Personal Demon (26 page)

Dick gone. Ted gone.

“Don’t dare think about him!” the Master snapped at
Jack. “He betrayed me. You led him into that. You should never have told him about vampires.”

Jack whimpered.

“You didn’t put ideas about vampires in his head on purpose, I know,” the Master said, soothing. “He was sly and greedy and not worthy. And you—” The demon turned his fiery gaze back on John. “Lazy. Stupid.
Nostalgic.
Serial killers are romantics, I know, they return to kill sites to relive the fun of it.” He put his hands on John’s shoulders.

John’s scream and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. John finally sank to his knees.

The Master was in pain and gladly passing it on to his sulking slave. Jack would have happily offered himself—but this time he agreed that John deserved it.

If he hadn’t had to pick John up from the police station, perhaps he could have gotten to Ted in time. Talked him out of his stupid plan.

“Didn’t the bastard realize I’m in all of your minds?” The Master was looking at Jack again while he continued punishing John with his touch. “Did he think he could escape me? None of you can escape me.”

“I don’t want to!” John managed to moan between strangled screams. “Serve you!”

The demon pushed him away. “Then start packing. We’re moving. The altar, the ritual implements. That’s all we need. Leave everything else.” He looked at Jack. “You’re wondering why?”

Jack didn’t question, but he did nod his confusion.

“The vampire strig that killed Ted stripped his mind. He might decide to look me up, take advantage of me. I’m not being blackmailed by a stinking vampire outcast.”

“Of course, Master. I understand.” He stood. “I’ll start pack—”

“Not you, Jack. Prepare the beta site.” The Master came
up to Jack and touched him on the cheek. “When all is ready, you will finally accomplish your special mission. You will find the woman. You will bring her to me. She is for both of us, I’ve planned this all along. We will sacrifice her tonight.”

Excitement rose in Jack, excitement and the hunger to please. “Yes, Master. Tonight.”

The demon patted his cheek, left a burn mark. “Good boy.”

S
 
o there I am, in the middle of the best shag of my life, when everything goes black. The last time I woke up. This time I went to sleep.

Best shag of
my
life—you’d already gotten a truly fine blow job. Imagine my surprise, as well, suddenly having an inert body on top of me—in—

Do not be indelicate, my dear.

Christopher spoke in total darkness. Ivy’s answers glowed in black circles around him.

Dizzy in the dark,
he thought.
Nice.

Do you know that this is rare? Lawrence said so.

Your friend Lawrence can stay out of my sex life, thank you very much.

Not the sex, the telepathic communication between us while you’re knocked out stuff. This inside-each-other’s-heads thing is rare.

It’s not like any dream riding I’ve ever done,
Christopher admitted. Light was growing in the dark. He lapsed into the memory of the moments before the sun rose to wreck the best part of his night.

He’d been on top of her, in her, thrusting as hard and fast as—

Yes, dear. My pelvis is killing me.

You really shouldn’t complain. I do believe you’d gotten off several times well before the sun stopped me.

They were seated back under the Shakespeare statue, alone in the park on a bright, sunny, warm summer day. He wondered which of them was imagining this scene. Ivy. He’d have them in a luxurious bedroom if it were his dream.

It was his dream, wasn’t it?

Black satin sheets?
Ivy asked, noticing where his imagination had shifted them.
Why must it always be black with vampires?

You look lovely on black—all pink and gold and pretty.

“Now, where were we?” he asked, holding her down.

“Having a shag.”

“She speaks English.” Christopher kissed his way up Ivy’s leg, bit the soft inside of her thigh. It was all right to bite her in the dream space.

“Not that soft,” she said. “I work out a lot.”

Her blood was honey here.

She ground against his mouth when he turned his head and ran his tongue over her wet labia and swollen clitoris.

“You need longer hair,” she said. “So I can grab hold of it and hold on.”

Christopher lifted his head, laughing. She was wonderful! He couldn’t quite remember why he’d been furious with her, but he was sure it would come back to him. Or something equally infuriating would come up. That was how it was, dealing with mortals.

