by S. K. Falls
Dax had refused to tell me what had happened. Though, by the end of last night, he'd confessed that something weird was going on. That's why Oscar, his assistant, had offered me money—an offer I'd wickedly worked up into a job offer.
My insides thrilled at the memory of the rest of that conversation, how Dax had said he hadn't wanted me to stay away from him. I forced my mind back on track. But he'd also said that he was bad for me. That his secrets weren't good...
I sped past my turn-off. There was only one way to find out the truth. I had to go after it. I had to go speak with Dax Allard.
A gusting wind buffeted my poor car as I drove up the hill to Dax's mansion. Blackened clouds scuttled overhead, gearing up for another temper tantrum of a storm. As the first raindrops pelted my windshield, I sneaked glances at the sides of the tiny road, on the lookout for any more glowing eyes like I'd encountered the previous day.
The car had been restored back to like-new condition thanks to Dax, that was true, but I didn't completely trust that it wouldn't have another breakdown and a repeat of last time. Only, this time I might not be as lucky—Dax might not be there to save me.
But before I knew it I was on the plateau, heading straight for the gates that would lead to his enormous front lawn and mansion. I let out my breath in a relieved sigh. It was all right; I'd made it.
A flash of something bright caught my eye through the sheets of rain. My breath caught in my throat and my heart began to throw itself against my chest. Dax stood a few feet from my car, leaning against a pillar at the gates, perfectly still. He stared through the windshield at me, his copper eyes glinting even from this distance.
How had he known I was coming? My mouth was completely dry in ironic contrast to my surroundings. I had no idea what I was going to say. How do you tell someone you've come to his house to accuse him of being a demon? I wondered if I should be afraid. I wasn't; not in the slightest. Something inside me, some part that was very sure, insisted that Dax would never hurt me.
After putting the car in park, I threw open the door and stepped out. I hadn't brought a jacket with me, and the rain turned my clothes into a freezing cold, dripping wet second skin. But somehow it didn't matter.
I walked around the front of the car so there was nothing separating us. We stood several feet apart, neither of us trying to get closer. Dax took a step back, putting more distance between our bodies. It didn't help—that strange invisible electric current we seemed to generate whenever we were together still crackled, stronger than ever before.
As if pulled by something I couldn't see, I took a corresponding step forward, and was immediately mortified when his gaze followed my desperate actions. He didn't take a compensating step backward, though, and my heart rejoiced at this small gesture. My body sought out his warmth, that incredible heat emanating from him, as if it was unsure how it had ever existed without it before. The need to be near him, to be close, was overpowering.
I swallowed, hard, trying to get my mind back on track, to get the nerve up to say what I knew to be the truth. "You..." I held his copper eyes as buckets of water drenched us. His short-sleeved t-shirt clung to the hard contours of his chest and stomach. "You're..."
He didn't blink. He remained still, his face a placid mask. His hands hung loose at his sides, as if we were just having a chat about something inconsequential, as if we weren't out in a downpour. "Yes?" he asked, as if he couldn't care less about the answer.
"I...I know what you are." My eyes searched his for the alarm or even hostility I'd glimpsed yesterday. But he just stood there, waiting patiently. Finally, I coughed up the word. "You're...a demon." My voice trembled as the word left my mouth, but I knew them to be as true as any words had ever been. Seeing him, feeling the electricity between us, feeling the heat of him, seeing the copper glint in his otherworldly stare, I knew. There was no way this man was human.
Something flashed across his face—something like surprise—but was gone in an instant. He crossed his arms across his chest and continued to stare at me, water dripping down the planes of his face. I refused to look away.
"A demon," he echoed softly, his rough voice deep. "And...how do you feel about that?"
My mind spun out in a thousand directions, even though, of course, I'd known deep down it was true. Just the fact that he was acknowledging it, or at least that he wasn't vehemently denying it or laughing at me, was incredible. I wiped the water out of my eyes with my fists. "I...I don't know." I stared into his eyes as lightning turned the world white. With all the shadows bleached away, his copper eyes and high cheekbones made him look feral. Thunder crashed, shaking the world under our feet. "The hound in the woods...was it yours?"
He started to say something, but then looked over his shoulder. Confused, I followed his gaze. My breathing turned ragged.
The hellhound looked sleeker than I remembered, its jet black skin gleaming in the rain. Its wings—and I could clearly see they were wings now—were spread out, giving it a glorious, wicked appearance. But though its eyes glowed deep crimson like before, there was something about its expression that wasn't as menacing, as predatory, as it had been in the woods yesterday. It trotted toward us, down the drive, at an impossible speed with its ears up, as if it had heard something interesting.
I stepped backward, my shoes squelching in the mud. There was no way I could outrun it. But why wasn't Dax doing anything? He just stood there, his head still turned over his shoulder, as the creature approached. It stopped at his side, the top of its back level with his chest.
Dax turned toward me, and when he saw my face, he held his hands out. His expression softened. "It's all right. This is Shuck. He's mine, and he's not dangerous to humans like the one you saw yesterday."
The hound watched me closely, its head cocked.
