by Michele Hauf
“Ah. Creed Saint-Pierre. I’ve heard of him. Good blood.”
“Indeed.” Stryke tucked the box under an arm. “So that’s it?”
The keening wail of something like an insect prompted both men to look toward the heavens.
“Ah, merde,” Tor muttered. “Demons.”
Chapter 19
Stryke saw the demon’s face as it leaped and soared toward him—missing the lower jaw. It was one of those nasty wraith demons. Now was no time to bemoan the thing’s lack of polite introductions.
Delivering an undercut up into the creature’s open maw, he sent it flying up and bouncing over the top of the van.
Tor dived into the back of the van. “I got something!” the Brit called.
“Just stay inside!” Stryke yelled as he bent to avoid the next wraith. Its talons cut through his short hair, sending a chill down the back of his skull. “I got this!”
Pistol in hand, he swung back his shoulder and eyed his periphery. Tor was digging around inside the van. One wraith climbed like a spider over the top of the van, the other—
He smelled the sulfur and turned to catch the demon square against his chest. They both landed on the cobblestones. Stryke kicked up his knee, but didn’t land any particular body part. He grabbed for hair. There was no hair. Something viscous dripped onto his chin and neck. It was coming from the bottom half of the demon’s face, which wasn’t there.
“You ugly—”
The demon’s screech drowned out his oath. And when it spoke the voice was garbled and bubbly. “You sent Himself after us.”
“You bet.” The Dark Lord had warned he’d let those who wanted the diamond know whom to blame for Himself’s discovery of their plot. That was fast. “But if they could only manage to send two of you...”
“We are diversion,” his attacker garbled. A swipe of its talons cut across Stryke’s collarbone.
Stryke shifted his hand, calling out his claws, and returned the slash with a hearty swipe that cut through the demon’s chest and face, rendering it to a goopy, sputtering corpse. He rolled out from under the mess as it collapsed and looked up in time to see Tor dragging what looked like a chain saw down the center of the other demon. But there was no mechanical noise, save for the demon’s screams.
The demon dropped in a messy pile and Tor stepped back, wielding the chain saw proudly.
“What is that thing?” Stryke asked, jumping up and leaping over the piles of demons. He shoved the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “Looks like a chain saw, but it’s silent?”
“Yep, it’s modified. Easier to sneak up on the enemy that way. Picked this up from a witch years ago. It’s especially helpful when attacked in the city and you don’t want to draw human attention.” Tor cast a glance around and landed on the desecrated demon. “Salt rounds?”
Stryke patted his hip where the pistol grip stuck up. “Yep. But it was more satisfying to take the thing out with a talon.”
“I bet. Good thing no one spilled the faery dust. But I’ve still a sticky mess to clean up. Demon blood. It clings like tar.”
“Aren’t there people you can call for that?” Stryke knew there were those who specifically answered the call for cleanup after a paranormal being was rendered dead.
“I’m that people.” Tor set the chain saw in the back of the van and grabbed a white hazmat suit from a hook on the interior wall. “When necessary, I can clean a crime scene in twenty minutes flat. This mess? I’ll be finished in ten. A vacuum cleaner will do the job nicely. What do you think they were after?”
The question hit Stryke hard. He knew the answer to that one. Unfortunately.
“The wraith said something about a diversion. Hell. Blyss. They might be after her, as well.” He grabbed the wooden box full of faery dust. “I gotta go.” Turning and racing around the side of the van, he paused and backtracked. He tapped the chain saw. “Mind if I borrow this?”
“Go for it. Uh, and if you need cleanup? Give me a call.”
“Thanks, man!”
Stryke landed in the driver’s seat of the car and tossed the wooden box aside along with the chain saw and the pistol. Bringing up the GPS on his phone, he hoped to find his way to Blyss’s place before it was too late.
