Red Demon (6 page)

Those intense blue eyes grew sharp, almost irritated. “My father built it for me. You
know
that.”

“A long time ago. Long,
long
time ago,” he added, hoping she’d catch the hint.

Her eyebrows knit together in apparent confusion, and he swore that they changed color, becoming auburn briefly. He blinked, sure it was the spell of the moment, the spooky unnaturalness of it. He searched Emma’s face, ignoring the fact that she’d temporarily vanished from her own body, seeking some physical sign of Juliana. It was like that moment when a lit candle suddenly catches a gust of wind. The flame gutters.
Light . . . dark. Dark . . . light.

They shared the same blue eyes, color of the Aegean, with the same long, thick lashes.

But then Emma’s dark brown hair seemed to flicker, too, morphing into auburn. Emma still stood before him physically, but in the spiritual realm, he could see the blurring of their identities.

“She’s . . .”
Consuming Emma
, he almost warned River and Cecilia, but he doubted that was true.

Juliana anticipated his concern. “Emma is safe,” she whispered reassuringly, reaching for his hand. “She’s allowing us this moment.” Juliana released a slow breath, shutting her eyes, and he was looking at Emma again. This was still her body, after all, and with her eyes closed, Juliana’s powerful, insistent spirit seemed to vanish.

It hit him then that the reason he’d become certain he was truly interacting with Juliana was because of their eerily similar eyes.

Yes, she carried herself elegantly, more fluidly than Emma did, with her modern, athletic grace. Still, without Juliana staring out at him, he could almost imagine that he’d dreamed the whole thing up. Until the thick lashes fluttered open and that coy half smile he’d fallen in love with formed on her lips once again.

And damn the stubborn woman, she slid a warm palm against his chest, resting it over his heart. The warmth of that contact, the soft flesh pressing against his own skin, searing him through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, swamped him totally. Desire, yearning, need—it all washed over him like high tide.

“Don’t.” He covered her hand, honestly intending to move it. Only he didn’t; he cradled it even closer.

“I was going to tell you what Emma just whispered to me.”

“Whispered how?” He shoved her palm away from his chest. “So you’re in total control of Emma’s body now? She can’t speak for herself?”

“Ari, we are as one right now, Emma and I. You already
know
that.” She searched his face for permission to continue, and when he didn’t interrupt, she went on. “She says, and I quote, ‘I saw how you reacted to the photograph, what it meant to you.’ ” Juliana peered up at him, obviously expecting him to explain about the photo. He gave a nasty glare in return, forcing her to look away as she continued sharing Emma’s message. “Emma says . . . ‘Let me give this to you, Ari. You’ve given so much to River and to me. Now it’s my turn.’ ”

The reality of the moment slapped him hard, ripping the pin off yet another emotional grenade. This was Juliana; he was being given some perverse second chance with her, if only for this moment. But did he want one? Could he trust her or the opportunity or even his own desires?

Panicked, he threw a glance at the parlor door. He could still get away, beat a fast, strategic retreat. But he was blocked by Juliana, who stood so close that he caught the scent of jasmine off her skin. Em never smelled like jasmine; she smelled like lemons and fresh air.

He began hyperventilating in earnest, rubbing an open palm over his heart. It seemed the little fucker might detonate at any moment. “Shit, I’ve got to get outta here,” he blurted, feeling cornered, unable to breathe. He moved around her, toward the far side of the room, hating the caged feeling that came over him. “I really need to go,” he repeated, plunging his fingers through his hair. He would’ve sworn the floor beneath him shifted. It had to be his new power; the energy must be reacting to the high emotion of the moment, gyrating inside of him.

Juliana was right behind him, her hand instantly placed against his lower back, reassuring and kind. “You are so frightened,” she whispered, planting her other palm against his belly. Heat shot straight to his groin, a rolling wave of sensual reaction at being touched so low on his body. It had always been that way, damn the woman. She so much as blinked, and his cock went to full mast.

He wrenched out of her hold, backing toward the parlor door. “This whole setup is just a little too much.”

