by Anya Bast
Stefan looked up, focused his gaze on Thomas’s face and laughed bitterly. “Since it stole our library.”
“Explain.”
“We had a collection of books — ancient texts on demons the Duskoff has possessed since the Middle Ages. The demon divined the location of the books and came one night. He broke through our magical defenses and stole them all.”
“How long ago?” His voice sounded like the lash of a whip in the small room. His fingernails dug into his palms as he fought to restrain himself.
Micah had found at least thirty-five murders of non-magickals the demon may have committed, aside from the two witches, in the time since the Duskoff had brought him into this world.
Stefan blinked, and then gave a slow, self-satisfied smile. “Twenty years ago.”
“You bastard!” yelled Isabelle right before she rushed him.
Thomas was tempted to let her go, but he stopped her for her own safety. Stefan had at least a hundred and ten pounds on her, all muscle. She got in one nice punch that whipped Stefan’s face to the side before Thomas was able to grab her around the waist and wrench her backward. He swung her around easily as she threw punches in the air, yelling about the murders that could’ve been prevented if they’d known.
But, of course, Stefan didn’t care about that.
Stefan just laughed as Thomas held Isabelle tight against him, allowing her a chance to calm down. She quieted and pushed angrily against his arms. He released her and she stepped away, glaring.
“Soyez gentile, Isabelle! Be nice or I won’t tell you where the backup library is,” Stefan said, holding a hand to his face where she’d landed her punch. His cold gaze contradicted the amused little smile he wore.
“Why would you tell us where the backup library is?” asked Micah.
Stefan lowered his hand so he could appear offended. “I am not a monster, Micah. I want the demon defeated as well.”
Micah snorted. “Yes, that’s why the Duskoff did nothing and told no one when they discovered the demon had remained.”
“Get me to a computer. Allow me access to the Duskoff’s system and you will have our library. We digitized before the books were stolen.” He paused and shifted his gaze to Thomas, his tongue stealing out to lick the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. “In return, I want you to kill me.”
Thomas smiled. “Please, that’s too good a deal for us. What game are you playing?”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I know the Coven wishes me to suffer; therefore they may choose to give me life imprisonment. I would rather die than be imprisoned here in Gribben until the end of my days. So, the deal is simple. I will hand over the digitized library and you will ensure that my trial is short and the sentence I am given is death.”
Thomas considered him. In Stefan’s place, he might very well be asking for the same thing. “Okay, but you don’t die until this is over, until the demon is caught, killed, or vanquished.”
A muscle in Stefan’s jaw locked. “Fine.”
“Micah, you deal with the computer. Stefan doesn’t touch it; he only tells you how to access the info.”
Stefan opened his mouth to protest and Thomas shut him down with a look.
Micah nodded. “So the bottom line is that we have a demon on the loose, one trapped here against his will. In all the history I’ve studied, I’ve never read about something like this. I’m trying to imagine this demon who has been shunned by his people, since his people can only be considered brutal in the best light.”
“So we hunt it down and kill it,” answered Isabelle. “Seems simple to me.”
Micah snorted. “Simple? Can I visit your planet sometime? Must be a nice place.”
“I know demons are hard to kill but trust me, honey, I’ll kill this one or die in the attempt. What I don’t understand is why he’s all of a sudden killing witches after so many years. Why attract the Coven’s attention now? It’s almost like he’s playing with us, baiting us.”
“Maybe he’s bored,” Micah answered.
“Are you done with me?” Stefan asked with a healthy dose of bitterness. A bruise was already blooming on his face from Isabelle’s punch. “I would like to be left alone so I can get a head start on serving my sentence.”
“Bored?” Isabelle chewed her bottom lip, completely ignoring Stefan. “No. That’s not what I feel in my gut. There’s a purpose to these killings. There’s a reason why he’s targeting witches right now.”
Thomas felt it was something more, too, but it was just an intuitive hit. There wasn’t anything solid to pursue at this point. He looked at Stefan. “How do we track him?”
Stefan’s lips peeled back from his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Track him?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Please. The creature is tracking you. He will find you long before you’ll be able to find him, unless you get lucky and surprise him. Otherwise, there is no way to track a demon. Not physically. Not magickally.”
“That’s very comforting,” muttered Micah.
“Actually, I feel much safer in here than out there,” continued Stefan. The words fell flat, since they were accompanied by a glum look on his face. Stefan couldn’t even fake it.
“Oh, I’m sure if the demon set its sights on a nice, spicy fire witch, this prison wouldn’t stop him,” answered Thomas with a smile. “I’m sure our wards and spells would have no effect on him at all if he really had his heart set on you. Demon magick isn’t witch magick, after all.”
Stefan smiled back. This time he looked like he really meant it. “He won’t be coming after me. Demons hunt their hunters. Did you not know? It is in their nature to do so. They stalk and toy with them. Sometimes they even develop an emotional attachment to them. It’s no fun for the hunter, of course. No one wants a demon fixated on them.”
Thomas looked at Micah and made the question plain in his expression.
“Some of my research seems to point to that, yes,” answered Micah. “A demon’s reaction to aggression is different than ours. They don’t have fight or flight. They don’t run; they turn around and stalk. This one is probably crazy from exile to boot.”
