Demons are a Ghoul's Best Friend: Afterglow, Book 2 (14 page)

“It’s not. I don’t mind having sex. I’ve learned to manage it. I just keep it under control.”

“You mean you’ve managed to repress damn near half of who you really are.”

She blinked. “Probably. But it works fine and I’m content with it.”

“Oh, Pandora.” Cheney shook his head slowly. “You are
so
wrong about that.”

“I don’t think so.” She returned to the couch. “Let’s face it, Cheney. Sex is a simple physical expression of affection between two people. No more, no less. As long as I keep it to that, I’m fine. I enjoy the closeness, the touching. I…” she cleared her throat, “…I get aroused sometimes.”

For a moment she closed her eyes. God, this was the weirdest conversation she’d ever had with a man. “All I have to do is remember to relax and just enjoy as much of it as I can. Most times, my dates haven’t even realized…” She trailed off, realizing what she was implying.

“They never know you don’t come.”

At a loss as how to avoid answering that, Pandora simply kept her mouth shut and looked away from him.

“They’re idiots.”

“That’s harsh. And some were quite nice.”

“Okay. Nice idiots.”

“There really haven’t been too many. I have a busy schedule. My work doesn’t allow me time to go out and party up a storm every damn Saturday night, Cheney. I’m not out cruising for hot sex on a regular basis, so it really doesn’t matter much in the overall scheme of my life.”

He tilted his head and stared at her thoughtfully. “Pandora, you’ve suppressed a huge part of your life. And I’m not just talking about orgasms. This goes deeper. It goes to who you are, a part of you that shouldn’t be kept under wraps.”

“Really?” She flicked a glance back at him. “And haven’t you done the same thing?”

“Me?” He looked surprised. “Hell no. I come. I’ve never faked an orgasm in my life.”

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, catching her off guard. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Oh.” He grinned unrepentantly.

“You don’t tell many people about your AG talent. Your gift for illusions. I wouldn’t have known to come talk to you at all if I hadn’t met Roz and had the wits to put two and two together about your project. Rusty and Lucy.”

“That’s a personal choice.”

“As is mine.”

“Not the same,” Cheney disagreed. “I simply don’t make my talent public. Doesn’t mean I don’t use it or enjoy it from time to time. I don’t push it out of my life. It’s part of me. I’m tall, I don’t like olives and I can create illusions. That’s it. No big secret.”

He was wrong about that, thought Pandora. It might not be secret, but Cheney was anything but a straightforward person. He showed what he wanted the world to see, and that didn’t necessarily correlate to who he was or what he happened to be thinking at the time. However, she had no right to argue the point, since she’d probably lose that one. “Well, say what you will, I guess we’ve both come to terms with who and what we are, just in different ways.”

“A nice summation encompassing neutral ground.” He crossed his legs at the ankles. “Well done. One thing though…”

“What?”

“Your tears. You cried blood at the fire.”

She nodded. “I have what could best be called an empathy, I guess. I can sense when a tree is in trouble. If it needs pruning or it’s rotting or dying. I suppose I could have turned that into a pretty successful job as an arborist, but it’s draining, both physically and emotionally.” She slumped back onto the couch, her hand drifting once again to the carved dragon. “Most times I can deal with it when it happens. And that’s not often. But today?” She gulped down a lump of bitterness. “Today was the screaming death of the wooden pieces I’d come to know and love. They weren’t alive, not like a forest fire burning living trees. But they were part of me. I’d touched them so many times, learned the feel of their surfaces, taken something from them that made my life better, just like I hope they took something from me.” She stared down at the figurine beside her. “When they burned I felt it like a physical pain. Like my insides were being torn apart. I guess that caused the bloody tears…I don’t know for sure. It’s only happened once before.”

“When was that?”

“A big bonfire one year in college. Dead wood used for logs doesn’t bother me. It’s as if the spirit of the tree is lost once it’s chopped up. But some of the students brought newly cut still-living wood and threw it on the blaze.” She recalled the pain, her skin dappling with goose bumps at the memory. “It was terrible. I realized I was crying and saw the blood when I wiped my face. I got the hell out of there and haven’t been to a bonfire since.”

