Creed set the pistol on top of the table, the barrel too hot to holster in his waistband, but he did not want her to feel threatened by him.
Nieve backed away. Her heel caught the potbellied stove’s cast iron poker, knocking it over with a clatter. It scraped against the blistered linoleum flooring to catch on one leg of the stove.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Creed said.
Hate, as well as fear, flowed from her now. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Creed strained to hear her soft-spoken words and struggled to understand them. At first, they were incomprehensible. He had saved her.
But when he examined the situation from her per-spective, he thought perhaps she was right. He’d had no right to interfere. Perhaps she preferred death. Many women did, and she was far from the strongest one he’d ever met. What future could she possibly have now?
He had ruined things for himself as well, or at least created a serious setback. Bear could no longer give him the information he wanted regarding the missing children.
They remained his priority. The world was changing with the immortals gone, and Creed hoped it would one day become a better place for it. That meant he had to do his own part to help in its transformation. Children, mortal and half demon alike, were the key.
Now that the danger to Nieve had passed, his demon had settled. He could tuck away these complex and baffling feelings he harbored for her. She hated him and feared him, but he could not walk away and abandon her to an uncertain fate. Anything could happen out here, in such isolation, to a woman alone. He would take her to safety, then move on with his journey.
The house was silent except for the harsh breaths Nieve drew in. She brushed back a length of pale hair from her cheek with an unsteady hand. Fat teardrops clung to her long lashes, making her eyes sparkle like green pools of light.
A significant change had manifested in her. Gone was the despair from last night. She had made some sort of decision, and whatever it was, he was wary of it.
“Do you have somewhere to go? Somewhere I can take you?” Creed asked. “Any family?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She spat the words at him.
The tattoo between his shoulders itched. Again, he experienced an inexplicable, stinging sense of betrayal but shrugged it off. He understood self-preservation and the things it made a person do. She did not owe him loyalty or gratitude for helping her, especially when she did not seem to want it, but right now, she needed to hear truth. This was not a woman used to, or capable of, taking care of herself.
“You’d rather stay here with a dead body?”
Those too-large green eyes widened as at least part of the reality of her situation slowly settled in. “I can bury him.”
It would take her days to dig a hole in the baked earth that would be deep enough.
“Let’s say you do. After that, how will you explain his disappearance?”
“I’ll tell the sheriff what happened.”
“Fledge won’t believe that a Godseeker assassin left a witness behind.” Creed punched holes in her logic in an attempt to make her see the entire picture and the hopelessness of her situation. “No one will believe any man left a woman—especially one as pretty as you—behind, either. Besides,” he added, “Bear claimed there are wolven hunting in the area, killing his calves. Don’t forget about the sand swift roaming free in the yard, or that it’s going to grow hungry soon.”
Men also traveled the area with as much frequency as wolven or sand swifts and were more dangerous to women than any of the desert’s many natural predators.
He went in for the kill. “You have a ranch that will be left without an income, or at least any avenue for a woman to claim it. What do you think will happen to all of Bear’s possessions when it becomes obvious to the locals that he’s gone and is not coming back?”
She seized on that final point. “It will be a long time before anyone notices he’s missing.”
“Not long enough. And if it takes them too long, you’ll die of starvation. Or worse. Right now I’m your only hope.”
A hint of steel touched her eyes. “You don’t know what I hope for.”
Creed was at a loss. As much as he’d like to, or his demon would like for him to, he could not take her with him. Not hunting spawn. Especially not one such as Willow.
He could leave her with the sheriff in Desert’s End, who seemed to have some honor to him, but that was no real solution. The sheriff was dying, and it would not be long before Nieve was back in this same situation, with no one to look out for her.
He did not have time to find somewhere else for her to go. If she had been the least bit like Raven he might consider taking her with him, but the best thing for him to do would be to leave her here, for now, and hope for the best. She was too timid and delicate for the hardships imposed by his line of work. He lived out of his saddlebags.
He would come back for her after he tracked down Willow. Nieve should be fine for a few months, at least if she were adequately armed, although he did not hold much faith in her ability to defend herself if she were threatened.
His demon stirred in protest at the thought of walking away from her. Creed suppressed it, although with greater difficulty than usual.
A puff of dust kicked up at the stoop of the broken door that swayed on its one remaining hinge. He made one last effort to make her see reason, and to find a better solution that might appease his protesting demon.
“What about your family?” he asked again. “Is there no one you can return to?”
“My family is gone.”
She said it with such finality that he believed her. She had no one.
While he did not like it, nor did his demon, he would repair the door for her and bury the old man’s remains. He would leave behind what he could spare of the weapons he carried, and check to see what others Bear kept in storage, and ensure she knew how to use them. Then, he would have to leave her here.
At least until he could return for her.
…
The coppery scent of Bear’s blood made Nieve nauseous, although there was not as much of it as she might have expected. It seemed the demon assassin knew his trade well.
