by Stacia Kane
The gold-flocked walls of the den welcomed her. This—aside from the bedroom—was where she spent most of her time at the Iureanlier. Not a big room, at least not by the standards of this house, but a comfortable one, with an especially deep and cozy brown suede couch just the right size for two. The TV and stereo sat cold and silent, the only difference between this night and any other.
“Here y’go, m’lady.” The tenderness in his rough voice brought fresh tears to her eyes. “Let’s just get this undone, you’ll feel all better.”
She stood like a doll while he unzipped her dress and slipped it off her shoulders, wincing a little as the sticky sleeves slipped over her hands. Blood and vomit…her nose wrinkled.
“You hold my shoulders, let’s get these shoes off too.”
She’d once thought of Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud as bizarre, criminal grandpas. That thought comforted her now, while her mascara ran down her splotchy cheeks and Malleus removed her shoes and stockings for her, tender as a father with a small child.
Her father was dead, really dead, and long before he’d died he’d sold her to a demon. Given her up, tried to get rid of her, traded her life for whatever success he’d had in some podunk town that nobody else gave a fuck about. His only daughter. The little girl he’d once read bedtime stories to.
She could barely see now. For some reason this helped. It was easier to pretend Malleus couldn’t see her, easier to pretend she wasn’t really there when Maleficarum entered and started cleaning the blood off her stomach with a warm, damp cloth.
By the time Malleus whispered, “Close your eyes, now,” and wiped her face clean, her breath hitched in her chest. She could feel the two demons exchanging worried glances over her head, their uncertainty about what they should be doing. Crying women made most men uncomfortable. Centuries-old guard demons who, as far as she knew, had never even dated were no different.
Together they helped her step into a pair of Greyson’s silk pajama bottoms and pulled the drawstring tight around her waist, then slipped a clean white T-shirt over her head and helped her sit down in the corner of the couch. Maleficarum shoved a drink into her hand, cold and smelling of bourbon and Coke, which made sense because that’s what it was.
“You need something sweet,” he said. “The sugar’ll ’elp.”
Like she needed convincing. She drank half the glass in one long gulp, took a breath, and got ready to finish it. Drunk had never sounded so good. She wanted to pass out and wake up in the morning unable to remember anything.
Which was impossible. Those images would never, ever leave her head.
“Careful now, m’lady. You don’t wanna drink too much on an empty stomach.”
Yes, she did. “Yes, I do.”
“Naw, naw, now, cuz Lord Lawden’s gonna be ’ere, and you don’t wanna be all drunk then, right? Ain’t ladylike, it ain’t.”
“Who cares.” Nobody did. Nobody cared about her. Okay, it wasn’t fair to say that anymore. People cared. But it was more fun at that moment to say nobody did, so she could attribute feeling sorry for herself to loneliness and isolation instead of the reality. She felt sorry for herself because she’d somehow won some kind of misery lottery, and her prize was a parasitic piece of demon wrapped around her heart. Her forehead ached from crying.
How much more of this was she supposed to take? How long would it be before she stopped being able to resist, before she let the demon inside have its way, taking blood, taking energy, feeding on the sorrow of every human she came across?
“Okay, guys.” Greyson’s voice, smooth and calm. “Orion’s having a little trouble remembering he said he’d tell us how to beat the leyak. Maybe you could help him with that?”
Maleficarum patted her on the head before he left. The gesture only made her start crying again.
Greyson took away her empty glass. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the cool smooth suede, while ice clinked and cracked and soda fizzed.
Light flared against her eyelids. He’d started a fire. A nice gesture, but she doubted she would ever feel warm again.
Finally the cushion shifted with his weight as he sat next to her and closed her fingers back around the glass. His hand found her back, rested there unmoving, warming her chilled skin.
“I know what’s going on, Meg,” he said quietly. “Are you…do you want to talk to—about it?”
“It’s not right.” Her words were muffled by the thick padded arm of the couch.
“Not right for whom? For you? For me? Maybe not for Brian or Tera or that miserable bunch of hypocrites who raised you. Come on, bryaela. You’re stronger than this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Now sit up and stop behaving like a child.”
“Oh my God.” She turned to stare at him. “You are the most insensitive man I’ve—oh, whatever.”
“Part of my charm.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, though, and she noticed shadows beneath them that hadn’t been there in the study.
She took a deep breath. “I…I saw.”
“I know you did.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose. I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to, I was hungry so I went to the kitchen…”
“And you found the stairway,” he finished.
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to him, or to herself, or…to whom, but they were the only words that made sense.
He shrugged. “It’s done.”
“Wait, you…you knew?” Of course he knew, stupid. You practically hung a sign around your neck.
“Of course I knew. I felt you in the room. And then you don’t normally hang around by the front door with your shoes and purse in your hand, like an inexperienced cat burglar.”
“I panicked.”
“You’re not yourself.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“And that’s the point.”
