by Jill Knowles
Maggie didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to know that he might be able to track Beth Sweeney by scent. Because if she acknowledged this fact, she would also have to admit that it made sense for them to be partners. He didn’t have to hide anything from her. “How fascinating.” She refused to look at him, instead casting her gaze over the rest of the volunteers. It snagged on Mary and Tim Sweeney. They were younger than her by several years, though she knew both of them. Mary was clinging to her husband’s arm, face pale, her expression a mixture of hope and fear. Tim just looked terrified.
“So, partner.” Maggie’s voice sounded stilted, even to her. “Let’s go get a search area.”
To his credit, Dax merely nodded.
* * * * *
They were given the area on either side of the White Fox Trail, which paralleled the north fork of Cottonwood Creek. Maggie remembered hiking the trail each summer when she was a teenager at band camp. A snicker escaped her as she was reminded of a line in the movie American Pie. The band camp she attended was nowhere near as interesting as the one in the movie.
Dax glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. She gave him a haughty look and continued her silent stomp along the trail. She had to be partners with him, but she didn’t have to be nice about it. Margaret Jane, you’re acting like an adolescent. A snotty adolescent. Maggie ignored the thought. He’d lied to her; she didn’t have to be nice.
The trail was beautiful, especially now at the beginning of summer. The north side of the trail was edged with majestic Ponderosa and Lodgepole pine trees. The other side had a steep drop-off to the aspen-lined creek. She and Dax had been instructed to survey the area for an eighth of a mile on the north side of the trail, to its end on top of Sycan Peak, then do the same for the south side of the trail. If they found no trace of the missing girl, then they were to broaden the search to a quarter of a mile on either side of the trail, and so on.
Once they were out of sight of the rest of the searchers, Dax stopped and drew in a series of deep breaths.
“Anything?”
He shook his head. “Pine needles, dirt, and horse sweat. I don’t know if it’s even the right horse.”
“Wonderful.” She was out alone in the woods with a creature that was strong enough to break a bear’s neck. A demon, with claws, fangs, horns, and a tail. Though, really, the tail was almost -- cute. The rest was just frightening. No matter how nice he was, she couldn’t forget that he wasn’t human, even though she might like to.
* * * * *
“Anything?”
If she asked that question one more time, Dax was going to strangle her. She’d been asking him the same thing at ten-minute intervals since they’d started hiking. “I will tell you the moment, the very nanosecond, I get a hint of Beth Sweeney’s scent.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Are we there yet?”
A bark of laughter escaped in spite of his exasperation. “Are you five years old, or what?”
“More like thirteen.” She stopped. “Let’s rest for a bit. We’ve been walking steadily for over an hour.”
“Sounds good.” He turned away from her and shouted, “Beth. Elizabeth Sweeney. Can you hear me?”
They listened for the count of twenty, and then Maggie repeated the call.
“Time to check in.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the base-camp number.
“Camp Cottonwood search and rescue, Gladys Harrison speaking.”
“Hey, Gladys, it’s Dax Hunter and Maggie Monroe. We’re about three-quarters of the way finished with our first survey of the north side of White Fox Trail. This is just a routine check in.”
“Noted.” Her voice was clipped and professional, and he could hear the scratch of a pencil on paper.
“Any news?”
Voice much friendlier, she said, “There’re some signs near Bull Meadow. Nothing concrete, but we’re hopeful. For now, though, keep searching.”
“Gotcha.” He put the phone away and looked around for his search partner.
Maggie was standing next to a fallen tree about six feet from the trail. “This doesn’t look too buggy,” she said, sitting down.
Dax sat next to her, squashing a pang of hurt when she scooted away, putting several feet between them.
“Maggie ...” He stopped, unsure what to say. Or if there was anything he could say to bridge the distance.
“Why did you come to Keily? Did you know about the cave?”
