Kissing Chaos

by Jill Knowles

  As she drew in a breath to scream, a body hit the bear, making it stagger backward.

  What followed had the surreal quality of a fever dream.

  Dax was tussling with the bear. Low, vicious snarls mingled with the bear’s bawl of fury and pain. The two combatants separated as Dax tumbled away. He quickly got to his feet, his right hand holding his bleeding left shoulder. A long, black-tufted tail lashed behind him. The bear reared up and shuffled toward him, bellowing its rage.

  Dax sprang, clawed hands outstretched, covering the distance in a single leap. He hit the bear in the chest, knocking it down. The horrible crunch of breaking bone crackled through the air and the bear shuddered then lay still.

  Dax fell to his knees, his sides heaving, left shoulder bleeding profusely. The tail rested on the ground behind him, tip twitching.

  Maggie walked to him, her steps slow. He looked up at her, his lips pulled back from sharp canines in a grimace of pain. Small, inky black horns peeked out of his bangs.

  His skin had a silvery, blue-gray cast to it. Pretty. “Dax?” Her voice broke on his name.

  Slit-pupiled, blue-black eyes met hers. “Maggie, it bit me, and it was rabid.” His voice was deeper, with a growling undertone. “I need you to get a couple of the water bottles from Bertha so we can sluice out the wound.”

  “Okay,” she said, walking to the Jeep. For the second time in as many days, her world had shifted on its axis. Maggie followed his instructions, her muscles working independently of the mind that wanted to cower in a corner and gibber. She poured water over the wound, flinching at the high-pitched, snarling whine that left Dax’s throat when the water hit the raw flesh. The bite on his shoulder was ugly, the punctures torn and bleeding, his shoulder bone visible briefly before it was again covered by seeping blood. Thank heavens her first aid training was up-to-date. Moving on autopilot, she checked the injury. “The bleeding’s slowed, but we need to get a bandage on it.” The dispassionate words came from her mouth, but she barely understood them.

  Dax stood, swaying slightly. “Help me to the Jeep. There’s a first aid kit in the back.”

  She let him lean on her, supporting his weight until they got to the Jeep. Her right ankle hurt, but the pain seemed too far away to bother with. When they reached the Jeep, she helped him sit in the passenger side.

  Hissing as his injuries were jarred, Dax pulled the first aid kit from its place in the backseat and handed it to her. Maggie opened the white and blue plastic kit and removed the bandages she needed.

  “Put the gloves on.” At her blank look, he used his blood-smeared good hand to point to a small cellophane package. “Gloves. To keep you safe.”

  “Okay.” She tugged them on, the latex smooth and cool against her skin. At his direction, she sprayed antiseptic on the wound, ignoring the snarl of pain and the tears that made paths in the dust on Dax’s cheeks. After taping a thick gauze pad over the wound, she sat back, waiting for further instructions.

  “That’s the worst of it.”

  She surveyed the rest of him. His t-shirt and jeans were torn and filthy, and he had a number of scratches on his arms and torso. He should be unconscious, or screaming, not talking me through patching him up. Maggie’s gaze skimmed across the small horns on Dax’s forehead. What is he? How can he still be functional after this kind of injury?

  “Don’t worry about the scratches. They aren’t bad.”

  “Okay.” She pulled the sling bandage from the first aid kit and used it to immobilize his injured arm. “We need to get you to the hospital. You need stitches, maybe surgery.” She remembered the froth dripping from the bear’s mouth. “And the rabies shots.”

  “No.” He shook his head, wincing as it jiggled his shoulder. “My kind is immune to viruses. Once the wound is cleaned and bandaged, I’ll be fine. I just don’t want to risk you coming into contact with the virus.”

  “Your kind.” She could feel hysteria bubble up inside her as the cocoon of shock began to dissolve. “And what, exactly, would that be?” I have to know. I don’t want to, but I have to.