“It’s not any different dealing with immortals,” she said. “You’ve got fangs, I have toxic blood, but we’re still just people. People are pains in the asses with each other. It’s part of being alive.”

He snorted. “Philosophy, don’t get me started,” he said. “You’re getting me out of the mood.”

“You do talk too much.”

“You’re worse than I am.”

She shifted her position, wiggled down his body. She looked up at him from over his erection. Her lips and tongue teased the head of his penis for a moment. “I think you’ll like this better than talking,” she said, then settled her whole mouth over him.

Y
ou’re the first man I’ve known that wasn’t cir-cumcised.”

Christopher squirmed uncomfortably. “Um…”

“Were you always that way? Or did it grow back after you became a vampire? Like Lawrence’s arm is—”

“Your curiosity is not appreciated right now?”

Why must modern women be so open about matters of the flesh? “Let us not discuss anatomy, shall we? Vampire or otherwise. And yes, I really am a prudish Victorian.” And he did not want to know how many men she’d had sex with that weren’t him. There’d be no more of that from now on. Modern times or not.

Or not.

Keeping her was bloody dangerous.

“What do you mean, dangerous?” she asked. “Is it the demon blood?”

“No. I told you I like vinegar and spices. What did you think I meant?”

“Vinegar and spices— Oh! You meant the taste of my
blood. I get it. You can taste it—because you’re not a regular vampire, but an Enforcer.”

“Nighthawk,” he corrected. “Or Hunter. And yes, that’s why your demon nature isn’t toxic to me.”

She sighed. “I wish I could say the same about myself. Is it because I could go all evil on your ass that you think I’m dangerous to you?”

Christopher laughed, long and hard at that one. “You wouldn’t know how to go evil if you had a handbook and a DVD with step-by-step instructions.”

“I could surprise you.”

“You won’t. You won’t surprise yourself, either,” Christopher added reassuringly.

They were lying next to each other, all warm and comfortable, naked skin on naked skin. More real than real.

Ivy rolled to her side and looked at him. Her fingers ran in slow circles over his chest as she did. “What sort of Hunter are you? You’re not an Enforcer of the City, are you?” she asked.

“Certainly not any city around here,” he answered. “But you are correct. No one city is under my protection.”

“You’re not a
dhamphir
, there’s only one of them. I know that.”

“You’re not supposed to know about
dhamphirs
.”

“Family secrets,” she said. “We’re discussing your secrets right now. If there’s only your Legacy lady in England, what do you do? What territory do you police? What are you really doing in Chicago?”

Improbable as it was, the woman was a part of his consciousness. Secrets were possible, but damned hard work. “I work for the Strigoi Council.”

“Every Enforcer does—technically.” She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. He waited for her to make the neural connections. “You work
directly
for the Strigoi
Council. A special agent. Not good,” she added. “They sent you here to—”

“Spy,” he supplied for her. “You might see it that way. My assignment is to investigate certain rumors of irregularities in enforcing the Laws of the Blood.”

She tensed, her fist resting over his heart. She wanted to pound some sense into him.

“Your Laws are outdated, you know.” She spoke mildly, reasonably. A fireworks display of anger shot out of her.

“They aren’t your Laws. It’s not up to mortals, demons, elves, unicorns, or little green men to judge the code by which vampires live.”

“Bullshit.”

He’d expected some such flippant reply. He didn’t bother answering.

“All your laws do is make people miserable.”

“We’re a cursed people,” Christopher pointed out. “We’re supposed to be miserable.”

“The Laws didn’t come from the goddess that supposedly cursed vampires.”

“The Laws exist to keep our people safe, to keep us hidden, to keep mortals from destroying us, to keep demons at bay. I uphold the Laws. Which is more than anyone around here seems to be doing.”

Ivy was very concerned, very serious, and just a bit contemptuous. She worried about him. “It’s not a curse, sweetheart, it’s a very convenient excuse to do what you damn well please with the mortals you take into your world. No one volunteers to be a vampire, do they? Those who are kidnapped and raped into the life become just as mean and selfish as their owners when they’re turned—thanks to the example their parents set for them. It’s an insane way to run a culture.”

