Deliverance from Sin: A Demonic Paranormal Romance (Sinners & Saints Book 5)

by Rosalie Stanton

  The sound had been deliberate. That she knew. Which meant something was in the house.

  Every hair on her body stood at attention, and her mind began to cloud. She recalled what Campbell had said about the oppressive air—how succinctly he’d described experiencing Legion.

  The sound came again—another crash, another crunch of glass—and Varina knew she couldn’t ignore it. Trembling, she turned toward the stairwell. The thought crossed her mind to grab Campbell, but she dismissed it. She wasn’t a damsel and she didn’t need a guy fighting her battles for her—especially a guy she didn’t know, who had problems enough of his own.

  Varina released a long steady breath as she negotiated the stairs. Every cell in her body was on alert. The air on the first floor was thicker than upstairs, almost humid. Like it bore physical weight. And the second her feet landed on the bottom step, her internal sensors started screaming that she was being watched.

  She stared at the dark rooms ahead—the gentlemen’s parlor on the right, ladies’ on the left. If something had fallen, it was most likely in one of those rooms. Her inventory of the dining room earlier had yielded that Lina had absconded with all the Old Paris porcelain and baccarat crystal. The door to her father’s study remained closed, but even if Lina hadn’t made off with his supplies, Varina knew he wouldn’t have had breakables nearby. Process of elimination indicated the sound had come from the parlors.

  Varina forced herself to swallow. Old houses settled, but items didn’t crash without help.

  It had to be Legion.

  Her legs felt numb, but somehow she got them moving. She went first to the gentlemen’s parlor—the place that had been off limits to her as a child. The one filled with glass figures and antiques, things children might mistake for toys. The museum room.

  At first glance, nothing appeared amiss. The lamps were where she’d left them, the family flycatcher untouched. The mirror above the mantle was intact, and none of the windows seemed to be disturbed. Varina was about to move onto the ladies’ parlor when her gaze snagged on the photo frame lying face down on the floor before the fireplace, surrounded by shards of glass.

  A photo she hadn’t remembered seeing earlier.

  It didn’t mean anything, of course, that she hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t been in the best state of mind when she’d arrived at Mount Zion, and everything that had followed had been a bit of a rush. Yet it struck her as odd that a photo would be in the gentlemen’s parlor—the only artwork in the room lived on the walls. Lina had insisted on keeping the home as period accurate as possible.

  Varina drew in a breath, a niggle of fear shooting through her system. That was one of Legion’s tricks. Putting things in places they didn’t belong.

  Which meant it was very likely that stepping toward the fallen picture was what it wanted her to do.

  She hesitated only a moment before moving forward. The floor throughout the home was hardwood, which made identifying and avoiding the broken glass shards a bit easier, though next time she came to investigate a strange noise she’d have to be sure to put on shoes. Varina paused when she was within reach, then knelt and picked the picture off the floor. For a moment longer, she held it face down, her mind running the gamut on what she’d see.

  Legion did nothing without cause. Whatever this photo depicted, it would hurt.

  Varina steadied herself with a breath, ignoring the small tremors that had broken across her body. Then she forced herself to turn it over, and a soft cry tore from her lips.

  Her father smiled up at her. He was sitting at his desk in the study, looking up from his typewriter, his eyes warm as ever. Large like hers, and full of expression. On his lap was a three or four-year-old Varina, her red hair in pigtails, her cheeks showing off an impressive display of freckles, her pudgy fingers playing across the typewriter’s keys. The scattering of toys and coloring books in the background placed the photographer as her mother. Julia Jefferson had been a believer in a good mess. Homes, even old ones like these, were meant to be lived in. Messes weren’t a nuisance, but a sign of a happy family.

  The happiest.

  The thought alone was bittersweet, edging on a time in her life that hurt more than the demon itself when she thought of it. Varina squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders tensing as a sob clenched her throat, pressing for release. Her heart leaped and her eyes stung. An old ache, one she had mastered ignoring long ago, hummed to life in her chest. One hot tear fought its way to freedom, and was chased by another.

  She opened her eyes again, looked back to the photo.

  Her father as she’d loved him best. Playing with her in his office. Smiling at her mother. The time before everything had changed.

  Varina barely remembered those years. She hadn’t been old enough to make lasting memories, and hadn’t realized how important any existing memories would be. How different the photo would be in a short year or two.

  How Lina would change everything.

  She licked her lips and exhaled deeply. She’d been right. It did hurt. Things like this always would.

  But the past couldn’t be changed, so mourning it made little difference. Varina forced her chin up and blinked rapidly to stave off any more tears. Just in time to catch a glimpse of the mirror above—or rather, the shadow that darted across it.

  Her eyes widened, and she whirled around, clutching the photo to her chest. The room stood empty.

  No. Not empty. She knew better than that.

  For most, fear was a cold emotion. Fear for her had always been a sickly warm sensation that started in her chest and spread, infecting every limb until she felt feverish and vulnerable, until every part of her seemed compromised. Every now and then when she thought of the possession, her body would react out of habit—send echoes of that sensation, make her stomach tighten and her throat clench. It was a sensory memory, not tied to any one event but all of them together.