She studied him in concern. “I don’t recall you ever being afraid, and especially not of me. Is that why you never returned?”

He rounded on her. “You really want to know why I never came back, Jules? You so sure about that? Because some things,” he said, looming over her, “are better left dead and buried. Know what I mean?”

Her expression grew pained, her eyes shining brightly. “I’ve waited, for such a very long time, but you never came. I need to know why.”

“Because I wasn’t the one who left!” He threw his hands into the air. “You did.”

Juliana poked a long, delicate finger at the center of his chest. “Explain yourself, sir. With all that we once shared, why would you toy with me now?”

It took a serious pair of balls for the woman to get indignant with him, and it set off another physical chain reaction inside his body. That familiar shaking took hold, his hands trembling at his sides; a roaring noise reached a crescendo inside his brain. Vaguely, he was aware that several lights in the room snuffed out with a crackling staccato of electricity. His power was starting to ramp up way too fast, was overloading, but he could hardly harness it now.

He ignored all the warning signals, seizing her arm tight. “Juliana, you asked me what year it is. Why don’t
you
answer that question?”

She shook her head slowly. “I find it difficult to say. Eighteen ninety-four, perhaps? Ninety-five?”

He made the sound of a game-show buzzer. “Wrong. Now for the daily double.” He was being cruel but couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Juliana, are you
alive
?”

“Aristos!” Cecilia leaped to her feet. “Watch yourself. Her soul’s peace could be at stake.”

Ari barely heard the woman’s warning; he was too focused, too far gone. “Answer the question, Jules.”

“I’m . . . not sure. I persist. I wait for you. . . .” Tears filled her eyes. “I always wait.”

“You are
dead
. You’ve been dead for more than a hundred years. That’s your clue.”

She worked a hand at her brow, appearing troubled, but said nothing.

“What—you forgot?” he said loudly. “Gee, here you stand in someone else’s body, wearing clothes you’ve never seen before”—he reached in his back pocket and whipped out his cell phone, shoving it into her palm—“holding technology you never knew existed.” He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm. “But, yeah, I guess it really is good ole 1893—huh, Jules?”

The phone fell from her grasp, clattering on the hardwood floor. She wavered on her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes, yes, of course, you’re right.” She swiped at the dampness on her face, staring down at the carpet. “I know you’re right. I shouldn’t have become so carried away.”

Ari nodded vigorously. “Damn straight, woman. Glad you’re catching on to current events. Next thing we know, you’ll be on Twitter.”

“Twitter? Like a bird?” she asked in a soft voice. “Like a little bird?”

The question killed him, nailed him right between the eyes. So did the rush of her tears. “No, Jules,” he murmured, ashamed. “Not like a bird.”

He caught a glimpse of memory then, of her pure joy when a robin had made a nest outside her front door. She’d shown him, childlike wonder on her face and in her eyes as she’d leaned over the railing to watch.

He reached for her cheek. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

Those tears kept washing over her face like a slow, depressing rain.

And he felt just as depressed, like a real shit. What sort of man bullied a ghost to the point of tears?

But she had always,
always
given as good as she got. She slapped his hand away, her voice stronger, her posture resolute. “You must have always hated me,” she declared harshly. “I must have completely misunderstood your feelings. You were certainly no
little
bird, were you?”

His wings had been mammoth, dark, threatening. What must she have thought the moment she’d first glimpsed them?

He took several steps back, smarting. “Oh, I think you understood my feelings very well—no wonder you ended things. And, hey, not like I can blame you.” He shrugged sarcastically. “I’ve always been a jackass, in love or out. Just ask any of my brothers.”

“I never met your family. You told me nothing of them. Yes, surely I was deceived as to the depth of your affections.”

River moved into his peripheral vision. Only then did Ari realize the erratic way he’d begun walking the floor, in a kind of zigzag, jerking pattern. River, on the other hand, hadn’t missed a thing. He stepped in front of Juliana, forming a barricade of sorts with his own broad-shouldered, sinewy form. Ari wondered whether his friend had begun to fear for Emma’s safety. “I’m okay. She’s okay,” he muttered.

