by Brenda Huber
Maybe.
Carly offered him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry for screaming. And for threatening you”—she glanced down at her hand, then back at him—“with a spatula.”
His grin widened. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “No harm done, darlin’.”
“Well, aren’t you in a chipper mood?” Niklas remarked, eyeing the newcomer suspiciously. Almost as if Niklas expected him to suddenly sprout horns and go nuclear.
Lifting a tawny brow at Niklas, the newcomer didn’t respond.
Heaving a sigh, Niklas turned so he faced them both. “Carly, this is Gideon, the Demon of Temptation. Gideon, this is Carly Danner.”
“Former,” Gideon reminded Niklas, his tone put upon. “Former Demon of Temptation.” Turning his gaze to Carly, he drawled, “Pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She held her hand out as she crossed the short distance between them.
He eyed her hand longingly, though he made no move to take it, which seemed genuinely out of character, what with his Southern gentleman persona and all. Puzzled, she dropped her hand and frowned curiously up at him.
“Please, don’t be offended. It certainly isn’t anything to do with you.” Straightening away from the counter, he slowly reached for her. Beside her, Niklas stiffened but made no move to stop him. Gideon’s long-fingered hand stopped an inch from her cheek, cupped slightly as if he meant to caress her skin. And then his hand passed right through her head. She shivered as a chilly sensation entered one cheek, then swam through her head before it exited through the other side of her face.
Gasping, she staggered back a step, eyes wide.
“I see,” she whispered. Though she didn’t. Not quite. Then, turning to Niklas, she asked, “Is this like your vision thing? The gift and the curse?”
Nodding, he tersely replied, “Gideon can no longer physically touch another.”
“Oh,” she breathed. How sad for him. How lonely. “Is it all right if I call you Gideon?”
The full force of his smile returned. “You can call me whatever you like, darlin’. I’ll answer to just about anything. In fact”—his warm amber gaze slid down her body, back up—“I’ve even been known to answer to ‘oh my God’ a time or two.” Gideon’s grin was cocky, irreverent. He garnished it with a wicked wink. “Of course, if I could manage to talk you out of some of that French toast—and it tastes half as good as it looks—I might be willing to relinquish that particular title to you, darlin’. At least for a little while anyway.”
She should have found him offensive and crude, despite the Southern charm liberally slathered over every word, every glance. But she didn’t.
In fact, she found she quite liked him. Though Niklas continued to stare at him as if there was something…wrong with him.
Gideon’s banter was light and teasing. In a world where everything had become dark and sinister, he was a welcome beam of sunshine. A smile—a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile—formed before she gave it another thought. She really shouldn’t play along with him. But she couldn’t seem to resist. “It just so happens I have plenty of ingredients. More than enough to share. Pull up a chair, sunshine.”
Gideon let out a loud hoot of laughter. Carly’s smile widened. Niklas’s scowl darkened. Chuckling, Gideon took a seat at the table. Niklas jerked his chair out and plopped down. Watching the two of them, Carly fought not to laugh. Night and day, she mused. So intense and thoughtful, the one. And the other, a devil-may-care rogue through and through. She moved from the fridge to the counter and then to the stove while the two of them discussed these nests Xander had uncovered.
“Gusion and Glasya.” A tall Starbucks coffee cup appeared in Gideon’s hand. The scent of caramel and coffee filled the air. He took a long drink, sighed and set the cup back down. Despite Niklas’s habit of conjuring and vanishing things, Carly still did a double take. “You think they know where the sword is?”
“It’s kind of hard to assume otherwise. The timing’s too close to ignore. And there’s just too much of an influx of demons in this region for them not to be tied together somehow.”
“And rumors of the scrolls have surfaced, huh?” Gideon traced the logo on the side of the cup perfectly, though he never once so much as glanced at it. “Now that we’ve found the Arc Stone, I’d say the playing field is about even. Have you heard anything about the other two relics?”
