Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  He leans into me, pins me to the wall, and prevents any escape. I struggle to catch my breath. Please, let someone come around the corner and see us. That is the only way I will survive. My back aches from the impact, and sharp daggers of pain plunge in and out of my head.

  Wrapping his hands around my throat, he presses his fingers into my flesh. He tightens his grip, slowly cutting off my air like a vise collapsing a pipe a little bit at a time. Turn by turn, until there my windpipe is crushed.

  I can't speak. I can't scream. Soon, I won't be able to breathe.

  I'm going to die. He's actually going to kill me.

  "John," I gasp. "Please let me go."

  I'm frantic, pulling at his fingers. But he's too strong. And too determined.

  He brushes his lips against mine. "And what if I don't? What if I never let you go, Kylie?"

  Suddenly, John's hand drops from my throat. His body slams against the wall opposite me.

  Alex towers over John. He tries to scurry away, but Alex is on him in a heartbeat and traps him.

  Alex wraps his hand around John's throat. "How does it feel, asshole?" Alex's voice is low and controlled. "You get your kicks from strangling women? Think you're a big, tough guy? Think you're man enough to take me on?"

  John gasps for air. I can smell his fear. He flits his eyes wildly over to me, and pleads with me to help him. It's a wasted effort. I have no sympathy for him.

  I want him to feel the same pain he just inflicted on me.

  Laughter comes from the ballroom and pulls me back to reality. The last thing we need is for anyone to come upon this scene and misunderstand what's happening.

  I step behind Alex and place my hand on his back. "Please, let's go."

  Alex releases John. He breathes deeply, but it's ragged. Alex punches John in the stomach, and he crumples to the floor.

  Alex bends over and grabs John by the lapels of his jacket. "If you ever touch Kylie again, I'll kill you."

  John's eyes grow wide and mirror my own.

  Alex turns to me. There's so much rage in his eyes. I gasp and hold my breath. My body is rigid, and I’m terrified at the thought of not being any safer with him than John.

  He grabs my hand, and we briskly walk down the hallway, pass by the entrance of the ballroom, and make a beeline toward the lobby. Alex has a tight hold on my hand, and I'm struggling to keep up. My heart is pounding, I'm shaking uncontrollably, and I'm about to shatter into a million pieces.

  "Alex, slow down. You're pulling me." My voice is raspy, and it hurts to talk. "Alex!" I yank my arm back to get his attention.

  He doesn't stop until we are outside the hotel. The muscles in his neck twitch, and his mouth is set in a firm, hard line. I twist out of the lock he has on my wrist and try desperately to get my breathing under control.

  He looks at me, exhales, and drops his shoulders.

  "Are you okay?" His voice is soft, and he caresses my cheek.

  No! I want to scream. Tears brim my eyes. I'm unable to speak for fear of completely coming apart.

  "It's okay, baby," Alex murmurs, and places tender kisses on my lips. He's so caring, a complete contradiction to his mood just moments before. "He won't ever hurt you again. Never."

  This is the man I've come to know. The sweet, kind, caring man who has stolen my heart. But there is another side to Alex—protective, cold, and violent.

  That violence just saved my life.

  He smiles and squeezes me gingerly against him. "Let's go home."

  Alex directs Jake to drive to my house so I can pack some things. When Alex said we were going home, he meant his house, and I don’t have the strength to argue with him.

  I grab clothes and throw them into an overnight bag. Alex sits on my bed and watches me, but I can tell he's not really paying attention. We both seem to be going through the motions. I'm nearly paralyzed by the disbelief that John attacked me in such a public place. Alex protected me but was consumed with rage.

  It's a quiet ride through the darkness to Alex's house. He's holding my hand, but we're both looking out opposite side windows. The stars are bright and sparkle in the clear night sky. It seems odd in the wake of all the trauma that occurred. If this were a movie, dark storm clouds would snuff out any light. The wind would whip the trees around with ease, and the rain would pelt us without mercy.

