by Nadine Mutas
To Caress a Demon’s Soul
A Story of Love and Magic
Nadine Mutas
Contents
Cover Copy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Also by Nadine Mutas
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Caress a Demon’s Soul
A Story of Love and Magic
* * *
Nadine Mutas
* * *
Witch Anjali Gupta keeps a damning secret. At age twelve, she saved the life of a boy not much older than her. Which would have been a good deed—if that boy wasn’t a shadow demon, and Anjali meant to hunt and kill his kind. Now, ten years later, she discovers that the elusive dark protector who has covertly guarded her for years is in fact the shadow demon she once saved. Determined to face her past, she confronts him to find out if sparing his life was right—or whether he’s the biggest mistake she’s ever made.
* * *
Thorne has never forgotten the girl with the dazzling green eyes, nor her inexplicable act of kindness when she saved his life. For years, he’s been her silent, stealthy protector, not daring to act on his desire for her. When Anjali stubbornly wiggles her way into his life—and further into his heart—he fights the passion sparking between them—for the secret he keeps holds the power to destroy her.
For Sergej,
Always.
* * *
For my mom,
For everything you’ve done for me.
1
Thorne drew the shadow tight around him with his demon power, and stalked the beast as it prowled through the park. Careful not to rustle the leaves on the ground, he made as little noise as possible, keeping to the cover of the trees. Not that it was necessary to stay hidden from the hellhound skulking in the brush across the path. Even if Thorne were to step right in front of the demonic canine, it wouldn’t see him.
But the young woman the beast was hunting would.
Anjali walked with her head held high, her black hair swept up in an elegant ponytail that swung with her light steps. She scanned her surroundings, alert but not signaling fear. Holding on with one hand to the purse she’d slung over her shoulder, she had the other stuffed in her coat pocket. The moonlight kissed her face, brushing silver strokes across her usual light brown tan.
He crossed the path behind her, keeping out of sight, and wrapped the shadow more tightly around him. It coiled and fell upon him like a shield of darkness, stroking his skin, living black fog that rendered him invisible to any creature, even witches. It was this ability that made ereba—shadow demons—so dangerous to witchkind, considered a threat that needed to be killed on sight. He could sneak up on any witch, strike her down before she even suspected he was there.
Well, any witch but the one walking down the park trail in front of him.
Two steps and he’d reached the hellhound, which crouched, preparing to lunge at the girl. Three times the size of a wolf, its head and neck just about leveled with Thorne’s chest when it hunkered down. He unsheathed his dagger. With the inborn stealth of his demon species, he spun in front of the beast and slit its throat. The hound’s yelp of pain died in a gurgle as blood spurted from the gaping wound.
Thorne whirled out of reach of the thrashing creature and checked on the girl. At the sounds of the struggle, she’d halted on the path. She tilted her head, looked over her shoulder but didn’t turn. Her breath puffed in the chilly spring night.
Dammit, the dying hound made too much noise. Thorne rammed the dagger into the beast’s eye. The hellhound stopped flailing, and the rustling and gurgling ceased. Gaze fixed on his witch, Thorne backed deeper into the brush. Those eyes of hers—striking emerald, as he knew, as he remembered—searched the bushes and trees where he was hiding. On instinct, he reinforced his cloaking, until his hands shook from the power it cost him, though the trees provided better cover from Anjali’s sight.
As a chaya darshini, “one who sees shadows,” she possessed the unique, rare ability to spot ereba like him, an invaluable asset to the witch community. Which made her the number one target of shadow demons.
She blinked and looked away, resuming her walk.
He released the breath he’d been holding. Another night, another threat he’d saved her from, without her knowing. He wiped the dagger on the hellhound’s wiry fur and sheathed the blade again. This one had been a close call—Anjali had almost noticed him. Next time, he’d take care of whatever trouble brewed way earlier, when the threat was still farther away from her, to prevent any noise he made from reaching her ears. He couldn’t become careless.
She mustn’t see me. No matter how much he wanted her eyes to alight on him once more, to recognize him, no matter how much he wanted to finally touch her, stroke that skin of tawny bronze, she couldn’t ever see him. It was best she didn’t even know about him. He couldn’t hurt her that way.
And as much as he wanted to believe that the girl who’d once saved his life, who’d lied to her witch family when she’d spotted him cowering in that demon den all those years ago, would protect him again, he couldn’t risk revealing himself.
Chest tight and skin pulsing with longing, he followed his witch the rest of the way, made sure she got home safe and sound, as always. Only when the door to the remodeled craftsman-style home of her witch family closed behind her, and the light switched on in her room upstairs, did he turn and head home.
He’d be back tomorrow, driven by the impossible, dangerous fascination for a witch he could never have. To stop shadowing her was not an option. Not when his heart smoldered with a question he couldn’t shake: Why had she spared his life when he was the one thing she was supposed to spot and kill?
The demon had followed her again.
