Demon Forsaken

by Jenn Stark

  “After all, Dana and her family have given so much to the community.” Pettiman’s tone oozed pomposity and the sort of self-righteous cheer that people dredged up when they talked about saving orphans and homeless dogs. Dana looked back at the woman, startled at Margaret’s melodramatic turn. She began to feel the cage shrink around her, was suddenly afraid of what was coming. Not Dad, she thought. Please don’t pimp a dead man for your charity, Margaret.

  Then Pettiman opened her mouth again, and Dana’s blood pressure spiked.

  “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen,” Margaret sang on. “Caught behind bars is none other than the daughter of the late, beloved Cleveland police officer, Walter Griffin, who served our fair city for more than twenty years before he was cruelly cut down in the line of duty.”

  Dana held herself carefully straight as the crowd oohed their admiration. The minute she got out of here, she would perform a citizen’s arrest on the woman for harassment. Common Decency violations. Something. Then she would go find Pettiman’s stock of Mary Kay cosmetics and set it on fire. With no other option at the moment, however, she gave her best Miss America smile and scanned the room again. No Lester. No Claire.

  “As some of you know, Dana has recently rejoined her firm after recovering from injuries sustained in an assault while valiantly protecting Lester Morrow, CEO of Exeter Global Services, who is generously sponsoring tonight’s event.”

  “Put a sock in it, Margaret,” Dana muttered as applause greeted that announcement. Her shooting had been in the news, of course. A cop’s daughter shot in a parking garage on Halloween while protecting a male executive was titillating information for a slow news day in early November, even if the man she’d been protecting was her own uncle. But to hear Lester tell the story, the attack had been a mugging gone awry, nothing more. He was the target, and she’d gotten in the way.

  He had that part right, anyway.

  “We’ll open the bidding on Ms. Griffin quite high,” Pettiman continued, her voice devolving further into a singsong, sugary ooze. “And remember, all the money goes to support the Founder’s Circle Society in our fight to help fund pediatric cancer research. Ms. Griffin’s bail amount will drop every fifteen minutes, so don’t wait to get premium billing as a supporter of all our many children in need. The bidding will start at ten thousand dollars!”

  Dana blinked, forcing her expression to remain steady in the face of such abject madness. Dammit, Lester. Ten thousand dollars? She’d be stuck in here till New Year’s Eve.

  After the surprised murmurings drifted away and the stalwart smiles dimmed, Dana cast a glance around the fastenings of her cage again. Actually, it wouldn’t take so much for her to unscrew the wires…

  She placed her hands on her bars again, trying to keep from rattling them. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of bailing herself out, but decided against it. Griffin Security was full up with clients, nearly all of them Lester referrals. But nobody needed to know she was flush with cash. Least of all the Founder’s Circle Charity committee.

  Then Margaret’s leering face swam into Dana’s vision again, and in a flash, she understood why inmates would reach through the bars to strangle their captors.

  “Try to look pretty, Dana dear,” Margaret said, warming to her role as jailhouse matron. “Perhaps you can find yourself a young man this way. Your father would thank me, I’m sure.”

  Dana felt her hands begin to itch. “Actually, I think my dad would be happier if you—”

  “I apologize for interrupting.”

  The words were not so much spoken as brushed over her skin, and Dana turned abruptly to the edge of her cage closest to the corridor. The shadowy side. Appropriate, because the man standing there looked like he belonged in the dark.

  Holy crow.

  Lounging in front of her cage was an unreasonably tall, powerfully built Adonis, a heart-wrenchingly dark angel, with sleek black hair and penetrating blue eyes and a face so chiseled that he looked almost frozen in time… Frozen, except for the full, curving, heartbreakingly lush lips that—

  Dana blinked, struggling to refocus. “Do I know you?” she managed. He looked…almost familiar. Didn’t he look familiar?

  A smile played over the man’s lips as if he could follow the trail of her thoughts. “Do you want to know me?”

