The Demon Always Wins: Touched by a Demon, Book 1

by Jeanne Oates Estridge

  Her eyes drifted closed and her lips slightly parted, inviting him. He kissed her, at first softly, then with more insistence. She was less enthusiastic than she’d been at the bar or in the car. He took her unresisting hand and placed it on his pulsing erection, but she didn’t stroke and squeeze it.

  Instead, her eyes flew open and she gasped. “Oh, no.” Before he could react, she bent forward at the waist and vomited all over his shoes.

  Dara woke the next morning to find herself in a strange house. She lay on a black leather couch, facing a black marble fireplace set in a bare white wall. A black afghan, so finely woven it felt like silk, draped over her.

  Beyond the massive windows that made up the back wall of the house, a red sun crept above the horizon. The ocean slapped steadily onto the shore, but she couldn’t smell it because the air was filled with the scent of some kind of disinfectant. She turned her head a few degrees and saw an empty bucket on the floor beside her. The surrounding carpet appeared to be clean, but wet.

  Fragments of the previous evening filtered back. How many drinks had she had? She turned her head a little further and saw a second couch, set at right angles to the one she was lying on. There, Ben slept. She muffled a groan, dragged herself to a sitting position and took inventory.

  She felt a lot better than she would have expected. Her head wasn’t pounding, her hands weren’t shaking, and her stomach was only faintly upset. On the other hand, her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton and tasted like a garbage dump. The end table beside the couch held two bottles of water. One was nearly empty. The other was full, the seal still unbroken. She opened it, tilted it up and didn’t stop drinking until it was half-empty.

  Ben’s eyes opened. “You’re awake,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “Better than I have a right to.” That was true. She did feel a lot better than she should, considering how drunk she’d been. She glared at him. “What did you do? Did you use some demon trickery so I wouldn’t have a hangover when I woke up?”

  He sat up, and the throw that had been covering him slipped to the floor. He was wearing a pair of black silk boxer shorts.

  Oh, God, what did it mean that he wasn’t wearing clothes? She racked her brain but couldn’t remember anything that happened after they left the bar. She still wore her sundress and could feel the elastic of her panties around her hips. And they had slept on separate couches. A whisper of something that felt like disappointment surfaced, but she buried it beneath outrage.

  “Cover yourself,” she snapped.

  He twitched the afghan back across his lap. “Sorry. Someone threw up all over my jeans last night.”

  Her eyes widened. “I did that?”

  “Yes, you did. I’m pretty sure you ruined a five-hundred-dollar pair of Forzieri loafers, too.”

  Her cheeks burned. She started to apologize until she realized what it meant that she was here, instead of safely home in her own bed.

  “Serves you right for taking advantage of me,” she said.

  “You asked to come here.”

  “Because I was drunk out of my mind.”

  “Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m not sure Lilith is a very good companion for you.”

  She wanted to argue, but he had a point. It was Lilith who’d supplied her drinks. As a teenager, Dara had been pretty good at resisting peer pressure. She needed to call up some of that backbone now. She wasn’t about to share those thoughts with him, so she returned to her earlier question.

  “Why don’t I have a hangover? What did you give me?”

  He got to his feet, wrapping the afghan around his waist. “Water and ibuprofen,” he said. “The biggest part of hangovers is dehydration. Once you stopped vomiting, I made you drink lots of water and take an Advil to reduce the inflammation.” He spread his hands. “No black magic, just common sense.”

  Somewhere during his mini-lecture on the care and feeding of hangovers, she stopped listening and her mind wandered to his bare chest. It looked like something out of one of those reality shows where the men hang around the tropical island with their shirts off. Above the afghan, his abdomen displayed a grid of muscles, and his deltoids were like scoops of ice cream. She licked her lips. She might be sober, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  She looked around for her shoes. “Take me to my car.”

  “Okay,” he said. His gorgeous body whispered, Stay awhile longer.

  “Now.” She wiggled her foot into a ridiculous shoe she should never have bought in the first place.