  But this isn't a movie. It's just one more event in my life that I can't seem to escape. I stare at the twinkling stars, but all I can see is the rage in each man's eyes.

  Warning bells clang in my head. I could easily fall back into the darkness—let it close in around me. Protect me from the visions. John's rage was directed at me. Alex's was directed at John. Would Alex ever turn it on me?

  Ice travels through my veins. I can't stand the thought of Alex pushing me down, hitting me, beating me to a bloody pulp. I shudder.

  Alex stirs next to me, takes a deep breath, and strokes his face.

  "Are you cold?" he asks, and gathers me into his side.

  I bring my legs up onto the seat, rest my head on his shoulder, and curl into him. He wraps his arms around me, runs his hand through my hair, and kisses the top of my head. I want him to take care of me, to accept his gentle touch, and believe he will protect me from John. But I have so many doubts that anything good can come from this.

  I close my eyes and let his warmth envelop me. I need to block out the thoughts running through my head.

  Tomorrow. Deal with it tomorrow. In the light of day.

  The SUV pulls to a stop in a circular drive. The entrance to Alex's home is warmly lit and inviting. We climb the stairs leading to the veranda. Tall white columns frame the two-story entrance, and Alex pushes open the oak-and-glass front door.

  My heels click against the travertine tile in the foyer. Alex holds my elbow and guides me into a round room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The dark night, however, doesn't afford a glimpse of what lies beyond.

  Two half-round sofas face each other with a round coffee table between them. I sit and sink into the deep velvety cushions. Alex removes his jacket and tie. He unfastens the top button of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves.

  A huge stone fireplace fills one wall. A large gold-framed mirror leans against the mantel and stretches to the ceiling. I tip my head back and gaze at the large crystal chandelier that hangs from the center of the rotunda.

  Alex sits on the edge of the coffee table, peers into my eyes, and smiles.

  My thoughts are as scattered as my emotions. My best option is to curl into the couch and rock myself to sleep. A part of me wants to run away as fast as I can, far away from here. I'm scared I will never feel safe, never be able to trust another man. But it's shame that overwhelms me.

  Alex gently lifts my chin and inspects my neck. His fingers glide over my skin, but it's still too painful, and I flinch. His eyes darken.

  Tears loom. I swallow hard and try to keep the tears at bay. The harsh movement of my throat grabs Alex’s attention. He shifts his eyes, and his lips find mine. It's a tender, healing kiss, and it eases my fears.

  He caresses my cheek and pulls back. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm good. Shaken but not broken." I manage a weak smile.

  "How's your back? He tossed you against that wall pretty hard." He moves beside me on the sofa, pushing my jacket down my arms. "Does it hurt?"

  It's only a matter of time before he sees the marks on my back. Visions of blood—so much blood—crowd my mind. I close my eyes. I can't go there right now. I can't deal with the memories of that night.

  "I'm okay." The words are not even out of my mouth, and he has my jacket pulled down.

  His fingers delicately skim over my flawed skin. Every muscle stiffens.

  "I think you're good. I don't see any redness or bruising."

  "It doesn't hurt, Alex. I'm fine." My breathing quickens. I squirm, trying to free my arms.

  His fingers continue to explore my back, his light touch running over a small deep indent in my
skin.

  "What the hell?" he murmurs.

  He sees them. The imperfections that dot my back. The mark of my shame.

  I'm light-headed and dizzy, trembling with the same fear I had when those marks were fresh and new.

  I jerk away from him and pull my jacket over my back. Quickly, I cross the room and stand in front of the fireplace. My firm grip on the mantel keeps me from falling into a heap on the floor.

  Excruciatingly painful memories crest, threaten to flood my mind and drown me. The darkness pulls at me, eager to imprison me where no one can hurt me, where no one can find me. A place where even Paul and Ryan couldn't reach me for a very long time.

  "Kylie?" Alex's voice is soft and temporarily halts my descent into the dark.

  I'm unable to move, unable to talk, unable to even look at him.

