Demon's Hunger (18 page)

Strange that she had the strength to withstand the
hybrid's
pull.

Before he could fully process that thought, the thing's head jerked up, and whatever it saw in Dain's expression made it freeze. It dropped its hold on Vivien and paused in indecision, as though tempted to flee.

Black emotion surged and swelled, the ancient, tempered pain of losing Moria and Ciel blending with his rage at this threat to Vivien.

Panting, Dain wondered if he'd have the strength to master his rage and let the
hybrid
go. He never had the chance to find out. At the last second, the creature bared its teeth, brought its taloned hands up, and flew at Dain just as another
hybrid
landed on his back, hooked its arm around Dain's throat, and stabbed its blade into his side.

The breath left him in a sharp
whoosh
.

Burning pain, a deep and tearing agony. He felt his blood, a hot river, running down his side.

Whatever pretense of calm he had conjured evaporated now, and he loosed the hate and the rage, grabbing the
hybrid
on his back and swinging the thing forward, slamming it into its partner, sending both demon-minions to the ground in a knot of tangled arms and legs. His hands slick with his own blood, Dain grabbed the head of the closer
hybrid
and twisted until there was a loud snap. He kept going, wrenching the head from the body, sending a spray of deep crimson spurting across the other hybrid, the floor, the nearby wall.

In a fury, he grabbed the next hybrid, yanked its blade from its grasp, and stabbed it through the heart with enough force to shatter the bones of its chest, crushing it, pinning it to the wooden floor like a bug as the blade sank deep.

His chest working like a bellows, he pulled the knife out and spun as the last hybrid freed itself from the hole in the floor and lunged at him. With a sharp upward slash, he gutted the thing, sidestepped, and let its own momentum carry it tumbling end over end down the stairs. With his breath coming in harsh gasps, he pressed his hand to his bleeding side, staring at the twisted body until it started to bubble and pop.

Fucking
hybrids
. Fucking dead
hybrids
.

He whirled and his gaze sought Vivien. As though unaware of the violent tableau that had unfolded before her, she stood where he'd left her, her silhouette dark against the nimbus of light leaking through the boarded window at her back, her eyes opalescent, shimmering and milky and blind.

"Vivien!" He was beside her in a blink, running his hands over her, turning her so he could make certain she was unharmed. "Christ, what the hell were you doing in here?"

She swayed, moaned. "So hungry," she breathed.

Her eyes flashed to hazel-green, then flickered shut as she slumped in his arms.

Forcing his body to let go of the killing rage, Dain closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the Ferrari's steering wheel, and rested his forehead against the backs of his hands. He'd carried Vivien back to the car, using magic to refract light, making them and the Ferrari invisible to humans.

Christ, he was exhausted. He'd gone too long without sleep, and his wounds were serious enough that he felt their burn in the worst way. He pressed his hand to his side, and it came away covered in blood.

But Vivien was safe. Here, beside him.

This time, he hadn't been too late. This time, he'd kept the woman he cared about safe.

Powerful relief shimmered through him, offering a strange sense of rejuvenation, followed immediately by wariness. From behind the rigid confines of the walls he had built centuries past, his emotions slunk free. Unwelcome. Unwanted.

Sitting up, he turned his head to study her. Her face was relaxed, her body slumped against the door as though she'd fallen asleep. He'd almost believe she'd never left the car, except her clothes were smudged with dust and a smear of his blood where he'd touched her with stained hands. Her right sleeve was torn; it had probably snagged when she'd slipped through the boarded-up window.

She didn't move, didn't blink.

Dain blew out a slow breath, winced as the gash in his side screamed in protest.

His magic was depleted, which wasn't helped by his lack of sleep, but he called enough of it to heal his wounds to a certain degree and to clean up his appearance and Vivien's. He shifted in the seat and touched his side once more. The
hybrid's
blade had bitten deep. Bastard had nicked his kidney.

Vivien stirred, sighed.

He didn't have a clue what to make of any of this. He'd left her alone for all of ten minutes, and she'd ended up at a
hybrid
party.

What had she been doing in that building? What was up with her eyes and the way she'd phased out completely?

So hungry.

The words she'd said to him just before she'd passed out made no goddamned sense.

But the gnawing guilt that tore at him was no mystery. He'd left her alone, unprotected, while he went to get
coffee
. He should have warded and spelled the car, just like he'd done to the loft when he'd left last night. Nothing in. Nothing out. It should have been second nature.

