Embers

by Suzanne Wright

  Baffled, Harper frowned. “If the demon is cloaking itself, how come people don’t sense that?”

  “Because part of that ability is that they can mimic psychic scents.”

  Harper felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Cloaking means he can assimilate himself into any group and be seen as whatever it wishes to be seen. Asher won’t physically change, but his ‘air’ will—in fact, he can even hide it completely so that he appears human. Depending on just how strong he grows, Asher may even be able to ensure that he isn’t seen at all. Not in the sense that he becomes invisible. No, but he will be able to socially cloak himself to the extent that he garners no attention or sticks out in no memories.”

  Well, fuck a duck. “Why would the demon cloak itself?”

  “Because it can, maybe. I don’t know. As I said, the point of cloaking is to assimilate. To fit. Blend. It wouldn’t surprise me if my own demon influenced its decision—sending some kind of ‘impression’ that safety equaled mimicking its mother. After all, masquerading as a sphinx will keep him safe.”

  Knox stepped toward her. “Asher is very much like you, Harper. Good. Mischievous. Expressive. I fear that his demon is very much like mine. Exceedingly cold and dark. Something to rightfully fear.” He tilted his head. “But you’ve already figured that much out for yourself, haven’t you? For a while you’ve suspected—deep down in a place you weren’t ready to face—that he wasn’t a sphinx. Haven’t you?”

  She’d wondered about it, yes, but she hadn’t given any real weight to her suspicions. She’d thought she was just letting her fears toy with her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me you believed he might not be a sphinx?”

  “Probably for the same reason that you didn’t tell me of your own suspicion. I wanted to be wrong. Saying it aloud felt like taking the suspicion too seriously. Plus, I didn’t want to worry you when it could have been needless. I intended to simply watch him and wait until I at least had a theory as to what else he could be. So far, I have nothing.”

  “You didn’t want to worry me? I’m not made of fucking porcelain.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harper.”

  “Why? You certainly enjoyed twisting my motives, accusing me of meeting with Drew because I like having his attention.”

  He set down his glass. “I’m glad we’re back on the subject of Clarke, because I’m not finished.”

  “Well, I am. You did your best to hurt me by spouting all that shit earlier. Guess what? It worked. I have no interest in giving you the opportunity to spew more of that crap and hurt me all over again.” Whirling, she stalked away.

  “Harper, we’re not done.”

  “I am.” She needed to go. Needed space. Needed air that wasn’t tainted with tension and anger. It took everything she had not to storm up the stairs. She wanted out of there—not just the room but the mansion itself. Wanted distance from him. Mostly because “alone” was her default zone, especially when she was hurting or confused.

  The first time they’d had a major fight, Harper had fled to Jolene’s house. Naturally, Knox hadn’t reacted well to that. And since she couldn’t deny that she’d have felt like shit to have searched their home for him, hoping to mend things, only to find that he’d left her, she’d promised him that she’d never again leave after an argument. She’d made it clear, though, that she’d likely walk away to get some space and cool down. He’d better damn well give her that space, no matter how hard he’d find it not to push.

  Upstairs, she returned her things to the closet, got ready for bed, and then slipped under the covers. Using the remote to lower the blackout blinds, she plunged the room into darkness. Honestly, she wasn’t tired. Emotionally drained, yes, but not physically exhausted. But Jolene had always said that a rest could be as good as a sleep. Speaking of Jolene …

  Harper telepathically reached out to her. How is Drew?

  First, I want to know if you’re all right, sweetheart, said Jolene.

  Knox hasn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking.

  I know he wouldn’t physically hurt you, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t lose his mind and lash out at you. Men tend to do that when they’re hurt—apparently, they prefer that to admitting they’re upset.

  Oh, Knox had definitely lashed out, but he rarely lost control. He’s pissed at me, but he didn’t blow. How bad is Drew? For a moment, there was only silence. Grams?