“I’d heard family legends about the cave. I came to see if I could find it.” She looked skeptical. Deciding that at this point he had nothing to lose, he said, “I’m a chaos demon. That means that in addition to food, water, oxygen, and that sort of thing, I need a certain type of magical energy to survive. Chaos creates a specific wavelength in the magical spectrum. I can manipulate that wavelength and use it to generate more of the same type of power. Finding the cave, causing that profound of a change for the town of Keily, will create a tremendous amount of energy of the right wavelength.”
“Let’s see if I’m understanding you correctly.” Her voice was quiet and cold. “You stir things up, then feed off the trouble you’ve caused.”
“Pretty much.” This was not going as well as he’d hoped.
She jumped to her feet, trembling with rage. “So, you come to town, ruin people’s lives, then suck up the dregs like ice cream? You son of a bitch. Did you cause the library to close? The problems with Julie?” Eyes narrowed, she glared daggers at him. “Is Beth Sweeney missing because of you?”
“No.”
His quiet denial stole the wind from her sails. “I’m listening.” She needed to understand. Mostly, it was because she didn’t want to believe she’d been played for a fool, but also because if he had played her, she’d make him pay.
“I don’t know why Beth Sweeney is missing.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I genuinely want to help find her, and wish her no harm.”
The quiet words seemed sincere. “And the library?” Please don’t be responsible. She perched on the log, ready to jump away if he reached toward her. “Did you have a hand in getting the library closed?”
“Keily is a dying town, you know that. The energy surrounding this area is stagnant, static. Chaos is kinetic. It moves and changes -- sometimes violently. Think of Keily like a huge pond with no inlet or outlet. The water is murky and dark, and it’s difficult for anything to live in it.” He shrugged, then winced, his injury obviously bothering him. My goal, in finding the cave, is to give the pond a new water source, to get it moving and bring it to life again.”
She closed her eyes, concentrating on what he was saying. “Which will be good for the pond.” She toyed with the hem of her shirt. “And if the pond overflows and floods the surrounding area?” As it would, she had no illusions about that.
“One of the characteristics of chaos is sudden, unplanned change. In the short term, Keily will have problems because of the rapid influx of people -- those same people who are bringing money into the town. In the long term, as the initial problems are solved, there will be new problems. I can’t imagine all of the ramifications of saving Keily; no one can.” He shrugged, wincing. “My guess is that more good than harm will be done by telling the scientific community about the cave, but we won’t know for sure until it happens.”
Dax’s phone beeped, startling them both. “Hello? Really? How is she?” A pause as the person on the other end spoke. “Thank the powers.” He breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “We’ll head back.” He signed off and clipped the phone to his belt. “They’ve found her a mile from Bull Meadow. She has a broken leg, but is otherwise okay.”
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.” She held her hand out to him. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
He clasped her hand briefly, the contact warming her even as it made her uneasy.
“Shall we head back to camp?”
“Yeah.” As she stood, her foot slipped on the
thick pine needles. She lost her balance and fell into Dax. “Oh, jeez.” Maggie scrambled off him, backing away. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything, just sat with his eyes closed, his right hand clutched to his left shoulder. His head was tilted back, his lips tightly compressed.
“Dax?”
He shook his head, the movement barely discernable.
The bite wound. She’d seen signs that he was in pain, but had ignored them. This she couldn’t ignore. Scary demon or not, he was obviously in severe pain. “What can I do?”
“I’ll be okay,” he gritted out, attempting to stand. A soft sound of distress escaped him, and he sagged back down onto the log, his skin white as paste.
“No, you won’t, obviously.” She pulled her phone out. “I’ll call Junior and have them send a crew out to help us.”
“No!” He forced himself to his feet. “We’d have to explain how I got the bite. And why I didn’t go to the hospital yesterday.”
An idea tickled her mind. “You’re in much better shape today than you should be. Why?”
“We heal pretty fast, if we have access to enough energy.” He gave her a tired smile. “I was able to stop the bleeding and get the healing process started, but it used up my reserves.”
