He gestured toward her shirt. “Off with it,” he said in a no-nonsense voice.
“Really, it’s nothing more than a couple of bruises. I fell on my back, and the O2 tank doesn’t have a whole heck of a lot of give to it.” She took a shallow breath and willed the ache to subside. “The ibuprofen I took earlier has worn off is all. I just need another dose.”
“Let me be the judge of that, please.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the bottom of her shirt and attempted to lift it over her head, but the lancing fire in her side stopped her cold.
“Let me.” He moved her hands out of the way and removed the shirt, freeing first one arm then the other before tugging the tee over her head.
She sat beneath the bright kitchen lights, exposed. The soft fabric traced across her sensitive skin followed by the warm tips of his fingers. Fallon shivered. Zane whistled low and long, smoothing his hand over her side while he moved around the end of the table to stand behind her.
“Damn, Fallon.” His lips replaced his hand, dotting soft kisses over the injured area and trailing up to her shoulder. “This was a hard hit. It may go deeper than a bruise to some structural damage. At the very least, a cracked rib or two.”
Fallon sank into him, her back meeting the solid mass of his chest. After her shower, she’d seen the dark purple marring her entire side and back, but his lips and tongue were erasing the pain with great effectiveness. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“Why do I not believe you?” he murmured against her neck. “How deep a breath can you take before you feel pain?”
That was easy—not at all. But she really didn’t care about her injury. She cared about him. He made her feel so safe and secure in his arms.
But she wasn’t safe. And neither was he.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t in control, and she needed someone to talk to. She needed him. Tilting her head, she looked up at him. “Zane, I’m scared. Can I trust you with a secret?”
He met her gaze. “Of course you can, honey.”
She eased off the table and turned to face him. In a rush of words, she recounted the events that had changed her life, from the fire where they’d first met to her trip to Maine and the letter from her Aunt Serida.
“The worst part was tonight at the fire.” She squeezed her eyes closed, the memory of what had transpired filling her mind. “This thing. First it showed itself as this blond-haired little boy then morphed into some kind of demonic monster. When I was trapped there, lying on my back and waiting, I…I saw a symbol illuminated on the ceiling. It looked exactly like your tattoo.” She swallowed, gave him a hard stare, and forced the next words through her lips. “Whatever this evil being is, Zane, it’s threatened you.” She studied his face, his expression flat and unreadable. He hadn’t said a thing since she began her story, but he had backed up a few paces. “Please say something. Anything.”
He shook his head and shoved his hand through his hair. “I was trying to come up with something nice to say, but I can’t think of a damn thing.” He reached over, snatched her shirt off the table, and tossed it to her. His face contorted into an ugly sneer. “Frankly, it’s no wonder your last boyfriend fucked around on you. You’re probably pretty damn hot in bed, sweetheart, but you’ve got some severe mental issues going on. I don’t think I’m ready to ignore one for the other.”
Shock vaulted through Fallon. Tears burned her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to take the news well. But to be so…hateful? She clutched her shirt to her chest and stared, disbelief rocking the foundation of her soul when the door slammed on Zane’s retreating back.
Chapter Fourteen
Zane stalked across the gravel parking lot to his Jeep, spotlighted in a swath of yellow glow from the cracked globe at the top of the pole. Yanking the door open, he hurled himself into the driver’s seat.
Despicable rage tore through him. He threw his fists at the dash, the roof, and the steering wheel until his knuckles were bloody and he could no longer catch his breath. “Fuck!”
Energy spent, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. What the hell had he just done? He’d fucking blown it big time, that’s what. But what choice did he have?
Leaning back in the seat, he stared at the restaurant, watching her shadow move around in the kitchen, and ached for her. He was a first-class son of a bitch. He shook his head, knowing he never should have gotten involved with her.
The same apparition had confronted them both, and Fallon thought he was the one in danger. Christ, she actually believed she’d brought this evil to him when he knew damned well it was the other way around. She didn’t understand the demon meant to kill her.