“Not yet.”
Carly set a heaping platter of golden French toast on the table in front of them. Before she could return to the cabinet for plates and silverware, place settings for three suddenly appeared on the table. And, in the blink of the eye, Gideon disappeared from his chair, only to reappear behind hers. With dashing flare, he pulled the chair out and waited for her to take her seat.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, startled. “Ah, thank you.”
Sinking into the chair, she smiled up at Gideon. He returned the smile, then shimmered onto his own seat once more. Niklas’s scowl became downright thunderous.
Why is he being so surly?
The answer hit her fast and hard. Stunning her into staring, openmouthed, at him.
He’s jealous!
No, surely not.
But the thought wouldn’t leave her. Could Niklas truly be jealous, worried that she might find Gideon irresistible, despite the fact that she obviously couldn’t touch him or him her?
Niklas’s face turned red as he faced her, eyes slowly narrowing. Snapping her mouth closed, she turned her gaze to the platter of French toast.
He is jealous. Wonder of all wonders. Huh.
Seeking to fill the sudden silence, she glanced around the tabletop. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have any more bac—”
A plate piled high with crisp bacon appeared before her.
Clearing her throat, she questioned Niklas, “Should I make coffee, or shall I just place my order for that as well?”
A big mug of it appeared next to her plate. A hint of creamer and two scoops of sugar, just the way she always drank it. He’d been paying attention.
The corner of Niklas’s mouth lifted in a smug grin.
The next hour passed in a befuddled daze for Carly. Gideon dazzled her with Southern charm and impeccable manners.
And just like that, her every tiny little desire suddenly came into reality. A sweater because her arms had grown chilly. A second helping of French toast appeared on her plate before she could reach for it. Another slice of bacon. The coffee cup refilled itself.
Gideon paid lavish compliments, flirting shamelessly.
And soon the dirty pans and dishes suddenly vanished and the counters sparkled. It was as if they were having a silent, willful contest to see who could impress her more.
Her heart melted just a little. She thanked Gideon, then turned to do the same for Niklas. His smoldering gaze caught her, though, and the words died on her tongue. He’d looked at her like that—just exactly like that—in the shower. Heat flooded her cheeks.
Gideon, obviously puzzled, looked back and forth between them. Could he feel the sudden tension in the air? How could he not? It was so thick, Carly could hardly breathe with it.
She lowered her eyes and shivered, remembering how it felt to be pressed between Niklas and the shower as he used his mouth and body to wrest control of the kiss from her. Sparks of heat cascaded through her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Niklas suddenly stiffened. He watched her teeth nibble nervously at her lower lip. Oh yes. That was most definitely the look. The one he always gave her just before he kissed her.
Lost in his glacier-blue eyes, Carly almost missed the blur of motion behind him.
Almost.
The demon was tall and rangy. Shadow stubble covered his jaw. His dark hair was cropped close in a buzz cut. His eyes were a flat, emotionless gray. Drawing a startled b
reath, Carly squeezed Niklas’s arm in warning as she gaped at the man—the demon—behind him. Why weren’t they reacting? Why hadn’t Gideon leaped up? Why hadn’t Niklas moved to protect her?
“Xander.” Niklas greeted the demon without looking behind him.
“Don’t have long,” Xander rasped.
A second demon shimmered—yes! She got it right this time—into the kitchen beside the first. This one had a handsome face and short, tousled blond hair. He looked more like a Viking warrior than a demon. He wore black from head to toe.
“Sebastian.” Again without looking over his shoulder.
“Dude,” Sebastian replied, then his attention snagged on Carly. His tone changed. “Well, hello, gorgeous.”
“Off limits,” Niklas snarled.
Sebastian gave a good-sport shrug, flipped his black trench coat out of the way, and hopped up to sit on the counter.
“Sebastian, Xander, this is Carly.” Gideon made the introductions. Sebastian nodded, his assessing, appreciative look lingering. Xander glanced at her, and then moved on, a seen-one-seen-’em-all glance.
