Demon Marked (20 page)

If only he'd come down the stairs a few seconds earlier. Then he would have seen the blue light shooting from her hands and face and realized just how dangerous it could be for him to touch her. Then there wouldn't be this awkwardness between them, this horrible feeling that something good was going bad.

She stepped out of the bathroom, expecting to find Andre lurking outside the door, ready to haul her down the street to the Conti offices. Instead he was across the room near the kitchenette, slicing an orange. The bright smell of orange peel cut through the sweetness of the flowers, making Emma's mouth water.

“Hope you're planning to share that,” she said, circling around the wooden table that dominated the room where Sam compiled her arrangements.

Her sister was blind, so she chose the flowers for her projects by selecting complementary textures and smells, which made for some unique works of art. It looked like she'd left instructions for Paige before she'd left. The purple and yellow and orange flowers erupting from the four vases in the middle of the table bore Sam's distinctive stamp.

“Actually, this is all for you.” Andre pushed a plate filled with orange slices and a toasted bagel across the counter.

“Thanks.” Emma grabbed the bagel and took a huge bite, sighing with relief as she chewed and swallowed and went for another. “You sure you don't want some?” she asked around a mouthful of bread, beyond worrying about good manners.

She hadn't realized how starved she was. But then, if you didn't count supernatural feedings, she hadn't eaten anything since the handful of stale pretzels last night at the Demon's Breath. It was a wonder she hadn't passed out from low blood sugar.

“No, thanks,” Andre said. “I had a bagel while you were enjoying the world's longest bathroom break.”

“Hm.” Emma swallowed and reached for the other half of the bagel. “I needed a second.”

“More like fifteen minutes.” Andre wiped his hand on a towel and circled around the counter. “We should go as soon as you're finished.”

Instead of coming to stand next to her, he moved to the wooden table a few feet away, keeping his back to her, staring at the flowers. Emma couldn't help but feel a little sad that he'd so easily accepted that she wanted her space. Still, it was for the best. She didn't want to hurt him, and what had happened with Stewart had only proven that she couldn't be sure kissing Andre was safe right now. Hell, it might never be safe. Even on a good day, the darkness was still there, waiting to come out and play, struggling to triumph over her human side.

The thought made it hard to swallow her last bite of bagel, and the orange slices still on her plate weren't nearly as appetizing as they'd been a moment earlier. She might never kiss Andre again. Even five hours ago, she couldn't have imagined that would make her so very sad. But it did.

“Thanks for the food,” she said, wanting to reach out and smooth her hands along the lines of Andre's shoulders. Instead, she grabbed his discarded towel and brushed the last of the crumbs off her hands. “That was nice.”

“That's me. Nice.”

“I think you're nice.”

Andre turned, nailing her with a hard look. “You think I'm an asshole.”

“Yeah, but a nice asshole,” she said, uncomfortable with the strained laugh that followed her words. “I mean it. I appreciate everything you've done for me today.”

“Right. Appreciation made you decide to steal my gun and—”

“I explained that. And I said I was sorry.”

“I don't want to hear that you're sorry, I want to hear that you're going to stop putting yourself in danger,” he said, closing the distance between them in two long steps.

Emma stood a little straighter, unable to ignore the closeness of his body. He was only a few inches away. No matter how determined she was to keep this man safe, she couldn't stop thinking about the fact that they were alone for the first time. In a private place where they wouldn't be interrupted, surrounded by bright colors and seductive smells that seemed to heighten all of her senses, making her crave that intimate connection she'd nearly allowed herself to believe would be possible.

But it wasn't possible. Not for her. Not now, not ever.

“I can't stop putting myself in danger. I've been putting myself in danger since I was a tiny little kid,” Emma said. She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but she couldn't help herself.

The unfairness of her mark was hitting hard today, harder than it had in years. But then, she'd never been so keenly aware of what she was missing as she was right now, staring up into the dark eyes of a gorgeous man she wanted to kiss so badly it hurt.

“You're talking about the demon mark again, right?” Andre moved even closer, his hands coming down on either side of her, pinning her between him and the counter.

“Yes.” Emma tried to move away, but Andre refused to move his arm.

“You're going to have to show me.”

She shook her head, dropping her chin, refusing to look at him. “No, I won't.”

“I want to believe you, Emma, I really do, but—”

“No, you don't. If you wanted to believe me, you would,” she said, increasingly breathless as he pressed even closer, the hard planes of his body molding against her, making her light up from the inside, like the face of one of her victims.

Her victims. She didn't want Andre to become one of them. She had to maintain control, no matter how tempted she was to twine her arms around his neck and pull his lips down to her own.

“It's not that simple,” Andre said, one hand leaving the counter, wrapping around her waist.

Despite herself, she relaxed against him, sighing as she felt the hard ridge of his growing arousal against her hip. God, she wanted to see him, to touch him, to feel that part of him pushing inside her, easing the unfamiliar ache he'd awakened. She'd never wanted anyone like this.

The dark craving had responded to her fear in powerful ways today—what if it responded to her desire, as well? What if it decided Andre would make the perfect snack and began to feed while they were ... in the middle of something?

The thought of the blue light shining from between her legs was almost enough to make Emma laugh, but not quite. No amount of ridiculous imagery could banish the awareness of Andre's body so close to her own, Andre's mouth teasing near her ear.

“Come on, Emma, show me.”

Emma lifted her chin, shivering as he pressed a soft kiss to her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the place where her pulse raced beneath her skin. She reached up, careful to keep her hands fisted as she pushed against his chest, forcing him back a few precious inches.