Was it really him? Ten long years had passed, and Anjali hadn’t once stopped wondering about the demon boy she’d saved that night. Black hair framing a snowy white face, dirt-smeared and yet angelic. Ice-blue eyes that struck a chord deep inside her, pinned her to the spot like a well-thrown paralysis spell. She had to find out if it was him.
Find out if he was the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life.
She switched on the light in her bedroom then turned on her heel and walked right out of it again. Rushing down the stairs, she checked her pocket for the See-Me-Not charm. Her hand curled around the small bespelled mirror, her heart pounding.
“Anju, you going out again?” Aunt Madhuri poked her head out of the kitchen.
Crap. Anjali skidded to a halt with her hand on the back door. “Yeah.”
At the sight of her mausi—her mom’s sister—Anjali’s stomach knotted, guilt tightening her chest. It had been Aunt Madhuri she’d lied to all those years ago when she’d failed at the one thing she was supposedly good for and allowed the only shadow demon she’d ever spotted to get away. Not in a fit of frozen fear, not out of inability to act, no. Saving that boy, it had been a conscious decision.
One that had haunted her ever since.
Aunt Madhuri pushed a strand of her wavy mahogany hair behind her ear. “But you just got in.”
“Forgot something.” She didn’t have time for this. Every second delayed made it more likely she’d lose her chance to tail the demon.
“It’s getting late.” Aunt Madhuri frowned, her keen brown eyes studying Anjali. “Take Kiran with you.”
Gods, no. She couldn’t have her cousin looking over her shoulder. Not for this. “No need, Mausi. Actually, I’m just going over to the Murrays’ to see Maeve,” she l
ied through her teeth, making a mental note to send her best friend a text later asking her to cover for Anjali should Aunt Madhuri call. “She asked me to come over and spend the night. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Worrying her lip, she glanced at the door. She should have gone out the front.
“I don’t know. You should—”
“No, really, I’ll be fine. I’ve got the necklace.” She pulled the protective charm out from under her coat, jingled it in front of her mausi.
Aunt Madhuri hesitated.
“Gotta go, sorry!” And with that Anjali hurried out.
The second the door shut behind her, she activated the See-Me-Not charm.
“Na mām dṛṣya,” she whispered.
The words, infused with magic, sucked power from her with the force of an industrial-strength magnet. Stumbling, she caught herself on the porch railing. Her insides raw as if dragged over gravel, she gasped and clutched her chest. Around her, the invisibility spell shimmered into place.
Holy crap. That was one hell of a charm. No wonder it had taken her months to gather enough of her weak magic to bespell the mirror. Even for a witch of full strength like Aunt Madhuri, this charm would have cost enough power to hurt.
Completely invisible to any living creature, she sprinted around the house, down the street toward the construction site, to the place where she’d last seen him. Swirling shadows, deeper than natural, pulsing.
What if she couldn’t find him? What if she was too late to track him? She should have activated the charm before going home, before he’d had a chance to vanish. But then he might have seen her, and her only opportunity to finally seek out her elusive dark protector would also have vanished.
About a year ago, she’d noticed someone was shadowing her, covertly guarding her against threats, but it had taken her months of careful detection to find out it was a shadow demon. Though it wasn’t a stretch to guess that this demon was the boy she’d saved back then, she couldn’t be sure until she saw him.
And she needed to see him, needed to know if he was indeed the one that got away. Had she been wrong to let him go? Even kid shadow demons grew up, became adult ereba who posed a danger to every witch. She had no proof but her gut feeling that he was different. What if he killed someone? Every innocent life he took would be on her, weighing on her conscience like a mountain of guilt, staining her soul.
Oh, but she’d tried to find the demon boy she’d saved, to see if maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t become evil. Her efforts were to no avail. He was gone, no trace of him to be found.
Only when she’d realized it was a shadow demon following and protecting her had she finally gotten the chance to confront her past. To find out what kind of man the boy had grown into.
She reached the construction site, all her senses alert. Nothing moved around the half-built new home. He’d gone on already. Running past the site, she scanned the surroundings, looking for the telltale darkening of shadows.
There. Her heart flipped then hammered into her throat.
At the next intersection, something moved along the fence of the house lining the street. A black shape that would appear as no more than a static shadow to everyone else. To Anjali’s eyes, the shadow deepened then morphed into a man, visible as clear as day. Wearing dark jeans and a black hoodie drawn up over his head, he walked with his hands in his pockets, his strides lithe, controlled strength whispering in every step.
Excitement pounded through her veins. Was it him? No way to tell from here, with his hoodie covering his face. She had to see him from the front.
On light feet, she hurried after him until only fifteen feet separated her from the man who’d been her protective shadow for the past gods-only-knew how many years. She had to be stealthy still. He wouldn’t see her, no, but if she made a ruckus, he could very well hear her.
She followed him through the night, spring rain feathering across her face. Suburban streets merged into the outskirts of Portland proper, high-rising structures towering on either side of the street. The demon entered a narrow alley between two weather-worn brick buildings and stopped at a hatchway.