While she could hardly mourn for a man who beat her, and in the end intended to kill her, she had never seen someone murdered before. Or in such a cold, dispassionate manner.
Inside, she shuddered. The compulsion he had weaved last night might have cloaked Creed’s violent nature from her for a short time, but she would not fall victim to it again. She would never be able to trust a man like this, even had he not been a full-blooded demon. Bear might have taken him for spawn. She did not. She knew the difference.
And now that she knew of Ash’s existence, she could not give up on finding him. Bear had been her best hope for information, but she refused to accept that he’d been her only one. If she did, she’d go mad.
She would rifle through his possessions for any possible clues as to Ash’s whereabouts. If she found nothing, she would head into Desert’s End and ask questions there. Somewhere, someone knew at least something of what had happened to her son.
But first, before she could do anything, she needed to be rid of the demon assassin.
The kitchen resounded with silence as he continued to ponder her, an expression of doubt on his face. “I know you believe you have no reason to trust me,” he said, “but I’ve given you no reason not to, either. If I’d wanted to harm you I would have done so before now.”
The sympathetic kindness spilling from those warm, deep blue eyes captivated her, making her want to believe him, but she didn’t dare. She did not trust that his idea of harm and hers were precisely the same. Memories from the previous night, and a more distant past, assaulted her.
He had no reason to care about her safety.
She had nothing with which to protect herself. She glanced at his gun on the table behind him, then as quickly, away. She could never reach it fast enough and
they both knew it. Not with Bear’s body sprawled between them.
The morning sun shining through the broken doorway created a halo effect of red and golden light around Creed as he retrieved his weapon, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. A flaming tattoo winged upward from beneath the loose collar of his shirt to wrap around the nape of his neck and the back of his smooth-shaven, perfectly shaped head.
Even without the use of compulsion he would be a captivatingly beautiful man, but it was another, and indefinable, air surrounding him that convinced her he could be nothing less than a full-blooded demon. It could almost, but not quite, make her forget this terrible, soul-crushing and urgent need to find Ash.
It terrified her that she might forget her son again. She could not hide that fear.
“Then please, leave me alone,” she said. “Go away.”
Stubbornness crept past the warmth of the assassin’s eyes.
“I’ll bury the old man and fix your door before I leave.”
Nieve pressed a hand to her stomach and turned away as he grabbed Bear’s legs at the ankles and hauled him across the blood-slickened floor. She left the kitchen without another word.
Bear kept his papers and records in an office off the front parlor. That was where she went now, to search through his effects.
As she pushed the door open, she held her breath. It was foolish of her to feel such nervousness. Bear was dead and could not harm her anymore, so it no longer mattered that she was not supposed to enter this room.
It was stuffy and dirty, but more in a neglected way than a truly untidy one, although the floor was piled high with well-thumbed books. The room had no shelves on which to store them.
She’d had no idea that Bear enjoyed reading.
A wide, overstuffed chair with curved, threadbare arms sat near the window. Its fabric might once have been white. Now, it was gray and somewhat yellowed. A solid, ornately carved desk flanked the other side of the window, although it was obvious that Bear never sat there. It had been shoved against the wall so that the matching chair was pinned behind it. A pen and ledger lay on the outer edge of the desktop, not the inside.
Three filing cabinets overflowed with papers crammed so tight inside the drawers that they could no longer fully close.
She surveyed the room with growing dismay. It was clear that she had considerable work ahead of her, when a foolish part of her had expected to ride out this same day, on the assassin’s heels.
…
Hours later, with the angle of the sun shining through the window indicating it was at least midday, she heard steps outside the closed door, then a soft knock and her name.
“Nieve?”
She sat on the round, braided rug in the middle of the floor, suddenly conscious of the frenetic chaos she had created, and the papers strewn haphazardly in every direction around her. She went very still, praying that if she did not answer, he might go away.
Instead, the door inched open. He peered around it, first at her, then at the mass of papers she could not hope to hide, before pushing it farther. The bottom of the door caught on some of the sheaves, dragging them across the rug and crumpling their edges, and she stifled a sharp cry of dismay because she’d not yet had a chance to examine them.
He stooped and gathered them, smoothing them against his muscular thigh with the palm of one hand while he continued to regard her with a thoughtful frown.
“I found a few weapons and some ammunition in Bear’s storage room that you should find easy enough to use,” he said. “I’ve also got a small handgun that I thought I might leave behind. Do you know how to use a gun?”
She’d never had any reason to learn. It was not something she’d had to know growing up, and certainly not anything Bear would want to teach her. Bullets were expensive and difficult to obtain. He would not have wasted them.
“Of course,” she lied. “Most women do.”