* * *
By the time Stryke landed in the lush garden courtyard before Blyss’s apartment, the scent of sulfur filled his nostrils. Chain saw ready—and so strangely quiet—he sneaked up behind the demon who strolled through the hedgerow toward Blyss’s front door. He stepped quickly.
The demon turned toward him. Same missing lower jaw. A wraith.
Stryke winked. Then he dragged the chain saw down the demon from head to gut. Black blood spattered him and the wall outside Blyss’s door. But remarkably, the demon didn’t shriek. If the neighbors had been watching... He glanced about. Curtains before all the windows.
“Paris. Whoda thought the city of love would be teeming with nasties?”
Tugging out his cell phone, he dialed up Tor. He could be there in fifteen minutes.
Stryke knocked and tried the door. It was open, so, leaving the chain saw dripping with black blood outside, he slipped inside the foyer and closed the door as Blyss’s arms wrapped about his neck.
He turned to catch her kiss. “You’re happy.”
“Because you’re finally back. Oh. You smell like...” She tugged him down the hallway and into the kitchen light. “You have black stuff all over you. Demons?”
“Had a bit of a snag with a pickup for Hawkes Associates but it’s all good.” And before that? She didn’t need to know.
“Is it?” Her green eyes watered and he could read her apprehension in the wobble of her lower lip.
“You bet it’s good because I’m here now and you are one gorgeous bit of glamour girl. Did you make dinner reservations?”
“I did. Really? It’s...good?”
“Yep.” He hugged her. To tell her the truth would only worry her more.
“I think I have a shirt for you to borrow.”
Stryke followed her into the bedroom and tugged off his demon blood–soaked shirt while Blyss disappeared into the clothes closet. “Do I want to know how you always seem to have spare men’s clothing?”
“Probablement pas!” she called out.
He didn’t know what that meant but guessed she’d told him to mind his own beeswax. He wasn’t willing to explain about how his day went either, so he’d leave it at that. As far as Stryke was concerned, Blyss no longer had anything to worry about. Her world could return to normal. Or however she defined normal.
And he...well, he’d take each minute as it came and hope for the best.
Heading into the bathroom, he washed his face and squeezed the demon blood out of his hair.
* * *
Blyss sipped the white wine and admired its quality. Normally she would send back anything that wasn’t exquisite. This wasn’t even close to divine, but it sufficed. She hadn’t expected much from this river cruise. Thus, her expectations had been wildly exceeded. She sat across the table from a handsome man who only had eyes for her. He wasn’t even watching the landmarks they passed by as their boat cruised down the Seine.
“You’re missing all the good stuff,” she said to Stryke, who finished his salad.
“The good stuff is right in front of me. And I’m not talking about the food. You look amazing tonight.”
She wiggled on the chair and touched her hair. She’d pulled it back into a chignon and tucked a diamond clip above her ear. She’d almost gone with the black silk dress but at the last minute had switched to a light pink, airy, summer chiffon dress with matching Louboutins covered in pink crystals. Keep it simple, she’d coached. Yet one must always include sparkles when possible.
“You clean up nicely, as well,” she said. “Your jeans didn’t get any blood on them?”
“Not that I noticed.” He tugged at the borrowed tie—so she had a few men’s shirts and ties in her closet—and Blyss again noticed
the bruise on the side of his neck.
She’d wanted to ask him about his afternoon and the very obvious smell of sulfur on him when he’d arrived, but when he’d come out of the bathroom mumbling something about both of them having secrets to keep, she’d let it go.
Of course, she didn’t want to keep her secrets anymore. She had to tell him about the missing fake, but right here on the crowded dining boat was not the place.
The waiter stopped by and served them coq au vin with steaming rosemary bread, and slipped away as quickly and silently as he had appeared. The evening was dusky, though the city lights shone along the shore and glittered on the river, vying with the bright beam of moonlight that dashed across the waters.
“Things didn’t go well this afternoon with my brother?” she asked.
Stryke tilted back the remainder of wine, then poured another full serving before leaning forward, checking around that the other diners were all busy chatting and oohing and aahing over the sights, then said, “I called out Himself.”