  He raised his hands, as if in surrender. “Can I put on some pants first?”

  Chapter 29

  When Lilith arrived at the beach house late that afternoon, Belial was slumped on the couch, staring at the television.

  “No dice, eh?” she said.

  He sat up. “Where have you been?”

  “At Jeremy’s, making sweet, sweet love.” She curled her lip. “And giving you time to do the same, or so I hoped.”

  “Call Dara and find out how she’s feeling,” he said.

  She set her purse down and cocked her head to the side. “Should I ask her if she likes you likes you, or just kind of likes you as a friend?”

  “How about if you’re not a bitch for once and just do what I ask?”

  “Tsk, tsk,” Lilith said. “What if the boss hears you? What will he think?”

  “The boss couldn’t give a shit how demons treat each other, as long as the mission moves forward.”

  “Fine.” Lilith pulled out her phone and called Dara. It rang once, twice, three times. She was about to give up when Dara answered, sounding sleepy and cranky.

  “So,” Lilith said, “how was he?”

  “I’m mad at you.” From her tone, Dara wasn’t kidding.

  “Mad at me?” Lilith pretended to be surprised. “Why are you mad at me?”

  “For giving me those Long Island iced teas.”

  Belial could hear every word, and so could the boss. Lilith chose her response with care.

  “I thought it would be good for you to loosen up a little. You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

  “And I don’t appreciate you letting me go home with Ben when you know how I feel about him.”

  “How was I supposed to stop you? You’re a grown woman.”

  “You could have offered to take me home yourself.”

  “I was as trashed as you were.”

  “Or suggested I call a cab.”

  “Dara, let’s be honest here. You went home with him because you wanted to go home with him.”

  “You’re right.” Dara’s anger collapsed. As Lilith anticipated, Dara’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility outweighed her resentment. “It’s my own fault. I could have chosen not to have that third drink. I could have chosen not to go home with him.”

  “You are all right, aren’t you?” Lilith asked. “He didn’t do anything you didn’t want him to, did he?”

  “I’m fine,” Dara said.

  “So, what exactly happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Lilith suppressed a grin. Guilt and humiliation would make excellent barriers to keep Belial at arm’s length. “Hey, how about if I come over and we watch that movie?”

  Belial shook his head. She turned so she couldn’t see him.

  “I thought you didn’t like sitting around watching movies,” Dara said.

  “I’ve had enough partying for one weekend.”

  She hung up and turned back around. Belial was glaring at her.

  “It will give me a chance to talk you up,” she said. Like that was going to do him any good.

  “See that you do,” he said. “I’ll be monitoring every word.”

  It was unfortunate for him that most of communication was facial expression and body language.

  Thirty minutes later, Lilith knocked on Dara’s door, carrying a six-pack of sodas and movie-sized boxes of Goobers and Sno-Caps.

  “I’
m so glad you suggested this.” She settled onto one end of Dara’s sofa with a comfortable sigh. The movie would make it difficult for Belial and the boss to hear what was said. That didn’t matter, as it turned out, because Dara nodded without saying anything. Still unforgiven, apparently.

  A cat wandered in from the kitchen. He hopped up onto the couch and snuggled into Lilith’s lap.

  “Who is this?” Lilith rubbed him behind his crooked left ear. He rolled his head back until her hand cupped it, and purred.

  “That’s Milton. I can’t believe he’s letting you pet him. He hates everyone.”

  Lilith stroked her nails down his back and he moaned a little. “How can you say that? He’s a sweet kitty.”

  Dara frowned at the cat. He shifted his head so he didn’t have to see her. I know just how you feel, buddy.

  Lilith tried again. “I’ve always had this thing, where I just run and run and run until I’m exhausted. Thanks for interrupting that self-destructive cycle.”

  Dara just nodded.

  “Are you okay? From last night, I mean?” Lilith stopped petting the cat to touch Dara’s scarred hand. She looked deep into her eyes, trying to convey a guilt she didn’t feel. “Really okay?”

