Red Demon (10 page)

Ari’s entire body began a free fall right then, a headlong dive into an intoxicating mix of power and arousal. His spine began to burn and prickle, and he knew it was only a few heartbeats before his wings emerged of their own volition. He had no control over the rapid, unnerving transformation that came over him in that moment, just from being near this female.

He blinked, but his eyes were on fire, blazing with blinding white light that reached toward her like moonbeams. “Only a demon could call forth my power this rapidly,” he declared, his voice harsh and tight. “Only the darkness would summon my Change.”

The prickling of his feathers pierced the skin along his spine, and he barked out a cry, feeling trapped by his clothing, knowing it would be shredded if he couldn’t halt the rapid alteration in his shape-shifter’s body.

Desperate, his back and shoulder muscles aching from the transition, he yanked at the edge of his shirt, dragging it over his head until he stood before her, bare chested. He pressed a hand behind his back, wincing, and practically held his breath in expectation. Juliana stared at him, eyes wide in . . . wonder. It wasn’t an expression of horror or disgust on her face; she appeared amazed.

“Is this how your wings emerge?” she whispered hoarsely. “Do they . . . sprout? Along your back?”

He swallowed hard, nodding, feeling the heavy, dragging sensation of wings form along his spine.

“Oh, I so want to see them! Up close this time,” she said, beaming at him.

As opposed to
last
time? When Juliana had gaped in horror at the truth of what he was, a man who bore dread wings upon his back? An eternal warrior capable of flight and transformation, part human, part hawk when changed?

No
, he thought, battling the urges inside of him, trying to retract the emerging wings.
No, you must resist her dark effect! This isn’t Juliana. She never wanted this part of you—she reviled it.

He palmed himself, giving his length a rough, cruel yank through his jeans. “I’m halfway to orgasm with a demon,” he hissed. “But I won’t let you finish this job, creature.”

Reaching to the floor, he snatched up his discarded T-shirt and yanked it over his head, retracting his wings as he did so. “Gonna get this dog-and-pony show back under control,” he said, grabbing her by the upper arm.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as he yanked her toward the closed door of his bedroom. “Are you taking me somewhere?”

She dug her heels into the carpeted floor. “A gentleman would declare his intentions, sir.”

He opened the door to the hallway, hauling her along with him. “
Madam
,” he warned her, “I never have been and never will be a gentleman.”

“G
o on and tell me,” Ari announced, still clutching “Juli-Gana” by the arm, twisting his hold violently. “Just say it.” He glanced between Nikos and his own brother Ajax, bobbing his head. Waiting for the confirmation of what he already knew but needed to hear from their lips.

Both men sat at the glass-topped kitchen table, eyeing the female he held manacled in his grasp as if she were a specimen of disease. Or an alien that had suddenly flown into the room, complete with green skin and bug eyes. “Come on, brothers. Tell me.”

Nikos pointed at her. “
Who
is that?” he asked with slow, meaningful precision.

“And what is she doing here?” Ajax tagged on impatiently.

Ari waved a hand between them. “Stop trying to sound reasonable, and tell me what I already suspect.”

Ajax kept his eyes on the female. “Tell you what, you
malaka
?”

“That I’m still under the influence of my concussion.”

Nikos stepped forward, black gaze moving up and down Juliana’s form. “She’s not dressed right.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked tartly, standing a little taller.

“He means, for this century,” Ajax clarified.

Ari maintained his hold on the female, even as she squirmed in his grasp. “So you see her, too? It’s not just me?”

“Yes. There is a woman standing in our kitchen,” Nik confirmed. “Who appears to have emerged from the past? From the Victorian era, it would seem, based on the clothing.”

Ajax jumped out of his chair and smacked Ari on the top of the head. “You
pousti
, what the hell kind of mess have you gotten into now?”

Ari slapped his brother right back. “Watch the concussion. Besides, you’re the
pousti
in our family.”

Ajax volleyed the macho shit right back. “I’m married. When’s the last time
you
got any?”

“Almost did tonight,” Ari muttered, wishing that, for once, he wasn’t outranked by his younger brother. He dragged the woman toward the table, shoving her down into one of the chairs as if she were a felon. Not sexy as hell; not a dead ringer for Juliana.

Dead ringer
. He castigated himself.
Loaded word choice.