There was no need to listen to this nonsense. He turned
on his side, putting his back to her. They were together in a dream, he reminded himself. He could send her away, take himself to another place, dream walk in search of clues to his own assignment.

“That isn’t how we roll in Chicago,” Ivy said.

The bed grew instantly cold when she got out of it.

Christopher sat up. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have work to do. You’re not the only one on assignment.”

He reached for her. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me. It’s not safe—”

She disappeared. In a poof of sparkling sarcasm.

Only then did Christopher recall that she was not a prisoner of the daylight. That this companionship was only one reality. She could physically get up from the bed they shared in Ariel’s secret room. His body was frozen there. He couldn’t stop her.

Especially since he had forgotten to change the combination on the digital door lock.

He was annoyed enough—by everything between them and in the whole world—to let her go. Let the demon child go about her own duty.

It was easier if she got herself killed.

He was used to making harsh decisions. He decided to let Ivy fight on her own even though he knew she was no warrior.

Life and death was in his Nighthawk’s hands. He must protect the Laws of the Blood. These Covenants must be ripped to shreds, along with the mortals who had forced them on vampires. The vampires must be brought back into line. The Strigoi Council must be obeyed. He’d realized this days ago, but Ivy had distracted him, weakened him.

How easy would it be for him to remain true to his vows
when sharing night and day with Ivy, while she tempted him simply to be with her, love her?

He was a Nighthawk, different in so many ways from strigoi. Above them, beyond them.

Love wasn’t for the cursed, and especially not for the defenders of the cursed.

I
vy stepped onto the sidewalk and closed the door to Caetlyn Bailey’s magic shop. She took a refreshing breath of cold air as she adjusted the strap of the big bag on her shoulder. Then she lifted her chin and faced the hostile trio waiting around in front of the store for someone to pick on. There was a restraining order, but these good folk weren’t abiding by it.

It wasn’t just the Covenanters who thought laws were meant to be broken.

“Satanist!” one of them yelled at her. “Witch!”

“Demon worshipper!”

Oh, if they only knew.

She was dizzy. She had the mother of all headaches. And there was this vampire, see—

No.

Calm. Deep breaths. Blank mind. Forget heartache. Forget the body’s longings.

Do not think of Christopher. Block all knowledge of him, from him. Make him a memory. Then forget the memory.

“What’s wrong, witch?” one of the hecklers demanded, stepping too close. “Are you stoned, or just stupid?”

“A bit of both,” Ivy replied, and stepped around the woman.

“How many humans have you sacrificed?”

Ivy didn’t turn to face her accuser, but she did say over her shoulder, “None. Yet.”

She wandered almost aimlessly for a while, her hands deep in her coat pockets. Her mind was on building her mental shielding, on blocking all the connections, wondrous, sensual, and horrific that had filled and changed her perceptions over the last few days.

The dizziness finally began to clear—it wasn’t as if she’d lost a lot of blood or anything. And she began to think that the headache might have something to do with lack of food and caffeine.

She made her way to her favorite restaurant, hardly aware of the aching cuts on her calf as she walked. It was hard to eat when her breakfast was set before her, hungry or not. She picked up a fork. She was on her second cup of coffee and most of the way through a large meal when her cell phone rang. Selena’s ringtone.

“Washed that strigoi out of your head yet?” were her cop cousin’s first words.

Selena must have been talking to Aunt Cate.

“Meditation and medication work wonders,” Ivy said.

Washed out of her heart? Out of all her desires and longings? That wasn’t going to happen. Don’t think about him now.

“You know what happened last night?”

Selena answered, “I’ve learned that one of our serial-killer crew was taken out. No victim bodies have turned up today.”

“Hopefully none will,” Ivy said. “But a woman was killed. She belonged to a strig. The strig took out the demon minion.”

“So I have heard.”

“What about the strig’s human slaves?”

“Already arranging to get them picked up and deprogrammed. I believe there are at least two more demon minions out there. The regular police task force working the case are still in the dark. My people have no line on the actual demon yet. But I do have some new info.”