The Trouble With Black Cats and Demons

by Kat Simons

  Deacon stood with one hand raised as if to knock, the other hand holding a large paper bag. “Hi,” he said.

  The sight of him fried the synapses in her brain, making it impossible to speak. Her cheeks warmed for no good reason. And she had a completely irrational desire to run her fingers through her hair even though it was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Sorry I startled you.” He grinned sheepishly and lowered his hand.

  Cary decided there were few things in the world quite as charming as Deacon’s grin. The dogs pushed past them both, eager to get out into the cold morning air, and their jostling broke her daze.

  Shaking her head, she stared after her dogs. They hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to Deacon, as if they’d expected him to be there. Weird.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “And why at the back door?” Then the smell of whatever was in the bag hit her and her stomach growled. “What did you bring?”

  “Donuts and bagels, as requested.”

  Cary’s mouth fell open. “How did you…? That was a… That wasn’t a dream?”

  He tilted his head. “No. I thought you realized.”

  “How the hell did you get in? And past the dogs?” No one got past Pickles. In her previous incarnation, Pickles had guarded palaces!

  And how had Cary slept through having a virtual stranger in her home? Physical attraction or not, she didn’t know Deacon beyond some superficial stuff and the fact that he was a friend of Jaxer’s. And really, what kind of recommendation was that, being one of Jaxer’s friends? She’d met plenty of the faery’s buddies, and she wouldn’t want them in the same state as her, nonetheless in her house.

  Her sense of vulnerability made her scowl, but inwardly she cringed. Deacon wouldn’t even be able to find her house if she didn’t want him to, so she had only herself to blame.

  Still. This was no time to admit it.

  Deacon’s brow creased with a slight frown. “You have a key under the mat.” He nodded to the green rectangle under his feet. “That’s not a very good idea, you know. Anyone could walk in here.”

  “That’s what three dogs are for,” she squeaked.

  He laughed and the sound was like velvet on her spine. Oh, that was really, really unfair. He shouldn’t be both gorgeous and have a laugh that made her toes curl. There had to be something wrong with him. For her sanity’s sake, he had to have a flaw. Where was that grumpy bastard she’d rescued two nights ago? Him, she could deal with.

  Except she’d been hot and bothered by Deacon even when he was being an ass.

  “I sat down with the dogs when I came in and we came to an understanding ,” he said with a shrug. “When I asked if I could go check on you, none of them protested.”

  She was going to have a talk with those three. No trusting random men just because they seemed nice and rescued animals for a living. This time she winced outwardly. She needed to follow her own admonishments before scolding the dogs.

  “Why’d you come to the back door?” She needed to change the subject. Some Protector she was, leaving her home wide open to breaking and entering.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “If you were still asleep, I was going to drop the food inside and leave.” He looked her over, taking in her t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. “Can I come inside? You have to be cold standing in the doorway dressed like that.”

  Once he mentioned it, she noticed the chill. Begrudgingly, she stepped aside. He had brought her breakfast after all. It would be rude to ignore donuts. She only wished his presence didn’t feel so…natural. If she was nervous about having him in her house, she’d feel better. Saner. The fact that she liked having him there was bad.

  “You want something to drink?” she asked out of perverse habit. Her mother would be so proud.

  “Milk, please.” He tossed her a sexy smile over his shoulder before setting the bag on the counter.

  Milk? She resisted groaning, but only barely. Of course, the cat liked milk.

  As she poured his drink and readied her cup of coffee, she considered, yet again, how little she knew about him. He’d been in her bedroom last night—which should scare the crap out of her. Why the hell wasn’t she scared? Or at least more freaked out? Shouldn’t she be enraged? Why was she pouring him milk instead of tossing him to the curb and revoking his permission to find her house?

  “I don’t even know your last name,” she said in a bewildered tone, glancing up to see him staring at her. “You have seen me sleeping. I have seen you naked. And I don’t know your last name.”

  “You never asked. It’s Jones.”