And yet, there she’d stood in the kitchen, pouring her heart out about her family, about their legacy. And what had he done? Panicked. Every fiber of his being wanted to explain he was responsible for bringing the demon to her door. But hearing her wild story about being some type of sentry for mankind had thrown him, driving home the bizarre nature of his own situation. He’d fumbled on the truth, and when she’d pressed him to comment, his heart demanded he protect her. So, he’d done the only thing he could think of and spoke the words he knew would push her away.
He never should have gone to her to begin with. He should have left town and taken the damn curse with him. Then she would be safe. He could only hope it wasn’t too late. By this time tomorrow, he would be hundreds of miles away, and the woman he cared for would be safe.
***
Fallon slipped her shirt on, the discomfort in her side miniscule compared to the emotional gash that had just ruptured her heart. Zane’s hateful words thundered in her brain, each syllable triggering another shock of pain.
Boyfriend fucked around on you…hot in bed…severe mental issues…ignore one for the other….
She squeezed her eyes closed. After Jared, hadn’t she learned not to let a man get so close to her? Apparently not since she’d used no caution whatsoever when meeting Zane. Fisting her hands, she let her nails bite her palms. Shit, she’d opened her heart to him so damn fast it was a wonder she hadn’t fallen at his feet and begged him.
Opening her eyes, she swiped at the hot teardrop threatening to spill onto her cheek. She did have some pride, though. The verbal slap in the face he just gave her would leave a lasting imprint. Now, the only men she would ever trust were her brothers, Erik and Wyatt. It would be a cold day in Hell before she trusted any of the remaining male species with her heart again.
Wiping her face and squaring her shoulders, she gathered up the last of the garbage, tied off the bags, and headed out to the trash bin. The night had become unseasonably chilly, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Tossing the garbage into the huge metal container was a challenge. The pain in her ribs was manageable with a handful of ibuprofen on board, but the suppressants had worn off an hour ago. She needed to take some more, or she’d never get to sleep—as if that were going to happen anyway.
No! She was not going to give Zane any more thought. He’d extricated himself from her life. She would follow suit.
After hefting the second one into the bin, she turned back toward the kitchen entrance, and grasping the doorknob, she paused. The rustle of the plastic garbage bags had masked the fact that the night was unusually still, the typical cicadas’ evening song silent. Had the cooler temperature stifled them?
When a scraping sound sliced through the quiet, Fallon jolted and whirled around, her gaze searching for movement. Near the corner of the building, Johnny emerged from the shadows, and the familiar face brought relief coursing through her.
“Johnny, what are you doing here?” She eased away from the door, noting the serious expression on his face. “Is Darla okay?” When he didn’t answer, she moved closer. “Johnny?”
He stepped under the glaring, amber-hued light, and Fallon’s pulse quickened at the sight of him, realizing something was wrong. The odd bend of his arm. The twisted an
gle of his hips. Oh, God, was he in an accident?
But then his face distorted, a knot pushing from his forehead, a crease running along his jaw, and Fallon gasped, the truth slamming home. This was not Johnny.
He shuffled toward her and smiled wide, several of his teeth falling out, spilling onto the ground. His flesh melted away, transforming the fry cook into something unrecognizable.
“Come give us a hug, sugar.”
“Oh, shit,” Fallon whimpered. She stumbled backward, unable to tear her gaze from the horrible scene, and in her rush to escape, her heel caught on the edge of the concrete, throwing her off balance. With arms flailing, she tumbled to the side, landing on the hard gravel, pain lancing her ribs.
The beast lumbered closer and extended a mangled, clawed hand toward her. Fear spiking through her, Fallon recoiled, letting out a strangled scream.
***
Shrouded in self-loathing, Zane shoved the key into the Jeep’s ignition to start the engine. He needed to keep Fallon safe, to draw the demon away from her, and the only way he could accomplish that was to get out of town.
A shriek sliced through the night, the sound plunging to the core of Zane’s soul.
His head jerked up, adrenaline searing his veins. “Fallon!”
