Demon Cant Help It

by Kathy Love

  This is crazy. She couldn’t hide here, huddling under the covers like a little kid.

  She needed to prove to herself for once and all that this was just some strange waking dream. Some crazy hallucination brought on by the changes around her.

  Even as she came up with these justifications, she doubted them. Had a waking dream created the nose clip she’d found this morning? No, but there had to be a rational explanation for that, too. She hadn’t thought of one, but it had to be there. Just like there were answers to all of these odd events.

  Carefully, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She fought the urge to scurry away from her bed as the image of something shaking out from under the dust ruffle and grabbing her ankle flashed in her mind.

  Stay calm. Stay calm. If she didn’t expect to find anything, then she wouldn’t. And there was nothing there. Just the noises of an old house. The odd quirks of aging air conditioning.

  “It’s nothing. It’s nothing,” she chanted softly to herself as she took tentative steps toward her bedroom door. She paused, just as she reached it, suddenly terrified to take the final stride and see what was there.

  “What isn’t there,” she corrected, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s nothing there.”

  With a forced movement, she made herself step into the doorway.

  Pent-up breath rushed from her as she was greeted by an empty, dimly lit hallway.

  She laughed slightly at her own ridiculousness.

  “See. Nothing.”

  But the laughter died on her lips as she noticed something. She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was seeing, but closing her eyes, looking away, then looking back, but nothing made the sight go away.

  Down the length of her hallway puddles glistened in the faint light. Small, wet footprints headed right toward her bedroom. Headed right toward her.

  She made a panicked noise in the back of her throat, backing away from the sight. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she did understand one thing. She was scared. Very, very scared.

  Maksim lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He gritted his teeth, irritated by the sense of melancholy that filled him. The five glasses of whiskey hadn’t numbed the aching want in him, in his loins, in his chest.

  He should just go back to Hell. The fiery pit with all its suffering and pain would be a welcome relief compared to what he was experiencing now.

  What was the human saying? It’s easier to deal with the devil you know? Something like that. And he was getting a pretty good understanding of what that meant.

  He rolled over onto his side, sighing. He looked at the paintings on his sister’s wall. A still life of flowers in a blue vase. A portrait of a lady with her brown hair pulled up onto the top of her head in some elaborate twist. Her pale shoulders bare.

  He immediately thought of Jo—not that his thoughts were ever far from him these days. He gritted his teeth again, closing his eyes and concentrating on the dry, stark, unwelcoming environment of the Eighth Circle.

  As he pictured it, the smell of brimstone encompassed him, sulfur and heat burning his nostrils, the back of his throat.

  Just as he would have materialized back into his domain, his cell phone rang. The T-mobile jingle pulling him back from his astral travels.

  Damn, you can’t even go to the Eighth Circle of Hell without a damned cell phone interrupting you.

  He reached over to the nightstand to the small ringing device. He peered at the illuminated screen, his heart jumping at the number he saw there.

  He shook his head at his own ridiculousness. Despite his irritation with his eagerness, he flipped the phone open, quickly saying, “Hello?”

  He was greeted by silence.

  “Hello?” he repeated.

  “Maksim?” Jo finally said, her voice weak and strained.

  “Jo?” He sat up, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can—can you come here?” Her voice broke on the last word, but he couldn’t tell if that was because she was crying or what was wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” he repeated, even as he was swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He toed around for the shoes he’d kicked off as he’d fallen onto his bed.

  “I–I just need you.”

  “Okay,” he said, shoving on his shoes and already heading through his sister’s apartment to the front door. “Just tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m—scared.”

  Now he could hear that something akin to hysteria tinged her voice, making it reedy and hard to hear.

  “What are you scared of?” He paused with his hand on the door, waiting for her to speak.

  “My sister,” she said so softly he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right.

  “Your sister?”

  “Please just come.”

  He didn’t wait any longer. Without further thought, he dematerialized, there one minute, gone the next.

  Jo clutched her cell phone with both hands, pressing it like a lifeline to her ear, as though as long as she had that connection to Maksim, nothing could hurt her. She huddled on the sofa, her back pressed against the back, her legs curled up to her chest. She watched the hallway, waiting for him to respond.

  “Maksim?” she said, not hearing him. She listened, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart in her ears, over the panting quality of her breaths.

  “Maksim?”

  Oh God, she’d lost the connection with him. She lifted her phone from her ear, looking at the screen. It said they were still connected.

  “Maksim? Are you there?”

  Nothing but dead air.

  She flipped the phone closed, then reopened it, and quickly scrolled through her saved numbers, searching for Maksim’s number. But in her panic, she pressed too many times, passed it, and started dialing some other number.

  “No,” she said, snapping the phone closed again. She reopened it and tried again.

  Just as she reached his number, a loud bang on her door made her jump. She nearly dropped her phone in her surprise.

  Staring toward the kitchen and her front door, she waited. Another loud pound, then a muffled voice called, “Jo? Are you there?”

