by J. D. Brown
“What if he’s the Duke?” Angie whispered.
Lyn laughed. She couldn’t help it. This was not at all how she imagined turning twenty-one. “Ang, calm down. Sam’s not the Duke.”
“But he is a demon.” Angie narrowed her gaze, daring Lyn to deny it. “Isn’t he?”
Lyn bit her lip and looked away, into her own reflection above the sinks. Damn, she looked good. Wait. Focus. Deep breath. “Yeah,” Lyn nodded, admitting the truth. “He’s a demon.”
Angie’s brow inched upward. “A Greater demon?”
Lyn nodded again. “Yep.”
“The Duke?”
“No. The Duke’s name is Dantalion. You know that.”
“Right, because a demon would never lie about his real name.” Angie rolled her eyes.
Crap. She has a point. How well did she know Sam? It hadn’t even been a full two weeks since she accidentally bound them together. But no … Sam might be a sword-melting, man-eating embodiment of evil made of brimstone and Hellfire, but he was not the Duke. Lyn was certain. It made absolutely no sense for Sam to hunt her when she was the only thing keeping him alive.
Unless … unless Sam really wanted to kill her, and he was just killing girls who looked like her to quell the urge, knowing that if he gave into temptation he’d be killing himself in the process. Wait, was that possible?
“We need to lose him,” said Angie. “Like a.s.a.p.”
Lyn shook her head. “I need to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t freak out.”
“I’m already freaking out! You brought a demon to a bar like … like a date? Jesus, Lyn, you’ve been talking about him for over a week now. He’s been to your apartment. He’s spent the night. Are you possessed? Did he brainwash you? Is it Stockholm syndrome?”
Lyn scoffed. Spent the night. “It’s not like that, Ang. You’re the one who assumed it was about sex.”
“Because I thought Sam was a person! Not a … a …”
“Angie, we’re bound. Sam and I … I bound him.” Lyn winced. It was an incredibly weird thing to admit out loud. She hoped no one was in the stalls listening to their conversation, though it was too late now.
Angie blinked and her nose crinkled in a scowl. “You what?”
“It was an accident.”
“Wait. Bound? As in …?”
Lyn crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the sink counter. She drew a deep breath and then launched into an explanation. “When a mortal saves a demon’s life, the demon is bound to the mortal’s soul. Usually, demons live for thousands of years on earth and longer in Hell, but a bound demon dies as soon as their mortal tether does. Ergo, Sam will die when I do and he’s really not interested in meeting his maker anytime soon. There’s no way to undo it either. He’s stuck with me.”
“Can’t you just kill him?”
“Believe me, I tried. Johnny went straight through his chest and out the other end. You can see how well that worked.”
“So, you’re saying he’s immortal until you kick the bucket?”
“That’s the gist of it.” Lyn nodded.
“Lyn,” Angie’s breath came in quick, short gasps, “what the Hell?” She backed against the bathroom wall and clutched her chest.
“Oh shit. Are you hyperventilating? Wait here, I’ll find a paper bag.”
“Don’t you dare leave me, Evelyn Conway.” Angie glared at her, leveraging a look so intense, Catholic nuns the world over would drop to their knees and worship her.
Grimacing under the weight of her friend’s guilt-inducing scowl, Lyn held Angie’s elbows and helped lower her to the floor. “Just breath, okay? It’s my birthday. You’re not allowed to pass out until you’re drunk, and one margarita is not drunk.”
“Are you,” she gasped, “kidding me,” more gasping, “right now?”
Lyn rubbed Angie’s back. “Only a little bit. But seriously, can you stop having a panic attack?”
Angie glowered. Lyn didn’t care. Her bestie could be as angry as she wanted, so long as she kept breathing.
“Just … tell me … why you of all people … would save a demon?”
Lyn looked at the door. It was obvious they were alone—sitting on the floor of a bar bathroom—but that could change at any moment, so she spoke fast.