Zane bolted from the Jeep and sprinted across the parking lot. With every step, his mind conjured horrific images of Fallon in the demon boy’s arms while he tore at her throat with his needle-sharp teeth. He pulled on the front door only to discover it locked tight. Praying he wasn’t too late, he darted along the side of the restaurant and, rounding the back corner, he skidded to a stop.
No towheaded boy crouched over Fallon. Instead, a monster edged toward her, washed in the yellow floodlights attached to the building’s back wall. The beast’s slick skin undulated in thick ribbons along crooked limbs. Between his hunched shoulders, a bulge surged upward, and a moment later, the sickening sound of ripping flesh flooded the air.
Zane rushed to Fallon, who lay huddled at the demon’s feet. Grabbing her hand, Zane tugged, and she raised her head. Beneath her furrowed brow, her wide eyes sharpened to focus on him.
“Come on.”
A deep, guttural growl vibrated against Zane’s skin, triggering him to pivot toward the noise. He wished he hadn’t.
The creature stretched and twisted, shoving upward to the star-filled sky while the original hide slid down to the ground in a wet, bloody heap. The beast reached an impossible height, well over eight feet, and metallic, hexagonal scales covered his body—all except his head, which appeared skin-like in nature with a network of satanic symbols tattooing his face and bald scalp.
The demon stared down at them through reptilian eyes, his red, elongated pupils glowing in a sea of obsidian. And when he blinked? Oh, shit. Mucus-layered lids slid from the outside edges of the sockets and across the dark orbs. Two sooty tusks pierced a fist-sized, pancake nose, and below, a thin-lipped mouth grinned with malevolence.
“Fallon Anderson,” the demon rumbled in a raspy breath. He inhaled, air whistling through his flared nostrils. “Your fear is intoxicating.”
Zane moved in front of her and craned his neck to meet the fiend’s horrid gaze. Anger and fear wrenched his gut, squeezing more adrenaline into his already saturated veins. He tensed, every muscle prepared to do battle for the woman he loved.
“Leave,” Zane bellowed. “She’s not part of this.”
The demon laughed, a cacophony that sent prickles slashing over Zane’s skin. “Oh, but she is, you contemptible sludge.”
Zane rushed the beast, intent on at least distracting the thing long enough for Fallon to escape. If he died in the process, so be it. He was going to die anyway—a few days early wouldn’t matter.
“Run, Fallon,” he yelled and vaulted at the evil son of a bitch.
Terror spiked through Fallon. Zane leapt at the man-beast, and the sight sent her heart stuttering.
“Zane!” She reached for him, but her fingertips just grazed the back of his T-shirt.
The demon raised a hand, and then Zane stopped, suspended midair. He clawed at his throat, gasping for breath, until the beast flicked his wrist, sending him tumbling through the air. He crashed against the wall with a sickening thud and dropped to the ground.
“You insolent vermin,” the demon roared. “You dare assault me?” He sliced his hand downward, and Zane’s hunkered form jolted.
Fallon gulped, her every instinct screaming for her to run just like Zane had told her. But she couldn’t leave him. Not at the hands of that thing.
“Hey, you slit-eyed freak,” she yelled. When the demon slewed toward her, she fought the overwhelming terror that streaked through her.
He grinned, revealing a wide maw of honed teeth. “The veil that has secreted your existence has diminished, little one. There is nothing to protect you.”
A shudder washed through her. Oh, shit. What the hell was she doing? She didn’t even have a gun. She glanced at the back door of the restaurant. Could she make it inside before he grabbed her?
Without warning, her throat constricted. She reached for her neck, but the pressure increased, and she coughed. Her gaze shot to the demon, discovering he now gestured at her. He held her in the same chokehold he’d used on Zane.
She scratched at whatever constricted her air passage, but her fingers found nothing. Then the invisible lasso jerked upward and lifted her from the ground. She kicked her feet, fear and desperation roaring through her breast. Would the demon kill her or toss her aside as he’d done to Zane?