  She eased up off the sofa, still feeling too shaken by all the events of the night that she was hesitant to even believe her ears.

  Crossing quietly to the door, she leaned an ear toward it.

  “Maksim, is that you?”

  “Yes? What’s going on? Let me in.”

  With shaky fingers, she unbolted her door. She tugged on the doorknob, practically sagging with relief when she saw it was really Maksim there. He still held his cell phone, although it was no longer pressed against his ear.

  “Jo?”

  She didn’t answer him, she just fell into his arms, trembling and fighting back tears.

  His strong arms came up to hold her, and instantly some of her fear drained away.

  “What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

  Jo shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it, she just wanted to know she was safe. And somehow she knew having him here would make her feel that way.

  He shifted her away from him, so he could see her face.

  “Come on, baby,” he said, his voice low and coaxing. “Please tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  She looked up into his eyes. Green eyes like sparkling chips of peridot. Except not cold, not lifeless, but filled with such concern. Such fear—for her.

  Without further thought, she pressed her lips to his.

  CHAPTER 18

  Maksim didn’t know what was going on, but there was no way in hell he was going to stop Jo’s kiss. Instead, he pulled her closer, taking control of her frantic embrace. Gradually, her movements calmed under his, not growing any less passionate, just less frenzied, less desperate.

  Her arms curled around his neck, clinging to him as if afraid he would disappear, but her lips moved more slowly, more sensually under his. She gr
oaned, leaning into him. He pulled her up against his chest, lifting her bodily against him.

  Without breaking their kiss, he picked her up completely, carrying her inside her apartment, kicking the door closed with his foot.

  For a moment, they remained in the kitchen, her cradled in his arms, their lips tasting, tongues tangling, desire rising.

  He moaned as she gently nipped his bottom lip.

  Thinking of only one thing, he headed in the direction of her bedroom. But before he even reached the hallway, she broke the kiss and strained against him. The panic he’d seen when she’d opened her door was back, completely blotting out any hint of desire.

  “I don’t want to go down there,” she said, not looking at “there,” just staring at him.

  “Down where? To your bedroom?”

  “Yes. Please stay here.” Her arms tightened around his neck as if she thought that would stop him from moving.

  And he let that be the case. He nodded and headed to the sofa, settling on the slipcovered cushions, keeping her on his lap.

  “Okay, tell me what the hell is going on,” he said.

  Again, he thought she was going to avoid the question. But finally, after a bit of fidgeting and toying with the buttons of his shirt, she spoke.

  “I saw something in the hallway.”

  He waited, allowing her to gather her words.

  “I saw footprints.”

  He frowned. Now that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. Not that he’d been sure what she’d say. Maybe a mouse? A rat? A big spider? One of those large, unnervingly fast cockroaches?

  “Footprints?”

  She nodded, clearly not hearing his bewilderment as she shot a glance over her shoulder at the hallway. As if she expected these footprints to come—and do what?

  “Jo, what kind of footprints are we talking about? Do you think someone broke in?”

  She shook her head, again casting another quick, very nervous look at the door.

  Maksim waited again, really starting to wonder if Jo was losing it. He didn’t think she was the type to be this frightened without cause, but what the hell had her so scared of some supposed footprints on the floor?

  “Show me,” he said, and for a moment she didn’t move on his lap. He half-expected her to say no, but then she did move, slowly dropping her bare feet to the floor.

  He rose behind her, slipping his hand in hers and squeezing her fingers, fingers that felt like cold, stiff twigs against his palms.

  Whatever she was telling him, one thing was clear, she was terrified. She stared at the hallway, and he squeezed her fingers again, giving her silent encouragement.

  She took a hesitant step, then another, until she was standing at the mouth of the hallway. The pale yellow walls of her bedroom glowed warmly at the far end. Otherwise, the hallway was empty, quiet, harmless looking.

  She stared at the floor. He did, too, seeing nothing but slightly uneven and worn hard wood. He looked at Jo, who frowned. She took another step, actually entering the hallway proper. Then she flipped on a light switch on her left.

  The light blazed on from the middle of the hallway, brightly illuminating the off-white walls, wood floors, and shelves of books and pictures.

  But he did not see anything that looked like footprints.

  “There’s nothing,” she said, confirming his opinion. “They are gone.”

  Maksim didn’t answer her, instead tugging at her hand, walking down the length of the hallway, examining the flooring, trying to see something. Because he knew she needed someone to confirm what had her so afraid.

  “Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?” he finally asked once they’d reached her bedroom.

  “Yes. I know I saw them.”

  He nodded, not trying to rationalize away her visions any further. He knew she didn’t want to hear that. She had to come to terms with what she saw, or thought she saw, on her own.

  She stared back down the hallway, then turned to collapse on her bed. Maksim followed her, sitting beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight, making her tip against him.

  He put an arm around her, pulling her stiff body against his side.

  They were both silent for a moment.

  Finally he asked, “Who do you think left the footprints?”