  Margaret spared Dana the need to reply by laying her stubby, satin-clad fingers on Mr. Gorgeous’s arm. “You look so familiar, dear,” she cooed, and Dana’s brows shot up. So it wasn’t only her. “Are you a member of the Founder’s Circle?”

  Dana watched as the stranger took in Margaret with his come-and-get-me smile, his manner as smooth and seductive as if Margaret was a starlet in the first blush of youth and not a scheming harridan out to bilk him for every dime he carried. Unaccountably, Dana felt irritation cut through her lust. The woman was a billion years old! Have some self-respect, both of you.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a gentleman you may know,” Mr. Sizzle said to Margaret, in an unreasonably sizzling way. “Lester Morrow?”

  “Why?” Dana asked sharply as Margaret’s mouth moved into a girlish “Oh!”

  The man’s gaze swung back to her. “You know him?” he asked. Gone was the smolder, replaced with cool, keen attention. Dana felt the flames of her budding desire collapse into rapidly cooling ashes.

  “Yes, I do. I’m his personal assistant,” Dana said smoothly.

  “His…assistant.” The International Man of Mystery studied her as Margaret openly gaped. Dana flicked the woman a hard glance, and for once the woman got a clue. She nodded, wild-eyed, then scurried away without another word. Thank heaven for small favors.

  Dana turned her all-business smile back on the newcomer. “Mr. Morrow has stepped out, I’m afraid, and I’m not sure if he’s going to be back tonight.” Dana reached into the interior pocket of her suit and pulled out her phone. “Do you have a card? Or a number where I can reach you?”

  “Where has he gone? It’s important I see him as soon as possible.”

  The man stepped forward, and Dana’s breath hitched, her arm falling uselessly to her side. His eyes glittered, cold and blue in the soft light, and she suddenly felt dizzy. There was something wrong with his eyes, she thought. Or maybe she was jet-lagged. Could you get jet-lagged flying from Canada? Either way, she couldn’t understand what was happening to her body, the warm rush of heat that coiled in her belly, making her legs weak and her heart pound.

  She needed to get herself back together. She licked her lips and tried again. “If you don’t have a card, I can give you one of mine.”

  “I don’t need your card. As you can see, I found you easily enough.”

  Dana lifted her brows. “So you did.” So much for lust. All Mr. Crazy Eyes incited in her now was irritation. “Can I take your name and have Mr. Morrow get back to you?”

  “Or perhaps you can take me to him.”

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit tied up here.”

  “I can get you out easily enough.”

  “Thanks, but the place has kind of grown on me. I’m thinking about decorating, maybe inviting over a few friends.”

  “Really.” He cocked his head, those maddening eyes focusing on her once again. “And yet I wonder what you would give me for loosening your restraints?”

  Inexplicably, Dana felt a resurgence of heat flood through her, her breasts tightening beneath her silk suit and her lips tingling as his gaze came to rest upon them. Her brain stutter-stepped another second before annoyance surged forth again, banking the unexpected fire. Chill, she ordered herself. “Nothing that would make it worth ten thousand dollars, sorry.”

  “I’d appreciate the opportunity to find out.” He watched her try to master her reactions, and his smile deepened into a sensual grin. “You’re thinking about it.”

  “Nope, simply memorizing your features for the police report.”

  The man leaned forward, and Dana nearly whimpered. Her body su
ddenly felt flushed, wobbly, and she swayed forward against the bars of her cage. Something was going terribly wrong. Sweat threaded its way down between her breasts, and her breath seemed stalled in her lungs.

  “What do you want, Ms. Griffin?” Bobby Blue Eyes asked. “Are you sure it’s not something I can give you?” He lifted his hand to graze her fingertips as her hands clutched the bars, and Dana’s throat tightened, her mind skittering into dark and forbidden places.

  “I want answers,” she gritted out, surprising herself with her candor. “A lot of them.”

  “Which means you’ve decided what you’ll give me in return? No.” He raised a hand as Dana glared at him. Who is this jackwit? “I prefer to savor the possibilities.”

  He looked to the front of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter Four

  Ritz Carlton Ballroom

  Cleveland, Ohio

  1:05 a.m., Dec. 24

  No. Touching. The humans.

