The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) (16 page)

She made a small noise. A tiny frown furrowed her beau-tiful brow. He ran the tip of his finger across it, to smooth it away, and she averted her face from the slight touch as if she found it unwelcome.

She was dreaming. Whatever it was, it robbed her of the peace she’d been projecting only a few short moments ago.

Creed debated waking her, but before he could make up his mind, her eyes opened. She stared at him without recognition, her expression alarmed, and then it cleared so fast at first he thought he’d been mistaken.

She did not go back to sleep. She said nothing, only shifted closer to nestle against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. His heart flipped crazily at the intimate gesture of trust.

Her earlier happiness had leached away. He wanted to know what had disturbed her, and if it was something he could somehow resolve. If possible, he would take all of her worries away.

But while Nieve might trust him with her body, she trusted no one with her thoughts and fears. One evening of intimacy would not be enough to earn him those privileges.

“You were dreaming,” he said.

The warmth of her breath drifted across his skin with her response. “Was I? I don’t remember.”

She’d been dreaming of the demon who had once possessed her. That was the only reason he could think of for her to lie to him right now. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and tightened the arm he held around her. He would not ask her to speak of one lover with another. He harbored no jealousy in that regard, particularly since she did not recall the other one with fondness.

He wanted to distract her.

“Tell me of your happiest memory,” he said.

“This is it. Right now.” She trailed her hand over his hip, from his waist to his thigh, the touch light and possessive. Distracting. “Tell me of yours.”

“That’s hardly fair,” he said, amused. “How could I choose anything other than this moment, now?”

“Tell me something from your childhood.”

His breath quickened, his thoughts scattering beneath the seductive movements of her fingers. He wanted her again. He could sense that she wanted him, too, but whether or not to distract him from his questions, he was less certain.

More than the physical connection, he discovered he yearned for a deeper, longer lasting intimacy with her.

“I was a model child,” he said. “Obedient and quiet.”

“And a liar, too, I’m sure,” Nieve said, “because I don’t picture you as obedient. Or quiet, for that matter. You talk far too much.”

That made him laugh outright. He had always been friendly and affable. People tended to respond to him in kind. Not Nieve.

“I had no one to obey, so that point’s debatable. And I suppose I do talk a lot, at least compared to you.”

“Tell me of your sister. Would I like her? Would she like me?”

At one time he would have said no without hesitation. Nieve, however, was more complicated than he’d first thought. She did not lack courage, but confidence in her own abilities.

“I really couldn’t say for certain if you’d like each other,” Creed said. The two women were such opposites. “Raven was always in trouble. When she was younger, she had no idea of the way in which boys—and often, grown men—were drawn to her. She had no control over her allure, and no understanding of why it was necessary for her to gain it. I spent a lot of time fighting before she learned how to take care of herself.”

“And now?”

Creed smiled, his memories of Raven warm and dear. “She still doesn’t have to. I can’t imagine there are too many men brave enough to get within a hundred feet of her these days. Not once they’ve met Blade. Not if they wish to live.”

“He’s half demon, too, then,” Nieve said.

“No.” Creed tried to find the right words to describe Blade. “He’s a man who does what needs doing. Even demons fear him, as well they should. Raven is no doubt the only person in the world who has no reason to. Except, maybe, for the Demon Slayer, who considers him a friend.”

“Do you miss her?”

“More than you can imagine.” But less so lately, he discovered, faintly surprised that he did not think of her as much. “She’s happy and safe with someone who loves her, and that’s all that matters to me.”

He watched her roll his words around in her head.

“I wondered why you were so insistent about offering me help when we first met. You were alone, and needed someone to care for, and then you found me.”

She spoke with quiet and enlightened understanding, as if she had found the missing piece of a puzzle that had stymied her. He started to argue, and tell her it was nothing like that at all, but found he could not deny it. Not entirely. Nieve did need him.

Uneasily, he realized he liked it too much that she did. “You didn’t want my help,” he reminded her. “You tried to shoot me.”

“And you abandoned me because I did. But still, you came back.”

He said nothing. He’d not gone back because of her.

Her hand paused at his waist, arrested by what she must have heard in his silence. “I wasn’t the reason you were in Desert’s End that night, was I?” she said.

“No,” he admitted.

“You weren’t coming back for me.”