  Now, standing in the parlor, a photo she didn’t think she’d ever seen before in her hand, and the air heavy, she might as well have been a kid again. Varina pressed her lips together, the tears she’d forced down moments ago swelling again for another reason altogether. Accompanied with disgust and shame at her own goddamned weakness.

  I am not a child. I am not a child.

  She swallowed and commanded her legs, which had all but cemented themselves to the ground, to move forward. She wasn’t a child. This was different.

  Legion couldn’t bully her. She wouldn’t allow it.

  Varina’s lungs worked like a bellows, her shoulders tensing. She turned her focus inward, identified that sickly hot sensation and attacked. Fear had to be fed, and avoidance was its favorite food. She wouldn’t avoid. She would confront.

  She would prove she was strong. To Legion and herself.

  As though sensing her resolve, something breathed hard against her neck. Varina started and whirled around, then nearly went to the floor. A hand she couldn’t see seized her hair and tugged.

  And then she couldn’t help it. A choked scream tore through her throat. The sick warmth began spreading once more, making every infected part of her body tremble. The air shifted again—it was moving. For a second, she thought about calling out to Campbell, but the urge died almost instantly.

  No. No. Legion would not win.

  Varina staggered toward the door, wiping at her eyes. Just before she crossed into the main hall, the scar on her lower abdomen flared to life. She hissed and clutched at herself, dropping the photo in the process. Whatever was left of the glass shattered upon meeting the floor. She stumbled the rest of the way into the hall, into the welcoming blanket of cooler air.

  Leaving the parlor was like pulling herself out of a tub of jello. The second she was out, Varina’s mind cleared and focused. She looked back into the room, which seemed impossibly dark now, and saw the photo lying where she’d dropped it.

  She wanted that photo, but she knew Legion knew she wanted it. So she’d leave it for now.

  A pang
that had nothing to do with fear thumped against her chest. She turned and headed for the stairwell before her fool mind could convince her to do something stupid.

  There was no safety in this house. Anything that felt like safety was a lie. Closing her door upstairs wouldn’t keep the bad stuff out.

  Yet even knowing this, Varina breathed easier when she was back among her things. The assorted weapons she’d collected over the years, and other tools of the trade, were as close to a security blanket as she’d ever get. Even if Legion couldn’t be killed conventionally, a part of her relaxed knowing she wasn’t unarmed.

  Before she climbed back into bed, Varina pulled out her trusty vial of holy water. It had never seemed to do much beyond offer a placebo-like sense of calm, but she’d take placebo over nothing right now.

  Especially when Campbell’s cries began again. Her chest ached at the sound, but she could do nothing for him. Just hope that eventually the nightmares would fade, and he experienced a moment’s peace.

  Though knowing this house and what was in here with them, she very much doubted it.

  8

  Campbell awoke exhausted, which was pretty much the norm these days. Restless nights followed by endless days. And so the cycle went on.

  It was early enough when he opened his eyes that he figured Varina was still asleep. He sat for a few minutes on the edge of the bed, contemplating the day ahead, doing his best to clear his mind of the endless reel that had plagued him throughout the night. As it happened, a change of scenery hadn’t done shit to help. Not that he’d really thought it would.

  There was time to burn and no decent way to do it. Campbell shot a glance to the door, considered heading downstairs and…what? He wasn’t exactly welcome in the house to begin with. Snooping around, even if it was to make coffee, wouldn’t endear him to his unwilling host, and he couldn’t afford to confuse his own story by spinning more lies. Perhaps the most effective use of time now was to put some distance between him and the situation. As much distance as he could, at least.

  He had the Olds—Dante’s Olds. That had been Pixley’s idea. As Campbell couldn’t well show up on foot, she’d suggested he stop in Mississippi and collect the vampire’s car, which had been impounded. As it turned out, that dinky Mississippi town where Ava had fled after her angelic tryst was not too far from Magnolia Cross, which had made the trip easy. Granted, the Olds ran like it wanted to be put out of its misery, but it did provide him with an escape that would keep him relatively close.

  Campbell pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, his mind made up. He’d go fucking shopping. Granted, it would have been easier to just pop himself wherever he needed to go, but he figured the less he used his non-human abilities, the better. Fewer lies to tell, less looking over his shoulder.

  The nearest Walmart was about forty-five minutes away if one obeyed the traffic laws. Campbell made it there and back in just a little over an hour—backwoods Louisiana country roads meant little policing, and he wasn’t too concerned about being caught as it was.

  While he hadn’t been long, he figured Varina would probably be awake and wondering after his whereabouts, so he opted to not just walk in like he owned the place when he returned. Instead, Campbell placed the bags at his feet on the porch and knocked. Like a civilized person.

  Varina answered the door within a minute. She’d pulled her vibrant hair into a loose, messy ponytail.

  “I thought you might’ve hightailed it,” she said by way of greeting, then stepped back.

  Campbell took that as an invitation and gathered up his purchases before following her inside.

  “I woke up early and decided to make a run.”

  She eyed the bags, her brow wrinkling. “Walmart? We don’t have a Walmart in Magnolia Cross…unless I really missed something.”