  “Chaos demon.” He heaved his pack onto his lap, and grimaced, flashing sharp canines. “Specifically, I’m half Incubus and half Fury.” He pulled a gray canvas bush hat from inside and placed it on his head. It covered the horns neatly. “Forget what you’ve heard about demons. We aren’t intrinsically evil, just different.” His matter-of-fact tone made her want to slap him.

  When my brain comes fully online, I’m going to freak right out.

  “Are you okay to drive us into town?”

  She tested her injured foot. It was sore, but she could use it. Bruised, she guessed, nothing worse. “I think so.” She limped around the Jeep and climbed into the driver’s side. Strange. Yesterday, she’d had a terrible shock and been driven home by a good friend. Today, the shock was even more profound and she was doing the driving.

  Dax handed her his keys, making her flinch away from contact with his silvery skin. She ignored the flash of pain in his inhuman eyes and concentrated on getting the correct key into the ignition. If she touched him, she’d know this wasn’t a dream. And if it were real, she’d have to deal with it. Getting them back home was far more important at this time.

  “Hang on,” he said before she started the Jeep.

  “Yes?”

  “Push the blue button on the key fob. It’ll put the top up.”

  The claustrophobic feeling that swamped her when she was enclosed inside the Jeep with Dax nearly broke through her calm. She was trapped in a small space with a demon. I guess everyone has their demons; mine is just a bit more tangible than most. Laughter tried to burble from her lips, but she forced it back. She pressed her nails hard against her palms, the pain helping her focus. Stay calm, Maggie Jane. You can panic later. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dax reach toward her hand. Though the long talons had been retracted, Dax’s nails were still thick, dark, and wickedly sharp. “Please don’t touch me.”

  He closed his eyes and looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” She started the Jeep and put it into gear. The scent of blood, spice, and her own terror surrounded her as they started moving. Maggie sent a prayer to whoever might be listening. Just let me get home without screaming. She knew that once the screaming started, it wouldn’t stop any time soon.

  Chapter Ten

  Please don’t touch me. The words had been spoken quietly, with almost no inflection. Dax lay on the hotel bed, his shoulder throbbing, the scratches on his torso and legs burning. He’d had worse injuries over the years, but not recently. Already, he’d used up most of his energy reserves in stopping the bleeding and burning out the bacterial infection that had been spread from the bear’s fetid mouth.

  He hadn’t even hesitated when he saw it towering over Maggie, just attacked.

  Please don’t touch me. He wished she’d screamed at him, run from him, hit him. Anything but those soft, final, horrible words.

  Hurt as he was, he’d been unable to shift into his human form. Maybe if he had, he could have offered comfort, or at least convinced her that he meant her no harm. Perhaps, in his human form, he could have convinced her that he was still Dax, no matter what he looked like. It hadn’t worked with Gina, but Maggie was much stronger than his former love had been.

  Who am I kidding? Demons and humans weren’t meant to be together, and the sooner he got that through his thick skull, the happier he’d be. And the worst, the very worst thing was the jolt of power he’d received when Maggie’s world had shifted beneath her feet. The memory of it sang through his veins, filling his senses with the flavor of apples and regret.

  When had it started to matter so much? When had this thing he had with Maggie gone from an enjoyable fling to wrenching pain at her rejection? When am I going to learn? As Captain James T. Kirk had proved too many times to count, interspecies romances never worked out. He laughed harshly, the movement making his shoulder shriek its agony.

  Dax closed his
eyes, willing himself to sleep and heal. Tomorrow, he’d see Joni Taylor, the archaeologist, and give her the digital pictures he’d taken. It would be a huge exclusive and would have his byline. He’d not only get a hefty paycheck, but would also fulfill a lifelong dream when Keily was inundated with researchers, press, and tourists. The energy he’d receive from such a major score would be enormous. If it was anything like he was expecting, he’d be able to bleed off enough power to feed his family for the next year.

  The lassitude of healing sleep stole over him, buzzing through his injuries. His last thought as exhaustion claimed him was that he hoped that the library would reopen soon.