  “Deacon Jones.” She glanced at the paper bag. “What kind of donuts did you get?”

  “Boston cream and coconut.”

  Her eyes widened. “Coconut is my favorite. How did you know?”

  “I asked Jaxer.”

  “You found out my favorite donut?”

  His expression softened. “You’re my mate.”

  He said that as if it explained everything. Maybe to him it did.

  He snatched the bag back off the counter and looked around. “Table?” He nodded to the small, two-seater against the wall in a little nook beside the fridge.

  “I usually eat on the couch.” The table was more for show so her mother thought she ate meals like a grownup.

  Taking her hand without another word, he led her to the living room. The physical contact sent an involuntary shiver over her spine.

  Oh boy. Capital T Trouble.

  Before they could sit down, though, that familiar feeling swept over her. She cursed as Liruk materialized on the opposite side of the coffee table.

  “You need to go to Jonathan,” she said without preamble. “Now. There is no time to discuss this, Protector. Get dressed. You must leave immediately.”

  The urgency in Liruk’s voice overrode Cary’s irritation. She was halfway to the hall when she realized. “My car is still at Sheldon’s apartment.”

  “I’ll drive,” Deacon said. “Get dressed.”

  5

  On their third circle of the area, Cary started to worry. “This is where Liruk said he’d be?” she asked. Again.

  “This is the block he lives on,” Deacon said.

  “What if we’re too late? Liruk seemed really worried.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Cary waved a hand absently, still scanning the sidewalks. “I’ve had to deal with her for six years. Hey, there’s a kid. About the right height.”

  Deacon nodded. “That’s him. But I’m gonna have to circle again to find a parking spot.”

  “I’ll get out here.”

  He pulled near enough to the curb for her to jump out.

  Jonathan was on the opposite side of the road and half a block ahead. She ran across the street, already going over her cover story if he spotted her following him. She was halfway through her excuse when a big, black Lincoln Towncar slid up to the sidewalk next to Jonathon, parked illegally, and two men in dark suits got out.

  Shit. She picked up speed, walking so fast it would have been easier to jog. But jogging in hiking boots and a battered leather jacket would be too obvious.

  Then one of the men grabbed Jonathan by the arm. The boy shouted and tried to pull away.

  And Cary broke into a full run.

  She reached the struggling pair as Jonathon jerked free of the man’s grasp. Without pausing, she wrapped the kid in her arms and turned her back to the two men just as a stream of fire like a sun burst rushed over her and the boy.

  Her magic parted the flames, bracketing them in walls of fire, but the searing heat never touched them.

  She took a moment to look into the kid’s huge, dark eyes. He was nearly her height. When he hit his growth spurt in a couple of years, he was going to be tall.

  “Hot in here, huh?” she said with a crooked smile as sweat slid down her temples.

  “Uh huh.”

  Given how pale and wide-eyed he was, Cary guessed that w
as the best he could do just then. She couldn’t blame him. Not every day you got engulfed in bone-melting flames without getting singed.

  At least, for the average person this was a unique experience.

  The flames died and her skin tingled in reaction, like ants crawling over her. She hated that aftereffect of using her power. But the wash of cold November air felt good after the intense heat.

  Cary winked at the boy. “Don’t worry. Just stay behind me and you’ll be safe.” She turned to face the two men, blocking Jonathon with her body.

  The one who had stood back from the initial tussle was gripping the first man by the arm. “What the hell are you doing, you idiot?” he snarled. “The boss wants him alive, not crispy fried.”

  Jon shuddered behind her, and Cary’s heart squeezed tight. “It’s okay, kid,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re safe now. When this is over, we’ll go treat ourselves to an ice cream and chocolate pig out. What do you say?”

  “I don’t like sweets.” His voice was shaky, but at least he could talk.

  Cary frowned. “You don’t like sweets?”

  “No. I’d rather have fries.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll get ice cream, you get French fries.”

  The calmer of the two men frowned. The less calm one, the one who’d grabbed Jon and shot fire at him, said, “Who the fuck are you, lady?”