  “I went to Vidalia.”

  Varina met his gaze. “That was quick.”

  “I might not have been the most responsible driver.”

  He shrugged and moved deeper into the entry hall, then deposited the bags onto the antique fainting couch where, just twelve or so hours prior, he’d been balls deep inside her. Campbell tensed and tried to ignore the mental image of her breasts bouncing in rhythm of her thrusts. It didn’t work, and his cock began to harden.

  Dammit.

  “I guess you were early enough to miss the speed-traps,” Varina said, coming up behind him. “What’s in the bags?”

  “Sheets, clothes, cleaning stuff.”

  “How…domestic.”

  Campbell inhaled, then turned. “I guess it’s up to you if I keep these here or take them out, but I figured my room could use a new set of bed sheets. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in there in a while.”

  At that, she winced. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that last night. Well, I did, but it was later. I found a change, but they were in pretty bad shape.”

  “Lucky you, I got enough to last us both.”

  “Oh. Well…thanks.”

  She looked like she didn’t know what to do with that, and Campbell opted not to push it. Instead, he began to riffle through his purchases, just for want of something to do. He didn’t want to pressure her on any of what they had discussed the night before, but at the same time, he knew the topic couldn’t be avoided. If she was going to kick him out of the house, he’d need time to come up with a reason why that was a bad idea. Why he needed to stay.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asked to fill the silence.

  “Not particularly.” She hesitated. “But I did decide that, if you hadn’t been chased off, I’m okay with you staying.”

  “Yeah?”

  Varina nodded. “I reserve the right to kill you if you deserve it, but yeah.”

  His lip twitched, a small thrill shooting down his spine. “Seems fair. The killing thing.”

  “I’m being a sport and warning you, so yeah. It’s fair.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Why I’m warning you?”

  “No…I… What changed since last night?”

  She was quiet for a moment, and had he not been watching for it, he might have missed the way her eyes flickered toward the parlor. “For one thing,” she said, “you agreed to get me your latest physical. And you’re still here, which I think means you intend to do it.”

  “Yeah. I, ahh, called on that this morning.”

  Varina’s eyebrows winged upward. “That was fast. I didn’t think anyone would be up this early.”

  “My doc’s on the east coast,” he said quickly. Great, more lies. “So she was already in the office. Agreed to overnight it.”

  “Even faster.” She licked her lips. “So there’s that—you’re doing that. And you didn’t throw a fit or complain about it.”

  Campbell shrugged. “Why would I?”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugged again.

  Varina stared at him, then shook her head. “Ahh, okay. Just…let’s just say it scored you points. The other reason is…Legion. Last night, he—it, whatever…it was here.” She hitched a thumb in the direction of the parlors. “Broke a picture. Pulled my hair. Was essentially a big asshole, but I knew it was him.”

  The words themselves were spoken evenly, but Varina’s eyes told a different story—one of fear and self-loathing and the desperate need to be strong.

  He knew that look because he lived it. Every day since Rome.

  “Are you okay?”

  Varina stiffened. “Of course I’m okay.” The words came out in a rush, and judging by the way her face fell the next second, she knew she’d been caught. But she didn’t linger, didn’t apologize. Instead, she drew up and nodded toward the kitchen. “You wanna see if Lina left us anything edible?”

  “Lina?”

  “My wicked stepmother.”

  In spite of himself, Campbell felt the edge of his mouth tug upward. “Aren’t those fairytale creatures?”

  Varina snorted and shook her head, turning toward the kitchen. “Fairytale stepmoms have
nothing on mine.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “The worst.”

  She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t push. Eons of dancing around conversational etiquette, and the changing rules thereof, had taught him one universal truth that extended to all generations—past, present and forever. That was that if someone wanted to open up about any given topic, they would, given the opportunity and the platform. If they didn’t want to, there was no sense hounding them for information unless not doing so came with dire, life-ending consequences.

  “If I’d known you were running to Vidalia this morning, I’d have sent you with a grocery list,” she said, opening one of the cupboards. “Looks like we’re good on canned vegetables.”

  Campbell eyed the refrigerator. “I guess there’s no point looking in there?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless you want beer for breakfast.”

  That didn’t sound too bad to him, though if he wanted to score more of those elusive points, he might be better off avoiding constant intoxication.

  Ten minutes later, though, a beery breakfast was looking more likely. Varina had filled three trash bags with spoiled items, dumped a rank carton of milk down the sink, and gone through the gamut of disgusted faces.

  “So. Beer,” she said, turning back to the fridge. “And a run to somewhere with actual solids later today.”

  “I can do that now.”

  “No need, unless you’re starving.” Varina pulled two beers out of the fridge, popped both tops on the counter, then handed him one. “Rat Trap has a lunch menu if we get desperate.”

  Campbell hid his smirk with a swig. He doubted he’d ever be able to go back to Rat Trap, which would have bothered him a lot more this time yesterday. Still, he had to admire her for name dropping the place where they’d fucked each other blind.

  “Is the closest place Vidalia for actual storable food?”

  “If you want a variety, yes.” Varina tucked a fallen red tendril behind her ear. “That’s a problem for later. For now…I need some of those answers.”