Blyss gasped.
“I know,” he rushed out. “Not the sharpest knife in the bunch, this country hick from Minnesota. But at the time it seemed like the quickest way to get to the end point. We’ve been trying to find the demons who stole Le Diabolique. If the lair was found beneath the nightclub, then I assumed he was involved. So why not go directly to the source? But get this. It was news to him.”
“Stryke.” She placed a hand over his. “I have to tell you about what I found, or didn’t find, today while searching the gallery records for info about Le Diabolique.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have gone out. It’s dangerous right now, Blyss. That demon by your— Er. Forget it. I’m still worked up over this afternoon. I don’t think you have anything to worry about anymore. We talked to...you know, the big dark prince. He didn’t want Xyloda released either. So...we took care of it.”
“Really? Wait. You said ‘we’?”
“Yeah, me and the dark prince are tight.” He chuckled and rubbed his jaw. “Kidding. I am so not friends with you know who. But it’s over, Blyss. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“Then that clears up almost everything.”
“Almost?”
She sat back against the chair, no longer hungry. It was amazing that Stryke had found a way to ensure the demon never be released from Le Diabolique. That negated her worries about the missing fake. Because it was worthless to whoever had taken it, anyway.
But what was she to do about Edamite Thrash and her very obvious missing supply? The full moon was in two days.
“There’s still Ed,” she said softly.
Stryke stood and took a step around to squat beside her chair. He clasped her hand and kissed it. His touch always lured her heartbeats to a slower, more relaxed pace.
“We ran into Thrash today,” he said. “Your brother has— Well, that’s for him to talk about with you. Suffice, Ed’s problem was solved today. He actually wanted to ensure the demon was never released. Can you believe that?”
She could actually. There was something about Ed that wouldn’t allow her to label him full-blown villain.
“Thrash is satisfied,” Stryke said. “He’s not going to bother you anymore.”
“But he’s— Stryke, he is my supplier.”
“Yeah, about that. I’ve a surprise for you. It’ll give you the human life you want.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to hold off on the surprise. I’ll explain it all later.” He stood and bent to tilt her face to look at him. “You’re going to be fine.”
And he kissed her softly and lingered there, as if they were the only two on the boat. He was the only sustenance she needed, and she wanted to tell him that to show him how much he meant to her. But he stood and slid around to sit again. He forked in some chicken and smiled widely. The hero had saved the day. A job well-done, indeed. And she had done nothing to deserve such a favor.
“Thank you” was all Blyss could manage to say without crying and smearing her mascara and turning into a perfect mess. “I love you for that.”
He winked at her. “Tomorrow night is the night before the full moon.”
“Is that so?” She sensed his teasing tone and wanted to go with the playful mood instead of sinking into the worry that had been niggling at her calm. “I hear your sort require a lot of sex to satiate the need for...” She looked aside before leaning closer and whispering, “...your wild to come out.”
“True. Very true. Did I mention that Rhys Hawkes has given me the key to his country cabin for the next few nights? I was thinking of heading out there tomorrow night. Call it a vacation away from my vacation. You interested? Uh, I mean, for tomorrow night. I won’t ask you to come along with me on the night of the full moon.”
She lifted her goblet and he met hers in a clink. “I’m in for tomorrow night.”
* * *
The dining boat docked below the Eiffel Tower. By the time they’d climbed up the concrete stairs to street level, the tower twinkled madly with hundreds of thousands of white LED lights and the crowd clapped and cheered.
“Wow.” Stryke clasped Blyss’s hand and walked toward the massive Iron Lady, head tilted back to take it all in. “This is incredible. I suppose you’ve seen it so much it doesn’t even register on your awe scale.”
She snuggled next to him and kissed his jaw where the stubble tickled her mouth. “I’ve never seen it with you. That makes this a special moment. Come on. Let’s stand underneath it.”