  "Kylie." His voice is firm. Standing behind me, he rests his hands gently on my shoulders. "Hey, Kylie. Please look at me."

  He tries to turn me around, but I resist. He knows. Alex knows I'm damaged. What will he think when he discovers I allowed John to mark me? It's more than I can stand—the disappointment, the disgust. The contempt I fear will be in his eyes.

  "Kylie."

  "Please, Alex, no. I can't do this." I'm so confused, so lost. I'm frightened the memories of that night will break free from the meticulously built and carefully maintained box in my mind.

  Alex wraps his arms around my shoulders, across my chest, and embraces. He's quiet, and I relax against him. Tears stream down my face.

  "It's okay, Kylie. I'm here," he whispers, his lips against the back of my head.

  I feel safe and warm in his embrace. I want him to take care of me. Need him to convince me that everything will work out.

  I'll worry about what might happen tomorrow. Tonight, he's offering me a safe haven, and I'm going to take it.

  I turn and bury my face in his neck, still not ready to face him.

  He places his hands along the sides of my head. "Baby, please talk to me."

  I shake my head. "I can't. I'm so sorry, Alex. I can't talk about it."

  "Kylie, look at me." He pulls my arms from around his neck, grasps my chin, and lifts it.

  Before I can turn away, his lips crash against mine. He's rough, maybe even demanding, at first, but then softens. It's a sensual healing. I relax and give in to him.

  He breaks away, and rests his head against mine, his eyes closed. "We don't have to talk unless and until you're ready—only then. But you're safe with me. There's nothing that will make me feel anything less for you. I might not know exactly what you've dealt with, but I know you're scared. You don't ever have to feel that way with me." He lifts my chin so that our eyes finally meet, and he swipes away a tear.

  The heaviness in my chest dissipates. For tonight, I'll trust in Alex and what he's saying.

  Tomorrow is a new day, and things always look different in the light.

  "Okay," I whisper.

  "What can I do? Tell me what you need."

  "Brandy...and sleep."

  Chapter Ten

  The morning sun sends rejuvenating rays through the windows of Alex's bedroom. I'm in the middle of the bed—alone.

  I have so many with questions, the most prevalent being the state of my relationship with Alex. He's been able to sleep on last night's events and contemplate whether he wants to continue down this road with me or drop me at the corner.

  I walk into the bathroom, glance around the enormous area, and briefly consider jumping under the multiple shower heads in the glass-enclosed shower. Maybe later, if things are still good with Alex.

  I brush my hair, pile it on top of my head, and inspect my neck. There is some bruising, but they're not as bad as I expected them to. Not nearly as bad as they've been in the past.

  Wearing my hair down might be the best option. No need to draw any more attention to it than necessary. I locate my clothes hanging in the huge walk-in closet, dress, and wander through the massive Mediterranean-style home. High ceilings and huge windows show off the stunning landscape and ocean view.

  I cross the foyer and enter a spacious kitchen. A breakfast bar separates the kitchen from a dining nook.

  Just off the kitchen is a family room with a soft leather sofa and a mahogany coffee table. An enormous flat screen TV sits above the mantel of a rustic stone fireplace along the back wall.

  Alex sits at a beautiful glass-top round table in the breakfast nook. He peers at me over the top of his newspaper. Deep lines crease his forehead, and he frowns.

  "What?" I ask, and look at my outfit—red cowl-neck sleeveless top, black cardigan, black slacks, and black heels. It's simple but professional. I don't have to be in court today, so I can avoid wearing a suit.

  "Why do you look like you're dressed for work?" he asks, his voice clipped.

  "Because I'm dressed for work." Is this a trick question?

  He lowers his eyes to his newspaper. "You're not going to work today."

  I fold my arms across my chest. "And why is that?"

  I'm not sure if Alex is being serious or not. There's still so much I don't know about him and his moods.

  "I don't want you anywhere near that man."