He wished he could tell her otherwise, but he was not going to lie to her. “I would have, eventually. In the meantime, I made certain that you weren’t completely defenseless. I spoke to the sheriff about you. But there are changes coming to the world that take priority over anything else I might want. I told you I have a job to do, and that it would have to come first.”

Nieve let her hand drop limply between them. “You’d already found something to care for before you ever met me, then. That means I’m a burden for you.”

“No.” Creed tangled his fingers in her hair and settled a kiss on her forehead. “You’re not a burden. Never. Having you with me makes no real difference to the things I need to do, other than that you’re a good travel companion.”

He was not lying to her, simply not being completely truthful. She was not a burden to him. He had made promises to her, and raised expectations he should not have done, but were little enough, really, that he would do so again.

But he could not keep her with him forever. He could not spend his days overseeing her happiness as he would like, or allow his feelings for her to interfere with his commitments to the changes that would be coming.

The best way to protect her, and others like her who could not defend themselves, was to make the world safe for them all.

…

“Willow!”

She heard her name being bellowed from some far off, distant place, rousing her from a deep, exhausted sleep, her heart hammering in her chest.

It took her a moment to understand what emotion it was she was feeling. The anger she heard in that summons would have made the Demon Lord himself tremble.

She listened for the sound to repeat, but all around her, the night remained silent and undisturbed except for the usual stirring of nocturnal creatures.

She and the children had made camp earlier than usual this evening. The newcomers, although strong enough to carry on at the same pace as the little ones, had been too close to starvation and Willow wanted them to be at their best long before they reached the Borderlands.

Thistle slept peacefully beside Willow, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, which meant there were no half demons nearby. The girl would have been the first to sound the alarm.

And then Willow heard her name roared again, this time followed by an imperious command.
“Come to me!”

Despite her efforts to suppress it, the unfamiliar sensation of fear mounted. The command did not come from the mortal world, but the demon boundary. He tried to summon her.
Her.
And, while the tug on her to obey him was so irresistible as to be painful, she could not answer it.

She could not cross into the boundary.

Neither could she let him discover that he held the least bit of power over her. She did not know how he had gotten it, but he had.

She did not know what had so enraged him either. Her mind raced, seeking some sort of solution that would afford her, and the children, the greatest protection.

It came to her in a flash of awareness. Rather than let him discover she could not cross to the boundary, she would make him believe that she was simply too strong for him to command. She would summon him here instead, even though it was night, and he would be near full strength.

He needed her. She counted on that for protection.

She eased from her bedding, careful not to awaken the others, and slipped off into the night. When she reached a small valley where the topsoil and vegetation had been well worn away by the wind, nearly a mile from the camp, she stopped.

The night was cold. Willow did not mind it so much, but the heat from the circle of fire she was about to raise would be welcome.

Within moments, she had a fiery circle in place. A second after that, the demon surged into its center. Willow kept the circle deliberately small so that she would have greater control over it, and of him.

He wore man form, but not even its physical beauty could hide the demon ugliness that percolated beneath the surface. He came to the very edge of the flames so that they licked at his skin. He neither burned nor backed away from them, but he did not pass through them either.

She was not certain that she could stop him if he tried. With sickening clarity, Willow understood she’d gotten herself ensnared in something a great deal more complicated and dangerous than expected.

She scrambled through her memories, and her past encounters with him, trying to figure out her mistake.

He stared at her for a long time without speaking.

“When I call you by name, you are to obey me,” he finally said.

And she knew. She had given her name to him.

How foolish of her to respond willingly to a demon’s demand, even one so seemingly insignificant.

Now that she knew how he had called her, the sickening sensation of fear abated. She dared not show such an emotion to a demon—or to openly defy one when it had a hold on her. Better to brazen this out, and let him think that he did not command her at all. “What do you want?”

The demon pushed his face close to the fluttering flames that distorted his features, and cast shadows across the ground more reflective of his demon form than the one he now wore.

Willow fought an instinctive urge to give ground.

“I want the payment you owe me. I want what’s
mine.
” His hands curled into fists. “And I want the spawn with her dead.”

Understanding dawned. The demon was jealous. The assassin had tried to claim the woman he sought.

Willow had little doubt he’d succeeded. She wondered if she could return the balance of power to her favor. She had to give the demon something more, and of significant value.