When he glanced left and right, she resisted the urge to hide behind one of the dumpsters. Her pulse hammered in her ears as he looked in her direction. Oh, gods. Let it hold, let the spell hold. His face hidden underneath the cowl of the hoodie—she still couldn’t make out his features—he remained turned toward where she stood, as if studying the entrance to the alley to make sure no one watched him. Apparently satisfied, he bent to open the hatchway.
A relieved sigh rushed out of her.
He yanked the doors open and jumped inside. The hatchway clanged shut behind him.
She waited for a few seconds, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, muscles twitchy. Wait too long now and lose him, or rush forward too soon and risk drawing his attention. Decisions, decisions.
Chewing on her lower lip, she ran after him. The price she’d paid for that See-Me-Not charm was too steep to waste it by losing him now. She had to get a good look at his face, confirm that he was the boy she’d seen so long ago, in that ramshackle demon den. Once she was sure it was him, she had to tail him for a while, observe him from the cover of her invisibility spell.
Sure, she could have just told her family that a shadow demon was following her, and they could have set a trap for him, killed him with Anjali’s assistance. If the nagging feeling of guilt over letting him go and the fear of him possibly turning evil were the only emotions driving her, yes, that’s what she would have done. But, deep down, a part of her—the part that made her spare his life so long ago—still held on to a simple hope, boiled down to one question: What if his life was indeed worth saving?
As silently as possible, she lifted one door of the hatchway, peered inside. A short flight of stairs led down to a basement hallway, its rough brick walls illuminated by dim lights. She slipped in, closing the door with such care her muscles trembled. Listening into the semi-darkness, she looked around. A soft noise drew her attention to an open door at the end of the corridor.
She tip-toed into the room, took in the piles of long-abandoned furniture and rotting boxes—and the whisper of power in the far-back corner. Her heart hammered like a drill in her chest. The shadow demon crouched and pulled on something in the floor. A trapdoor shimmered into view.
Anjali sucked in a breath. A hidden passageway, its energy signature clearly demon. Wherever it led, it was meant to be concealed from witch eyes. If the erebos demon hadn’t touched it, she could have stood right on top of it without ever knowing it was there.
Which meant she had to go down there right now, as long as he kept it open for himself. Once he closed it, it would vanish and remain so, and nothing Anjali could do would bring it forth again.
Pulse racing, she rushed forward, knocking over an old lamp in the process. Crap.
The demon froze then whipped around, searching the darkness, his one hand still on the trapdoor.
Now or never.
She hopped down the hole of the passageway, barely able to make out the ground below. Hitting the floor with her feet, she stumbled, fell and crashed into the tunnel wall. Pain shot through her shoulder and her side. She hissed through clenched teeth and stood, her legs shaky.
Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Her heartbeat drummed in her head.
But it wasn’t the rough tumble that had her reeling. Eyes wide, she stared at the shards of her bespelled pocket mirror that littered the floor, the broken pieces of the See-Me-Not charm.
Oh, shi—
The demon landed right in front of her, his heavy boots grinding the shards into the floor. Gulping, she swept her gaze up his long legs, over lean hips hugged tight by his jeans, over the black hoodie—up to his face. The cowl had fallen back, revealing his features. Black hair, several inches long and carelessly tousled, framed a pale face of graceful masculine beauty. High cheekbones, straight nose, lips that curved just so. And those eyes… Slightly tipped up at the corn
ers and glacier blue, they brought a single word to mind: soulful.
Her chest drew tight as her heart made a somersault.
It was him.
2
It was her.
His witch, his Anjali, stood before him, as if conjured out of thin air like some entrancing vision. Wavy onyx strands had come loose from her ponytail, caressing her face. A scratch marred her cheek where she’d grazed the wall. And those deep green eyes, the ones he’d dreamed about for over ten years, they looked right at him. Saw him.
His heart plummeted, leaving a wake of almost painful tingles in its wake. On the heels of that excitement came a rush of fear, though. He checked the tunnel for the presence of other witches. Was she alone? And how the fuck had she managed to sneak up on him like that? Having someone shadow him was indeed a novel feeling. One he didn’t particularly appreciate.
As he shifted his weight, glass crunched under his heel, and he looked down. A mirror. Puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind. Some sort of invisibility charm. Clever.
Throat raw, he spoke before he could catch himself. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Those stunning eyes widened. She sucked in a breath.
Great going, Thorne. The first time he talked to the girl he’d been obsessing over for a decade, and he was rude as fuck. He exhaled on a huff. “I mean—you shouldn’t be here. You should—”
“What’s your name?”
“What?” Exhilaration shot through his veins. She wants to know who I am. He shook his head, fighting the impossible hope and longing budding inside him. No, uh-uh, he was not going to have a nice chit-chat with her, not here, not now. Maybe not ever. For her own good. And who knew, maybe she wanted to know his name so she could rat him out to her witch family.