“I can't show you.” She stared into his eyes, heart beating even faster at the need she saw there.

It wasn't just physical need. It was something else, something more. Andre really
did
want to understand, but nothing in his realm of experience had prepared him for her. Sadly, her experience
had
prepared her for him. She knew how to convince him she was telling the truth. She also knew that the words she'd have to speak wouldn't be easy to hear.

“Come on, let's go.” She tried once more to break out of his arms, but he only held her tighter. Once he'd set his mind on something, the man was like a pit bull—utterly intractable and determined to the point of being dangerous.

“Don't you think Francis is going to want some kind of proof of what you can do?” he asked. “Don't you think he'll have the same doubts that I have? Wouldn't it be easier to go in there with me on your side, able to confirm your story?”

“It's not a story,” she said, his condescending tone finally pushing her to say things she'd hoped could be avoided. “When I touched you this morning, I saw inside your mind. I looked into your memories. I saw Katie. She was a redhead with—”

“You didn't see anything.” He stepped back, cutting the physical connection between them.

“Then how did I know? How would I be able to describe—”

“Jace told you,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of the table, his anger clear in his pinched features. “Or Jace told your sister, and she—”

“Jace and Sam have nothing to do with this. I saw her. In your mind. I saw the way she was crying the last time you saw her before she died,” Emma said, hating every word she spoke, but knowing she couldn't stop now. She had to finish this, to make sure this was the last time Andre ever questioned her about her mark. “She was crouched in a corner near a bed with a ...” Emma closed her eyes, searching her mind for the specifics she needed. “A blue comforter, with some sort of white pattern on it. She was reaching out to you, begging you not to leave, but you—”

“Stop it.” Andre's sharp tone made her eyes fly open. He'd stopped his pacing and stood frozen in front of her, one accusing finger pointed at her chest. “However you found out about Katie, it's none of your—”

“I know it's none of my business, but that's the question you have to answer, Andre. How did I find out?” Emma asked in her softest voice, the pain on Andre's face making her wish he'd left well enough alone. “Did you ever tell anyone about those last few moments? Did you ever tell anyone that Katie was crawling across the floor to you when you slammed the door in her face?” Emma tensed, half expecting Andre to strike her. The violence simmering in his eyes was making his hands shake—it was terrifying.

But not nearly as terrifying as what happened next.

Instead of lashing out, Andre crumpled. He dropped his face into his trembling hands, his back hunched, and seconds later, those broad shoulders began to shake. He didn't make a noise, not so much as a gasp for breath, but there was no doubt about it—Andre was crying, weeping like his heart was breaking all over again.

And it was all her fault. She'd known how much he'd loved Katie, how it had killed him to lose her, but she'd ripped the scab away from the wound anyway, hurting him in the name of proving her stupid fucking point. Her worries about the dark craving faded to background noise as a more powerful need surged inside her. She
needed
to comfort this man, needed to help take away some of the pain that she had caused.

She went to him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him as best she could, the act of offering herself to someone in such an intimate way making her awkward and unsure. Andre must have felt her doubt. For a moment, his body stiffened and she was certain he was going to pull away. Instead, his arms parted and he engulfed her, hugging her so tight, she could barely breathe. He buried his face in her neck and continued to sob in absolute silence while she smoothed his hair, stroked his strong neck, ran her hands in comforting circles on his back.

Emma had no idea how long they stood there, holding each other, before Andre finally lifted his face, but she knew for certain that the darkness was as dormant as it ever was. Touching Andre with empathy and compassion hadn't summoned the beast from its rest. It gave her some small hope.

Maybe ... if Andre didn't hate her for the things she'd said...

“You made me cry. I can't remember the last time I cried,” he said, wetness still shining on his cheeks, though he forced a small smile. “What a jerk you are.”

“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it was. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry. I'm the jerk. I should have believed you.” He brought one hand to cup her face, smoothing away a tear she hadn't realized she'd shed. “I'm just ... not very good with faith. Or trust.”

“Me, either.” Emma's chest tightened with an emotion as foreign as the desire Andre inspired. “But for what it's worth, I'd like to get better. I would ... I'd try to get better.”

He curled his fingers at the back of her neck, making her shiver. “Me, too.” The expression on his face the second before he kissed her was enough to make Emma forget how to breathe.

Was
that
what love looked like? Was that the way a man stared at the lips of a woman who meant more to him than a way to scratch the most ancient of itches?

She'd seen into Andre's mind and knew better than anyone that women were his fix. He might
need
his fix, but he didn't love it. Sometimes he even hated it, hated the weakness his compulsion shoved in his face every night of his life.

She should have known better than to think there was anything but lust and addiction in his eyes. But when he kissed her, she could
feel
the emotion there. There was hope in the way his lips moved against hers, tenderness in the way his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her with an intensity he hadn't before. He wanted to believe she was different. He wanted to believe that
he
could be different.

More than anything in the world, Emma wanted to believe those things, too.

She didn't hold back when Andre moaned and kissed her harder, his hands roaming over her body, opening buttons and un-snapping snaps as he went. Instead, she shoved his suit jacket off his shoulders and down to the floor, then went to work on his buttons, stopping only when he leaned down to catch her behind the knees and hoist her up around his waist.

Emma tensed her arms and held tight to his shoulders as she spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him closer, sighing as Andre's hard-on pressed against where she ached.

“I want you.” She kissed his neck, his jaw, his lips, any part of him that came close enough for her to taste.