“It’s all my fault,” Juliana said, leaning around River. “I had thought you would be happy to see me once again after our long separation.”

“Happy? Did death make you crazy, woman?” Ari jabbed a finger in the air. “I stayed behind. I had to mourn. Now I’m supposed to be thrilled that you’ve come popping back into my life like something from a bad episode of
I Dream of Jeannie
? Well, keep dreaming.” Then he growled in frustration, turning toward Cecilia. “Now do you understand why I kept ignoring your calls? This little reunion was never gonna go down well.”

“
I
don’t understand,” Juliana argued, still leaning around River. “I would never have left you.”

River lodged a palm on his shoulder. “Take it down a few notches,” he cautioned. “Come on, brother, ease off.”

Ari nodded obligingly, dragging in deep breaths and releasing physical tension until River seemed satisfied and backed away. Then, turning to Juliana, Ari moved much closer. Until he could feel the heat radiating off her human body. See the lifting arch of her auburn eyebrows, the flecks of unexpected gold in her blue eyes, the occasional blond strands in her otherwise russet hair.

“Well, Miss Juliana Tiades,” he said. “If you want to put a fine point on it, you left me by dying. You couldn’t get away fast enough once you saw what I was. I revolted you,” he told her in a seething voice.

How dare she fucking forget the way they’d ended? How dare she not understand his pain?

“No, sir. No, indeed. I always found you overwhelmingly handsome, more beautiful and fine than any other man in Savannah.” She smiled despite their angry exchange, as if their past was suddenly immediate, right before her eyes, no passage of time separating events. “The way you dressed, you were so proud. All the ladies watched you, and you knew it. You drank it in. But you only had eyes for me,” she added dreamily, looking up at him. “And I, sir, was most fully consumed by you.”

“How can you not remember? Not our courting, not the parties. Not this room.” He waved a hand all about them, and then he slammed a fist against his chest. “But
me
. Juliana, you saw me.” In reaction, he felt an itchy, burning sensation crawl along his spine, the first prickle of feathers piercing his skin, and prayed he could stave off his transformation. “My . . . wings,” he gasped. “I allowed you to see my wings.”

“Because you were an angel,” she murmured, eyes widening in memory; then that blush hit her cheeks again, a reaction he didn’t bother trying to understand. “So beautiful. So exotic. Oh, I wanted to touch your wings; that was my very first thought. ‘Will he let me touch them if I promise to be gentle?’ ”

“You’re lying. The moment you saw my changed nature, you turned away.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true! Something happened.” She pressed fingertips against her forehead. “Something . . . someone. I don’t know. Why can’t I recall what it was?”

“I bet you’ll remember this.” He yanked her flush against his chest, lowering his head; he wanted to be cruel, wanted to force her to recall how she’d hurt him.

He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue past her lips aggressively. Punishing her for his own years of grief by taking something she wasn’t ready or able to give. He plunged his tongue deep into the warmth of her mouth, wrapping his arms about her back.

He would teach her, show her all that he’d suffered. Only he’d forgotten the most crucial lesson of all: how just one kiss with Juliana Tiades could level him. The moment she wound her hands through his hair, opening her mouth completely to him, he knew that he was free-falling straight into hell.

 

His hair was as silky and thick to the touch as she remembered—only he wore it longer and there was more of it to run her hands through. And Juliana could feel him, truly feel him; the warmth of his flesh, the heat of his skin.

She was alive! She was actually in Aristos’s arms, touching him again after so long.

She moved her fingertips across his jaw, stroking that familiar bristle of beard growth. His mouth tasted like fine red wine: She could get drunk on him, just as she always had. She moved in his embrace, slid closer, pressing her breasts against his muscular chest. Was it even broader, thicker than before? The strength of it caused a warm, tingling sensation between her legs, a feeling she’d not had in a long time. Dampness grew there the longer he kissed and held her.

His hands were in her hair, too, winding all through it. His tongue moved into her mouth, pushing against hers. Angry? No, needing. They had always needed each other; she had never stopped needing . . . this. She wrapped her arms about his neck, drawing him even closer.