Carpe Demon (Carus #3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  I glanced at the setting sun. How was he up so early?

  Andy?

  Stupid cops, I answered.

  Come to me, Lucien’s voice beckoned in my head. He lay a compulsion down in his words.

  Already on my way. A closer proximity to Lucien meant faster healing, but I had another reason to head for the base camp of the Vampire horde. I needed to dump a whole lot of info-bombs on Lucien so he’d leave Wick alone. His compulsion to make me “come to him” was a dick move and completely unnecessary.

  Good. Clint will meet you.

  I groaned. Guess Lucien technically wasn’t “up.” Talking in his sleep?

  Somewhere over Granville Street, the bullet dislodged from my body.

  It hurt.

  A lot.

  Had it been a less serious bullet wound, it would’ve popped out when I first shifted into a falcon, but the bullet had struck bone and took its time working through the tissues. Much bigger in relation to the falcon’s body size, the bullet burned every millimeter it moved until my body finally pushed it through the skin and expelled it.

  With the air soothing my sides and gliding around me, I lost myself to the freedom of flying while my muscles and tissues knitted together.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.”

  ~Mark Twain

  Wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe and trying to ignore Clint’s leer from across the room, I waited for Lucien to rise and grace me with his presence. In the twenty minutes since my arrival, my body had healed the bullet wound, and now only a distant ache reminded me of the injury. Before Lucien blood bonded me, bodily damage like that would’ve taken weeks to heal, but now, less than an hour. The one benefit to Lucien essentially blood-raping me. That and added strength. If I could get my head back in the assassin game, I’d be super-duper badass now.

  “Andrea.” Lucien’s voice preceded him as he swaggered into the room, modelling his Italian good looks. With his thick black hair immaculately gelled into place and his crisp, unwrinkled suit, he looked ready for a runway, not for his morning blood smoothie. His face remained placid and indifferent, as if threatening Wick held no importance, as if ordering me here like an owner called his dog was of little consequence, and as if he remained completely ignorant and ambivalent to the slaughtering epidemic going on in the city around him.

  When he smoothly glided up his podium and sat on his wannabe-throne, he laced his fingers together and fixed me with his blank gaze. “Tell me everything.”

  I cleared my throat. “The Demon is Glasya Labolas. He has other names, but he usually goes by Bola. He’s an Earl of Hell and commands thirty-six legions of Demons, each of which can contain anywhere from four to ten thousand lesser Demons. He likes manslaughter and bloodshed, and can incite love or homicidal rage in humans. He prefers rage.”

  Lucien sat motionless, taking it all in while stroking the smooth wood of his armrests. “And the pain I felt through you earlier? How were you hurt?”

  “I was asked by the cops to help confirm a recent massacre was the work of Bola. One of the officers on site got a bit trigger happy and took a pot shot at my ass. It’s already healed.” My fingers dug into the soft white fibres of the bath robe.

  Lucien drummed his fingers and pursed his lips.

  “Chinatown?” Clint asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did they request your services for Steveston as well?” Clint asked, sharing a look with Lucien that told me nothing.

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you not report this arrangement with the cops to me immediately?” Lucien asked. “Steveston did not happen today.”

  “No, it didn’t. That was…two days ago, I believe.” Only two? That’s it?

  “Again. Why wasn’t I informed?”

  I shrugged before pulling my robe closer around me. “I didn’t realize I had to report everything to you.”

  Lucien smoothly flowed out of his chair to stand directly in front on me. His hand snaked out, and clasped my neck. Leaning down, his face inches from mine, he whispered, “You are mine. You report everything. Is that clear?”

  In case it wasn’t, he gave my neck a little squeeze before releasing it. Lucien had a thing for gripping my neck a little too hard. Nasty habit.

  “Perfectly,” I answered, rubbing my throat. I needed to shake this blood bond. Screw this guy.

  “This Demon.” Lucien flicked his hand up in the air. “This…Bola…he implied he knew you. Now that you know his name, is it true?” He leaned forward, dead eyes watching intently. Even if he couldn’t scent a lie, he’d feel it through the bond. At least he couldn’t read my mind.

  “Yes,” I said. “I know him.”

  “Why didn’t you recognize him at the summit? His scent would’ve given him away, even if his appearance didn’t,” Clint reasoned. His voice came from my right, but I didn’t dare take my focus off the seething Master Vampire whose fangs flashed inches from my face.

  “Answer Clint,” Lucien demanded.

  My shoulders sagged, and I clamped the fluffy robe in my hands to avoid striking out at one of the douchebags in the room. “I’ve never seen his demonic form before. He always possessed one of the Werewolves when my previous Alpha summoned him.”

  “Dylan,” Lucien said. His body snapped up, straight again, and he moved back to sit in his seat. “Yes, Wick has told me of this Alpha.”

  Apparently everyone knew my past, or at least the worst part of it. That wasn’t humiliating. No, not at all.

  “And his scent?”

  “He smells different when he’s in possession of someone else’s body. I didn’t know that was possible. I’ve only ever met two Demons. He masked his body odour in the past, because there’s no way I would’ve forgotten that stench.”

  “But now?” Lucien asked.

  “He didn’t bother hiding his scent in Chinatown or Steveston. His particular brand of stank clung to everything. I think he possesses the male norm that’s been linked to all the crime scenes.”

  Lucien’s face took on a thoughtful look before he flicked his hand at me. When I didn’t react or respond, he leaned forward and whispered, “You’re dismissed.”

  I turned to go when a dark shadow slipped into the room. As tall as an average male, around six feet, with the body of a turtle, Tamotsu represented a present-day mutant turtle. Technically, he was a Kappa, and technically, I controlled him, though Lucien believed otherwise.

  Carus, his voice slithered in my head like a slimy reptile.