  He’s bad, Harper, Jolene admitted. The pain was so terrible he’s gone into shock. I had Beck put him to sleep. He’ll be healed by the time he wakes. He was very confused about what happened—he doesn’t remember your conversation. There seems to be large gaps in his memory.

  Harper closed her eyes tight, thinking that if she’d just refused to go into that damn bedroom, the guy would be okay. Not that she was assuming responsibility for what happened. No, he’d ignored every warning he’d been given, effectively poking at the hornet’s nest. Still, refusing to talk to him alone would have been smarter. Does Devon know yet?

  She’s with him now, holding his hand.

  Tell me the truth, is she pissed at me?

  No. She appreciates that you agreed to let him say goodbye. Still, she’s upset with Knox. She feels he overreacted to seeing you and Drew speaking alone. Intellectually, she knows it was more than that.

  Figuring that calling Devon wouldn’t be the best idea until she’d had time to cool down, Harper sighed. I don’t know how to fix this.

  There’s nothing for you to fix. You were placed in the middle of an impossible situation. Drew made it worse, and Knox reacted exactly as we all anticipated that he would. I’d hoped that you speaking to him privately, allowing him to say his goodbyes, would have prevented that. Instead, it only exacerbated the situation. If I’m honest, it surprises me that Drew is still breathing.

  Rubbing her forehead, Harper said, Keep me updated on his progress.

  Will do, sweetheart.

  Thanks, Grams. With that, Harper cut the connection. She knew Knox would have sensed that she’d been speaking telepathically with someone. Ordinarily, he’d ask who she’d been talking to. This time, there was only silence from him. That suited her just fine.

  Harper woke to a young mind poking at hers. Opening her eyes, she saw that Knox’s side of the bed was empty. Unruffled. Cold. He hadn’t come to bed. Apparently, he was still sulking. Whatever.

  Giving Asher’s mind a reassuring stroke, she quickly did her business and pulled on her sweats. Walking into the nursery, she found him standing in the crib, hair all tousled from sleep. He gave her a huge grin.

  “Hey, baby boy.” Harper lifted him out of the crib and kissed his cheek. He was so adorable and loveable that her heart squeezed. “So, your demon hides from us, huh? Why?” She didn’t get it. Not at all. Did the entity think she wouldn’t accept it? Or maybe Knox’s demon thought that she’d struggle to accept it and, as such, urged Asher’s demon to hide. Still, why? “Whatever you are, I don’t care. You’re still my boy. I accept your dad’s demon, and I’ll accept yours just the same.”

  Of course, she knew Asher didn’t understand a word she’d said. In fact, he wasn’t even paying her any attention. He was staring at the tree mural on the wall while chewing his finger. Still, she’d just needed to say it out loud.

  Harper kissed his cheek again. “Hungry?” He blew bubbles at her. “Thought so. First, let’s get you sorted.” After changing his diaper, she lay out some fresh clothes for him before heading downstairs. Given his little habit of making a mess of himself in the morning, she always dressed him after he’d eaten.

  Tanner was at the kitchen table, munching on a Danish pastry. He was also alone. Reaching out with her mind, she searched the house for others. Meg. Dan. No Knox.

  The hellhound flashed a smile at Asher. “Hey, big guy. Stop chewing on those little fingers.” He looked at Harper, expression sobering. “You all right?” he asked softly.

  “Fine.” She settled Asher in the highchair j
ust as Meg came in with his porridge. “Morning, Meg. Thanks.”

  She beamed. “Not a problem. Bagel and creamed cheese?”

  Stomach churning, Harper grimaced. “I’m not hungry, but thanks.”

  Meg’s brow furrowed. “Not hungry? That’s unlike you. Not pregnant again, are you?”

  Harper sighed. “No, I’m not.” She was just pissed and off-balance. “I wouldn’t mind some coffee, though.” Sinking into a chair, she spooned some porridge for Asher and blew on it to cool it down.

  “Mmm,” drawled Asher, stretching toward her. He opened his mouth wide and practically gobbled the food.