Something the woman would relinquish the assassin for.

“The woman is searching for a small child she says is her son,” Willow said, thinking as fast as she could. The wind picked up, making the tips of the flames bow toward her. “He seems important to her. What would you give me in return for the boy’s name?”

The demon’s bearing grew cunning. “Why would I want his name?”

“You tried to summon me with mine. Could this child, if he’s yours, be able to refuse you as I just did?” Willow asked. “If you had him, you’d have all the control over his mother you want.”

And he’d still need Willow to bring her to him. Even with the son in his possession, he could not get to the mother.

She watched the demon struggle to think past his anger. She did not want him thinking too hard.

“Very well, you don’t want his name. However, the assassin wasn’t part of our agreement either. And since it seems the woman you want so badly has taken a new lover, finding her for you is a waste of my time.” Willow began to release her hold on the circle of fire.

“Wait.” He came close to the fire. It sparked in his eyes, which had gone blood red. “Get me the name.”

Chapter Eleven

Creed tied his hross in front of a shop in one of the many tiny desert outposts that scattered the edges of demon territory.

They had been traveling for several days already, and he needed those new boots to replace the ones he’d been forced to burn. His feet were wrapped in strips of tarpaulin that he’d cut from his tent’s rain barrier.

He’d need a new one of those, too.

He also had two grenades in his pockets that he planned to try and sell. A man had to be careful. If the person he offered them to didn’t want to meet his price, or couldn’t buy them for some reason, word would be out that he had them. They had already been set on by thieves once. He did not want to subject Nieve to that again if it could be avoided. He wished for her to see him as mortal, not demon.

She might as well wait for him in a tea shop where he would not need to hide her presence. This was a place for women to sit while their men conducted business elsewhere in town. Her fearfulness surfaced in unguarded moments and kept his demon on edge, making it difficult for Creed to move around unobserved.

He escorted her up the stairs to the tearoom, his hand a light touch on her elbow. Inside, the room was bright and cheery. The walls were white stucco, the floor a rich, terra-cotta tile. Wide beams crisscrossing the low ceiling carried hanging baskets of flowers. The tables and chairs were handcrafted from mesquite, solid and plain.

She chose a table by the window so she could watch the street. He ordered her a pot of tea and some biscuits at the counter. From the corner of his eye, he watched her remove her bonnet and set it on the chair beside her.

She looked very pretty, all white-blond hair and luminous eyes, and Creed had not yet recovered from a hunger for her that had multiplied over the past few nights. The thought of being away from her, even for a short while, with evening approaching, unsettled his demon even more. Once he took care of his errands, he would see about finding them a room for the night.

“Aren’t you having anything?” Nieve asked when he did not join her.

“I will when I come back. I have some things to do first,” he replied. “I won’t be long. Wait for me here.”

He left Nieve in the tearoom and walked the short distance to the town’s one hotel, where he booked them a room and deposited their belongings.

His next stop was the general mercantile. He bought his boots and asked a few questions that the clerk had no answers for, and immediately forgot being asked.

Since they’d moved farther from the shadows of the Godseeker Mountains, and into former demon territory, the tales of spawn had become less prevalent, and of Willow specifically, almost nonexistent. Most of the stories Creed had been hearing were secondhand and obvious rumor.

Tales of slavers, however, were not. They passed through these parts on a regular basis, and even though Creed believed any trail leading to Nieve’s son was long dead, he would never take the hope of someday finding him away from her. He’d continue to stop in each town and ask questions.

This outpost’s sheriff was not at the jail. A young deputy was on duty instead. His friendly smile flattened when Creed introduced himself and asked if he knew anything about slavers in the area who dealt in children.

The deputy rested a long leg on the sheriff’s desk as he lounged in his boss’s chair. Creed made himself amiable. The farther he moved from the Godseeker Mountains, the less cooperative law keepers became. Many towns had formed their own systems of justice in the years since the goddesses’ departure and did not yet see the need to incorporate others.

“You’re a long way from home, assassin,” the deputy said. “We don’t get many of you in our town. If you’re hunting slavers, you’re out of luck. The sheriff locked the gates on the last ones to try and come here to do business. That was when we still had a demon roaming the area.”

Creed thanked him. He then moved on to the local saloon, his next usual place to flush out information.

