Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two

by Carpenter, Kel

  “That bastard,” I muttered.

  “Yes, well, not everyone can be as awesome as me.”

  I turned to narrow my eyes at her over my shoulder, and she tugged harder, making my head turn straight.

  “You’re on my shit list right now.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “I may not forgive you.”

  “You will,” she said. “You will because I told you, and you know I’m right. As much as it sucks to learn he’s been watching over you this whole time, he could have killed me and made you a prisoner. Guy might be kind of intense, but he’s not that bad as far as alpha males go. I’d say you ended up with one of the better ones. He puts up with your bullshit.”

  “What the fuck, Nat?” I snapped, really twisting around in my seat.

  “What? It’s true. Not every dude would have gone to such great lengths to do what you wanted. There’s some fucked-up people out there. He doesn’t even come from this world. I mean, relatively speaking, he at least seems to be trying. He saved me, didn’t he?”

  “Well,” I spluttered, not knowing how to respond. “I told him to save you. I don’t know if that’s the same.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You were dying, you know? He seriously jumped out of thin air, grabbed me, saw that Lucifer was dead, and then brought us all back here to give you a blood transfusion because your skin was peeling off and your blood was straight-up acid. I have a scar from you.” She lifted her forearm to show me a four-inch section of molted and discolored skin that did indeed look like acid damage.

  “That’s what you get for lying to me,” I said stiffly, not feeling even an ounce of sympathy.

  She threw her head back and laughed so hard there were tears coming out of her eyes.

  “You’re a real piece of work,” she chuckled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she fisted my hair and turned my head forward, pushing my chin down to my neck so she could brush out the tangles at the base of my skull. “I’ll give you that I lied, but I never betrayed you in the real sense of the word. I didn’t tell him when you went for those morning coffee runs even though you weren’t supposed to, or when you’d get off calling his name—”

  “I did not,” I snapped at her.

  She chuckled. “So you say. I don’t believe you, but the point is, I didn’t betray you for power or for the hell of it. He wanted to keep you safe, and I rather liked the idea of neither of us dying, so it didn’t seem like such a bad deal. I got a favor from a demon too. Yes, I suppose he has some power over me now, but I’m thinking once you’re a full demon, I can suck your blood and cancel it out—”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to back up to that whole suck your blood bit. I’m not a vampire. That's disgusting.”

  “Says the woman who grows fangs and ripped out one of my coven member’s throat in front of me. Not to mention the blood I saw on your face after you visited Ronan for the second blood exchange—”

  “That’s different, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to just let you suck my blood.”

  “You’re arguing semantics. I’ll get some blood from you, and then you should technically have an equal hold, so I don’t have to report to him anymore. It’s a win-win.”

  I scrunched my nose. “We don’t know if my blood even works like a normal demon’s. What if you just end up with a double dose of Ronan’s?”

  “Then I’m utterly fucked, but at least I didn’t have to make a deal with him for it. Besides, he can hear our entire conversation and he hasn’t stormed in here yet, so I can’t imagine he’s that against this.”

  As if on cue, I heard a grumble come from the kitchen.

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you yet,” I said.

  “He won’t. You care about me, and my voice is what woke you up. He knows that. He’ll growl and grumble all he wants, but at the end of the day, he won’t hurt me because I’m important to you.”

  That uncomfortable feeling was back, but not as strong as before. Despite the change of time, the weight we carried, and the millions of deaths, we’d settled in like nothing had happened. I wasn’t sure if Nathalie just had a gift for it, or if that was our dynamic, but I was thankful either way.

  “Everything would have been easier if I’d just shot you,” I pointed out as she finished brushing my hair.

  “Probably, but you’re stuck with me now.” I heard the grin in her voice and chuckled. The brand on my chest seemed to burn as a reminder that I was indeed stuck with her. Not that she knew it. “All we need is for you to get this third exchange out of the way so you’re a full-fledged demoness, and I can suck your—”

  “Nope,” I said solemnly. “Still not calling it that.”

  She moved away and started rummaging through the drawers. “But the third exchange?” Nathalie said lightly. Pointedly.

  “I’m planning to . . .” My words trailed off when I turned my cheek and saw her finger dragging across the mirror.

  Her earlier words played over in my mind.

  He can hear our entire conversation.

  Son of a bitch. She was clever. More than I ever remembered to give her credit for.

  Her finger slowly moved across the mirror. The letters running almost instantly as she did, but I still managed to make them out.

  I know how to save Bree.

  “You’re planning to . . .” She paused, leaving it open-ended, implying for me to answer.

  “Do it,” I said quietly. “The third exchange. I want to do it tonight.”

  The noise coming from the kitchen went quiet.

  I mouthed, “How?”

  She spelled out: Siphoning. Need 3 exchange. Open Portal.

  She stepped away from the mirror and gave me a meaningful look.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, sounding like the concerned friend. “You just woke up. It may put you under again.”

  I stared at her words, a visceral need filling me.

  “When I was trapped in the Underworld, I had to pretend to be human. I was scared to use my power because then she’d confine it. I was also scared to use it because then I’d crash. I couldn’t win. I was powerless . . . I won’t let myself be powerless again, even if it means I’m under for multiple months. I have to do this.”