“Great.”
A sly expression stole over Stefan’s face. “First, they shoot you full of venom, rendering you paralyzed and mute, yet aware. After that, they take your magick, drinking it from the center of your body. Then, they peel your skin off and slice you open to consume the juicy parts — the liver, kidneys, and heart. Last, they crack your bones for the marrow.”
Yes, he’d seen the remains twice, up close and personal.
So had Isabelle.
Thomas glanced at her. She’d gone sheet white and stood stock straight with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
She nodded once, her body tense. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Stefan said in a sugary-sweet tone. “Our lovely Isabelle has already seen a demon’s handiwork for herself. It was your sister, yes?”
“This demon will die,” she shot back.
“Such bravado! You’re so sexy when you’re being stupid. Nice sentiment, ma cherie, but I look forward to the news of your demise.”
“As I look forward to the news of your sentence being rendered, Stefan. Until then it heartens me to know just how much you’re suffering here in Gribben.” Her lips parted in a wide, sincere smile, though her face was still pale as parchment. “In fact, that knowledge makes me happier than killing you.”
“Great,” Micah put in. “Well, that’s established, then. Thomas, I can take it from here. I’ll set Stefan up with a computer and obtain the texts. Why don’t you get Isabelle out of here? She talks tough but looks like she’s about to hurl on her pretty red boots.”
“Good idea,” Thomas answered.
Micah, as the Coven archivist and researcher, had the most business trying to get information from Stefan anyway. Micah would pass what he learned on to him.
Isabelle protested,
but Thomas took her by the upper arm and led her toward the door. Her face was now a pale shade of green, but the woman didn’t seem to know when to stop.
“It’s been a pleasure, Stefan,” muttered Thomas as the guard opened the door for them. “As always.”
The door shut with a metallic thump behind them.
Isabelle stumbled. He caught her and guided her to a nearby wall where she splayed an open hand to brace herself.
“I’m fine,” she snarled, pressing her forehead to the wall.
“You’re not fine.”
She winced and cradled the hand she’d injured when she’d punched Stefan. “It’s just…I don’t like remembering. Doing is fine. Hunting is great. Remembering is…not good.”
“That’s natural. You’re grieving, Isabelle.”
She closed her eyes and dragged in a breath.
Thomas knew that she’d found her sister since he’d been called in to the murders of both victims. The bodies had been…partially consumed.
When he’d first reached Angela Novak’s kill site, it had been difficult to understand what he’d been looking at. Gradually, as his mind had fought to comprehend, the images had become clear — mangled, torn muscle, gobbets of matter no one wanted to examine closely. Blood absolutely everywhere. No longer human-looking, just so much meat and bone.
Isabelle had been there before him. She’d been the one to notify the Coven of the murder before she’d disappeared, presumably to hunt the demon.
Even worse than the scene was the knowledge both Angela Novak and Melina Andersen had been conscious until they’d succumbed to their injuries. Demons trapped their victims in a kind of venom-induced stasis. The paralyzed witch could feel, but couldn’t speak, scream, or move.
While the victim lingered, the demon worked slowly, drawing out the killing. First the creature took the magick, psychically cracking the witch open like a coconut to drink the milk within. After that came the flaying of the skin and the extraction of the juiciest organs.
Knowing how that person had been treated as nothing more than a bit of livestock, a plaything, was worse than anything else.
Worse than the cleanup. Worse than the sight or the smell.
Isabelle gave a short, bitter-sounding laugh. “Grieving seems like such a light, simple word to use for what I’m feeling.”
Thomas shuddered, imagining finding his sister Serena the way Isabelle had found Angela. He placed his hand on her back to console her, but then removed it. Giving comfort didn’t come easily to him. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”
Turning to lean against the wall, she drew in a shaky lungful of the stale Gribben air and slowly exhaled. “I just want to…need to do this,” Isabelle continued. Steel backed her words.
“I know.” He took her injured hand and examined it. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal. He wasn’t so sure that could be said about her other wounds.
He glanced up at her and found her staring at him in deep concentration. Absurd, inappropriate sexual awareness sparked, tightening his muscles. Her cheeks had regained their healthy color and lips were full and lush. He imagined several things he’d like to do to those lips in a span of a second.
Fuck.
He dropped her hand and turned away. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“I thought you’d never say that.”
Thomas guided her away from the wall and down the corridor. He could understand how she felt and, even though he’d asked her along for the ride, he wasn’t totally sure she should be on this mission.
From what he’d gathered from her records, Angela had essentially been her only family. Perhaps Isabelle would endanger herself in her quest to avenge her sister. He had the sense that maybe she didn’t think she had much to lose these days. An attitude like that would make her reckless, a tendency she’d already shown anyway.
They didn’t need reckless.
He didn’t want to see her get hurt, either. Isabelle getting hurt, her fire snuffed out, would be a tragedy. He didn’t know her well, but there was something about her that drew him to her. Maybe it was simply her personality, which he found in turns compelling, messy, attractive, and exasperating. Maybe it was the wildness and impulsiveness he sensed in her.