“No,” he said. “Most women do not.” His mouth twitched into a faint almost-smile. The creases it created at the corners of his lips surprised her because they suggested he smiled often, or at least he had at one time. He held out the papers and she took them, adding them to the unread pile on the floor beside her. “Why don’t you come with me for a few moments and I’ll give you a quick lesson in the yard? Just to ease my conscience about leaving you here alone?” he added, before she could object. He looked at the papers. A dark eyebrow lifted. “Unless you’d like me to help you find whatever it is you’re looking for in here?”
She could think of nothing she wanted less. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“But I will worry. You can either convince me you know how to fire a gun, or you can let me give you a quick lesson. I’m not leaving until I’ve seen evidence that you can protect yourself.”
She did not want his concern. Neither did she care to be in the close proximity to him that such a lesson would require. She did not trust him, or the troubled warmth in his eyes no doubt meant to lull her into a false sense of security, because inside, and from past experience, she knew she should be screaming.
Yet she did not dare let him see how afraid of him she was. Demons fed on fear. Standing strong against him was her best defense. She would show him that she could, indeed, protect herself.
For Ash, she would do what she had to.
“Very well.” As she stood she kept her head down, pre-tending not to see the hand he extended to help her. She would not let him touch her again.
His hand dropped to his side. He stepped out of the doorway, giving her plenty of room to walk past him.
…
Creed did not care to contemplate her aversion for him. He did not want to know anything about her anymore, other than that she would be safe.
Because what he did know was that his demon half was far too attracted to her, making it difficult for him to control, and that was not good.
Not for anyone.
He followed her past the parlor and out the front door, into the yard, where he had set up a few targets for her to practice on. A row of tin cans crested the top of a rough wooden sawhorse he’d found in an outbuilding. She would need to be able to use Bear’s rifle from a reasonable pace in case wolven came prowling around. She would not want to let them get too close. His handgun, conversely, would be more useful to her at a closer range, because she could not shoot a man from any great distance and call it self-defense. It was a small, single-shot pistol with a pearl grip, and she could hide it in her skirt.
First, he taught her how to load each weapon. Then he showed her how to hold the rifle.
“Not into your shoulder,” he said. “The kickback’s too much for a woman your size. Prop it on top. Like this.”
The crown of her head skimmed the underside of his chin as he shifted the butt of the rifle into a better position for her. His nearness made her nervous. He sensed it in the same way he smelled the soap she used and felt the hot sun on his skin. His demon rampaged inside him, tortured to have her so close and yet be forced to maintain a distance.
She lifted those wide green eyes, casting him a look of anxious suspicion as if she sensed the internal battle he fought. He forced his attention away from her and onto the target.
She crooked a stray length of white-blond hair behind her ear with a slender finger, bit her lip in concentration, took aim, and fired the rifle. The barrel shot skyward on the recoil, and he grabbed for the butt to keep it from sliding backward off her shoulder. The bullet missed the target entirely.
It was not long before she had better control of the weapon, and he decided she could manage to practice with it on her own.
He picked up the small gun. It looked like a toy in his hand.
“All you really need to know with this weapon is how to pull the trigger,” he said. “Always keep it well hidden, because it’s something you don’t want your opponent to see. The aim is poor and it’s unlikely to kill a man from any real distance. Even
up close, it will probably do nothing more than wound him.”
With his mind more focused on the demonstration now, he took her hand in his and placed the gun in her palm. He pressed her fingers around the grip. Then, as the sun beat with relentless heat against the back of his neck, his gaze brushed against hers.
She froze, her wariness of him unwavering, but beneath it there existed a thin layer of curiosity. The attraction between them might be unwanted by her, but it was not unnoticed. He could not seem to read her true wishes. They were jumbled and complex, and he would have to untangle them in a more traditional way. He lowered his head, giving her plenty of warning so that she could avoid him if she wished, and while she did not make any move to encourage him, neither did she pull away.
After another second’s hesitation, he covered her mouth with his.
The barrage of sensations left him weak at the knees. She tasted delicate and soft, and the feminine scent of her warm skin bombarded his thoughts so that nothing mattered to him but this splintering effect she had on his senses. That switch clicked again in his head, releasing a truth he had not been more fully aware of last night because the timing had not been right.
He belonged with this woman. He was hers.
He slid his free hand to the small of her back and drew her against him, deepening the kiss. His demon growled with satisfaction, possession, and a rising, impatient desire.
Creed must have responded in kind, because with a gasp, she broke off the kiss. Time crawled to a standstill, then shifted to a sprint. Nieve shoved the gun lodged between them into his ribs. His hand still covered hers, and with the well-trained instincts of an assassin, he jerked the gun to the side so that the bullet she fired embedded into the ground, kicking up dirt, and not in his heart.
Shock roared in his ears.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped.
For what, he could only imagine. For trying to kill him? Or for allowing him to kiss her?
His face felt wooden. Immobile. Time slowed again as he stared into those beautiful, terror-filled eyes. Her fear washed over him.
The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) Page 6