“Sooo ...” She bit her lip and gave one quick nod. “Shock me.”
“Huh?” He looked utterly bewildered.
“Knock my world on its ear. Again.” A well of exhausted good humor bubbled up inside her, making her giggle. This was so ridiculous, it had to work.
“What?”
Dax was adorable when he was confused. “You need chaos vibes, so tell me something that makes me rethink everything I’ve ever believed in. You’ve already done it once; do it again.” And this time, she’d be prepared for it, and wouldn’t have a mental meltdown. Nothing like playing chicken with my psyche.
“Um, okay.” He took a deep breath and said, “My ancestors, on the Fury side of the family, killed the people in the cave.”
Maggie’s heart clenched. “Horrible, but something I’d already guessed.” Having her suppositions confirmed made her want to scream. And she might, later on. For now, she had to hold things together so they could get home. And when I get him home, we are going to sit down and figure this relationship out.
“Ah. I thought you might.” His voice was rough, and he looked ready to pass out at any moment. “I’ve got nothing else, Mags.” He took a step forward, swayed, and took another.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?”
“I’m sure.”
Not stopping to think about her actions, she went to him, pulling his right arm around her shoulders and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Then let me help.”
“Thanks.”
They made it back to the trail, one slow step at a time. This isn’t going to work. She cast around for something else he could tell her. “Tell me about yourself. Anything there that would shock me?”
He was quiet for so long, she didn’t think he was going to answer. “Nine inches of prehensile tongue.”
Wha? “Excuse me?”
“My true form.” A slight, pained smirk played around his lips. “My tongue is prehensile. And nine inches long.”
Her brain vapor-locked. Nine? Tongue? Prehensile!
“Ah, Maggie.” His voice was stronger. “You smell like apples and sex.”
A blush heated her cheeks at his whispered words. She ducked her head, tenderness and arousal warring for dominance inside her. “Wait a minute.” She was shocked and intrigued by his admission, true, but mostly she was turned on. “I’m, well, um ...”
“Horny?” He rested his cheek against hers. “I’m half Incubus -- sex demon. Sexual energy isn’t nearly as beneficial to me as chaos, but it does help in the short term.” He moved just enough so that his breath was warm against her skin. “And, it tastes, mmm, wonderful.”
“Oh.” Because, really, what did you say to something like that? She brushed a kiss against his cheek, not certain she could do this, but willing to try. “So, tell me what you’d do to me with that tongue.” I think I want us to work this out. I think I want to have a relationship with him.
There was a tense silence. “Are you sure?”
No, she wasn’t. But he was hurting, and she could help, and, she was, well, curious. And scared, and horny. “Tell me.”
His wicked chuckle made her wet.
“Kiss you, first.” Dax licked his lips, a slow, sensuous movement. “There’s a trick to frenching someone with fangs, but you’re a natural. You suck my tongue into your mouth. Can you feel it? Hot, slippery muscle, stoking against your tongue? Caressing you deeper than anyone ever has?”
Sweat beaded on her skin. The scent of spice and citrus surrounded her. She licked her lips, hoping for a taste.
“Our kiss deepens, becomes more powerful. You nick your lip on my fang, but the tiny bit of blood just makes things more interesting.”
Maggie’s nipples tightened to hard, aching peaks. “Then what?”
“I suck on your bottom lip, then nibble my way down, between your tits. You want me to pause and suckle you, but I ignore your pleas. Instead, I concentrate on your bellybutton, thrusting my tongue in and out. Your navel is the place where you received nourishment and oxygen while you were a baby. It was the center of your world, then, and it is now. I’m claiming it as my own. My tongue, my hot, supple tongue, is moving inside, filling you with pleasure, gifting you with my need.”
She was panting now, her panties saturated with her slick fluids.