“You’re weird all right.”

Stunned, she blinked at him, then noticed his grin. “Uhh…”

“C’mon, kid. You’re smart enough to know that AG mutations take all kinds of forms. Nothing’s standard, nothing is quote normal unquote.” He made the appropriate gesture with his fingers. “It’s all natural, part of our world nowadays.”

She blew out a breath from between pursed lips. “Sure. You know that. I know that. But somewhere along the line people didn’t manage to adjust to stuff that’s out of the ordinary. Okay, so the
ordinary
has changed in its definition from what it was a few generations ago. But there’s still that…that…” She searched for the word.

“Stigma?”

“I suppose that’s as good a way of any to describe it. Fae are accepted. Differently talented Fae are still looked at askance.”

“
Askance
. Lovely word.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Forgive me for enjoying the English language.”

“Don’t get snotty. That was a genuine compliment. You don’t speak in shorthand. I like that.”

“Sorry. My mistake. I get a bit touchy now and again when my linguistic skills are…” she smiled at him, “…
impugned.
”

“Oooh. A twofer. Let me get my notebook.” He chuckled and rubbed a finger down her cheek. “You need rest, crazy tree lady. Been a rough day.”

“Yeah.” Pandora stifled another yawn. “That’s an understatement.”

“So go get some sleep. But maybe you should think about this.” He leaned forward and barely brushed her lips with his mouth. “We’re going to end up naked and in bed together.”

Amazed by the frisson of arousal his kiss had sent chasing down her spine, she simply stared at him.

“And when we do, there’ll be no faking. No pretending. No hiding. Is that clear?”

She nodded. What else could she do? Lying wasn’t an option. She’d bared her innermost soul to this man. He knew what she was, now. There was no need for pretense. It was a strangely liberating moment, one in which her life shifted a little and she acknowledged to herself that having him make love to her might be pretty damn fantastic.

And it scared the crap out of her.

“Go to bed and think about it, okay?” He pulled back with a rueful sigh. “I know I will.”

She stood and almost ran to his guestroom, not looking over her shoulder. Whether it was because she was afraid he would follow her or that he
wouldn’t
—well, that was something she’d postpone thinking about until she could get her head straight and her mind organized.

Oddly enough, those were two things that she was finding increasingly difficult when she was around Cheney Fisher.

He hadn’t lied. He
was
thinking about getting Pandora naked, hot and sweaty. He was thinking about how he’d arouse her and push her past her self-imposed limits. What she’d like, where he’d touch her and taste her—and what to do about the seriously solid erection that all these thoughts had quite naturally produced.

“Fuck.” He shifted in his chair. Sleep definitely wasn’t an option right now so he’d opted for his office and Marilyn, intending to dig around a little in some official files and see if there was anything out there on Victoria Larson he might have overlooked, missed or just not found first time around.

“Cheney?” Marilyn’s face peeked at him from the side of his screen. “Anything I can do for you, darling?”

“Sadly no.” He moved again, easing the throbbing weight between his legs.

“I have a few ideas, baby…” Red lips pouted at him as the speakers whispered in husky and seductive tones.

“You’re not helping, Marilyn.” He frowned. “On the other hand, maybe there is something you can do. Can you access the department database from—let’s say fifty years ago? Give me the ten years prior too.”

“Of course, honey.” The dulcet voice sounded a little disappointed, but within moments the official logo appeared on the screen and he entered his password. Back files began to appear. “Is there any particular area you’d like displayed, handsome?”

He thought about how best to approach his research. “Yeah. Give me anything referencing Larson, first name Victoria. Give me her background files if there are any. Parents, birth certificate, whatever. Even if it’s not necessarily directly related to her.”

“Sure, sugar. Here it comes.”

It was little enough. Victoria Larson had been Victoria Prendergast prior to her marriage, which occurred when she was twenty-seven. Albert Larson, the lucky groom, had been five years younger, but apparently the match was deemed quite acceptable. Albert possessed a tidy fortune which was enlarged by the addition of money from the Prendergast vaults. There were a few photos of the wedding in the file. Both bride and groom had looked suitably enthusiastic.

