He needed to find a way to help her. He extended one finger, thinking to test the seal. The damn thing sensed his intention. A bolt of green energy leapt out to meet his finger. The charge threw him back. He bounced off the far wall and landed in a heap on the floor. For a moment, he lay still, catching his breath and trying to regain his wits.
An otherworldly shriek came from inside the room. He sprang to his feet and flew to the door. Lilith's screams punctuated each of the previous shrieks. This time she made no sound.
“Lilith? I asked you what that noise was!”
***
“Uh, just George.” She wished he would shut up and let her concentrate. Where had the holy water fallen? “I'm giving him a bath.”
Lilith pulled a face. Why'd she say that? He'd never believe it.
She spied the bag of salt in the debris. Bending down, she scooped it up as she passed. She needed the damn holy water. Dodging around the growing flames, she stayed just ahead of Aimee. She opened the jar and poured a handful of salt into it before dropping the bag on the floor and resealing the jar. Where was the holy water? Smoke filled the room, burning her nose and throat. Her eyes watered, making it difficult to see.
Aimee had the advantage now. She stood low to the floor, well under the gathering smoke. Her claws clicked against floor, sometimes skidding across the slippery hardwoods.
Lilith paused, searching the debris for the bottle of holy water and Aimee took advantage, leaping toward her with her claws extended. She darted away from Aimee, going back the way she came. There. The bottle of holy water had gotten wedged underneath the altar.
Flames surrounded the whole thing.
Aimee screeched, rushing her again. Lilith lunged back, but wasn't quick enough. The entity grasped her legs, tripping her. Lilith fell, yelping as Aimee's sharp claws clung to her leg, piercing her skin.
“Lilith, invite me in.” James' voice sounded rough with anxiety.
“No.” A coughing fit gripped her. She kicked her leg to get Aimee off, but the creature clung tight. Aimee's claws tore at her flesh as she climbed higher.
“There's smoke coming from under the door.”
Like she didn't know the damn room was on fire. “I'm busy.” Coughs punctuated her words. She rolled onto her belly and crawled to the altar, clutching the summoning jar in one hand. Reaching into the flames, she grabbed for the bottle. She gasped. Oh, gods that hurt.
“Jesus, Lil, please. Invite me in.”
It took three more tries before she finally grabbed the bottle of holy water.
Aimee crawled onto her back, her claws digging in, puncturing her skin.
“Just say the damn words and I can help you.” James thumped the wall hard.
She rolled to her right, taking Aimee toward the flames. The entity screeched and let go.
Getting to her feet, she opened the summoning jar and set it in front of her. She uncapped the holy water. “Come on. Where'd you go?”
“Damn it, Lilith, will you answer me?”
Aimee rounded the altar, leaping for her face.
Startled into action, Lilith swung the bottle of holy water. The spray splashed across the entity, leaving smoking pustules across her skin.
Aimee shrieked. Her body becoming vaporous as she was sucked down into the summoning jar toward the salt. Lilith slammed the lid back onto the jar and screwed it on tight.
“Ha, got you!” She shook the jar. “Oh gods, I really did it.” She laughed. “I can't believe I actually trapped you.”
“That's it. I'm coming in.”
Lilith's gaze flew to the door, then darted around the wrecked room, the oils, and the altar . . . the fire.
She closed her eyes and visualized a tropical rain falling in the ritual room. The pull of Magic tugged at her aura. Thunder rumbled through the room. Thick clouds gathered across the ceiling.
It began to rain.
***
James strode into the kitchen, grabbed one of the chairs, and returned to the front hall, holding it in front of him like a battering ram. He hoped to break down the door with the chair before he got zapped by the door shield. If she was trapped, he'd at least give her an exit.
After two strides, Lilith opened the door and he came to an abrupt halt. Smoke billowed out around her.
She smiled, dripping all over the floor, looking like she'd been the one taking a bath. Her hair was wet, her pajamas damp, clinging.