The farther into the desert a man went, the earlier in the afternoon business was conducted. When demons had ruled here, people tended not to travel the streets after dark.

Even though night was still well away when he walked into the saloon, the crowd was thin. He made his way to the bar, asked his questions, and received the same answer he’d gotten at the sheriff’s office.

As he started to leave, already thinking of Nieve and whether or not they would stay in town for the night or move on, he noticed a young man sitting alone, not far from the door. Brown hair hung to the collar of a plain shirt that had cuffs too short for his long arms and bony wrists.

The boy hadn’t been there when Creed entered. He was certain of it. But the boy also had a familiar look to him. Creed was good with faces, but he could not recall where he had seen him before. He didn’t like that either. His memory was good.

The boy rose from the table, stepping into his path and blocking his exit in a manner that Creed would never have tolerated from an older, more experienced man. As it was, it did not make his demon feel friendly. Nor could he seem to read this boy’s intentions.

Creed waited for him to speak.

“Are you buying or selling?” the boy asked.

That question was not one Creed had expected. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been asking about slavers who deal in children. Is that because you’re interested in buying them? Because I have several to sell.”

He had Creed’s complete attention now. “If I say yes, I’d want to know where you got them. Can you prove that you have a legal right to sell them? Do you have papers?”

The boy’s face became sly. “No papers, but I do have the right. They’re brothers and sisters who don’t add much value to the family business. They won’t be missed.”

This type of exchange was hardly a rare one. Plenty of families had too many mouths to feed. Creed was about to explain that there had been a misunderstanding when it occurred to him that perhaps he was the one who had misunderstood.

Something about the boy didn’t ring true to Creed. He had the look of a farmer, but did not seem to be local. His accent wasn’t quite right. His hands had a particular kind of gritty stain to them that spoke of time spent in the mines, not behind a plow. The bartender was taking no notice of their conversation either, and he would have displayed more interest in what was happening if he knew the boy personally. He might even have tried to warn him that he was dealing with an assassin because Creed knew he’d been pegged as one the minute he walked through the door. Bartenders paid attention to that sort of thing.

Still, Creed was about to brush the boy off, and tell him he was not interested, when he thought of the children the boy claimed to be selling. And he became curious as to where they’d come from. Or if they even existed.

“How many are you offering for sale?” Creed asked. “And are they boys or girls?”

“Two boys and a girl.”

Creed was now very curious as to what the boy’s game was.

“I’d want to see them first,” he said. Nieve was waiting for him, but she’d be safe enough where she was for a while longer. He did not want her involved in this.

The boy shrugged as if that was more or less what he’d expected to hear. “Follow me.”

He led Creed through the streets, and once past the gates, a short distance from town.

…

Nieve tried to remember the last time she’d been in a tearoom. It had occurred in what seemed like another life, and to a different woman.

She sipped her drink and ate one of the biscuits Creed had ordered for her. Her overwhelming desire for him had not dissipated over the past few days. As another night approached, it began to consume her thoughts.

He did not seem to care who was in control when they were in bed together. Rather he was fascinated by, and indulgent of, her assertiveness, as if he understood her fear of being compelled and dominated.

She could not get enough of him. For that reason, neither could she believe that she was not being compelled in some way. In her heart a part of her did not quite trust him.

The plump, friendly waitress returned several times to make certain she had everything she needed before finally leaving her in peace, but Nieve could tell by the interest lurking in her cheerful brown eyes, and her hovering manner, that she’d return before long. Nieve did not want to answer a stranger’s questions, no matter how kindly meant they might be, or to have to think too hard about anything. She stared into the delicate cup she held, swirling the leaves that had settled at the bottom.

The bell above the door tinkled, disrupting and scattering her thoughts. A young girl, perhaps twelve years old, with lovely, honey-brown curls and blue eyes that looked almost purple, came into the tearoom.

“Excuse me,” the girl said to the waitress. “Are you hiring?”

Nieve watched the exchange, idly at first, then with more interest.

The waitress was sympathetic but firm. “I’m sorry, darling. No. But if you’re hungry, I can give you something to eat.”

“Thank you.” The girl smiled at her, and the waitress blinked several times as if enchanted. Nieve could understand her reaction. There was something about the girl that drew a person in and made them want to take care of her.