“Marilyn…keep searching back from here. Give me Victoria Prendergast’s info.” He tapped his fingertips on his desk. Something about the name
Prendergast
was tickling at his subconscious.

“Here you go, sweetheart. Anything you want, you
know
I can provide.”

Focused on his research, he managed to ignore the sexual overtones of that statement. And there it was. Prendergast Industries.

The Svengali Project
.

Shit
. Cheney’s brain made the connections, but came up short. The Svengali Project had been a massive stain on humanity and the top men had been quietly taken out and executed.

He knew he’d have willingly pulled the switch himself, and he still had the occasional nightmare filled with memories of what he and Buck had seen in those classified files. Fortunately, AGs were now mainstream and no longer a source of experimental fodder for twisted geniuses who viewed them as nothing more than disposable lab rats.

Apparently some of the major offenders had alleged ties to Prendergast’s multibillion dollar research facilities. Close enough ties that the lab itself had been cited and prosecuted as an accessory to the fact. And paid a hefty fine by the looks of it, even though he couldn’t find a notation of any Prendergast employees actually doing time for the crime.

But…

That creature he and Buck had destroyed—with Lian’s help. It was marked case closed, but both detectives knew there was unfinished business. They’d discussed the similarities to a Svengali-like manipulator but never found any proof. Could it be linked to Pandora’s strange pup? Was it another facet of whatever or whoever was doing something weird with AGs and their DNA?

It was a damn long stretch, making that association. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands tiredly over his face. Too many unanswered questions, and yet too much that was unexplained to be ignored. He enjoyed puzzles—part of the reason he liked his job. But this one had struck close to home. Home, in this case, being represented by Pandora, a woman who’d walked into his life such a short time ago, yet had overwhelmed his common sense and, possibly, taken over something more than his guestroom.

He rotated his shoulders and let his mind wander a bit. He understood her, more than she could know. He’d never really come to terms with his own talent. Sure, it was fun. A neat party trick and a wow with women. But other than that, what the hell use was it?

Vampires had enhanced senses and loved the night. There were so many places where their skills were invaluable.

Buck was a cognitive. He could sense emotions, pick up details left hanging in the air of a crime scene and Lian was—well, Cheney wasn’t quite sure exactly what she was, but apparently it was something that Buck appreciated. Fae flittered a lot, but they were extraordinarily good at picking up on minute details that others might have missed.

Werewolves were solid citizens, community-oriented, family-oriented, dependable and always there when you needed them. They tended to be found heading up committees, charities and running for office now and again.

Every variety of AG, it seemed to Cheney, was settling into a place where their talents and skills were most useful. Except him.

And Pandora.

He sighed. What a freakin’ pair of crazies. A tree fairy and an illusionist. At least she’d gone her own road and become a successful lawyer. And he’d become a cop because he loved the work. Their
human
lives hadn’t been wasted. But he could certainly understand her need to bury her AG abilities. Because he’d done pretty much the same thing.

She’d nailed him on that and she was absolutely right.

But there was one thing that popped back into his mind like a flash of lightning. They’d shared a dream.

And as he turned that memory over and examined it, he heard her crying.

Chapter Twelve

The tears came fast and harsh, great sobs choking from Pandora’s throat as she huddled herself beneath the quilt in Cheney’s guestroom.

She’d slept a little, but her subconscious mind had yet to deal with the fire and the loss she’d taken today. It was a hard hit, she knew. Just
how
hard came as a shock, as did the savage emotion bubbling up from someplace deep inside and turning her into a whimpering idiot.

Smart enough to know it was the best way to deal with the whole thing, she didn’t try to hold back, letting the crying jag come in full force. Part of her knew it would be cleansing even as another part of her desperately wanted to stifle such a wantonly weak display. She—who had kept a tight rein on anything approaching this kind of outburst—was having a problem dealing with it.

Thank God she was alone and spared the embarrassment of having anyone else watch as she fell apart.