He set the chair on the floor with exaggerated care, and glared. Taking a couple deep, assuaging breaths, he tried to calm down. She was alive.
George meowed. The drenched feline skulked out between Lilith's legs and shot up the stairs like he had demon hounds hard on his tail, leaving a trail of water in his wake.
He stared at Lilith, incredulous. Her expression epitomized innocence. Yeah, there was no way in hell she realized blood bloomed through her pajamas. Between that and the smoke, she had another thing coming if she expected he'd buy the bath story. “You gave my cat a bath?”
“Mm-hm.” She held out his Bible. “I'm sorry.” She shrugged. “I borrowed your book.” He reached out to take it and water gushed out under the force of his grip.
She cringed. “It, ah, got a little damp.”
He ignored her confession and let the ruined book fall onto the chair with a wet thwack. “Do we need to call the fire department?” All things considered, he sounded amazingly calm. “Maybe an ambulance?”
“Don't be silly. It was just a little incense run amok.” An ill-timed coughing fit gripped her. “Everything is fine.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Was there much smoke out here? You sound choky, too.”
He counted the rafters in the ceiling. She was safe, that's all that mattered and despite the blood, she didn't appear too badly hurt. Still, he had an overwhelming desire to paddle her ass. Once in control, he scrutinized her from top to bottom through narrowed eyes. She was a mess—a beautiful mess to be sure, but a mess nonetheless. “I think it's your turn.” He motioned her into the kitchen.
“My turn for what?” She closed the door behind her.
“You're bruised.” He pointed to her face where her cheek had started to swell. “And bleeding, and what's this?” He lifted her arm. “Oh, burned. As if from fire.” He kept hold of her arm and walked toward the kitchen. “Just for future reference, you're supposed to use water for a bath. Not flames.”
Chapter 14
Her mate had a sarcastic streak.
Lilith let him lead her into the kitchen. She was tired and, of course, as soon as he'd brought attention to her injuries, they started hurting like hell. “Has anyone ever told you, you're grumpy when you get home from work?”
“No. No one's ever tolerated my surly nature long enough to notice.” He lifted her up onto the counter like he might do for a child.
She smiled despite her soreness. “I think you might have just made a joke.”
He shot her a little half grin. The transformation in his face made her breath catch in her throat. His whole countenance changed when he smiled. A handsome male even when scowling, that little grin made him irresistible.
He handed her a dishtowel. “Dry off.”
She patted her face and arms as he searched the drawers. “Where's the smelly stuff you made for me?”
“You told me you wouldn't need any more.”
He raised his brow a notch, calling her bluff.
“Fine. Top drawer, next to the sink.”
He held a jar up and, when she nodded, he opened it, making a face when the smell assailed him. He stuck his fingers in the goo and proceeded to apply it to her cheek.
“Mm, somehow I had the feeling you wouldn't listen to me.”
“Mm, somehow I had the feeling you would need it again,” she mocked.
He'd been fighting again. She dipped her finger in the jar and dabbed at his mouth where the skin split on his lower lip. She'd have rather leaned forward and kissed him. Let her tongue slide over his full lower lip and
. . . . “Besides,” she said to break the silence and force her mind from her imaginings, “I needed it tonight.”
His expression darkened. “Don't do that again.”
“What?”
“Whatever you—” He seemed to realize he'd been yelling and stopped. He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting hers. “Whatever you were doing in there. I couldn't get to you.”
“Were you worried?” No one but Trina ever worried about her. Warmth spread through her limbs. “I thought you didn't even like me.” Gods, why did she say that? Of course he didn't like her. He pretty much told her that outright last night.
“What about the burn?”
“Cantharis. In the same drawer there's a tiny brown bottle with a red label.” He pointed to a bottle. “Yep. Just mix it with gel from—” He pointed to the bottle of gel she'd used before. “Yeah. See, you're a natural.”