“You’re writhing, sobbing your desperation to come. I lower my mouth to your hot, wet pussy and flick your clit, just once, with the tip of my tongue. Your climax shivers though you, making you whimper. My tongue pushes inside you, fucking you. I lick at your sweet spot, lapping up your honey juices.”
Maggie’s hips bucked as a powerful, mini climax swept through her. From helping to support him, she went to clinging desperately as her trembling legs had trouble holding her up.
“Treasure, Maggie. You’re an absolute treasure.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” Looking into his sparkling midnight eyes, she realized that his species didn’t matter. Demon, human, or little green monkey. He was Dax, and she liked him just fine.
Chapter Thirteen
Going downhill on the trail, they made it back to Camp Cottonwood in twenty minutes. While Maggie checked in with the base-camp coordinators, Dax rested against Bertha, conserving his energy for the ride back to the site. He was as weak as a kitten right now, but hopefully his mere presence would deter looters. In his experience, most thieves were cowards who would only strike when they knew they couldn’t be observed. And if they were nastier than usual, he would use one of the guns he kept in the Jeep.
Thanks to the delicious sexual energy Maggie had given him, the pain in his shoulder had receded to a dull roar. He was even able to dredge up a smile for her when she came toward him.
“So.” She leaned against the Jeep. “Can I get a ride home?”
Yes! Stepping firmly on the desire to grab her and hug her until she squeaked, he offered her the keys. “Willing to drive?” He thought he felt a faint hum of approval from Bertha. The Jeep had always merely tolerated anyone but him driving, but it genuinely seemed to welcome the chance to have Maggie at the wheel. He considered asking her to camp at the site with him, but wasn’t sure of her reaction. Dax didn’t want to screw up their reconciliation by pushing for too much too soon.
“Sure.” She patted Bertha’s door. “I didn’t really get to enjoy it yesterday.”
They got into the car and started toward town. The pavement was dappled with late afternoon sunlight, the road lined with purple lupin and brilliant orange and yellow paintbrush. It is pretty up here. Dax had been too focused on the road and steering a standard vehicle with an injured shoulder to really appreciate it before. “Anything more on Beth Sweeney?” According to his maps, Bull Meadow
was a good two-hour ride from the camp. Dax couldn’t imagine she would have been given permission to go so far away, especially alone.
Maggie’s hair was flying in the wind, and she was simply beautiful. “There’s no way she had permission to go riding alone. I’m guessing there’s more to the story.” She downshifted for an upcoming corner. “We’ll probably never hear it, and really, it’s none of our business. At least we found her, and she’s mostly okay.” She shook her head. “The helicopter is en route. They’re hoping to have her at the hospital within an hour and a half.”
“Good. Poor kid. That had to be scary.” He tried to imagine what it would be like to be all alone in the forest with a broken leg. No fun. Just the thought of being so helpless made his talons itch to come out.
“You know it.” She steered around a tight curve before adding, “I got lost once, out by the Chandler Creek picnic area. I managed to find my way back to my parents, but it took about an hour. It was terrifying.”
“How old were you?” I wish I’d been there. I would have kept you safe.
“Mom and Dad were still together, so I was maybe eight years old.” A hairpin turn occupied her for a bit. “Funny. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, or why we were at the picnic area, but I remember trying to find the moss on trees -- only to discover that most trees didn’t have any, and the ones that did had it all the way around the trunk.”
“I think that trick only works in the south.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I know. Now.” Maggie took her attention from the road long enough to give him a sideways look. “I was terrified. Sure I was going to be eaten by a bear, and my bones would be found in the spring, covered by a giant red fern.”
“I love that book. Even if it did leave deep emotional scars.” He’d read Where the Red Fern Grows when it was originally published, and re-read it every decade or so.
“Me too. Old Dan and Little Ann. Tell me, why do the animals always die in children’s books? I mean, think about it. Old Yeller, the Yearling, Bambi’s mother, Charlotte, the otter from Ring of Bright Water. All dead by the end of the book.”
