Demon's Hunger (7 page)

The demon bone. Yeah. That was it. That had to be it. The dark aura of the demon bone was making him edgy, clouding his judgment.

His gaze shot to the SUV.

Vivien.

He needed to make certain she was safe, 'cause, yeah, he was such a knight in shining armor. He strode to the SUV, yanked open the door.

And got nailed in the side of the head with a neon-green fuzzy slipper.

Amy Lassiter tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, checked her outfit from the right in the full-length mirror, then turned and checked it from the left. White capri pants. White lace-edged tank. Her olive skin contrasted nicely, and it would only look better once she had a tan. Nice curves. She was definitely hot.

Turning, she stared at the four bathing suits she had spread across her bed. The black? The orange?

What the hell. Take 'em all. Maybe buy some new ones while she was down there. It was a new and rather heady sensation to actually be able to indulge herself a little rather than rolling quarters to make the rent. My, how things had changed for her.

She scooped up the bathing suits and shoved them into her bag, pressed down with all her might, then sat on the lid as she reached between her spread knees and pulled the heavy-duty zipper closed. A glance out her window showed a dull gray sky and dirty slush in the roadway. Depressing.

It was almost time to leave for the airport. She waggled her hand at the window. Bye-bye, winter. Hello, Mexican sun.

So why didn't she feel more excited?

Because of her last trip to Mexico. It had been the worst thing—and the most amazing thing—that had ever happened to her. How was that for a contradiction?

Two years ago, on her last trip, she'd stayed in this run-down little hole in Acapulco with one bathroom for the entire floor, the bring-your-own-toilet-paper sort of place that smelled old and musty and kind of dirty. But it had been so staggeringly cheap. At the time, that had been her main criteria.

Since then, her luck had changed.
She
had changed.

No more run-down hotels for her. Now it was first class, baby, all the way.

She just wished Vivien was going with her. They'd met their first week at University of Toronto, two kids wandering around the enormous campus searching for their Organic Chemistry lecture in the Med-Sci building. They'd clicked immediately and stayed close throughout the years.

Only, lately, Vivien had been so odd, so distant, as though she were disappearing into herself.

Or maybe it was Amy, the
new
Amy, that was the problem.

She sighed, wondering why she'd managed to let go of everything from her old life except for her relationship with Vivien. It was as though there were an invisible connection between them. A sort of sisterhood.

With a shrug, she crossed to her desk, pulled out her first-class ticket. She had hoped that she and Vivien would take this trip and reclaim their former closeness, laugh and drink and lie in the sun.

Pick up some guys.

She licked her lips, thinking of all the things she'd like to do with those guys. Dark things. Dangerous things.

Yeah, that was something else that had changed. The new Amy wasn't afraid of herself anymore, wasn't afraid of the fiendish desires that whispered to her in the night.

Vivien hugged her arms about her waist to hide her trembling. She was sitting on a couch in a huge, open loft. Dain's loft. Enveloped by the overstuffed couch—cream colored, butter-soft leather—she checked the layout of the place. Blond wood floors, contrasting color scheme of coffee and cream, massive windows along two walls. The stunning lake view labeled it as prime downtown real estate.

Despite her emotional turmoil, her analytical nature made her take note of the details. Ciarran and Darqun had taken off right away, leaving her alone here with Dain. All she needed from him was a single moment of inattention, and she could make a dash for the door.

"The police will want to talk to me about the fire. They'll be looking for me. You can't keep me here against my will," she said, her voice rock steady, even though her emotions were knotted tighter than a vacuum seal. She was very good at letting her expression show nothing of her thoughts. With a mom like hers, she'd learned early that emotional distance was key. It was a matter of self-preservation.

"The police have already spoken with you," Dain replied. "They have detailed notes. A report. Everything is in order."

"How could the police have a report? Notes?" She shook her head. "I never… I didn't…" She stopped talking, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze locked on Dain. He stood to the side, a distance away, one muscled shoulder propped against the window, arms folded across his broad chest. He'd stripped off his coat, and for some reason, the loss of the bulky garment only made him look bigger, broader. And it left his bloodstained shirt open for perusal, which opened up a whole 'nother can of worms. She pressed her lips together.

He was contained, reserved, so…
alone
. Why did she think that?

She couldn't say, but then she wondered if it was all for show, if he was as calm and cool as he appeared, or if Dain Hawkins was something other than he seemed. Her gaze met his, and she saw a storm there, a powerful force held back by sheer will.

For just a moment, she wanted to feel that power, those heavy arms around her, the flex of muscle beneath smooth skin. She wanted to feel like he would stand between her and the rest of the world.

And that was just plain crazy on so many levels. Because she ought to be thinking how she could get the hell away from him, not how she could cozy up nice and close. And because she always stood on her own, had done so ever since she was a little kid. Araminta wasn't the type to coddle and protect.

"I've dealt with the police already. They won't be looking for you," Dain said in that oh-so-confident tone.

She had the feeling she didn't want him to explain exactly how he'd done that. Swallowing, she looked away and tried to assimilate what he'd been patiently explaining to her for the past twenty minutes, ever since his buddies had beaten a hasty retreat, muttering about places to go and people to see. With a jolt, she realized that she almost believed his outlandish claims. Maybe because, based on everything she'd witnessed so far this morning, they carried a definite—and terrifying—ring of truth.

Dain and his buddies.
Sorcerers
.

Her focus returned to linger on him. The way he looked at her—his gray eyes direct and targeted, like she was the only person in the world—made her shiver, left her edgy, restless. Hot. And
that
scared her, that inappropriate response.

"
Sorcerers
?" She didn't bother to mask her skepticism. "You know that the whole thing sounds like a really bad B movie?"