“I didn't say that.” He smoothed the cantharis over the blisters on her forearm. The gel soothed her inflamed skin as soon as it touched her arm.
“What?”
His head bent down to his task, bringing his face close to hers. “I never said I didn't like you.”
“You like me?”
He glanced up, and froze. If either chose to move a fraction of an inch . . . . He straightened. “Don't push your luck.”
She grinned at his disgruntled tone, which earned her a glare. She was starting to understand, the surliness and sarcasm were armor, and underneath, well, she couldn't wait to find out what lay underneath.
“What about a bandage?”
“There's gauze in the second drawer.” She pulled off the wet bandage around her hand. The cut had stopped bleeding and scabbed over. She didn’t need to rewrap it.
“Why do you keep this stuff in the kitchen?” Gently, he wound gauze around her arm.
“Easy access. We tend to be a bit accident prone.” Spells didn't always work the way they intended. He didn't need to know specifics, though.
“You and Trina?”
“Yeah.” She got the word out before a yawn snuck up on her. “Although I think after tonight George should probably join the ranks.” She shrugged, smiling. “You seem a bit accident-prone yourself. You'll fit right in.”
He didn't appear to appreciate her comment. “What for the cuts?”
“Arnica.”
He eased the loose, damp fabric of her pajamas as high as they would go in search of the wounds causing spots of blood to bloom on her clothing.
Not wanting to see the damage, she kept her gaze on his face.
He grimaced and shook his head as he went to work. Gods, he was handsome. All she wanted to do right now was find out what the scruff on his chin felt like against the sensitive skin of her neck.
“How'd you learn about this stuff?”
“Nan taught me.”
“The old woman?”
She nodded. “My grandmother.”
His hand stopped moving. His gaze shot up.
She looked away. “I'm not like her.” She didn't even like claiming Nan as family.
He lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “I didn't think you were. I'm just surprised. I guess I should have realized when you said you inherited this place.”
Her body ached something fierce. The effects of the oils made her drowsy as they seeped into her bloodstream but a surplus of adrenaline still flowed through her. Sleep would be a long time coming.
James pulled down her pant leg, released her leg, and pointed to her stomach. She glanced down to see blood staining the front of her favorite lavender tank. “Oh, damn. I liked this pajama top.”
James chuckled as he lifted the bottom edge high enough to treat the scratch on her belly.
“What?”
“I think most women would be falling into hysterics right now.”
“You have a low opinion of women.”
“I just meant most people freak out about their wounds long before they notice their clothes are ruined.” He pulled her shirt down.
She shrugged in response. “I liked the lacy straps.”
Angling around, he started to lift the back of her tank. Understanding he intended to inspect her back for injury, she straightened and shoved him away. “I'm fine, you don't need to—”
“Quit being a baby.”
“James.” She frowned. “It's ugly. Just leave it alone.”
Chapter 15
Shit.
He'd forgotten. Of course she'd have scars from that night. The old woman, her grandmother, beat her until she'd bled and then beat her some more.
James sat the salve on the counter, drew off his shirt and tossed it next to her.
She stared.
He shrugged. “I have more than you.”
A rueful grin tugged at her lips. “Scars are kinda hot on guys. Not so much on women.”
“You gay?”
Her brows beetled in confusion.
“If you're not into women, then your opinion of what's sexy on a woman is a bit skewed.”
She frowned. “I'm too tired to figure out what you just said, but I'm sure you're wrong. I like you with your shirt off, though, so I'll forgive you.”
He released a startled laugh. “Jesus, you're a piece of work.”
She tried to wink, but she must've been tired as hell, because her lid stuck, as if preferring to stay closed.
He chuckled. Christ, she was cute as hell. “Come on, Aphrodite. You're about to fall off the counter you're so tired. If you're not going to let me take care of those cuts, we're done.” He forced her to look at him. “Go get ready for bed.”