He'd thought it unnecessary, because he could see the car from the window of the coffee shop. And he hadn't conjured the coffee in the first place, because he hadn't wanted to drain his reserves of magic on something so paltry. Brilliant strategy. Instead, he'd pretty much pilfered his entire backup reserves to protect her from the
hybrids
.

His error could have cost Vivien her life.

"Vivien?" he said softly.

He looked over at her. Her hair stood up in a spiky, artful mess, dark brown touched with a kiss of bronze, a whisper of red, stray wisps touching her cheek, her nape.

Reaching out, Dain laid the backs of his fingers against the smooth, soft skin of her cheek, brushing aside a lock of hair. He examined her face, strong even in repose. His gut clenched as he again thought of the way her eyes had looked as she stood in the bright beam of sunlight. She had seen nothing, been aware of nothing.

He had no idea what they'd done to her, or why they'd done it. What did the
hybrids
want from her?

Yeah, he was way past the point of imagining he'd led them and the demon to her house that first morning. They'd been there already, watching her, waiting for the right moment to take her.

Why, why, why?

And what the hell had made her go into that building? He had no answers, no explanations.

As they had the night he'd found Rick Strasser's body, suspicions oozed through his mind. But suspicions of what? That Vivien was a killer? That she was in league with the demons? That she was a succubus?

Now that Ciarran had pointed it out, Dain could sense a very faint spark of magic in her, so faint he would have missed it if he wasn't looking. Hardly enough to make her a succubus. Barely enough to mark her as a blighted seed.

Christ, she was beautiful. Brave. Resilient.

Everything she knew had turned inside out, and she'd coped, uncomplaining.

She shifted in the seat and turned her face fully toward him. But she didn't rouse.

Soft. Warm. Alive.

Safe.

He'd kept her safe.

He shook his head. If he had one iota of sense, he wouldn't let himself get emotionally connected to her.

He ought to leave her in Darqun's care, or Javier's.

The thought made everything inside him roar with fury. Emotions ripped at him—guilt, remorse, relief, affection—no gentle swell but a dark, crashing wave that would drown him if he let it.

So much for having one iota of sense.

Vivien opened her eyes and stretched.

Turning her head, she found Dain watching her intently. His gaze locked on hers, and for an instant, she thought he smiled, the curving of his lips so bare and fleeting that she wasn't certain.

"What?" she asked, rubbing the back of her hand along her nose.

"Your eyes…" He looked so serious, so
scary
.

Alarm crackled in her chest making it feel tight and clogged.

Though she waited a good thirty seconds, he never finished the sentence, just stared at her in that oddly intense way.

She sniffed, rubbed her nose again, feeling like she might sneeze, like she'd sucked back a whole lot of dust.

"How do you feel?" His tone was clipped.

"Ummm… fine," she replied, puzzled, then shook her head. Images flashed at her, bright glowing blades, screams, and blood. A chill crawled along her spine. A nightmare? "Did I fall asleep while you were getting the coffee?"

Dain stared at her, his gray eyes so dark they were almost black, his wonderful mouth drawn in a grim line.

Something flickered in his eyes, something frightening and dark and cold. Vivien pressed back against the seat, crossing her arms over her chest. The images flashed stronger—Dain fighting, his side red with blood.

"Vivien," he said, "what do you remember about the past half hour?" What did she remember? Nothing. Just a dream, rife with blood and death. Only, it seemed so
real
.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Oh, God. Had she lost time again? Her breath locked in her chest, and it took everything she had to maintain the facade of calm.

"Dain, is something wrong?" He just looked at her, and that made her afraid. "Dain?"

"If there's something going on, Vivien, you can tell me. Trust me. I'll keep you safe."

His words, low and as soothing as warm tea, made her eyes sting with tears. He asked her to trust him. He said he'd keep her safe. And, God help her, she wanted to tell him all her fears, all the things that had been happening to her. Wanted to trust that he would do as he said, that he would stay with her, help her.

Hope burbled, and she shoved it down with ruthless speed.

Other than Amy, she'd never been able to count on anyone. And she wasn't about to make the mistake of thinking that Dain was going to be different. He wanted something from her, needed her help to study the bones in his possession. As soon as he didn't have need of her anymore, he'd be gone. He would. Just like everyone else.

So why did a part of her believe in him, believe he would bleed to keep her safe? Again, an image flashed of Dain, standing before her, blood staining his side. She cut him a sidelong glance. There was nothing to see other than his shearling coat. No sign of blood.