“Cool. Can we go to the top?”
“Sure, if you want to wait in line.”
He stretched his gaze to follow the line that marked around two sides of the tower base. Easily four hundred people waiting, even at ten at night. Probably hours before anyone got to the top.
“Seriously? That’s the line?” he asked, his eyes falling to her shoes. “I think I’ll pass.” He eyed the underside of the tower. His hand clasping hers, he wandered to the left, then stepped back a few paces. “Right here. We’re dead center underneath this monster.”
“I think you’re right.” She tilted her head back and looked up into the intricate iron lacing that designed the monument. Exquisite artwork. She was thankful this monument had not been torn down, as was the original plan when it had been built merely as part of a grand exposition in the late 1800s. A breeze brushed the pink chiffon against her legs and tickled through her hair. Never had she felt so light.
“Can you imagine what it was like to build this thing?” Stryke asked. “I mean, what was it, the nineteenth century? No advanced technology. Probably no cranes to hoist up the heavy pieces. Amazing. Come here.”
He sat on the ground and patted the concrete beside him.
Blyss tugged at the hem of her pale pink skirt.
He tapped the toe of her shoe. “Yeah, Sparkles, you’re going to get a little messy again.” He winked, and her heart fluttered in response.
She sat beside him and together they lay back and admired the tower while tourists wandered around them. The night was bright and bustling with people, but Blyss felt the world slip away and in that moment she and Stryke were the only two that existed.
He pulled her hand to his mouth to kiss it, and she nuzzled her head against his shoulder. Who cared if her dress got dirty or her shoes scuffed? All that mattered was she was exactly where she wanted to be right now. Next to a man who had teased her out from behind the mask.
Yes, she felt vulnerable to think that. Because she had let down some of the glamour and just wanted to be with him. Simple. Nothing complicated.
But everything right. Or as right as it could be. Because indeed, she was light.
She wondered if she would ever get a refill of pills from Edamite. Were things settled with him? Not hardly. If not, she would remain the same breed as Stryke—forced to accept her werewolf—but she could never be the woman he desired because she’d always regret her lost humanity.
She wanted to be eve
rything for him.
“What are you thinking about?” he suddenly asked.
“Besides that I hope no one steps on us?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“I think I’m lucky that I chose you that night at the gallery. I’m sorry for all the horrible things that have resulted because of that choice. But for all the good, I am thankful. And you are the good.”
She twisted up to kiss him, and there beneath the Eiffel Tower, oblivious to the world, they made out like teenagers.
Chapter 20
Once at home, Blyss unzipped her dress as she walked down the long hallway, through the kitchen and veered toward the bedroom. Stryke followed. He’d kicked off his shoes by the door. He tugged the shirt over his head in the kitchen. By the time he’d reached the bedroom door, the zipper on his pants was open.
Blyss stepped out of her dress. Clad in pink lace bra and panties, she wandered toward the bed. She stood there, bathed beneath the moonlight, her fingers gliding along her pinned-up hair.
“Let me watch you take it down,” Stryke said in a desire-tinged voice that hardened her nipples in anticipation.
She pulled out the diamond clip and slowly unraveled her hair from the chignon. It tickled across her shoulders and down her back, but knowing her lover watched made the move intensely erotic. Gliding her fingers down her sides to her hips, she tugged at the panties, slipping them down a bit...
She turned to find Stryke leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on her. He nodded, and she wiggled the panties down and dropped them to her feet, where she stepped out of them, her Louboutins clicking the marble floor.
Turning, she toyed with the snap between the bra cups. She walked toward him, lowering her lashes in a teasing glance. Once unclasped, she quickly peeled aside the cups, flashing him, then as quickly held the lacy bits over her breasts.
“You think so, huh?” He gestured she come closer. Oh, that knowing smile! “I want another peek.”
Blyss stepped closer. “Say s’il vous plaît.”
“What does that mean?”
“Say it, and you’ll know.”