“Go have a seat and I’ll bring you something from the kitchen,” the waitress said.

The girl looked around the almost empty room. Her shy gaze fell on Nieve, then shifted away, as if she were too embarrassed to make eye contact.

Nieve could not sit there and do nothing. The sight of a young, hungry girl in outgrown clothing slapped her with the reminder that she was a mother. The child reeked of hardship and neglect. Kindness killed no one.

“Would you like to join me?” Nieve said to her.

The girl nodded. She came over and edged into a chair, perching on the seat as if ready to run at the first sign of danger, and Nieve’s heart melted.

“My name is Nieve,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Thistle.”

The waitress brought Thistle a large mug of hot kyson milk and a plate of cookies. The girl thanked her, and the older woman patted her shoulder before leaving them alone. Nieve pretended not to notice as the girl slid some of the cookies into her pocket.

“Where are you from?” Nieve asked.

The girl took a drink of her milk. She held the mug carefully in both hands, as if warming them, although the day was far from cold. “I don’t really remember. I’ve moved around a lot.”

“You can’t be here by yourself.” Nieve could not see how that would be possible. The girl was too pretty, and too close to womanhood, to be roaming desert towns alone. Nieve wondered if Creed could help her somehow. Her hand went to the bulge in the seam of her skirt. She had money. If Creed would do nothing, she could give some of it to her.

The girl cast a furtive look around her. “I’m not alone. I have brothers and sisters with me.”

That was why she had put the cookies in her pocket rather than eat them all, even though she was hungry. Nieve could see it in her pinched face, pretty as it was. She had other mouths to feed.

Nieve nudged the plate with the remaining biscuits on it toward her. “Why don’t you take these for them?” she said. “I’ve had enough.”

The biscuits disappeared with the cookies. The girl leaned across the table. Those purple eyes embraced Nieve with gratitude. “Do you have any children?” she asked.

Nieve’s heart constricted. “A son.”

“What’s his name?”

“Asher.” Nieve cleared her throat, which had gone dry and sore. “I call him Ash for short.”

“My little sister is sick,” Thistle whispered. “Our mother disappeared a few weeks ago. I’m the oldest and I don’t know what to do for her. Could you help me?”

Nieve could hardly refuse. Only the thought of Creed, and what he might say, kept her from agreeing at once.

“How old is she? Does she have a fever?” Nieve asked.

“She’s three.” Worry pinched Thistle’s forehead. “I don’t think she has a fever. She just won’t eat. More than anything, I think she misses our mother.”

Nieve thought about Ash. What if he were the one who was ill, and missing his mother, and no one would offer him anything—even a little bit of money and comfort that could easily be spared?

Creed would understand that she had to offer her help.

“Where is she?” Nieve asked.

“Not far. Just a few minutes’ walk outside of town.”

Nieve glanced out of the window, but saw no sign of Creed. She didn’t know how much longer he would be, but when he returned, if she was not yet back he would only have to wait a short while. She would explain the situation to him. He’d understand that she could not abandon a child in distress. She would make certain the child was not ill, and perhaps leave a little money with Thistle to help ease her conscience.

Nieve gave the waitress a message for Creed, saying that she had not gone far and would return shortly. Then she took Thistle’s hand and allowed her to lead the way.

The direction they took led them off the main road and deeper into the desert. The walk was farther than Thistle had implied, and the terrain difficult to navigate on foot. Broken chunks of granite, and red-and-yellow-blossomed prickly pear cacti, littered uneven hillsides overgrown with bear grass.

Just when she began to think she should turn back, and questioned the wisdom of having come in the first place, they came around the bottom of a knoll to find a clustered stand of singleleaf ash.

From out of the trees a woman appeared. Tall and slender, with waist-length black hair, she was older than Nieve, and might have been quite beautiful if not for the coldness in her eyes that spoke of an ugliness inside her. Thick tresses of her hair lifted in the dry wind, twisting like angry serpents.

Nieve wondered if this icy woman was the mother who had abandoned Thistle and her siblings. If so, she looked nothing like her daughter. It was difficult to imagine her as caring for any child, let alone one who was ill.

Thistle tugged on her hand, urging her forward, although reluctance made Nieve drag her heels.

“I brought her,” Thistle said to the woman. “Her name is Nieve. Her son’s name is Asher. Ash, for short.”