  A coffee pot sits on the kitchen counter, and I head in to get a cup. There's no way I will make it through this conversation without my morning caffeine.

  I open cabinets until I find the mugs and grab the biggest one. "That's going to be difficult, given that we work together."

  Coffee in hand, I go to the table and stand next to him. "I can't imagine John will be stupid enough to do anything at the office, especially not in front of everyone."

  "He was willing to strangle you last night in a very public place and risk being discovered by everyone. He's losing his grip. It's too dangerous."

  I move closer to him, place my cup on the table, my hands slide down his arms.

  I might not know Alex very well, but I know he is fierce about protection. Ever since I told him about John's abuse, he's been a shield against John.

  Alex worries about my safety, and I have no right to make light of it, not after all he’s done for me in the short time we've known each other.

  Such as saving my life.

  But that does not negate my need to be in the office today. I still have so much work to do on the Trevalis murder. Alex is going to have to loosen the reins a bit.

  I turn my head and lightly kiss his neck. He smells so good—not cologne or soap, just Alex, his very own scent—and for a moment, I consider trying to coax him into bed.

  Damn tempting thought...

  "I appreciate that you're concerned about me, but I have to go to work," I say, deciding sex can wait.

  "I can't protect you there."

  "You don't need to protect me there. I'll be fine."

  He hastily folds his newspaper and grumbles.

  A rush of heat courses through me. I will not be controlled. He has no right to dictate my work schedule.

  "Alex, I can't just hide here."

  "Yes, actually, you can." He stares at me, his eyes darkening.

  I stare right back, not backing down. "I'm going to work. End of discussion."

  Neither of us speaks for a moment. He rustles his newspaper while I try to remember that he has my best interests at heart, even if he is being a controlling asshole at the moment. His insistence on dictating my life is way out of line, though, and sends up some bright flares.

  I sigh. A Mexican standoff with him is probably not a great start to the day. "I'll make you a deal. After work, I'll go home and pack some more clothes and things and come back here, where you can keep an eye on me."

  He narrows his eyes. "The whole weekend?"

  "You want me to stay here all weekend?"

  He nods. "All weekend."

  I shrug, taken by surprise. "If that's what you really want."

  "Deal." He stands and kisses me. "Good morning, by the way."

  "Good morning." I run my fingers
through his hair and kiss him long and hard.

  Damn, he irritates me with his control issues, but I love making up with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  My heart pounds. The closer to the penthouse I get, the more I feel my head might explode. Alex stands stoically beside me and holds my hand, but a grim look is etched into his beautiful features.

  He insisted on accompanying me into work and informed me that he's going to have a word with John. I responded, rather loudly, that I could handle the situation with John, thank you very much. That led to Alex threatening to sit in my office all day long to ensure John doesn't bother me. I snickered, but the fierce look in his eyes convinced me not to challenge him. I finally acquiesced, not wanting to make a scene at the office, add fodder to the rumor mill or deal with Mr. Antsy Pants glaring at me all day.

  If Alex is at ease, it will make my life easier. But I'm already a bit weary of his stranglehold on my life.

  My nerves are shot. I've gone through all sorts of scenarios of what might occur once we reach the top floor. What if John's there when we step off the elevator? How will Alex react? Will they pick up where they left off last night? Does everyone in the office know what happened in the hallway outside the ballroom?

  I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. There are just too many questions without answers.

  The elevator doors slide open. Alex places his hand on my lower back. Sarah glances up at us, and her mouth falls open. I ignore her need for an explanation and try to gauge the atmosphere of the office.

  "Is John in yet?" I ask.

  She stares longingly at Alex and then turns her attention to me.

  "No. He called in sick. I guess he left the party in a hurry last night. I didn't see it, but people said he was holding his stomach. Brenda on Two swears she saw him puking into one of the planter boxes in the lobby."

  "Thanks, Sarah."

  Alex and I leave her staring after us and walk into my office. It won't take long for the gossip chain to inform everyone in the penthouse that Alex Stone escorted me to work.