  “Just a concerned citizen. Kid didn’t look like he wanted to go with you. Seems to me you two should go about your business. Now. Before we have to call the cops.”

  “We’re friends of his mother,” the calmer one said. “She asked us to pick him up. She’s in the hospital.”

  Cary’s eyebrows popped up and an involuntary laugh escaped. “Are you serious? Geez, kidnappers have been using that line on kids since the beginning of time. What, you couldn’t come up with something more original? You might as well have said, ‘You want some candy, little boy?’”

  Mr. Calm scowled. Less Calm took an aggressive step toward her, but Calm stopped him with a sharp hand gesture.

  “Miss,” Mr. Calm said, calmly as it happened. “The truth is our boss just wants to talk to the kid. No big deal. He’s got a job offer, is all. Hey, you can come along too if you’re so worried. Make sure everything’s on the up and up.”

  She rolled her eyes and half-turned to look over her shoulder. “Do I have ‘Big Stupid White Chick’ written on my forehead?” she asked Jonathan.

  The question surprised a snort of amusement from him, and he shook his head.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She faced Calm and Less Calm again, settling her gaze on Less Calm. “Those flames were yours, I take it. Nice work. Really hot. Fingertips or palm?”

  Less Calm’s expression turned stormy. He opened his mouth. Calm slapped a hand under his chin, forcing Less Calm’s mouth shut. The gesture elicited a mumbled string of curses from Less Calm, words no teenage boy should be exposed to.

  Cary lifted a brow as a puff of smoke from Less Calm’s mouth accompanied the curses. Huh. Well, that was new. Over her shoulder, she said, “Were you serious about the chocolate?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never liked sweets much,” Jon said, his voice more steady now.

  “Weird.”

  “Would you two shut up about the damned sweets,” Calm said, some of his calm beginning to slip. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a very big hand gun, its black finish giving it a muted, sinister aura.

  “Ah hell,” Cary muttered, straightening her shoulders. “I hate getting shot.”

  She wrapped her arms backward to keep Jon in place. If she didn’t have to jump between him and a flying bullet, chances were excellent the bullet would have time to change trajectories before getting anywhere near her. When she had to jump into the path of an already moving bullet, that’s when she got hurt.

  Those pinpoint bruises and bone cracks were a bitch to explain to the emergency room staff.

  “Listen,” she said, “I’m sure we can…” She trailed off as Less Calm also pulled a big black gun from his jacket. She swallowed. “Like I was saying, the kid and I are just gonna go our way and you guys—”

  “Shut up,” Less Calm shouted. “You talk too damned much, bitch. Now, either you and the kid get in the car, or we’re gonna shoot you and take the kid anyway.”

  She sighed. The worst part of this was there was no one else around to call the cops or interfere. No one looking out their windows. No one walking a dog. It was kind of eerie to be on a residential street in the middle of the day, surrounded by houses and apartment buildings, with two guns pointed at you, and know you could be shot dead without anyone so much as shouting an objection.

  No wonder the Nags had created Protectors.

  “I’m not letting the kid go with you,” she said. “You’re just gonna have to shoot me.”

  “No,” Jon shouted.

  He pushed at her bracketing arms, but she held him in place, keeping her body solidly between him and the two gunmen. Why did so many of her charges always struggle?

  Less Calm stepped toward her, lifted his gun, and fingered the trigger. Jonathan struggled harder against her grip, so she half-turned to hold him in place. A surprising growl came from a direction Cary couldn’t see, the sound so low and vicious it made the hair on her arms stand up. There was a flash of black, the sharp retort of a gun, and Less Calm screamed as a huge black leopard latched onto his gun arm.

  Cary gasped as she recognized the animal. Shit!

  Deacon had Less Calm’s arm clamped in powerful jaws and his body pinned to the ground. Less Calm’s gun had skidded across the sidewalk to land at her feet. She watched in horror as Calm turned his weapon on the leopard holding down his partner.