They made their way through the security checkpoints to the elevator that would bring them to the main floor of the prison. He punched the button to call the car, but Isabelle headed for the door leading to the stairwell instead.
She glanced at him, hand on the door knob. “I don’t like elevators. I’ll meet you up there.”
He frowned at her. “It’s fifteen flights up.”
“What? Can’t do fifteen flights, old-timer?” With a grin, she disappeared beyond the doorway.
“Old?” he murmured to himself. “I’m not old.” The elevator door opened, but he just stared at the interior of the car, frowning. Leaving the elevator, he sprinted after her, taking the stairs two at a time until he’d caught up to her.
Her laugh echoed down the stairwell. “I knew you’d chase me after that comment.” She quickened her pace. “I bet I can beat you to the top.”
He increased his speed to match hers. “Since I’m an old man and I’m exerting myself, I need some incentive for this. What will you give me if I win?”
She laughed again. “You’re pretty ripped for an elderly person. As for what you’ll get if you win, it will be a surprise.” She quickened her pace, not even out of breath.
He shot after her, keeping right on her tail until they were at the top. By that time they were both panting hard. They jostled their way to the door, elbowing each other out of the way. It was close, but Thomas got there first. Isabelle brushed past him, put her hand to the knob, and started to pull, but Thomas pressed his hand to the door and closed it.
Bracketing her as she faced the door, he dropped his head and murmured, “I won,” in her ear. “I want my surprise.”
Isabelle turned, his body still crowding hers. He liked the proximity, liked the heat her body gave off and the scent of her light perfume. Thomas dropped his gaze to her chest, rising and falling quickly in her exertion, and wondered what color her nipples were. Wondered what they tasted like.
Thomas wanted her stripped and spread on his bed. Wanted to drag his hands over every inch of her skin, kiss the backs of her knees and lick the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. He wanted his cock tunneling in and out of her slick, wet heat, wanted her wrists captured and pressed to the bed while he drove himself into her fast and hard. He wanted to feel the muscles of her sex pulse and ripple along his length as she came. He simply wanted her. Wanted her with a base, male urge that made his cock go rock hard.
She stared up at him with her lips parted in surprise. Isabelle was empathic, she had to understand the lust he felt for her. He lowered his head to hers, knowing damn well this was a bad idea.
Isabelle stilled, even her breath stopped as he brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. Her hands grasped his wrists, slid up his arms. He nipped at her lower lip and her breath sighed out of her, warming his mouth.
It was the spark that made a fire roar to life inside him.
He dragged her up against his chest, hungrily pressing his lips to hers and demanding that she open for him. She whimpered somewhere low in her throat and parted her lips. He slid his tongue inside and let it war with hers. She tasted hot and sweet, felt like silky heaven. He knew where else she’d feel like silky heaven and he wanted to stroke her there until she shattered for him.
More. He wanted more of her.
Damn it. He wanted her clothes off, wanted her bare flesh under his hands. He wanted her legs parted, his cock pistoning deep inside her and her moans and sighs echoing in his ears. He wanted to feel the slick, hot clasp of her sex around his cock and her bare breasts filling his hands.
At the moment, that was all he could think about.
Her fingers curled around his shoulders as she pushed back at him, returning his kiss every bit
as hungrily.
Beyond rational thought, he found the edge of her shirt and pushed his hand past it, finding smooth, warm skin beneath. Lady, he wanted her so badly he’d take her right here on the stairs if she’d let him. Who cared they were still in Gribben?
Who cared about anything but this?
Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and then dropped to the button and zipper of his pants. She undid them and slipped her hand down, searching out the hard, ridge of his cock through the fabric of his boxers. She stroked him as he pressed against her palm, groaning in the back of his throat.
But noises past the closed door of the stairwell intruded. The guards shouted at someone….
Isabelle broke the kiss, her lips red and swollen. “What’s that?”
Damn it all to hell.
He made a frustrated sound, released her, and did his pants back up in a hurry. Then he opened the door to the commotion beyond. As he stepped into the hallway he got a glimpse of a familiar form arguing with the men at the security checkpoint just inside Gribben’s front door.
The men let her through and Mira, his cousin and a powerful air witch, emerged past the checkpoint, flanked by guards. She staggered as she entered the non-magickal zone, put a hand to the area between her breasts and caught herself against a wall. “Goddess, that’s horrible.”
“Mira? What are you doing here?” he asked.
She looked up, peering through the tangle of dark hair that crossed her face. “I heard a whisper.”
SEVEN
A VOICE ON THE WIND, THE ONE MIRA HAD OVERHEARD via her air magick, had spoken of a man named Simon Alexander. A man that may or may not be a demon in disguise. An air witch could troll the air for certain spoken words, eavesdrop at a distance on conversations. Mira had been on constant alert since the first murder for any murmurings related to the demon and it had finally paid off.
Magick tingled down Thomas’s arms and through his fingertips from the tattoo that also served as a magickal storage source on his back as he murmured words of power to secure a warding. Hours after Mira had heard the whisper, the Coven had secured the empty apartment across from Alexander’s in order to do some surveillance work.