“I didn’t realize he was a demon, okay? He looked … well, you saw him. Plus, I was a little preoccupied with the much-bigger demon that was chasing him. It was huge. Like Godzilla sized. I thought I was saving an innocent man from one Hell of an attack. I didn’t realize they were both demons.”
Angie shivered. “What did you do to the bigger one?”
Lyn leaned against her friend’s side and stroked her silky brown locks. “Nothing, really. The monster knocked Sam against a brick wall and he fell unconscious.” She paused, remembering how still he’d been; like a bag of crumbled bones against the pavement. Lyn had been terrified. She thought he was dead. “The giant probably would’ve crushed him, but I ran between them. Shouted. Waved Johnny. Made some threats. It backed off.”
“Jesus,” Angie whispered.
Lyn’s hand trembled. Her fingers stopped midway through her friend’s hair, and she forced herself to lower her arm. In her mind, she saw Sam—black and blue all over, his clothes shredded. His joints were bruised beyond recognition, his hair drenched in blood. He must’ve been fighting the colossal demon a long time before he realized he was losing and decided to run.
“When the giant was gone, I checked for a pulse. It was faint, but he wasn’t breathing, so I …” She remembered the taste of him; of his blood on her lips. “I gave him mouth-to-mouth. When I finally looked at him—really looked—it was too late. He came to. I saved him. We’re bound. Nothing short of suicide will undo it.”
Suicide … It wasn’t a coincidence those girls killed themselves under the Duke’s influence, was it? The demon really is targeting Sam … She thought it was hunting her solely because of who she was.
Angie pushed to her feet, interrupting Lyn’s train of thought, and dusted the back of her skirt. Her brown eyes were puffy and mascara smudged her lower lids, but she was wearing her defiant face; her lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze stern.
“I don’t like this at all,” said Angie. “But you say it can’t be undone, so it is what it is.”
Lyn bit the inside of her cheek and frowned. She didn’t mean to make her best friend worry any more than she meant to spend her birthday night on a bathroom floor.
On second thought, spending the night on a bathroom floor was exactly how she envisioned it, just not less than five minutes into the night. A bathroom floor at five minutes into the night was just sad.
“It’s really not that bad, Ang. It’s like having a demon bodyguard. Sam won’t let anything happen to me.” Lyn smiled, but the attempt didn’t quite reach her eyes. So much for feeling normal on her birthday.
“You should have told me when it happened.” Angie grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. She wiped away the mascara and touched up her lip gloss. “It’s your birthday, though, so I’m giving you a pass. Just don’t expect me to be in a good mood tomorrow.”
Lyn rolled her eyes. With any luck, Angie’s bad mood tomorrow would be due to a massive hangover.
Sam found an empty table and settled in with a beer. He tapped his fingertips against the bottle and nursed his drink. He didn’t like this place. It wasn’t the loud music or the blinking lights or even the terrible B.O. but the sheer number of patrons packed tightly together on the dancefloor, filling every seat in the building, and crowding the bar. They were a blur of endless sin; a sea of ripe temptation. If Dantalion was in the mood for a little chaos, this place would be one Hell of a buffet.
The girls had been in the bathroom a long time, enough for him to reach the bottom of his beer bottle. He set it aside and ran his fingers through his hair, nicking his knuckles against the metallic filaments. Lyn’s trepidation coiled in his gut, rising steadily
, and Sam chewed his thumbnail. Should he chance a peek into the women’s restroom, or …?
Angie materialized from the sea of throbbing dancers and came toward him. He sighed in relief as Lyn’s pale-blonde form followed. Thank goodness. He wasn’t comfortable with how easy it was for him to lose her in this crowd. As far as his vision went, Lyn was just one more yellow flower in a field of sexed-up daisies.
“Hey,” Lyn slid her hands across his shoulders and shouted over the music, “dance with me.”