  “Knox headed out a few hours ago,” said Tanner. “He didn’t say where he was going. I take it you two had a spat.”

  “Why would you think we had a spat?”

  “Because his face might have been blank, but his anger was tangible. Also, you look ready to commit murder when you aren’t smiling at Asher.”

  Deciding to keep the matter of Asher’s cloaking ability private for now, she said, “He accused me of wanting Drew around and relishing the attention.”

  Tanner winced. “Knox didn’t mean it, Harper. He doesn’t just fucking adore you, he trusts you. Guys say stupid shit when they’re mad.”

  “That include you?” she asked, feeding Asher another spoonful.

  “Yep.”

  “The whole thing rankles because I know for a fact that there were times he was alone with women who wanted me gone from his life so that they could get in his pants. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t take out my frustrations or jealousy on him.”

  “Yeah, but you’re more emotionally mature than he is.”

  Harper gave a soft snort of amusement. “Damn fucking right I am.” They talked about general things as they finished breakfast. After that, she cleaned and dressed Asher. While he played with Tanner, she tried calling Devon. It wasn’t a total surprise that the female didn’t answer. It still hurt.

  A little later, Keenan turned up at the house. As he played on the rug with Asher, she and Tanner filled him in on what had happened the night before. Relaying the tale and reliving each moment of it rekindled the anger she’d somehow managed to let go of the night before. Now, it was back with a vengeance, leaving her restless. Twitchy. Her fingers tingled with the urge to do something—anything.

  An hour later, when she could take it no more, she pushed up from the sofa and declared, “I’m going for a drive.”

  Looking up at her from where he was sprawled on the sofa with a napping Asher on his lap, Keenan frowned. “A drive?”

  “Yes.”

  Tanner stood. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “No, I mean I need to go for a drive,” she said. “You can come, but I’m driving.”

  “Fine,” said Tanner, because his expression was pained.

  “Asher and I will be okay here,” Keenan assured her.

  She nodded. “I won’t be long.”

  She’d driven Tanner’s Audi a few times and, as usual, he handed over the keys with a whole lot of reluctance. If her mood hadn’t been so grim, she might have smiled at the way he awkwardly settled in the passenger seat … as if finding it weird to have a woman driving him around. Maybe it was an alpha male thing or something.

  The Audi was a total dream to drive. Smooth and easy. She missed driving. She’d had her driver’s license revoked due to her impatience with traffic lights, unpaid parking tickets, and speed restrictions. But she was a damn good driver, so it didn’t seem fair. Having a chauffeur was great and all, but there was something relaxing about sitting behind the wheel of a car and just going for a drive.

  Tanner didn’t speak as they journeyed around Vegas, as if sensing that she needed the time to just lose herself in what she was doing—not think or dwell or brood. Just be.

  She didn’t even realize she’d been heading toward her old studio in North Las Vegas until she found herself turning onto the street where it was situated. She pulled to a stop outside the building, which was now a hair salon. It made her remember a time when things were different. Simpler in some ways. A time when things were easy between her and the girls.

  A time before Knox.

  She didn’t regret meeting him. Didn’t regret accepting him as her anchor or taking him as her mate. Definitely didn’t regret having Asher. She just hadn’t envisioned herself ever being in a situation where she may have to choose between him and one of the girls.

  “You think Devon’s going to partially blame you for what happened to Drew?” asked Tanner, correctly guessing where her jumbled thoughts had taken her.

  Harper sighed. “I don’t know. But she’s not taking my calls.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t trust herself not to say something that will fuck things up in a way that they can never be fixed.”

  “According to Jolene, she thinks Knox overreacted.”

  Tanner snorted. “If anything, Knox underreacted.”

  “I know that.”

  “So does Devon. She’s not stupid. But she is emotional. Drew’s her brother; she’s protective of him and will naturally be pissed at anyone who harms him. That’s the way it should be. Give her time.”