"Sorry," Dax continued, patting its back. "He responds when I call to him in my mind. That's why he came out. I did it without thinking that you wouldn’t have heard…"
I marveled at how casually he spoke the words, how casually he told me about his mind-reading dog from hell. “Is he—I saw some animals on the side of the road when I drove in to Eden. They had scorch marks all over them, and they’d been ripped apart.” I tried not to cringe at the memory. “Is that your hound’s doing?”
“No. I don’t let him hunt live prey.”
“Oh.” It must’ve been the other Hellhound, the one that attacked me.
"Would you like to come inside, where it's warm and dry?" Dax gestured toward his house, as if he was afraid that any sudden movement would spook me. After a long pause, I nodded.
He turned to walk up the drive, his hound, Shuck, following right behind. I got in my car to follow.
Though I drove while they walked, Dax and his dog beat me to his house.
The giant front door stood open. I stepped through without knocking, sorry to see water from my clothes puddle on the marble floor. Speaking of which, where were Dax’s puddles?
As if my thoughts had called to him, Dax walked in from a room on the right. "I've started a fire in the living room."
I followed him back into the room, trying to quiet my chattering teeth. A giant fireplace that took up most of one wall, and my skin tingled in response to the roaring fire; my clothes began to dry right away. I considered taking off my shoes and wet socks, but decided that might be a little too much.
When I turned around, Dax was peering at my shivering form, concern all over his absurdly beautiful face.
"I'm going to get you some dry clothes," he said, striding to the door. And in a lower voice, "Humans don't dry out very fast."
While he was gone, I glanced around the room. The hound had disappeared. Where did it go? It wasn’t like you could build a doghouse for a thing that size. I wondered if it had stables, like a horse would. This was all so weird.
Dax returned then, a stack of clothes in his arms.
"Here," he said, passing them to me.
Our fingers touched when I took the
stack, and I gasped involuntarily at the scalding temperature of his skin. He pulled his hand back, a smirk playing about his lips. "I'll be back in a few minutes. And then we can talk."
As he walked back out, I noticed that his own clothes were almost entirely dry already, as was his hair. Did his feverish temperature have something to do with that?
When the door to the living room shut behind him, I stripped quickly, and slipped on the clothes he'd brought me. They belonged to a woman—a very tall woman—and I had to roll up the hem of the pants. I'd just have to hold the waist while I was here. I spread out my wet clothes on the wide fireplace hearth so they could dry, then crossed the room and opened the door so Dax would know to come back in.
When he did, he kept his eyes downcast as if he didn’t want to risk seeing me naked. I realized I was hurt at the thought and laughed internally. Of course it was unlikely Dax would feel the same intense level of attraction for me as I felt for him.
What I felt, the intensity of it in the short time that I’d known him, was bizarre. We'd only just met, but already I knew his scent as if it were my own; I craved his presence as if I'd never lived without him.
"Please sit." He gestured to the pale lavender couch. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale.
When I sat, he did, too. It was a little old-fashioned that he'd waited for me to sit first, but I was oddly charmed at the same time.
"So." I took a deep breath and ran my hands along the silky fabric of the pants.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "So."
The fire hissed and crackled in the grate, punctuating the silence. My hands were getting cold again, but not from the rain this time. "I noticed you didn't..." I let my eyes wander away; his gaze was unnerving in so many ways. "You didn't deny what I said earlier."
He chuckled softly. "No, I didn't. I didn't think it'd make a difference whether I argued or not. Would it have?"
I looked at him again. "No." I wondered as I sat there how a demon could be so incredibly perfect. Weren't they always portrayed as frenzied, scary creatures with hideous skin and flaming hands? And yet, here sat a man who looked like an exquisite painting or a Photoshopped magazine model.
Dax leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. His muscles flexed and bulged, and I found myself completely entranced by his fluid movements. "I assume you have questions about everything. The hound, my...existence."
I did. I had so many questions about so many different things, I didn't know where to start. Outside, thunder boomed. “Where did that thing come from? Was it another demon’s?”
“Yes. It was likely exploring territory. Demons do that when they want to relocate. We aren’t the most social creatures, so we tend not to live near other clans. From the way his hound attacked you, I’d say this demon isn’t like me. He doesn’t live without hurting humans.” He watched me carefully as I processed this information. Flickering shadows from the firelight danced across his face.
“Right.” I took a deep, shaky breath. This was something I’d read about at the library. “So… he steals souls from people?”
“Yes.” Dax’s voice was quiet. “Demons need human souls to stay immortal.”
“But then, how do you stay immortal? If you don’t take human souls?” I flushed. “I mean, I’m assuming you are immortal.”
Dax smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am. The way I live is all thanks to Oscar. He’s a great man. He pioneered the movement wherein demons can exist without resorting to our monstrous natures. We perform Shamanic rituals that allow us to overpower those urges.” Though his tone was casual, a muscle in his jaw jumped.
Shamanic rituals. I’d read about those, too. They were used by certain Inuit tribes to kill demons. And they were supposed to be agonizing. Something clicked in my brain. “That ritual. It’s painful, isn’t it? That’s why you were screaming last night.” My heart clenched at the memory of his howls and screams, at the sheer agony in his wordless cries. He was going through that so he could be good? So he wouldn’t hurt a human? He’d rather put himself through torture than do that. My eyes teared up at the utter selflessness of it.