  Dara sighed. Lilith sensed a thaw.

  “I’m fine. Let’s just watch the movie, okay?” Dara put Ghost in.

  Ah, perfect. When the demons appeared, Lilith picked up the remote and hit the pause button. Setting Milton on the floor, she said, “Potty break.” This would give Dara plenty of time to think about the demon in her own life.

  When she returned from the bathroom, she sat down on the couch and leaned forward so Belial and the boss could hear her clearly.

  “Okay, I have to ask you this. Why were you so upset when I called earlier? People do have sex, you know. All the time. And it’s not the worst thing that ever happened to them. It’s pretty clear you’re attracted to him. What’s the issue?”

  Dara huddled into the corner of the couch, clutching a bag of microwave popcorn like a shield. “You know how I feel about him.”

  “I’m not sure I do.” Lilith put on her puzzled face. “I know how you tell me you feel about him, but I also know what I see when I see the two of you together.”

  Dara went still. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sparks. Fireworks. Thunder. Lightning. A woman could get singed just being in the vicinity of you two.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I don’t get how you can treat this so casually. Do you know how many people never get to experience the kind of intensity you two have? Do you know what I’d give to know a great passion? I mean, Jeremy’s a nice guy and all, but he’s hardly Ben Lyle. But you’re determined to walk away from it.” She gestured toward the frozen TV screen. “Even though you know what it’s like to love someone and lose them.”

  Dara’s face took on an expression of longing, but it was impossible to tell if she was thinking about Belial or the husband she’d lost. After a moment, the look faded, replaced by one of resolution.

  “Ben Lyle isn’t who you think he is,” she said.

  “Then who is he?”

  Dara shook her head. “I don’t want to get into that. But there are things… It’s impossible for us to ever be together.”

  “With great loves, there are always things. I’m black and you’re white; I’m old and you’re young; I’m a Jew and you’re a Muslim; we’re both guys; we’re both women. There’s always something. But a truly heroic love can transcend that.” It was a great speech. Down in the Ninth Ring, the boss would be getting a hard-on from the sheer beauty of it.

  Dara’s mouth twisted. “Do you read a lot of romance novels?”

  Lilith shrugged. “Discount it if you want to, but there’s something special between you two. Life is short. You should be grabbing that with both hands.”

  She could see the image of grabbing something with both hands take root in Dara’s mind, but almost immediately she shook her head.

  “I’m not grabbing anything. This is what’s going to happen, and if you’re really my friend, you’ll help me: I will not spend any more time with Ben Lyle outside the clinic. If we’re out and he shows up, I will leave. I don’t care how rude it looks. So don’t engineer any more ‘chance’ meetings between us.”

  Busted. “You’re running away from your feelings.”

  “No.” Dara pushed the button to start the movie back up. “I’m running away from Ben Lyle.”

  Chapter 30

  Belial pulled into the clinic parking lot on Monday morning and blew out a long breath. He would have to play it cool. It would take only a tiny misstep on his part for Dara to banish him from the clinic altogether. With just thirteen days left in the wager, he didn’t have time to regain lost ground.

  Inside, he pushed the buzzer and glanced around the lobby. In the far corner, two little boys had their heads together, whispering like they were plotting something. He didn’t see a parent with them. Something about them set his demon senses tingling, but before he could investigate, Gabby buzzed him in.

  He went to one of the computers on the Pit counter and pulled up his patient list. He was scheduled to see three children.

  Dara appeared at his elbow. Her jaw was set. He nodded at the screen. “Not many patients.”

  He kept his tone businesslike and saw her relax as she realized he wasn’t planning to bring up the events of the weekend.

  “The pediatric clinic is always light,” she said. “We mostly see immigrants or recent arrivals to the area.”

  Belial stifled a feeling of regret. He’d grown used to seeing thirty or forty patients a day. “Makes sense,” he said. “Shall we take a look at our first patient?”