Ajax, of course, missed nothing: not one iota of emotion or subtext, thank God. His brother, their captain, stalked toward the female, glaring suspiciously. “So,” he said, sidling onto the edge of the table beside her. His tone was almost friendly, but Ari knew better—his little brother was a master interrogator. “You apparently have a way with Aristos, no?”

The faux Juliana looked up into his brother’s eyes. “You’re obviously his brother.”

“Bingo.” Ajax did not bother looking impressed.

She brushed long fingertips across her brow, smiling. “A fine bloodline you Petrakos brothers share,” she observed, cultured Southern accent more elegant than ever.

Ari scowled, hating the fever that hit his groin in automatic response to Juliana’s voice.

And hating even more that his idiot little brother appeared . . . ever so slightly . . . charmed, that lopsided, arrogant smile growing wide. “Thank you.” Ajax inclined his head. “Nicely played, whoever you are.” Then he cast Ari a stern, judgmental glare, saying nothing.

That chastising glance set off yet another grenade inside Ari’s chest, and his whole body shook with fury. “You arrogant
kolos
,” he bellowed at his brother. “She’s the one you should be blaming, not me.”

Jax folded both arms across his chest, still poised against the table’s edge. “She didn’t violate our long-standing rules and protocol,” Jax said smoothly, his commanding officer’s tone more than grating. What a superior-officer prick. “We don’t bring outsiders behind the wire. You know that. The compound is off-limits to unapproved mortals.”

“Newsflash! I didn’t
bring
her here. She popped into my bedroom while I was convalescing.” Ari forged onward, ignoring the charming smile his brother offered the female he himself held rooted in the chair. “Besides, she’s not our biggest problem, boys,” he declared.

Ajax’s dark eyebrows cranked upward to his hairline. “There’s actually something bigger than your current protocol violation?”

“Wake up, Jax-ass.” Ari anchored his captive in the chair; she tried to look up at him, but he pinned her against the back of the seat. “This little chick ain’t human. Not even close to mortal.” The Spartans stared back at him, dumb-struck, right as Mason and Jamie Angel entered the room. The brothers were fifth-generation demon hunters and really knew their way around the evil and the undead. If there was any pair of humans he’d ever welcome in a supernatural hoedown, it would be the Angels.

Ari nearly kissed them out of sheer relief, pointing down at his prisoner. “See, guys, we were just having a little discussion that I’m hoping you can straighten out. I was explaining to my fine Spartan warriors that this is no lady; this is—”

“A demon,” Mason finished, hackles rising like some alley cat confronted with a Doberman.

Ari gestured toward Juliana with an “I told you so” wave of his hand. “See? Bigger problems, men.” He leaned down over the creature’s shoulder, voice rising in a crescendo. “Yeah, demons wandering into our
bedrooms
while we
sleep
!” he roared. “Always wanting to get inside our pants! Totally everyday thing, right?”

“Aristos, I fear that since I last spent time with you”—Juliana hesitated with embarrassment, clearing her throat, and then steadied her gaze on him—“you might well have lost your mind.”

Jamie propped himself against the door with a low whistle in response to that remark. “Well, if it’s a demon, it’s a mighty sophisticated and refined one.”

Jamie and Mason exchanged a glance, but Mason still had that spooked, hair-on-end expression. Ari had never seen the human react so strongly to a supernatural situation before, not even in a demon fight.

“I’m telling you”—Mason pointed a finger at her, jabbing at the air—“that’s not human,” he said in an eerily disconnected voice. “Not even close.”

His brother, Jamie, reached to the pistol he had holstered at his hip. “So you wanna finish her, or should I, Mace?”

But Mason stood paralyzed, eyes as wide as full moons. “Jamie, don’t go near it. Nikos,” he called out in that oddly disconnected voice. “Nik? Get far away.”

Ari didn’t understand why Mason would specifically single out Nikos with that warning, and he looked toward the warrior, who appeared equally confused.

“Mason,” Nik answered in a calmer-than-usual voice, “is there something different about this one?”

But Mason didn’t answer. The tough-ass former marine, the stealthy demon killer, nearly sprinted out of the room.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much thinking Mason’s reaction proves my point.” Ari eyed the beautiful-looking creature with even more disdain. “So, go on, Jamie. Finish her off.”