  Finn turned sharply away from his target, his physical reactions completely outside normal bounds. He’d been a demon for more than six thousand years, and had been among humans a good portion of that time but this—this was different. Everything felt fresh, new, and, well…his. Like he was walking through a miracle of inestimable proportions, and he was a part of that miracle.

  He took two long strides through the crowd before he brought his heart rate down to an acceptable level, but his breath was coming too fast, too unevenly. Around him, the mortals parted with open mouths and startled eyes, and he smoothed his passage with a gentle touch to their minds, their surprise turning to pleasure, their confusion shifting into a kaleidoscope of comfort and reassurance. They murmured to him as he passed, a lilting cadence of warmth and contentment.

  He wished he could convince himself so easily that all was right in the world.

  It wasn’t, though. He had less than twenty-four hours to complete his mission; there was no margin for error. For the sake of the Syx, he needed to be more careful.

  Finn felt Dana Griffin’s gaze tracking him across the wide hall, and he frowned anew. When he’d first heard her shout in the freaking North Pole, realized she was going to try to help him—a mortal, helping him—he’d been drawn to her. At least long enough to impress on her mind to get the hell away from danger. Now that strange attraction was happening again. A human female! He wasn’t that guy. Stefan was that guy. And some of the other demons too. But he—he simply couldn’t. Mortal females were not for him.

  But when he’d seen Dana Griffin in her cage, when he’d spoken to her…his body had responded almost before he realized it, his blood flush in his veins, his skin warming, his hand reaching out to touch—

  Forbidden! The ancient edict rang in his head with horror and indignation. The children of Earth were not the playthings of his kind. He more than anyone knew—

  A crack of pain shattered across his senses, and Finn tightened his jaw. Time to get this party started. The human was important to him, but strictly to help him accomplish his mission.

  Finn moved toward the auction table set up in the corner of the large ballroom, cataloguing his impressions of Dana Griffin.

  She was what most humans would consider beautiful: tall and lean, with long dark hair and expressive features—large eyes, a gentle mouth, and fair skin that easily showed emotion. But the softness ended there. She seemed almost unreasonably capable, harshly efficient. Her eyes betrayed both intelligence and wariness, and her aura shone far stronger than those of the mortals around her.

  She could also clearly suppress her reactions with a skill to rival the demon horde, which was troubling. Not only was she ignoring a significant level of pain that he could sense was racking her body, she was also resisting her physical and emotional response to him.

  Which shouldn’t be possible. Mortals were normally oh so manageable.

  Most importantly, the woman was highly protective of Lester Morrow, though she definitely wasn’t his assistant. More like…

  He frowned. More like she was his security detail. But while she’d had no thought in her head about this list everyone seemed so hot for, she almost certainly remembered Finn in some small way from the wolf attack, even though she shouldn’t.

  How was that possible? Dana Griffin wasn’t warded with a blessed icon, and she wasn’t Connected. But…what was she?

  His blood fired, even as caution whispered in his ear. If the archangel suspected for a moment that Finn could be distracted from his assignment, he’d be hauled out of this ridiculously frigid city and back to Vegas in a heartbeat, instead of being given this opportunity for redemption. But he would not miss this chance. He’d get what Michael wanted, this list that apparently Lester Morrow had. And then he’d get out.

  “Champagne, sir?”

  Finn stopped, turning to a serene, white-jacketed older woman who proffered him a tray of tiny glasses filled with sparkling liquid. “I’m sorry?”

  “Champagne. With our compliments, sir. As long as you’re not driving, we’re not carding.” She smiled at him as he picked one up, his fingers closing around the slender glass stem as gently as if it were a baby bird. He lifted the flute to his lips, felt the sweet slide of liquid roll over his tongue, and it hit him—as it still too often did.

  Earth.

  A place of light. Of magic. Of pleasure and pain and endless possibility.