She mustered a smile. "So, what happened to my coffee?"

He studied her a moment longer, and she thought he saw way too much.

Finally, he shook his head, glanced about. "Yeah, sorry." His lips curved in a tight smile. "Somewhere along the way, I forgot about the coffee."

She laughed, baffled, glanced out the window toward Starbucks. "Do you want to get some now? I'll wait here."

A quick huff of air escaped him. "Not gonna happen."

With a turn of his hand, he conjured a cup of coffee. His expression grim, he handed it to her and started the car.

The Ferrari hummed and purred as Dain guided it along the icy road, as if it were a part of him. Vivien's mood improved with each sip of her coffee, though she wondered at Dain's pensive silence and the probing glances he cast her way. Her attempts at conversation fell flat, and after a time, she gave up, turning her head to watch the passing scenery as they drove north.

Dain's cell rang, and he turned down the stereo, fished out his phone, and flipped it open. He listened for a moment, his expression intent.

"No," he said bluntly. "The shares closed up thirty-five cents at 44.87 dollars."

She could hear the sound of a reply but not the actual words.

"The breakup bid will come by the end of next week. Fifty-two to fifty-eight dollars a share."

Again he listened to the person on the other end.

"Fifty billion dollars." He fell silent, shook his head, and said, "Kohlberg Kravis Roberts."

As Vivien listened to the tone of his voice—commanding, in control—she was reminded of exactly who he was in the human world.

Dain Hawkins, business mogul, worker of magic, benefactor. He bought up foundering companies—sometimes on his own, sometimes with a consortium of other investors and buyout firms—turned them around, and made them hugely profitable in record time. Every article written about him stressed the fact that he made certain people kept their jobs, kept their paychecks. His companies offered great benefits: health insurance, on-site child care, pension plans. She'd read a piece in the
National Post
a while back about how his companies were introducing a revolutionary program to help the sandwich generation cope with both small children and elderly parents.

He shot her an apologetic glance as he ended the call.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, wanting to know what made him tick.

"Do what?"

"Interact in the human world. Do business. Why don't you just live off… magic?"

He shoved his cell phone back in his pocket and scrubbed his hand along the side of his jaw.

"The reasons are convoluted," he said.

"I'm listening."

He cut her a glance, a quicksilver flash focused on her for an instant. "Sorcerers are subject to rules and laws. We can give people the means to save themselves, but we can't save them if they are sick or dying. We can't jump in and use magic to make everything right. The mortal world of business gives me the opportunity to impact humans without breaking the rules."

There was something in his tone that made her wonder… "Purely altruistic reasons, huh?"

"Not entirely." He chuckled, a low sexy sound that slid through her like a mellow wine. "I enjoy the challenge. I like mortals. Over the years, I've developed friendships. It's an easy matter to cast illusion and have others see me as aging at the same pace they do." His tone changed as he finished the thought, taking on a faintly pained note.

Vivien stared at him, frowned. What did he mean by that? That he didn't age at the same rate as humans? The thought startled her. Dismayed her. She thought of herself growing old while he stayed young. And then she wondered what made her ponder such a thing. Likely, he would be out of her life in short order, and it wouldn't matter what rate he aged at, because she'd never see him again. And that just plain sucked.

"So you interact with mortals in order to better their lives and for friendship. But getting rich has no impact on you, right?" she teased, attempting to throw off the tinge of melancholy her thoughts wrought.

Dain changed lanes to avoid a slow-moving car. "Getting rich has no impact at all. Finances are of no concern to a sorcerer."

She believed him. There was something in the way he said it that made her certain it was true. She'd already seen him conjure so many things out of thin air. He could probably do the same with money. Which suggested that his motives really were altruistic, that he wanted to help people. Just like she wanted to help people. God, did he have to be so likeable?

He said nothing more, and she mulled over what he had revealed, the hint of pain in his tone when he'd spoken of others aging and of friendships.

"Do you miss them?" she asked softly. "The humans who have grown old before you?"

He shot her a glance, mercury bright veiled by dark lashes.

"It's rather…
unpleasant
to be left behind."

Her head jerked up, and her breath locked in her throat. It
was
unpleasant to be left behind. It was horrible. It was debilitating. He knew it, and she knew it, and it made her sick to think he would go, that he would leave her behind. And then it made her angry at herself that she was thinking this way. He shouldn't matter to her. She couldn't let him matter to her.

"So tell me about your friend Amy," Dain said. "I heard you leave her a voice mail that you were okay."