’d had a shitty day already, Callista chose that moment to stumble in, wearing one of his sweatshirts and an old pair of his basketball shorts. She looked cuter than a kitten with her disheveled hair, drowning in his clothes. His groin came alive. Despite the scalding side-effect of her blood, he wanted to sink his fangs deep into the juncture of her thighs.

She stopped, her eyes wide as they flew between him and a half-naked Ophelia. Betrayal flashed through her expression first, followed by hurt. Where the fuck was Betty when he needed her?

“Oh sorry, I was just—I couldn’t sleep anymore so I thought I’d start going through my father’s things. I’ll come back.”

She was mid-turn, when Ophelia barked, “Stay!” His friend crossed her arms under her breasts and eyed him. “D, look at me.” He did, keeping his eyes above chin level. “Now look at Calli.”

He frowned, but did as commanded. Callista glared back at him, but remained in place. He sensed how badly she wanted to bolt out of the office. Hellfire, she was intoxicating. So innocent, so fresh. He knew what she looked like when she fell apart in his arms, knew what she felt like when she came wrapped around him. Hell, he was even willing to risk third degree burns for another sip of her blood.

“Look back at me, D,” Ophelia ordered.

He tore his eyes off Callista. Ophelia studied him. They’d known each other for decades, he’d always found her beautiful and fierce. She was a treasured friend and trusted colleague.

“I thought so,” Ophelia murmured, stooping to grab her top. Callista made a move to leave again, but was brought to a halt with Ophelia’s next question. “Are you two true mates?”

“No!” they said in unison.

“Mmm-hmm.” Ophelia threw her shirt on. “D, I know you’ve tamed your game in the last year, but I’ve never known you to abstain from fucking or feeding. You won’t take a vein from me even though you’re starving. I get no vibes from you when I’m offering more, but little miss lost and confused walks in, and your emotions go haywire. Normally what you do is your business, but this is affecting your health, and that affects the rest of us. I’m not herding cats by myself. Calli, he needs to feed.”

He had filled in his team about everything other than their intimate moment that ended with serious burns.