  The first two patients were routine—strep throat and a case of poison ivy. The third was more interesting. The little boy sitting on the table was perhaps five years old. His face was flushed, and his eyes had the dull glaze of fever. His mother stood beside him, holding his hand, her face drawn with worry.

  “This is Timmy Gonzales,” Dara said.

  “How are his vitals?”

  “Blood pressure of ninety-five over seventy, fever of a hundred and three.”

  “We need to get that down. I’m going to look at your throat,” he told the boy. “Okay?”

  The child nodded. Then he opened his mouth and coughed into Belial’s face.

  His mother apologized, but Belial waved her aside. “Happens all the time.”

  The boy’s tonsils appeared normal, but his lymph nodes were swollen. Belial lifted his shirt to reveal a rash. “We’ll need to take a blood test to confirm, but this looks like chickenpox.” The mother’s thin face sagged with relief.

  Belial washed his hands and left Dara to obtain the blood sample. As he exited the exam room, the two boys he’d seen in the lobby earlier came out of the patient bathroom. He tried to cut them off, but they dodged past him, giggling as they ran for the front door. He’d gotten the closer look he needed to verify his earlier suspicion.

  They were imps.

  Just as demons had once been angels, imps had their beginnings as cherubs. Created tiny, they would never grow in size. Since they’d fallen, they’d never outgrown their love of pranks.

  He opened his mouth to order them to halt, but Dara was in the next room. If she found demons of any kind in the clinic, she’d blame him. He’d started to follow them when a gleam caught his eye. Water seeped beneath the bathroom door, pooling on the tile floor.

  The toilet was overflowing. The single bright spot was that the water was clear. Whatever they’d done was less disgusting than what they might have done. He reached behind the toilet and turned the shut-off valve. The water ceased cascading over the rim, but something prevented it from receding.

  He looked for a plunger but didn’t find one. Beneath the sink was a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves. He took off his lab jacket and hung it on the door. After rolling up his shirt sleeves, he donned the gloves.
They were a tight fit, meant for feminine hands, but he managed to drag them on.

  He crouched beside the toilet and, with a grimace of disgust, plunged his arm into the bowl. Something lay just beyond the reach of his fingers. He pushed his arm in a little further. Cold water seeped inside the glove and down his arm. Ugh. Lilith was undoubtedly behind this.

  “I hate demons,” he said to the toilet tank. He pushed his arm in a little deeper. More water invaded the glove, but his fingers closed around something squishy. He pulled it out. It was a dead frog. “I really, really hate demons.”

  “And you’re not alone.”

  Dara stood in the doorway. A recessed light bulb in the ceiling backlit her like a halo. She held the spray bottle of holy water in one hand and the baggie of demonweed in the other, clearly prepared to smite him, hip and thigh. She glared at the frog corpse in his gloved hand. “I warned you about releasing any more plagues in my clinic.”

  Damn Lilith to the Ninth Ring of Hell and back. She hadn’t brought in the frog herself, but he was willing to bet his promotion she’d recruited the imps who did. And no matter what he said, Dara would blame him, which meant that the boss would be pissed, not at Lilith, but at him.

  He got to his feet. His pant legs stuck to his shins. Somehow he’d managed to soak his pants as well as his shirt. With toilet water. He could feel his temper slipping its leash. He’d been endlessly patient with Dara, but he was tired of being falsely accused while she continued to pal around with the real author of her problems.

  “If I were planning a prank,” he said, his voice vibrating with frustration, “would I choose one that involves sticking my arm in a toilet?”

  She didn’t respond to that. He got a tiny amount of satisfaction from the fact that he’d stumped her. He tossed the dead frog into the trash can, washed his hands like he was prepping for surgery and put on his lab coat.

  “And now for the hate of all that’s holy,” he said, “can we just finish this clinic so I can go home and shower?”

  “You can’t see patients when you’re soaked in toilet water,” Dara said crisply. “I’ll finish up with Timmy.”