  I said it, and I meant it. I’d chosen this path before she told me what it could do. That it could save Bree.

  That I could save my sister.

  “Good,” she said lightly, picking up the towel off the counter and wiping the mirror down. “We should go out there. Ronan made dinner. You’re going to need it, it sounds like, for all that blood you’ll be sucking tonight—”

  “Ugh. I’m going. You’re gross.”

  I got to my feet, feeling a little stronger. A hell of a lot more confident.

  Nathalie’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she opened the door. She was having way too much fun with this, I decided. That, or she was that much better of a liar than I was.

  Anticipation thickened in my gut as I dressed in an oversized sweater and sweatpants. It didn’t escape me that Ronan had filled half the master closet in clothes my size. Nathalie navigated easily, pulling the pieces out and tossing them to me.

  I left the damp towel on the floor beside the bed and stepped out into the hall once I was clothed. Nathalie followed behind me, whistling eighties music as she went. I truly didn’t know how she kept up with herself. It was exhausting enough being around her.

  The scent of garlic and tomato registered before we entered the living room.

  Ronan hovered over a stove with his back to me, stirring something in a pot that smelled mouthwatering. My steps slowed as he pulled something out of the oven without grabbing a mitt.

  “I hope you like spaghetti. It’s one of the few things I know how to cook,” he said in that voice of midnight.

  “I’m not picky,” I replied. Nathalie stepped around me when I slowed to a stop, and she grabbed bowls out of a cabinet.

  “I am,” Nathalie said, fill
ing one with noodles and sauce. She tossed a couple of pieces of garlic bread on top and then handed it to me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, as she stepped around me and grabbed a jacket off the couch.

  “Make sure she eats. She’s not as grumpy when she’s fed. Don’t give me that look,” she added, directing the comment at me as she zipped up her jacket. “I have a date with my tea and a trashy romance novel. My favorite Chinese place is still open, so I’ll grab that on the way home. On the off chance you don’t crash,” she paused to pick up something else off the couch that I quickly recognized as one of my pistols and a holster, “I brought one of your guns. You’ll need to walk or get Ronan to bring you over. It’s cold outside, and I’m not crossing the city tonight unless you’re dying.”

  With that, she tipped her chin and walked out the door, leaving me with one intense demon and a lot of awkward silence.

  I moved over to the couch and plopped down. Hunger rumbled from my mid-section, and while my stomach was in knots from nerves, the food smelled amazing. I picked away at it, only pausing to look up when the couch sank. My eyes slanted sideways to where Ronan sat.

  He wore sweats, and a white t-shirt clung to his muscled frame. I swallowed harder than necessary on my bite of noodles and sausage.

  “You’re not eating?” I said, noticing his lack food as he put his arm along the back of the couch.

  “Not hungry.”

  All right, then.

  “Where’d you learn to cook?” I said, trying to ignore the lump in my throat that was forming.

  “Stolen memories from different Antares Coven members,” he replied in the same tone. I chewed slower this time. Digesting that information.

  “Can all demons steal memories?”

  “No,” he answered, leaning forward. The steel in his eyes looked lethal and cruel, cutting as a blade, cold as winter skies. “It’s actually incredibly rare. The only one I’ve known who was able to was the Harvester before me.”

  I took another bite of spaghetti, chewed, and swallowed. “Before you? What happened to him?”

  “I killed him.”

  His clipped response made me want to poke and prod. For once, he was offering information up freely instead of trying to bargain with me. I wondered if that was because he knew he was getting his third exchange either way, or if this was more getting to know me by way of judging my reactions. Something made me think it was probably a bit of both.

  “Why?” I asked, settling back against the corner, just out of range of his outstretched arm.

  “Because I had to,” Ronan said, like it was really that simple. “The only way to become the Harvester is to kill the Harvester.”

  I twirled my fork in the noodles, frowning at them. “That seems like a shitty job,” I said bluntly.

  Ronan chuckled darkly. “It’s the single most powerful position in all of Hell. Some might say the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.”

  “Power isn’t everything,” I murmured.

  “Isn’t it?” he questioned, that lovely and terrible voice giving words to the nagging feeling in my mind.

  “No,” I answered firmly, despite the niggling sensation in my chest that felt very much like a lie. “It’s not.”

  He curled his arm up to run his knuckles over his chin, then under his bottom lip as he assessed me. “If not power, then what? Love?” he asked, clearly in jest. “Hate?” A flush crept over my chest, and despite the sweater that covered me from wrist to neckline, I could swear he saw it.

  “Survival,” I said. “Both love and hate are strong contenders, but they’re brittle. Love can be lost. Hate can be shaken. But survival is an instinct. It runs deeper than fear—”

  “And yet, you would have willingly sacrificed yourself so I could save the witch and your sister if need be.” His response was measured, but I sensed darkness lurking beneath the neutral tone. “Survival can’t be everything, or you’d be better at it,” he added.

  I looked away, setting the bowl aside.

  “This from the demon that allowed witches to chain him,” I said after a moment, lifting my chin.