  Jo stopped staring off into space, lost in her own thoughts, her own memories—probably her own justifications—and gaped up at him.

  “You believe me?”

  He nodded. He couldn’t very well tell her that he’d seen much stranger things in his existence, on a regular basis. Things that would make disappearing footprints look like an average everyday happening.

  “So who do you think they belonged to?”

  Jo wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Maksim seemed to readily accept she’d seen what she’d seen. But she didn’t know if she wanted that. Part of her wanted those prints to be there, because it would prove she wasn’t losing her mind. But if they were there, then she was at risk of losing her mind anyway. Neither choice said good things for her mental health.

  But as she stared at Maksim, who waited for her to answer, his pale green eyes holding no doubt, no judgment, all that mattered was that he was there, willing to accept whatever she told him.

  Instead of speaking, she leaned up and kissed him again. Having him here, having him hold her and take her away from her thoughts, seemed far more important than her answer. At least at this moment.

  And he responded to her kiss, just as easily, just as willingly, as he’d accepted what she’d seen. But this response was so much sweeter.

  She shifted, turning to him, linking her arms around his neck. His arms came around her back and he pulled her down with him as he fell back onto her bed.

  She followed readily, sliding more fully on top of him, her breasts pressed to his hard chest. Her legs tangling with his, her fingers slipping into his hair.

  “Jo,” he murmured against her lips, her name a sensual brush against her own mouth. A hot breath, a hungry plea. She moaned and captured his mouth, her tongue mingling with his tongue, a delicious, rough rasp.

  Quickly the kiss grew frenzied, ravenous as desire grew between them, around them like a rising eddying whirlwind. Maksim’s large hands caught her head, taking control of the kiss. Her fingers knotted in his hair, tugging, taking a measure of control back.

  Then she found herself flipped, her body pinned between the softness of her bedding and delicious hardness of his body.

  “I’ve thought about this all day,” he told her, nipping the bare skin of her shoulder. Her collarbone. The side of her neck. She arched under him, loving each bite, each teasing pinch, the hard edge of his teeth against her fragile flesh.

  “Me, too,” she heard herself say, even though she knew she shouldn’t admit something like that. More dangerous than the admission of a dead sister wandering around her apartment. More dangerous for her mental health. But it was out and she couldn’t take it back. Just like she couldn’t stop what was going to happen here in this bed.

  With that realization, she tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it up, baring his muscular back, his amazing flat, hard abdomen.

  Maksim rose up, his legs straddling hers, his hands stroking up and down her thighs. The strength of his fingers feeling deliciously strong and masculine even through the cotton of her pajamas.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what had you so upset?” he said, his voice soft, as if he didn’t really want to address the issue but thought he should.

  She shook her head, her fingers slipping under his shirt again. His eyes drifted close as she caressed his smooth skin and hard muscles. His dark lashes looked sinfully long against his cheeks, every inch of him, even those lashes exuding sex appeal.

  Maksim opened his eyes, his lids heavy with desire, but serious, too.

  “Have you considered that you are doing this with me, because you are trying to avoid what happened to you tonight? To forget what you saw?
”

  Her fingers paused on his skin. “Yes.”

  Maksim stared at her for a moment as if he hadn’t expected her to admit her strategy so readily. Then a slow, sexy smile spread across his beautifully sculpted lips.

  “I’m good with that.”

  Jo smiled too. “Good.”

  Maksim slid back over Jo, wondering what the hell had motivated him to ask her such things. To give her a way out. To be the voice of reason.

  Now that was something he tried to avoid.

  He kissed her, tasting her instant response, those amazing fingers of hers stroking over his skin, around his sides, up his back. Thankfully, she wasn’t looking for reason. Despite his own stupidity in offering it.

  This time he broke away only long enough to strip his shirt off over his head. Jo made a noise of appreciation, the low sound as seductive as her fingers on his skin. Then her fingers moved to the button of his jeans, and he changed his mind. Nothing, absolutely nothing beat the feeling of those fingers.

  She slipped the button open, then the zipper. Her fingers then disappeared inside, cupping him.

  “You have a very nice penis,” she said with a satisfied little smile, gently squeezing him. His cock pulsed in response through his shorts.

  “He likes you, too.”

  She laughed. “I can tell.”

  She levered herself up to kiss him, her mouth soft and sweet clinging to his, showing him what she wanted from him, by the movement of her lips, of her body brushing against him. He caught her head between his hands, taking control of the kiss.

  But Jo being Jo, she wasn’t about to let him have all of the power. She slipped an arm around his neck and pulled him down onto her, her hand still holding his painfully hard erection. They kissed, their passion building each caress of their lips, their hands fanning their need. A rising fire burning inside both of them.

  His hands left her hair, sliding down over her shoulders, tugging down the strap of her camisole top, exposing one breast. His lips latched onto the swollen nipple, tugging deeply on the rosy tautness. She gasped, her hips grinding up against him.