The fiend tilted his head. “Not much of a Sentinel. I don’t know why the Eternal Archetype bothers with you.”
Fallon gasped for air. “Please.”
He sneered, and the garrote around her neck loosened. She sucked in a greedy breath, her feet still dangling above the ground.
“Oh, you will do more than beg, my pet.” He stepped toward her. “You will please me in ways your miniscule mind could never imagine. You will crave my attention, writhe beneath my touch, and in a very short time, you will offer me your soul so you can always be with me.”
“No.” Her gaze flitted to Zane, who lay balled up on the ground, clutching his shoulder.
“And Zane?” the demon said, drawing her attention back to him. “He will not only watch, but he will take part in every delicious moment.”
“Never,” she rasped.
“You say that now—they all do—but you humans weren’t built to resist for very long. You never die, so you will succumb. And you, my pet, will revel in your submission.”
Zane moaned, and his body quaked.
“What? Do you think he will save you from your pitiful fate?” The beast laughed, a horrid sound that reverberated inside her skin. “Zane West is mine.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Zane reared up, threw his head back, and yelled in agony. His fingers dug into his arm. Sucking in a breath, he shouted his pain while the demon sniggered. The bass growls swirling with Zane’s torment triggered a wave of nausea in Fallon, and hot acid rushed up her throat only to be halted by the invisible rope tightening around her neck. She gagged.
Fire shot between Zane’s fingers, and he screamed, jerking his hand from his shoulder. The T-shirt sleeve burned away, revealing the tattoo on his biceps. The outer ring appeared to cut into his arm, exposing sinewy muscle below, and the triangle inscribed inside pushed up through his skin, the edges razor thin. But the H and the three twined together in the center of the tattoo writhed with fire as though the letter and number were alive.
The demon tilted his head and stared at Fallon with such intensity she feared his gaze might cause her to incinerate. “He didn’t tell you he was mine?”
Fallon shook her head, sucking a thin stream of air into her lungs.
“Well, then let me enlighten you.” He pointed. “That is my mark. Zane West is one of my many adoring apostles, a lesser demon in his own right. Though, I’m sure he didn’t share that with you e
ither. Might’ve scared you off, and then his game of seduction would’ve ended.” He flicked his finger, and Zane yelled again.
“Is that doubt I see in those gold eyes?” The demon reached toward his scaly chest and peeled back the edges of his hide, revealing a tangle of swirling smoke and tiny flashes of light encased in a translucent torso. In the center, the same symbol glowed crimson—the same as the tattoo branded on Zane’s bicep. “But don’t worry. I’m sure he would’ve come clean when he killed you. You see, he gathers souls for me, steals them, really. Male. Female. Doesn’t matter. He makes them vulnerable through various tactics. But he’s admitted that making them fall in love with him tastes the sweetest. Something about the moment their eyes light with understanding that they’ve been betrayed just as he murders them. And knives…mmm, yes. He really should’ve told you.”
Fallon tried to block the demon’s words from her ears but failed. The mark was on Zane’s arm. Could it be true? Could he be a demon, too?
“But for now,” the beast growled, “I’ll give you a preview of your fate.”
The invisible noose cinched, pressing hard alongside her windpipe. She clawed at the torture, but only gouged fingernails into her skin.
Remember… crackled a voice in her ears.
She rolled her eyes, searching wildly for the streaks of flame that had spoken to her at the last two fires.
I am with you….
Fallon’s forearms tingled, sandpaper rasping against her bones. The sensation jagged down to her wrists. Her heart banged her sternum in desperate thuds. And then an odd release occurred inside her as though every cell in her body vibrated. Oh, God. Doesn’t fire need air? But she couldn’t breathe. Was the fire stealing her last bits of oxygen?
Give….
“I can’t!” she screamed in her mind.
Trust….
The demon tightened its grip on her, and the edges of her vision darkened. Fallon realized she had no choice. She would die one way or another. Why give the bastard the satisfaction?
Waltz into Fire (The Sentinals Book 1) Page 12