  * * * * *

  In his dream, Dax stood in his rooms above the speakeasy his father owned. Below, the main room of the casino shook with the music from the jazz band, but up here, it was soft, perfect for swaying in the arms of his love. Gina wore her favorite fringed, red dress, her short dark hair just visible beneath the tight red cap she wore. Beads captured the gaslights, reflecting it back with style. Dax twirled her away, brought her back for a quick kiss, and spun her away again. She was laughing, her brown eyes sparkling with life and love.

  His hand brushed across his front pocket, where the antique sapphire ring rested. He twirled her once more, and then led her to the plush velvet couch. “I have something I have to tell you.” He’d done the research and learned the spell that would link their lives together, slowing down Gina’s aging process until it matched his own. The spell was terrifyingly easy. A niggling doubt in the back of his mind warned him that he needed to give this more thought, but Dax ignored it. He was in love, and was sure everything would work out perfectly. Even though he wasn’t positive that she would be willing to tie her life permanently to his, he was hopeful.

  “Oh, God,” she said, her hand going to her breast. “You’re married.”

  “No.” Not yet, anyway. “It’s something else. Something bigger. Except it doesn’t have to be. I mean, it shouldn’t change anything, not really.” She looked confused and a bit frightened. That was completely incoherent. He took a breath and tried again. “There’s something you need to know about me before we can go any further.”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Dax, honey-love, I don’t need to know where the money comes from.” She shivered as she looked away. “I don’t want to know.”

  She thinks I’m a gangster. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed by her assumption. “It’s not that. I’m not a criminal -- well, except for working in this place.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not important.” She ran her hand up his chest, fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. “I know everything about you that I need to know.”

  He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Gina, sweet, you know I love you, and I’d never hurt you, right?”

  “Sure thing, Dax.” She tugged her hand free and rested it against the bulge in his crotch. Deft fingers undid the buttons on his fly just enough to free his rigid cock. “Don’t let’s talk anymore. We all have secrets.”

  “Wait.” He captured both of her hands this time. “I’m not human.”

  “Silly man,” she said, grasping his heated shaft. “This proves it.”

  “No.” He let his human aspect fall away. “I’m not.”

  Eyes wide and filled with horror, Gina jerked away from him, falling to the floor in her haste to escape. She stared at his face, then trailed her gaze down his body, to the enormous penis she’d freed earlier. That’s when the screaming started.

  * * * * *

  Dax awakened and curled over onto his side. The agony in his shoulder was nothing compared to that in his heart. The cliché cops are going to put me on their ten most-wanted list for that one. He turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t any less true for all that it was so damned melodramatic.

  * * * * *

  Maggie washed the dust and grit away with hands that refused to stop trembling. She just wished she could wash away the memory as easily. Dax was a demon. Dax was a demon. Dax was a demon. Nope, no matter how I say it, it doesn’t make any sense. She rinsed her hair one last time and slumped back against the shower wall. Demons are real. My best friend fucked my rapist, the library is closed indefinitely, and I slept with a demon.

  The memory of claws and teeth and twisted, broken bones assailed her. Dax had known the cave was there. Had he been looking for it? Did that mean the people inside had been killed by demons? Was she in danger, now that she knew about him? No. She didn’t think that was likely. If he wanted her dead, he’d have killed her and left her beside the dead bear, making it look like the bear had attacked her. But the rest? Some of the body parts in the cave were obviously those of children. And he was a demon. Demons were evil, vicious creatures that devoured human suffering, weren’t they? Dax said demons weren’t evil, just different. How could she believe him? Everything she thought she knew about him was a lie.

  For the first time, she wished she had more of a religious background. She had never followed any one religion, believing that the best way to honor the divine was to be a good person. Now, she had no idea what she was dealing with. The library didn’t have much in the way of religious literature, but it was a start. A choked laugh escaped her throat. At least I won’t have any customers bothering me while I’m looking for answers. She could think of three books off the top of her head that might give her some insight on demons; it was just a matter of separating fact from fiction. Facts about demons.