“And you call me bossy.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Just a quick brush of her lips on his skin, but his face burned where her lips touched.
“Thank you.”
He managed a nod.
She slipped off the counter and left the kitchen without another word.
James released a deep breath.
Hell, he wasn't sure he could remain here, in this house, so close to her without touching her. He'd never wanted a woman as much as this one. But giving in would condemn them both.
The Watchers saw everything.
And then there was the problem with Crowley. If, indeed, he did have to terminate the son of a bitch, he'd be on the run for the rest of his existence. At which point, the Watchers would probably assign her a new bodyguard if she still needed one.
Fuck. There was no way to come out the winner in this situation.
Except maybe paradise would be at the other end of his sacrifice. James snorted. Not fucking likely. Not with the lusty thoughts Lilith provoked.
Once James finished cleaning up the kitchen he turned off the light and went into the living room to do the same.
Lilith was curled up in the high-backed arm chair in the corner with her book. She'd changed into some kind of baby-doll night shirt that left way too much of her long, shapely legs uncovered.
He almost went upstairs. Would have, maybe, if his hands had stopped shaking. But not being able to get to her when she'd been in danger still sat too fresh in his mind.
“Not ready to sleep?”
She shook her head and glanced up. “I'm a bit wound up still.”
“Me, too.” She looked better. The cuts and scrapes seemed smaller now that the bleeding had stopped. She kept the arm he'd bandaged cradled in her lap. “Do you need painkillers or anything?”
“I took some Ibuprofen.” She didn't even look up from her book.
He sat in the center of the couch, toed off his boots and propped his feet on the ottoman. He'd never bothered coming in this room before. It had a warm ambiance.
Bullshit. He scoffed. The only warm thing in this entire house was Lilith. He studied her while she read, following the line of her legs down to her pink nail polish. He blew out a breath of frustration.
“You don't have to stay with me.”
“Don't think I can sleep, either.”
“Oh.” She st
arted to lift her book again, then let it fall back to her lap. “Do you want one of your books from upstairs?”
“Nah.” He was too damn tired to bother. “What are you reading?” James closed his eyes and let his head rest on the back of the couch. If he didn't stop staring at her he'd have a tent in the front of his jeans.
“Um, well, it's a story about a Marine who gets involved with—”
Military. “Perfect. Read to me.”
“Read this? Out loud?”
“Yeah. Why not?” He cracked his eyes open to catch her gaping at him. Hell, had his request been so odd? “Never mind.”
“No. I'll read. From the beginning?”
“Whatever page you’re on.” He didn't care about the plot, he just wanted to hear her voice and calm himself before they went to bed. He closed his eyes again.
“Okay.” She drew the one word out on a sigh before clearing her throat. “’She spread her lips wide over Donovan's engorged shaft, tonguing him until he moaned.’”
James' eyes flew open.
“‘His fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her into a rhythm that had her growing damp with desire, had her rocking her hips to and fro as if his cock already plunged deep inside her aching c—‘“
“What the hell are you reading?”
She lifted her gaze and blinked. Sat there in that pristine white nightgown, with the prim scoop neck, looking as innocent as a choir girl. “It's called ‘Coming Home.’”
“I'll bet.” More like cuming home. “It's porn.”
“It's a romance. There's this Marine who—”
“—shoves his dick down some lady's throat.”
Lilith gasped. “No.” She set the book aside. “It's . . . well, it's . . . .” Her lips twisted into a rueful grin. “There's a story line. A romance. That lady happens to be his wife, who he's learning to love again after being away at war.”
“Fine, it has a storyline. That makes it soft porn.”
“It's a beautiful story.”
He waved his hand toward the book. “Why are you reading that?”
“Why not?” Her humor disappeared. “Don't you go getting all high and mighty. I read 'this stuff’”—she picked up the book and shook it at him—”because it's filling a need. And because I like these stories.”
The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Page 10