The urge to slap him felt so good, after the abject misery of the last twenty minutes or so, it took her a minute to realize what it was. None of her problems seemed as bad when he was being this exasperating. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Maybe.”
Megan watched him for a minute. He watched her right back, his dark eyes serious. It felt a little odd to be having such a—well, such an intimate conversation, that didn’t involve any intimate activities to go with it. They talked a lot—even more than they engaged in those activities—but this was different. The subject was open, laying between them. It wouldn’t go away no matter how she might want it to, so she might as well have the discussion. Get it over with.
He must have had the same thought. “You didn’t really think you could hide it from me, did you?”
“Obviously I did, or I wouldn’t have tried.”
A quick smile flashed across his face, like a lightning bolt straight into her chest.
“I pay attention, darling,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to see, even if you hadn’t fed off me a few times.”
“No, I didn’t—did I?”
He nodded.
Why couldn’t she get drunk? None of the reasons seemed to be that important. Winston seemed nice enough, and she didn’t really need to participate…
Unless she wanted to behave like what Orion had accused her of being.
Greyson’s chest looked almost as inviting as her drink. She leaned into him, resting her cheek just below his collarbone. His muscles relaxed and his arm curved around her.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Come on, Meg.”
Right. He wouldn’t have invaded her privacy like that, any more than she would have done it to him. “But…aside from that, why didn’t you?”
“Because it was obvious you didn’t know you were doing it. Just like you didn’t realize your steak the other night wasn’t overdone. Or that earlier today—you didn’t see your eyes.”
Her hands flew t
o her face. “Oh God, did they change?”
“Yes. They haven’t done that before, at least not that I’ve seen.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Your demon is growing. It’s gaining power, and trying to get more. Maybe because some of your little ones have abandoned ship, like we talked about after your dad’s funeral. Or maybe just because. But it’s trying to assert itself and your power is too strong to let itself be destroyed. So the demon has to look elsewhere for food.”
Your power is too strong to let itself be destroyed…“It was feeding off me?”
“At least at first, yes.”
“And that’s why the stuff Tera taught me stopped working.”
She caught his sharp glance. She hadn’t told him that. “I would think so.”
“So if I…if I keep it fed, I can do that stuff again? And I can read people again?”
“You haven’t been?”
“No, not really. Not after Gerald’s sister came to the office Monday morning. I wanted to comfort her, but…” She shook her head. “It went wrong.”
“So that’s why you quit like that. I wondered.”
“No you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. For a minute I thought perhaps you’d bowed to my superior wisdom, but that would have been too much to ask. So I assumed it had something to do with the demon.”
It all seemed so rational, so sensible, as they sat there sipping bourbon in front of a roaring fire. Megan could have imagined they were talking about dinner plans or what movie to watch, if she didn’t still feel so cold and the squirming thing in her chest had stilled itself.
It hadn’t. Calmer, yes, but not quiescent.
Spud appeared holding an armful of clothing at the same time the buzzer rang. Winston Lawden had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-two
She started to sweat as she buttoned her jacket. True to form, Spud had selected a skirt she normally wore in the evening—it was shorter than work generally called for—and a summery camisole. Whatever. Given how pale she looked, maybe it was better if no one focused on her face too much. Not that her cleavage was anything to write home about.
“What do I do about it?” she asked, pulling up her stocking.
“Hmm?” His eyes tracked the movements of her hands. “Oh. Just relax. If you don’t panic about it, it won’t be so bad. It’s not like this is some crazy force that’s going to overtake you at any moment and force you to do things, especially once you get matters sorted out with your demons. It scared you, right, more than actually bothering you physically?”
Funny. She hadn’t thought about it that way before, but he was right. It was the creepy awfulness of wanting to drink blood, more than the actual desire to do so, that had bothered her. She nodded.
“It’s just a desire, not a demand. You’re not a slave to it. It—you—have specific triggers. You can avoid those or you can learn to accept them and try to find another way to deal with them. It’s only a problem because you made it one. Oh, and sex is always a good way to get your mind off it, you know.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re so helpful.”
“I try.”
She dug her compact out of her purse and smeared a little powder on. Ugh. Blotchy skin, bags under her eyes…and so many unanswered questions, still, that she thought her head might explode, although—she hoped—not literally. Of course, if Ktana Leyak got hold of her, it was entirely possible.
Unless Orion Maldon had told the truth and knew how to defeat her.
“We’ll talk more later,” he said. “Unless you’ve decided to go home after Winston leaves.”
“Talking sounds good.” She still hadn’t even asked him about whether his demons were picking on hers…not that one explosion meant much. Not that the connection was even confirmed. Coincidences did happen, even when it seemed like they shouldn’t.
“We’ll see if—What the hell?”
Screams of pain tore through the door, mingled with shouts from Malleus and Maleficarum. Greyson started running, Megan right behind him, her heels clicking on the spotless floor.
They burst through the door of the study, where Greyson stopped so abruptly that Megan ran right into him. He hardly noticed. Neither did she.