  If we were going to go there, I wasn’t pulling punches.

  “Ah, but I never claimed survival was all—”

  “No, you said power was everything. So tell me, Harvester, why did you don chains? You could have killed her yourself and possibly still saved me, but you didn’t. So is it really power? Is it love?” I repeated it back in the same mocking tone he’d used when he asked me. His eyes flashed in warning, reminding me of my own white fire. I didn’t listen. But I did watch. “Or maybe it’s control. If the Harvester is the most powerful position in Hell, it stands to reason you chose it because no one can control you. And then there I went, blowing apart that plan by being your atma. The one person you can’t control—”

  “You don’t know that,” he said gruffly.

  “Oh, but I suspect. Nat thinks you’re a good guy deep down. I’m not buying it. You may not be bad, but you’re not the white knight that saves the princess from the dragon. You are the dragon—and if you thought I’d let you keep me locked up here, you’d probably do it. Because then I’m safe, right? Then you can control—”

  He moved so fast I barely saw. Or rather, he moved through the void.

  He went from one end of the couch, and then he was only inches from my face as he hovered above me, hunched over and crowding my space.

  “You’re grasping at straws,” he said softly. “Reaching for something to make you feel in control of this situation. You think that by breaking me apart, that might keep you together. That we’ll cross through the third exchange, and you’ll be unscathed because you can convince yourself that I want to control you.” His hand brushed over my forearm and up my bicep, curling around the edge of my shoulder before coming to wrap around my throat. It wasn’t an aggressive hold nor was it meant to intimidate. It was intimate. Purposeful. Possessive.

  “Don’t you?” I replied, not mocking, but serious. He wasn’t wrong, and I wasn’t going to deny it.

  Something simmered in the depths of his eyes.

  “No.” His thumb came up under my chin, tilting it back. “If I valued control more than anything, I never would have crossed through the portal. While we have instincts, a demon can ignore them. Aeshma did. She rejected Lucifer because he was weak, and she thought bonding with him would make her weak. You’re right that I can’t control you, but you’re wrong in thinking that I want to.” His thumb slid across the underside of my jaw as his hand changed its hold. The rough pads of his fingers pressed to my bare flesh was distracting. Disorienting. “I controlled much of my world for a very long time. I was the sole reason it ran as it did. And for a while, I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. The power. The control. There’s a rush that came with being the Harvester, but much like all other brittle emotions, it faded quickly. That control became just another chore. Running Hell was simply something to do. I wasn’t living.” He loomed closer. The scent of fire and brimstone and scattered ashes swept over me as our breaths mingled. “Then you called. You created the door, and I didn’t even have to think. Hell could be in ruins by now. Odds are it eventually will be unless another Harvester is chosen, but I don’t care. You’ll come to find there are not many things that hold my interest, Piper, and even fewer that I truly feel something for. In that, there’s only one. You.”

  A steady beat thundered in my chest. It was a ritual drum, signaling something to come.

  “For a demon that mocks love, that sounds a lot like it,” I said, mouth dry and head pounding.

  “I’ve felt love,” he said. “When I stole the Antares Coven memories, some of them had loved and still did. That thing they felt, it’s nothing like what I feel. This need—it’s raw. Visceral. I want you at my side and in my bed. I want to be the one you fight for. The one you laugh for. Smile for. You’ve given the witch a piece of yourself and it taunts me . . . because I want every piece. I want to own you—make no mistake.” Hi
s voice was deceptively soft, and a chill ran over my skin. “But I don’t desire to control you. I want you to give me those things willingly because I know that’s the only way I’ll get to keep them.”

  My lips parted. Warmth bloomed in my chest, but it wasn’t gentle. The feeling was closer to fire.

  “Maybe love was the wrong word. Obsession sounds a lot more like it,” I said hoarsely, trying to talk past the lump in my throat.

  “Call it what you want, Piper. Love. Obsession. Infatuation. There’s nothing I want more in this world or the next than you. And I think you know that. I think you counted on that when you killed Morgan Le Fay and asked me to save the witch—with what you thought was your dying breath. You knew I would find a way because you wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t. So say what you want, lie to me if you must, but I know the truth.”

  I licked my chapped lips, and his eyes followed the movement.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “You’re the one that craves control, but with me, you know you have it. You know you’re safe—because as long as I want you, you get to make all the rules in this little game we’ve been playing.”

  Most men said they loved a girl and made it sound almost like a burden. Like she owed them something for that love. They didn’t give it freely. They expected her love in return, without even understanding what it was.

  But Ronan, he gave me these truths that weren’t sweet, or soft, or gentle. He was right. That it wasn’t love. But it was all he had, and he gave it freely, without expecting anything in return.

  As dark and depraved as it was, I preferred it.

  A small part of me might have even loved it.

  But that thought didn’t just scare me. It terrified me. I once said that Ronan wouldn’t just be a bad decision; he’d be a devastating one.

  And there I stood, on the edge of the cliff, swaying in the wind.

  My heart beat heavily. Adrenaline rushed through my veins.

  I might drown in guilt later. My resentment could very well eat me alive.