  Knowing he was right, Harper nodded. As she took a deep, centering breath, the scent of coffee filtered through the open window and filled her lungs. The smell came from the café across the street—a café that she and the girls had frequented once upon a time. “I feel like a vanilla latte. You want anything?”

  Tanner glanced at the café. “Is this a good idea? That place is run by the sister of your human ex-boyfriend, right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  He just sighed. “I’ll have a cappuccino.”

  With a nod, she hopped out of the car and headed into the café. There was a line but she didn’t mind waiting; she liked being surrounded by the scents of coffee beans, spices, fresh desserts, and even acrid burned coffee.

  Around her, people were sat at bistro tables—drinking, eating, talking, reading, working on their laptops. She could hear dishware clattering, the whirr of machines, and music playing low in the background. The line moved at a steady pace, thankfully, so—

  “Harper?”

  Looking to her left, she saw none other than … “Royce.” Her ex. She silently swore. It was just her luck that he’d be there. She thought about walking right out, but he’d see that as her fleeing from him. She wouldn’t give the cheating bastard the satisfaction.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, how are you?”

  “Fine.”

  He gave her a quick head-to-toe scan and said, “You look well. Marriage to a billionaire suits you.”

  At those words, the woman in front of her turned and gave Harper a cursory look, as if to check she wasn’t a celebrity or something. Harper and Knox had been featured in magazines, but it seemed that this woman hadn’t read any of them because she turned right back around.

  Ignoring the bitter edge to Royce voice’s, Harper smiled. “It does suit me pretty well, doesn’t it?”

  “I bumped into one of your work colleagues the other day,” he said. “They took great delight in telling me that you’re happily married. With a kid. A boy, right?”

  “Right,” she said, tapping her nails on her thigh.

  “Is he with you?” Royce glanced at the Audi, which was parked among a row of other cars.

  Harper narrowed her eyes. “How did you know the Audi was mine?”

  His eyes shot back to her and widened slightly for a brief moment. “Okay, I’ll admit, I saw you hop out of it a few minutes ago. I was debating whether to come talk to you. I almost didn’t.”

  “I see.”

  “What’s your little boy’s name?” asked Royce.

  “You really want to talk about my son?”

  Royce shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m just interested in what’s happened in your life since we parted.”

  “As you know, I got married and had a kid. Why don’t you tell me what’s been happening in
your life?”

  “Nothing interesting. My life’s been pretty dull since you left it.” He swallowed. “Do you have time to talk?”

  “No.” And, really, what was there to say anyway?

  “Come on, Harper. It would be good to catch up.”

  She frowned, finding it odd that he would even want to speak with her, considering she made a habit of giving him shit. “No, it really wouldn’t.”

  His face hardened. “You know, they’re right in what they say. Money changes people.”

  “No, but it does change how the people around you treat you. Take you, for example. I haven’t been civil with you since the moment you cheated on me. Instead of shouldering that blame, you’re blaming it on the fatness of my purse. Mature, Royce. Real mature.”

  He sighed. “I just want to talk. Please.”

  Quite frankly shocked that he would ever plead with her for anything, she felt her frown deepen. As she looked at him again, seeing the out-of-character kicked-puppy look on his face, her pulse quickened. And then it hit her. He’d said, “your work colleagues”. But Royce believed they’d closed the studio down, not relocated it. As such, he would have said her “old” work colleagues … if it were Royce.

  Motherfucker, she was talking with the bastard incorporeal. Her realization must have shown on her face, because his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  He clasped her hand and, Jesus, it was like someone poured ice-cold water into her veins. It went rushing up her arm, into her shoulder, spreading and spreading through her body. The shock of it took her breath away. Still, she instinctively slapped his chest, sending soul-deep agony out of her prickling fingertips and blazing through him. She was fast.

  But she hadn’t been fast enough.

  The incorporeal burst out of his body just as Royce sagged to the floor. The whirling vapor plunged right into a little girl of about eight or nine, and the impact almost knocked the kid off her feet.