Orion Maldon glowed like an LED light, sitting in his chair with sweat pouring down his face. Megan could practically see the air above him shimmer as his blood heated, as he got redder and redder until she expected to see his tears boil and sizzle down his tight cheeks. Heat rose from his skin and canceled out the chill of Winston’s rage.
Winston leaned against Greyson’s desk, his arms folded and his brows drawn. At their abrupt entrance, he glanced up.
“Nice to see you again, Megan,” he said, surely the most incongruous greeting Megan had ever received.
“Um…you too.”
“Winston,” Greyson said. “Far be it from me to interfere, but what are you doing?”
“Orion deserves to be punished. You guys do it your way. This is ours.”
“Of course. But we still have a lot of questions to ask him. If you wouldn’t mind—”
“What questions? He betrayed me. He made a deal with Templeton Black and allowed Templeton to almost bring the Accuser into your House. To defeat our own! I had no idea he was involved in that. The disloyalty…” He shook his head. “I know we were going to discuss his punishment, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I say I’ve already made the decision.”
Megan glanced at Orion. His eyes weren’t bulging anymore. Instead his lids were closing, his head slumping to the side. He was dying, right there beside her, and she couldn’t do or say anything to stop it.
“I gave him retchia, Win. You can’t kill him under my roof, not if I’m aware of it.”
“I’ll take him outside.”
“Vergadering is outside.”
“Oh, yes.” Winston looked thoughtful. “I did notice them. They’re going to want him first thing in the morning, aren’t they?”
“I promised them, yes.”
“Asterope Green?”
Greyson nodded.
Winston sighed. “Why you let that witch get so close to you I’ll never understand. We’re not meant to mix with them, you know.” His gaze settled on Megan, who had the uncomfortable feeling that both men were in complete agreement but only one was brave enough to say it. Or rather, only one of them was keeping his mouth shut because he wanted to stay in her bed.
“Orion says he knows how to beat the leyak,” Greyson said.
“He’s a liar. What would he know about leyaks?”
“If we figured out the connection between the Yezer who exploded and mine,” Megan cut in, “maybe he did too.”
Greyson shot her a glance. Oops. Well, not exactly oops. She hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him about it, what with the vomiting and the cannibalism taking up so much of their time.
Winston sighed. “I’d say you were overestimating Orion’s capabilities, but after what he did—what he tried to do—with the Accuser, I don’t know I’d believe it myself.”
“He was a buddy of Temp’s from way back,” Greyson said. “Who knows what they talked about?”
They were silent for a moment, then Winston nodded. “I guess it’s worth a—What the hell?”
Megan had already started to jump away when Greyson’s arm caught her and pushed her back, trying to put more distance between her and Orion Maldon as he began seizing.
Pinkish foam oozed from between his tight lips and ran down his chin. He flopped out of the chair, onto the floor, a high-pitched sound, a keening, coming from his throat. Megan’s demon heart twisted and wiggled; her fingers dug into Greyson’s hand.
“It’s her,” she whispered. “Greyson it’s her, you have to do something, you have to stop her—”
He didn’t argue, or say it was impossible, even though she knew it should have been. He didn’t ask how she knew. He just crossed the room to the fireplace and p
icked up the poker, holding it in front of him like a baseball bat.
Megan clasped her hands over her face, but couldn’t resist peeking out through her fingers. She didn’t want to watch this, but it was like a gory accident—no. Not like a gory accident. It was a gory accident, about to happen in the middle of the antique oriental rug on the floor of Greyson’s lovely study, and in her panicked state she didn’t even care. She just wanted the threat gone. She couldn’t face Ktana Leyak again, not in her current state. Her demon heart might be pumping merrily away in her chest, but the human one had had just about all it could take.
Orion started to swell, the thin navy fabric of his shirt ripping down his spine to reveal flesh mottling blue and purple. Greyson raised the poker and started to swing it down, but Winston caught it. The sound of the metal hitting his flesh made Megan wince. How had he not just broken every bone in his hand?
“My rubenda,” Winston said.
“Sorry.” Greyson dipped his head and handed over the poker, while sweat trickled down Megan’s temple and she clenched her fists to keep from grabbing the fucking poker herself. What was the matter with these two? Didn’t they realize how close they were? That they didn’t even know if this would work?
Winston brought the poker down in a savage arc. Blood and tissue spattered everywhere as Orion’s head exploded like a cockroach under a brick.
Someone shrieked, long and loud, raising the hairs on the back of Megan’s neck. For a moment she thought it was her, but it wasn’t. This came from elsewhere, circling the room, brushing past all of them before disappearing with a tiny pop.
“Eshti raika,” Winston gasped. His casual dove gray trousers and white shirt were spotted with gore. Megan looked down; she and Greyson both resembled extras from the set of a slasher film. “How did that happen?”
“She must have been in there the whole time,” Greyson said. Megan thought he looked a bit pale. She was certain she was. Her skin was numb. “She must have called and turned him in to Vergadering, Meg, just like she got you arrested last week.”