“Any word from Mikhail?” Niklas asked as Xander took the seat opposite Carly.
Shaking his head, Xander conjured a can of Pepsi and tipped it to his lips.
“Gusion is here,” Niklas informed Xander and Sebastian.
Xander showed remarkably little emotion as he lowered the can to the table.
“Really?” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, his expression turned predatory. His face might inspire erotic fantasies, but something in his tone warned her that he was a prime example of not judging a book by its cover.
Niklas made short work of filling the three demons in on their late night visitors, ending with, “I left Mikhail a message.” He leaned back in his chair. “Once he gets here, we can figure out a game plan where the relics are concerned. I think we’re all in agreement that finding the scrolls and the Chosen One needs to take top priority now. Even over the nests.”
The others all nodded.
But the reminder that yet another demon would soon appear brought a valid point to Carly’s mind.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’m confused. Why do the ward stones keep the others away, but you guys”—she glanced around at the four of them—“you can all come and go as you please, right? In the grove last night, one of the demons said he could feel the chrysoberyl.” She held up her wrist, flashing the bracelet Niklas had given her. “And the brecciated jasper. He said they made his skin crawl. Why don’t these things affect you?”
Niklas lifted the ring on his finger. Xander pulled a slim silver chain from beneath the collar of his shirt. Gideon tapped the flashy watch on his wrist. Sebastian flicked a finger against the stud in his ear. All contained smaller versions of the same stones in her bracelet.
“You could say we’ve built up a tolerance,” Gideon said.
“That, and these were all cut from the same stone,” Sebastian added.
“So it’s possible that other demons could learn to tolerate these stones?”
“Maybe after years of exposure,” Gideon said.
“Centuries,” Xander rasped.
Carly tried hard not to stare. Oh, the poor man’s—demon’s—voice. It hurt her own throat to hear him speak.
She tried to take comfort in their reassurances. But she’d seen what Gusion and his demons could do. Though Niklas had successfully fended four of them off, he’d had to work for it. The thought that one of them could shimmer onto the farm, shimmer inside this house—
Chills swept through her. She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. Niklas glanced sharply at her, questioning her with his eyes.
Carly tried to reassure him with a sunny smile. By the expression on his face, she failed miserably.
Chapter Fourteen
Shadows clung to the corners of the Great Hall. Like a cancer, those shadows bided their time, hungry to completely engulf the room, beaten back by the garish red firelight flickering over gaudy gold floor and walls. Stolas strode toward the massive black doors, fury seething through him, a living thing. Fury he was careful to hide. The Scathé Demon—Lucifer’s personal guard—stared him down with suspicious eyes.
Treading lightly past the Scathé, he held his chin up, working hard to keep his heart from racing with fear despite his anger. The Scathé—though tall and deceptively weak-looking to the point of ghoulishness—were fierce warriors, lightning fast and trained in all the deadly arts, possessing incomparable skill with a blade and unswerving loyalty to Lucifer.
The massive doors swung slowly open, allowing him escape from Lucifer’s hall. Oh, how he hated these obligatory appearances at court. Condescension hung heavy on the sulfur-laced air. Just one more way for good old Granddad to force his followers to worship at his cloven hooves. Like a medieval king, Lucifer had sat on his skeletal throne, demanding homage. Homage levied in the form of human souls. A great number of them.
And to be treated no better than a common servant in front of all those demon hordes—despite his blood ties—was degrading. Insulting.
Unforgivable.
Stolas’s claws curled, digging into his palms, drawing black, sizzling blood. The bastard would get his due, all right. God might not see fit to send Lucifer’s rotten ass into Oblivion, but he would take immense pleasure in doing so, and not think twice about it.