“Why?” He watched Angie from the corner of his vision as the creature took a seat. Her posture was ram-rod straight, yet elegant. Like a cat. She avoided his gaze, her mouth set in a firm line. There was an air about her, though he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly. Something like indifference or … Righteousness.
“Humor me.” Lyn took his hand.
Sam startled at the simple touch. They had never joined hands before.
She let go, pursed her lips, and turned away. Her body swayed to the beat as she walked to the edge of the dance floor.
With a grudging sigh, he got up and followed. He was morbidly curious about the thing called Angie, but Lyn was more important.
Lyn lifted her arms over her head and swayed with the rhythm. Sam’s throat thickened. Other dancers bumped against him as he stood there feeling awkward.
This is ridiculous.
His gaze went to Angie. For him, she was the only spot of clarity in this entire blurry, blinking, disaster. She sat at their table, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He pondered leaving Lyn for a bit. He wanted to have a conversation with Angie; to confirm what she was.
He started to step away when Lyn closed the gap between them and draped her arms over his shoulders. Sam blinked at her proximity. She was having fun. He could feel it bubbling inside him.
“Come on,” she said. “I know there’s dancing in Hell.”
He scoffed and placed his hands on her waist. Humoring her, as she had asked.
“What are you, my grandpa?” She took his hands and lowered them to her hips.
Sam knew she was scantily dressed, but the silk lace beneath his palms and her smooth skin directly beneath that sent a shock through him. He wasn’t expecting it, so much bare skin.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century.” Lyn smiled.
He could almost pretend her light-hearted tone was sincere, if he hadn’t felt the foreboding in his chest. She was nervous, and the feeling pushed against his own tensions.
“Pretend you like it. I’m trying to save you from an interrogation.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “Interrogation?”
Lyn nodded. “It’s Angie. I had to tell her the truth about you. She has this ability to see auras and yours tipped her off.”
“Really?” Sam’s gaze went to the brunette. Angie was practically fuming. The protective look in the creature’s eyes gave Sam a haunch. He decided to test his theory. He looked at Lyn and pulled her closer; chest to chest. He was not familiar with the rapid music, but he let Lyn lead and found the steps easy to follow.
Lyn crossed her arms behind his neck as the beat moved through her. He watched her eyes, blue as the heavens, and absorbed the way she felt against him. Strong. Confident. Whatever anxiety troubled her a moment ago seemed to break away with the pulsing rhythm. She relaxed beneath his touch, both physically and internally, like the careful loosening of a tight string.
She turned within the circle of his arms and leaned against him, pressing her back gently against his front, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
Sam glided his hands over the flat lace-covered planes of her stomach. She smelled like vanilla and femininity. A low rumble road his breath as a craving he hadn’t felt in ages settled thickly in his loins.
Lyn’s breathing deepened. She turned her cheek against his collarbone and her sweet breath feathered his neck.
Something about the scent of her and the way she moved against him in so little clothing unraveled a lust he thought long dead. But with the desire came memories. Bad ones. Betrayal and loss. Hellfire and pain. When someone tapped him on the shoulder, Sam jumped away from Lyn and savagely growled.
Angie stood between them.
Lyn stopped dancing and looked at her friend. The flutter of nervousness in her system resonated in his. Sam cleared his throat as he studied Angie. He grinned at what he saw in her chest. There it is. Her sin. It flared tragically in the angel’s heart. He still did not know how she hid her true form from them, but at least he was certain of what she was and where her loyalties lay.
Is this what Azrael meant when he said they were watching Lyn?
“I need to talk to you.” Angie narrowed her gaze at Sam. The three of them moved to the outer fringes of the dance floor to avoid being knocked into by other club-goers.
“Fine by me,” said Sam.
“Remember the fork,” Lyn murmured.
He met Lyn’s gaze before she turned away and continued dancing. The tide of writhing strangers enveloped her like a current. Something—perhaps instinct—willed Sam to reach out and pull her back. He lifted a hand in her direction then stopped himself. Don’t be a dunce. She’s fine.