"Yes." He raked his hand through his hair, and she stared at the stain of dark blood on his sleeve, recalled where it had come from. But underneath the tattered, blood-stiffened cloth, the skin of his forearm was unbroken, unmarked, even though she
knew
she'd seen the demon claw it to shreds.

A
demon
.

With a shaky sigh, she raised her gaze to his face. He looked serious, like he expected her to believe him.

To believe that he was a sorcerer. That he protected the world from demons.

That demons and their half-human, half-demon minions—
hybrids
—were real. They'd attacked her, and because of them, her house was gone. Burned to the ground.

So Dain kept saying, patiently, calmly.

She reached for a toss cushion—cobalt blue shag—and hugged it against her chest.

"And pigs fly," she muttered, her attention drawn inexorably back to Dain. Her gaze locked on his, then lowered to the hard line of his lips. Sexy, sexy mouth. She wondered what it would feel like against hers.

Okay, this reaction was
sooo
not appropriate.
Thanks for kidnapping me. Do you mind if we have a quickie here on the floor
?

She needed help of the psychiatric variety.

"Pigs and fish," Dain said.

She blinked. "What?"

"You mentioned flying fish earlier, and now, flying pigs." His tone was gentle and a little amused, as though the two of them were in on a private joke. An incredibly appealing thought, and she wondered at that, wondered why she wasn't less intrigued by him and more afraid.

Clenching her fingers in the cushion's soft cloth, she forced herself to look away. She recognized that her reactions were way outside anything that could be considered rational or normal. Her idea of reality was crashing down around her, and she was fixating on Dain, on his face, on his body, on the way that just looking at him made her feel hot and—

Oh, this was not good.
So
not good. Looking down, she took a slow breath, pushed herself to stay balanced, cool.

Her heart was pounding. Her world, her whole sense of reality, was turning upside down, and she didn't trust herself right now to know…
what
to trust.

As soon as she got out of here, she was going to see her doctor. No more procrastinating. No more excuses. Whatever was happening to her was definitely getting worse, and she was going to find the root of it.
Just as soon as she got out of here
.

She tossed the pillow aside, ran her palms along her thighs, her knees. Pinched herself just to be sure she wasn't dreaming, though she didn't put much faith in that. Jerking her head up, she looked at Dain, found him staring at her hands, her fingers lying flat on her thighs.

The heat in his gaze made her freeze.

For an instant, she thought that if he closed the space that separated them, touched her, followed the path she defined with her own fingers, she'd go up in flames.

Her mouth went dry.

"You're lying." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There are
no
demons,
no
sorcerers, except in people's imaginations."

Only there
were
. She'd seen them.

Or had she? Who could she trust? Herself, with all the weird things she'd been going through lately? The terrifying periods of lost time. The strange yearnings and emotions and wild shift in her sexual urges. Did she even know herself anymore?

She surged to her feet, looked around in desperation.

Analyze, evaluate, catalogue, assess… but how to know if she was even working in reality or in some la-la land her mind had created?

Dain stepped forward, slowly, carefully, no threatening moves. Oh, God, the
way
he moved… And what the hell was wrong with her that she even noticed that?

Her distress multiplied, and she felt trapped. She needed to get away from here. Away from
him
.

The dark wood coffee table with its stainless-steel trim blocked her escape. She sidled to the right.

"I gotta tell you," she babbled as she spun, spotted the front door, and stumbled toward it, "I've never much been one for reading fantasy. Or watching movies with vampires and werewolves. There's enough horror in the world without dreaming up more, thank you very much."

She kept walking, one wavering step in front of the other.

He didn't say a word. Didn't try to stop her.

"I need to get out of here. Right now," she muttered, more to herself than to him, as though hearing the words would lend her courage or somehow make them come true. "
I'm going
."

Closing her hand around the doorknob, she twisted it, found it locked. Fear and fury squeezed her chest in a heavy fist.

Scream. She could scream. Maybe a neighbor would hear her, alert the police. She opened her mouth, sucked in a breath.

"Don't scream." Dain stepped up beside her and whispered the words against her ear. She felt the air crackle, a mild electric shock, and the sound locked in her throat like he'd flipped an "off" switch.

Panic roared, as bright and hot as a flash fire.

"Jade Bassett owns the other unit on this floor. She likes to sleep till late afternoon. If you scream, you'll wake her," he said, reaching past her to unlock and open the door.

Better. That was better. She could see the hallway and freedom. Her fear ratcheted down a notch.

Vivien willed herself to stay calm, to stay rational. Use her logic.

Her gaze dropped to his arm, and again she saw the dark dried blood staining the sleeve of his linen shirt. She remembered the demon raking him with yellowed talons.

An unexpected jolt of anger stabbed her, and she had the fleeting thought that she'd like to have at the thing for hurting Dain.

That was just not logical. Not at all. Because logic told her she shouldn't care that he'd been injured—he'd abducted her, for heaven's sake—and that there were no such things as demons, or sorcerers…

Before her eyes, Dain passed his hand over the stained shirt, the movement imbued with masculine grace. His palm was broad, his fingers long and strong, his wrist and part of his forearm bared by his movement to show sun-kissed skin over corded muscle. Light glowed at his fingertips, and in a heartbeat the bloodstain was gone, the torn cloth gone, the sleeve immaculate.

"Nice trick." She almost choked on the words as she reused her gaze to the open hallway and freedom.

"No trick. Just proof. I need you to believe me, Vivien." He said her name low and smoky and so sultry she expected to feel steam coming off her skin. "I need you rational. Calm. Because I need your help."

Dain was so close, she could feel the heat of his body, could smell a hint of citrus from his shaving cream and the scent of his skin, masculine and tantalizing. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Not daring to turn and look at him, not trusting herself or the crazy urge to fist her hands in his shirt and rub up against him, she stared straight ahead at the open door.