“Well, it’s better that I go through the ritual every fortnight than a human suffer needlessly, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “You say it so casually, like it’s no sacrifice at all. But you…you were in agony.”
There was silence between us as we gazed at each other, the warmth of the fire and Dax’s skin bathing me. After a moment, he said, “You must have more questions.”
I did, but I didn’t know how to voice them all. I felt like I could ask question after question and still only dig the shallowest hole in the wealth of information there was about this other world.
Dax seemed to sense that I was overwhelmed. Unlacing his fingers, he set his big hands neatly on his thighs. "Perhaps I should tell you how it was for me yesterday. From the moment I saw you..." He spoke so quietly, it was more like he was breathing words. "From the very first moment I entered the room and smelled you, your scent of apple and vanilla, I knew I wanted you." He looked up at me, his eyes on fire. "I want you like nothing I've ever wanted before."
My heart began to race; my palms were instantly sweaty. I realized I was leaning in toward him without having made a conscious decision to do it. I was breathing in his wood smoke and spice scent, too. "Why?"
"Destiny." He grinned a smile as bright as the sun breaking through clouds. "If you believe in that sort of thing."
"What do you believe?" I asked, trying to slow my breath.
"I believe that there are some things your mortal world can't explain," he said, his voice soft again. His eyes turned to the fire, and the copper looked like it was burning. "Sometimes there's a connection between a demon and a mortal's soul. It feels like electricity, like something so powerful it's actually physical." I thought about how electricity seemed to crackle between us every time we were together. "We call it betrothal, but it doesn't have anything to do with the mortal institution of marriage. It’s more a soul calling." He looked at me, his eyes still smoldering. "You, Ms. Beaumont, are my betrothed. And that's why, if you knew any better, you'd run."
I leaned closer, chasing the wood smoke scent of his body, breathing myself dizzy. Could I be more hypnotized? "Run?"
His expression lay somewhere between irritated and amused. "Hand me that bowl, please."
He pointed past me to the small end table beside the couch, on which sat a large bowl. It was heavy, made of iron, most likely. I passed it to him with both hands.
With a twist of his fingers, Dax began to work the metal as if it were clay. He rolled it into a ball slightly smaller than his fist.
He closed his hand, and when he opened it again, the ball was gone, replaced by a pile of iron particles. After making a small hill of metal dust on the coffee table in front of us, he brushed his hands off. Then he turned back to stare at me, his eyebrows lifted as he waited for my reaction.
I inhaled slowly and then blew out and shook my head. "But you won't hurt me."
"And how do you know that?" He leaned in close, his teeth glinting in the firelight. His breath was hot and sweet, smoky like his scent. "Do you want to know what appeals most to me about you?"
I nodded as if in a trance, my mind beyond reason.
"Your soul." He whispered the words, his beautiful copper gaze full of shame and anger. "That's what a betrothal is for our kind. It's not simply an intense physical attraction, an intense hunger for your body, though that's there as well." As he said this, his eyes dropped to my throat, and lower to my chest. My cheeks flared with heat. He dragged his gaze back up and said, "It's the need to completely possess you. To take everything; body, mind, and most of all, soul."
Lightning split the sky outside, and a second later, thunder roared.
"But I don't understand," I said. "How do you ‘take’ a soul?"
I wasn't the least bit religious. We'd stopped going to church long before my dad had died,
when I was really little. I thought about god the usual way people my age did—when there was a final I wanted to ace or a job I really wanted to get. I'd never thought about my soul as such, or whether there even really existed such a thing.
"You kill the person."
I knew in some logical part of my brain that the words should make me want to run. But I didn't feel even the slightest terror. I moved closer, so our thighs almost touched. My skin burned with the heat of him. "But you haven't."
He chuckled darkly. "Is that any sort of indication that I won't? Just because you haven't been attacked by a shark, should you cut yourself and wade into shark-infested waters?" He shook his head. "I'm a monster. Do you know what happens to humans who mate with demons?"
My heart thrilled at the word mate. Was it just my human hormones? I didn't know, and I didn't especially care. Every single fiber of me wanted him. I shook my head.
"They die." The intensity in his gaze stole my breath away. "We exist only to suck the souls out of humans and use them to bolster the quality of our immortal lives. We take advantage of that intense attraction our betrothed feels for us to mate with them. Demons are virile. It's highly, highly likely that once we mate, you will get pregnant. But the child will attack your body. You'll die an agonizing death, your body writhing in pain, your mind begging for release. Another demon will be birthed, and I'll use your soul, the spark of energy that makes you you, for my own purposes." He leaned in, touched my chin with the tips of his fingers. Though the skin there smoldered with heat, I made no effort to move away. "Is that how you want your life to end?"
"No," I breathed. "But I know you won't hurt me."
He stood, and the speed with which he did it left me dizzy. I blinked and he was already across the room, standing by the fireplace. "Then you know more than I do," he said, his voice thick with disapproval. "How can you be so willing to risk your life?"