  She’d never get between the bullet and the leopard in time. Even if she could, to do so would leave Jon vulnerable. She couldn’t use her own body as a buffer for both leopard and boy while they were so far apart.

  Protector instinct kicked in when her conscious brain panicked. She scooped up the gun at her feet and said to Calm, “Don’t even think about it.” She cringed a little at the clichéd line but too late to take it back.

  Calm swung his weapon between Cary and the leopard, clearly unsure who was the greater threat.

  “Don’t,” she said again. “I can put a bullet through your brain before you could get a shot off. The leopard’s with me.”

  “Jesus Christ, lady, get it off him. I swear to god, call it off, or I’m gonna shoot it.”

  She glanced at Deacon. He was still holding Less Calm pinned with the thug’s arm in his mouth, but he wasn’t doing any more than keeping the man in place.

  She turned back to Calm and said, “Lower your gun, and I’ll call him off.”

  “How do I know you can? How do I know you can even fire that gun?”

  She held the weapon steady in one hand, her free hand still on Jon, shifted her aim just slightly to the left, and shot out the side window of the Towncar.

  “I can use the gun,” she said as she pointed it at Calm again. She nearly called Deacon by name, then thought better of it. “Okay cat, I think he’s learned his lesson. Come here, please.”

  She heard a growl and Less Calm whimper and curse, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Calm. She watched his rapidly flickering gaze, the set of his shoulders. Watched and waited, praying Deacon would do as she asked so she could protect him.

  When she felt a gentle bump against her thigh, she nearly dropped the gun in relief. Now she could risk a glance down. Deacon sat next to her, seemingly relaxed, but she could practically feel the coiled energy waiting to pounce.

  “You okay?” she asked. A low rumbling growl answered her.

  She turned back to Calm. He was helping Less Calm to his feet with one hand, keeping the gun pointed at her with the other.

  “You might want to get him to a hospital or something,” she said. “That bite’s going to need stitches.”

  “This isn’t over, bitch,” Less Calm his
sed, his face red, his jaw clenched.

  She glanced at his injured arm and was surprised to see the wound wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. “Why do you guys always say stuff like that? ‘This isn’t over, bitch.’ Of course it’s over because I’ve got your gun and a vicious cat just waiting to rip your throat out. Go away. Now.”

  Calm flicked a look at Jon, then back to her. “The boss will be in touch.”

  “Uh huh.” That didn’t sound good. But what did she expect?

  She held the gun steady until the two men had climbed back into their car and disappeared around the corner three blocks up. Then she let her shaking arm drop to her side.

  After a moment, she looked away from the road to consider Jonathon and the leopard. Jon’s eyes were huge but his expression looked suspiciously excited now. The kid had nearly been kidnapped, she’d almost had to take a bullet for him, and he had a huge black leopard sitting next to him. And he was excited.

  Teenagers.

  “Well. Now what?” she said aloud. “Are your parents home, kid?”

  “My mom’s at work. It’s just mom and me.”

  “I can’t let you go home alone. Those guys knew who you were. They’re sure to know where you live. And if they don’t know already, we don’t want to risk leading them there. Probably should take you to the nearest police station. We can call your mom from there.” She contemplated the gun in her hand.

  Shuddering, she took out the clip, emptied the chamber, and stuck the clip and bullet into the pocket of her jeans. The gun she slipped into her jacket pocket. She hated guns. And no doubt this one had a history. The police would probably love to get their hands on it. But it had her prints all over it now. She’d have to take the thing home and let Jaxer get rid of it.

  “Do we have to go to the cops?” Jonathan asked.

  “Two men just tried to kidnap you. Why wouldn’t you want to tell the police?”

  In truth, she’d rather leave the cops out of this, too. They couldn’t keep Jon safe. If they could, there’d be no need for her to protect him. But that fireball proved they were dealing with people who were not mundane and who were after a kid who could call animals. The cops weren’t equipped to handle this kind of situation.