  Her knees lost strength, and she sank down onto the bottom of the tub. The emotions she’d fought so desperately finally escaped. She curled up, wrapping her arms around her legs, her head on her knees. Sobs shook her, and her eyes were swollen and hot from the scalding tears.

  I really liked him.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was stretched out on the couch reading depressing poetry, both cats curled up next to her. There was nothing quite like the old masters to really let a misery take hold. And if weeping over someone else’s messed up life kept her from thinking about her own, so much the better. Maggie absently stroked Rusty’s soft fur. I need to get off my ass and go to the library to do some research. She checked her place in the book. Over a hundred pages of intense despair were left. One more poem, and I’ll go.

  Two hours later, she’d just finished the book and was reaching for another, when someone knocked.

  Dax?

  Padding over to the front door, she paused with her hand on the knob. Heart in her throat, she peeked through the peephole. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, she opened the door and stepped aside so Julie could enter.

  They took their accustomed places, Maggie on the couch, Julie on the love seat. Maggie studied the other woman, dismayed by what she saw. Julie looked awful. Her blonde hair had been over-lightened, making her look sallow and cheap. Julie’s makeup had been applied with much too heavy a hand, and her face looked gaunt, as though her skin was too small for her skull. Like that skull in the cave, came the unwelcome thought. Maggie shuddered.

  “What’s going on with you, Julie?” The words came out more accusing than sympathetic, and Maggie winced. She opened her mouth to apologize, but couldn’t get the words out past the anger.

  Her friend didn’t seem to notice. Julie tugged at a strand of hair with fingers whose nails were bitten to the quick. Both the nail-biting and the hair pulling were mannerisms Maggie hadn’t seen her friend indulge in years, not since finals their senior year in college. Except, these nails looked like they’d been bitten for some time, and her hair was shorter on that side, and looked frazzled and abused. And I didn’t notice. When had she stopped seeing what was going on with Julie? I’ve been a rotten friend. A nasty voice in the back of her mind whispered, so has she. Maggie stepped firmly on the little voice, refusing to get drawn into a mental debate about who did what first.

  “I tried to end it with Billy.” The words rushed out of Julie in one long, tumbling
stream. “He says if I don’t keep seeing him, he’ll tell Charlie.”

  Pity welled up in Maggie at Julie’s words, followed immediately by disgust. Her guilt was overrun by rage. “And you’re surprised by this? The man was a predator twenty years ago, and guess what? He still is.” Maggie could hear the venom in her voice, but couldn’t seem to stop the words. “What the hell is going on with you? You cheat on Charlie, you fuck the man who raped me, and I’m supposed to make it all better? What are you thinking? Are you even thinking? Come on, Julie, explain this to me.” Both cats fled from the noise as her voice rose.

  “We’re not all Ms. Maggie Perfect, like you,” Julie spat, jumping up and pacing the living room while she spoke. “Real women want to be touched by men, not plastic toys.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh, but not Ms. Perfect. Oh, no. You don’t have money problems because of Mommy’s life insurance policy. You don’t have problems with men, because you have battery-powered dildos.”

  Maggie stared at the other woman, shocked by the jealousy in her speech.

  Julie was tugging almost frantically at her hair. “Your husband isn’t so worried about his job that he’s impotent. You’ve always had everything you wanted handed to you on a silver platter, and I just follow along and scoop up the scraps you throw me.” She was shaking, her face ugly with rage. “I’m tired of it. I want someone to pay attention to me. My husband’s useless, my parents are in denial, and you’re a selfish bitch. At least Billy sees me.”

  “Get out.” Maggie pointed to the door.

  “Fuck you.” Julie opened her fist and dropped a handful of pale hair onto the floor. “Fuck you, Maggie,” she repeated, and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Shit,” Maggie said, her face in her hands.

  * * * * *

  Dax nibbled absently on a strip of turkey jerky as he studied the photos he’d taken the day before. He’d downloaded them into his laptop, and was in the process of enlarging them for maximum detail. The current picture was one he’d taken of the first skull they’d seen. He enlarged the image, noting that the dead person had small shell beads woven into his or her hair.