The angel led him to a different table closer to the speakers. She dragged an extra bar stool behind her and sat down. Sam did the same and faced her.
“You need to stay the Hell away from Lyn.”
Sam scoffed. “Can’t.”
“Find a way.”
“Why can’t we see you?”
Angie blinked. “What?”
“I mean, we can see your disguise, but Lyn has no idea what you really are. How is that possible? I thought the Daughters could see angels too.”
Angie sucked in a breath and held it. Her face turned red. After a moment, she blurted, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me, does Barachiel know how close you are to your change?” he asked, taking a stab at her exact species. If he was right, she was a Guardian, and not a very good one.
“That’s none of your business.”
“What happened to your wings? You’re not Fallen.”
“What happened to yours, Samael.” It wasn’t a question, but a threat.
“Oh-ho,” Sam chuckled. “We’re getting testy now.”
“Just stay away from her.”
“Or what?” Sam challenged. “Tell me; what’s a little goodie-two-shoes Guardian going to do to me? I have nothing to lose.”
“How ’bout your life?”
“Well, see, that’s exactly why I’m not leaving Lyn’s side.”
Angie crossed her arms and squared her shoulders. “I know all about you, Samael. You’re a cautionary tale back home. But they didn’t tell me you were stupid. The Duke isn’t after Lyn, he’s after you. You want to save yourself? Get far, far away from her and let me do my job.”
A cautionary tale? Sam narrowed his gaze. He had no idea, yet he wasn’t surprised. Yahweh loved setting an example.
“Here’s the thing,” said Sam. “I don’t trust angels. And your boss? He doesn’t give a shit about Lyn. Ask Him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“Go to Hell.”
“I’d love too. Just as soon as—” A force punched him in the gut. He doubled over in a frothing pain and fell to the floor. Only it wasn’t pain. It was fear. The kind that crippled. Tears squeezed from the edges of his eyelids as his muscles petrified to the point of tremors. He shook violently while all of his systems were pulled taut.
Angie sneered down at him. “Lose your backbone?”
Sam clutched his chest as the fear passed through him and then dissipated. He pressed his palms against the floor, re-gaining control of his muscles, and pushed himself to his knees. The episode passed as quickly as it had come, and with it went every ounce of human emotion. In all his years in Hell, Sam had never felt as empty as he did in that moment. It was as though someone had ripped his entire nervous system from his body. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat. He couldn’t f
eel his lungs breath. He felt nothing at all. He was hollow.
“She’s gone,” he gasped.
Angie tensed. “Who’s gone?”
Sam stood and scanned the dance floor, but all he saw was a flowing sea of blurry shapes alternating dark and neon colors. So many mortals so close together; he couldn’t tell them apart.
“Sam,” Angie stood beside him, following his gaze, “where’s Lyn?”
Sam jerked away from the angel and growled. “Find her!”
16
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
L yn kept an eye on Angie and Sam while grooving on the dance floor. Her bestie had this hilarious look on her face, like she had just caught the school’s sleaziest jock behind the bleachers with her little sister. She was going to throw down the law and tell the demon what was what. Lyn figured she would give them a minute, then shimmy over and suggest a round of drinks before anyone could do any serious damage.
She was swaying to the music when a masculine hand grabbed her arm from behind. The guy pressed his chest against her back and breathed down her neck. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Lyn rolled her eyes and yanked her arm free while turning to face the creep. She gasped. Standing uncomfortably close to her was a man in his late twenties with a roguishly handsome jawline, dark hair, and scarlet eyes displaying all his wickedness. Though maybe that last part was just her Daughter of Eve vision coming to her rescue. Another freaking Greater demon? What the heck?
He grinned at her startled expression, and Lyn gagged. Maggots burrowed from his rotten black gums in the place of teeth. Spiders and centipedes scuttled from his lips to his hairline. Oily black scales covered his demon skin with bone-white studs protruding from his joints and the stench of rot overpowered her senses.