  As if for the first time, Finn turned to take in the sweep of people surrounding him—the joyous cacophony on the small stage, as glowing horns and rich wood instruments shifted in the bright ballroom light. The rustle of expensive satins and lace, the hiss and rush of whispered voices, sudden laughter, and carefully phrased taunts and invitations. The wafting perfumes and colognes, the aromas almost too much in a confined space to someone with his sensory capabilities, vying for precedence over each other. The views from the towering windows of a city alight with expectation. And over it all, the delicate, bubbling froth of a drink meant for the gods.

  Finn made his way through the crowd, soaking it in. Was this what it had meant to be Fallen? To be able to sense what humans felt, experience the power of their bodies, the tumult of their emotions? At every turn, he knew their pain, their passion. Their endless, thrumming desire. Gone was any hope of peaceful contemplation, gentle detachment. Now, in its place, was the thrusting, clamoring, soul-consuming pulse of life.

  In the cold, remote bolt-hole where the Syx had been banished after every job, he’d wondered what it was that he had lost. It had been this…this!

  “Fallen,” he whispered. And he could remain one permanently. Every one of the Syx could, if what the archangel said was true. If he didn’t fail.

  Finn’s pulse started thrumming again. He’d find Lester Morrow and secure his list, and deliver it to the archangel. Even if it required him to use Dana Griffin to do it.

  He frowned, recalling the woman’s initial response to his appearance in front of her makeshift cage. She’d appeared…distressed, even before he’d begun working on her. Distracted. Uncertain.

  Dark temptation stirred in his veins, and his mouth curved into an involuntary smile. Perhaps he could find some way to put her at ease.

  No.

  “I want to free that woman,” he said tightly as he reached the auction table. He reached out with his mind as the sticklike young woman with a halo of yellow hair blinked up at him, her glossy lips parting in a startled moue of surprise.

  “You wish to m-make a donation?” she stuttered, and Finn eased up further. Like any of his kind, he could influence mortals subtly, planting suggestions in their minds that they thought were their own. But modern humans seemed far more susceptible to his touch than he realized. Too pliant, too…open to manipulation. He’d nearly knocked out the doorman who’d given him the information he needed about the gala. He’d have to be more careful with Dana Griffin.

  His lips twisted, recalling the delicate flute he’d cradled in his fing
ers. So simple, so precious. So fragile and perfect. It had been a long time since he’d needed to be gentle about so many things at once. But, such was the beauty of Earth.

  “Right, yes. A donation,” he said. “To release the…to free Ms. Griffin.” Finn gestured back to where Dana stood eyeing the roof of her cage, her entire body radiating suspicion and anger.

  And then…something else. Finn straightened. A shiver of darkness rolled through him, and he tensed, suddenly aware. He wasn’t alone here.

  Demons on the dance floor? No, not quite. Finn’s eyes narrowed as he took in Dana Griffin again. No one was around her, unless you counted the small knot of human males that had drifted toward her cage, which he didn’t. Nobody of any strength was in this room. Outside these four walls, however, it was a different story. If the rogue Fallen the archangel had pitted him against had a brain in his head, he’d have seeded every back alley of this frozen city with demons.

  It didn’t matter. Dana would take Finn to Lester Morrow, and he’d complete his mission. Then, at the crack of midnight, he would ask and he would receive. Within a mere twenty-four hours, he could prove his worth at last…and maybe, finally, be forgiven of a sin so dire, he couldn’t even remember it.

  He was not going to fuck this up.

  “Ah, in case you didn’t know…” The woman in front of him blushed. “Ms. Griffin’s bail is currently at ten thousand dollars.”

  Finn smiled. If she led him to both Lester Morrow and the rogue Fallen, Dana Griffin was worth far more than that.

  While the brittle blonde fumbled through her papers, Finn pulled out a checkbook thoughtfully provided by the mortal in Room 304. His abrupt arrival at the hotel had stunned the room’s only occupant, a doctor who’d given up his ID, his money—and his night, as Finn had convinced him to fall into a deep and blissful sleep. Lee Schaeffer would wake up with a dream no one would believe, minus one healthy donation for which he would be reimbursed with change, but he would survive Finn’s visit to this frozen metropolis.