Jamie holstered his weapon, staring out the window as bright lights arced through the blinds. “Not just yet. Let’s see what Shay says; she just pulled up. She’s got no preconceived notions about all this, and my sis can spot a demon as well as any of my most talented Shades.”

The Nightshades, or Shades for short, were a band of paramilitary demon fighters, led by Jamie Angel. All three of the Angel siblings were fifth-generation hunters, inheriting the family biz, so to speak. Shay bore a double legacy—the demon sight that she inherited from her father and her lineage as a Daughter of Delphi, which made her one of the Shades’ most potent weapons.

Shay came in the door, calling out to Ajax. When she rounded the corner into the great room, she pulled to an abrupt halt, staring right at Juliana.

Ari almost blurted, “See! Told you!” when he saw a shocked, wide-eyed expression overtake her.

“Okay,” Shay announced, gaze fixed hard on Juliana. “That’s just wrong.”

“You know what she is?” Ari asked, half-triumphant, half . . . something he didn’t want to acknowledge. But it felt a whole lot like heartbroken.

“No, but that’s just some seriously wrong fashion.” Shay eyed Juliana warily. “And who is she? What happened to the no-outsiders-allowed club rules?”

“Is she a demon or not?” Ari blurted. “On the soul train or off?”

Shay narrowed her eyes on Juliana, seriously studying her. “Honestly?” she said at last. “I’m not sure
what
she is.”

 

“What’s up with you, Angel?” Nik asked, forcing a casual tone. “No stomach for the smell of sulfur this late at night?”

Mason Angel never fled fracases with demons; in fact, his appetite for destroying evil entities was a downright compulsion, one that had him patrolling the streets of Savannah on a nightly basis.

“No, I’d say
retreat
isn’t in your vocabulary,” Nikos added.

For a long moment, Mason didn’t even seem to hear him, and then slowly turned his gaze upward, gradually focusing on Nik. But not really. From what Nik could tell, the former marine was anywhere else but out here on their downstairs patio. By the looks of things, he had a feeling Mason was much closer to the Sunni Triangle of Iraq.

Dropping to his haunches, he tried to get a bead on the human’s status, but Mason had shut down. Totally. That same thousand-yard stare he’d gotten in the kitchen still haunted his green eyes.

“Mace, come on,” he encouraged. “You do demons all the time; you destroy them without hesitating. What’s so different about this particular one?”

Mason only stared ahead of him, until Nik reached out and touched his hand. “
Mason
,” he whispered roughly. “Come back to me.”

Mason jolted instantly. “Did you say something?”

Nikos leaned in a little closer, still squatting but working to meet Mason’s eyes. “Talk to me,” he urged softly. “You and I . . . we’re always good that way, right?

Mason’s green eyes were no longer distant, but alert and locked with Nik’s. “You don’t have to treat me like a pussy,” Mason said, playing it tough. But his eyes. His eyes begged Nikos to fix whatever had come unhinged inside his mind, his soul. “I don’t need a psych evaluation.”

“No Dr. Freud here.”

“Yeah, you’ve probably done time on the guy’s couch, long as you’ve been alive,” Mason muttered, a hollow attempt at humor that Nik wasn’t about to let distract him from the real issue.

Nikos nodded, saying nothing at first, then, “You have that look. The one you had when I first met you . . . the one I’ve observed in a lot of men over the years. Men who’ve seen too much, fought too long.”

Mason’s eyes drifted shut. “Nik, tell me I’m okay. Tell me I’m still here,” he murmured. “Tell me I’m still tight.”

“You’re right here with me. Totally lucid.”

Those green eyes opened again, filled with a kind of terror that Nik had never seen in the man before. “Because that . . . thing? It spooked the hell out of me, dude. It was . . . Oh, shit, I’m losing it. Losing my fucking mind! Just when I think I’m all glued back right—when I think you’ve helped me square away my loose shit—it all falls apart. Like out of the blue, something blindsides me.”

Nik didn’t know what Mason meant, but he nodded as if he did, realizing that the mortal needed him to be rock solid right now. He’d learned that about Mason over the past six months: that stability, security, those things were worth more than gold to him. “Well,” he said after a moment, “you weren’t exactly expecting a demon in our kitchen. So you
were
blindsided.”