A glimmer of satisfaction swelled. He had the Sword of Kathnesh. Ronové—or, rather, his minion, Dimiezlo—had been useful after all. And Dimiezlo had managed to stir rumors of the scrolls, false rumors. Rumors that would send the Fallen scurrying all over the globe while his own minions would close in on the true Guardian. After all this time, things were finally falling into place.
Now, as soon as Gusion tied up the final loose end, Stolas would be in a better position to set the next phase of his plan into motion. Thoughts of the human female, though, left a troubled frown on his face as he shimmered to his own hall. The assassins he’d sent after her thus far had all failed to locate her. The Seer continued to protect her with such ferocity that he now had difficulty finding assassins willing to go up against him. Had Niklas formed an attachment to her? Could he, at last, have found the great Seer’s Achilles’ heel?
He vanished his ceremonial robes, then conjured something more comfortable to wear. He longed to shimmer to the wasteland at the far eastern borders of Hell where he’d secreted the Sword of Kathnesh away, was greedy to examine the relic for himself. But he wouldn’t risk it. Such a foolish chance when he had his goal well within sight. Instead, he paced to the long table, skimming over the latest cache of offerings one of his legions had brought back from a world he longed to experience for himself. Curious items.
He picked up a small, slim, white device with a long cord dangling from one end. This particular piece never ceased to amaze him. Pushing buttons, he frowned as the strange sounds buzzed from the tiny round bumps at the end of the cord. Lifting one of the bumps to his pointed ear, he growled approval. Music poured forth. Loud. Driving. Pounding.
Fabulous.
He examined the cover. iPod. What a strange name. But what a wonderful invention. His lips edged into as close as he’d ever come to a smile as he held the bump closer to his ear.
Absolutely astounding!
After setting the music-maker aside, he reached for another discovery. Narrow, gray, contoured. It fit comfortably in his palm. Covered with dozens of tiny buttons, it immediately intrigued him, particularly after the pleasant surprise of the music-maker. Using his thumb, as seemed natural, he depressed button after button. Nothing happened. Frowning, he shook the worthless device. Held it to his ear. Nothing. Turning it round in his hand, he peered more closely at it. Small letters were printed on the bottom. Magnavox. Not nearly as clever as iPod. How disappointing. Unable to make Magnavox do anything useful or interesting, he tossed it asid
e and reached for another item.
He pushed through the pile and examined a small ring. Many oddly shaped hunks of silver with jagged edges running along one side dangled from the ring. He ran the edge of one metallic piece along the pad of his thumb. Too dull to cut, the metallic pieces would be useless as a knife. He shook it and the metal pieces tinkled. But that seemed to be about all they were good for. He tossed them aside with a shrug, sifted and sorted.
What a strange looking weapon!
He picked up another curiosity, and turned the object this way and that, examining it with great interest. The handle was comfortable, with an odd, rubbery grip. The instrument was circular, with a flat guard that separated the blade from the handle. He flicked it with his thumb claw, and the blade spun, glinting in the firelight. Interesting. He rolled the device across his forearm. Too dull to slice through flesh, though. But the edge could easily be honed. Pleased, he set it aside for later consideration and reached for a small, roundish vessel. The top portion was white, molded to resemble pictures he’d seen of those things called…ah, yes, flower. The bottom half was clear and appeared to be filled with a liquid of some type. Two copper-colored prongs protruded from the back.
He pressed on the prongs, but they didn’t move. He shook it. It made a soft, sloshing sound. He noticed some of the liquid had leaked down the side. He licked it and cringed.
Ack. Awful.
But an unexpected, pleasing scent caught his attention. Holding the bottle close to his nose, he inhaled. Again, deeper. Light. Sweet. Quite enjoyable.
Now this! This is incredible.
This was something he could surround himself with, a scent he would happily breathe in for the rest of eternity. Perhaps he should offer a special reward for those who brought more of these back. These and the iPod. He looked for a name on the scented object. Everything in the wonderfully modern world of man now had a name on it. Ah, there it was, how clever.