  Tamotsu, I replied. How are you?

  I exist, Carus. That is enough, for now.

  My heart started to pang. Maybe I should… Mentally, I slapped myself. I shouldn’t feel bad for this supe. He slaughtered a whole slew of supes to feed off their energy, and killed a bunch of norms to do it. Existing was enough for Tamotsu, for now. And later? I had no idea what to do with him.

  I nodded in his direction to acknowledge his point, before turning back to the Master Vampire, now glaring at me for delaying my departure.

  Another thought from the days of the Kappa Investigation trickled into my awareness. I turned back to Lucien. “Before I go, did you find the mole in your horde? The one who dobbed me in to the SRD?” I’d lost my agent status because of the mole, but instead of firing me, Agent Booth made me an Ambassador of Vampire Relations. She pissed off a lot of the guys at the top with the move.

  Lucien’s whole body twitched.

  “There must’ve been a bug planted,” Clint cut in. “All present at the time have been interrogated and cleared.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  “No,” Clint conceded. His gaze flicked to Lucien. “You’d better go.”

  Not liking the sound of Lucien’s teeth gnashing together, I bolted to the nearest window before Lucien found some new use for me, or before he threatened Wick’s life or limbs in some new perverse way to get me to do his bidding.

  Not prey, m
y mountain lion hiss.

  Not sub, my wolf growled.

  I agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I didn’t ask to be hated; I just don’t mind being a bitch.”

  ~Courtney Love

  Arriving home in the wee hours of “I don’t give a fuck” in the morning, I kept with standing tradition: ignored all blinking, flashing and vibrating electronics, brushed my teeth, and fell face first into my firm extra plush pillow-top mattress. Red’s warm body pressed into my side as a reassuring presence.

  The next day, I greeted the morning with no less than fifteen voicemail messages and texts. Wick wanted to see me this weekend. Tristan purred. And one lewd message from Clint where he suggested something to do with pot shots and my well-rounded ass. The rest were from Officer Stan Stevens.

  In Stan’s defense, I had promised to phone him with the Chinatown sensory details as soon as I got back into human form, but in my defense, being shot in the derriere tended to mess with plans, and it definitely wasn’t a part of the deal.

  His texts and voicemail messages, filled with concern and apologies, only served to piss me off more. I’d told him to brief his fellow officers. His negligence nearly cost me my life, or at the very least, my left butt cheek.

  Taking a deep breath, I found Stan’s contact information in my phone and tapped the “Call” button.

  He picked up immediately.

  “Andy!” His voice near hysterical. “Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need medical assistance?”

  “It takes more than a bullet in the butt to take me out, Stan. Make sure to tell your fellow officers that next time. You know, when you forget to tell them NOT TO SHOOT ME.”

  Red yipped in agreement.

  He paused and then let out a big gush of air. “Oh, thank god. You’re okay.”

  “No, thank Lucien. His blood healed me.” I didn’t explain exactly how. Stan didn’t need to know about the blood bond. Not even Preternatural Science or the SRD laboratory doctors could explain why blood bonds promoted accelerated healing in human servants. They just did.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Andy,” Stan said. “I told the other officers. I really did. The guy who shot you…he’s a rookie. He didn’t mean to.”

  “Anti-Supe?”

  “No. Just scared shitless of anything and everything, really. And you were a wolf, which news flash, freaks most people out. He saw a wolf step toward our sergeant, and he didn’t think.”

  “No, he didn’t. I want a name.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I’m not going to hurt him, Stan.” Much.

  “Then why do you need it?”

  “Just want to show him the friendly face behind the fur. So next time he will stop and think.” I jabbed my finger into the side of my head a couple times, even though Stan couldn’t see me.

  “That’s a bad idea. The guy’s been suspended for discharging his firearm in an active crime scene without provocation. He’s probably going to lose his badge, or at least get sent to therapy.”

  “Well, fuck you, Stan. I got shot in the ass. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “I will! I will.” A tapping sound from the other side of the line came through, and I got a mental image of Stan sitting on his desk clicking the end of his pen repeatedly on the desk. “So…”

  “Yes, it was him. The Demon. A lot of the deaths were actually caused by the norms, though. The Demon’s inciting homicidal rage and sitting back to watch the action unfold. Apparently, it’s his MO.”

  “Don’t say MO. You sound like a B-list actress trying to be a tough cop. Same goes for that polis term you used yesterday. I don’t think a cop has used that term in two decades.”

  “I’d make a badass cop,” I grumbled.

  Stan snorted, and I stared at my phone. When I didn’t say more, he cleared his throat and asked, “Anything on the human he’s possessing?”

  I shook my head. “No. Too much blood and emotions clogged my nose. There was something familiar about it though. But I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  “Don’t you mean paw?”

  “Oh har de har, Stan. You’re so funny.” Like I haven’t heard that one before. Red snuffled at my feet before curling up.

  “My wife thinks so.”

  “Well, that just confirms there’s someone out there for everyone.”

  “Then what’s your excuse?”

  “For what?”

  “For not getting laid.”

  I hung up to the sound of Stan’s laughter.

  If I didn’t like the guy or respect him as a cop, I’d block his calls and send the Witches after him for some practical jokes.

  My phone rang again, and I jumped, nearly tripping over Red. She yawned at me when I shot her my death stare. I tapped the screen without looking to pick the call up. “You’re an ass!” I growled into the phone.

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Mel replied.

  I held the phone back and looked at the screen. Sure enough, not Stan. “Err. Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

  “Obviously. We still on for coffee?”

  ****

  Although I loved Mel with a fondness I normally reserved for chocolate, regency movies and swimming naked in the ocean, part of me secretly hoped Mel version 2.0 with bangs would resemble the Barbie dolls I gave “haircuts” to throughout my childhood. Not the case. She rocked the look.

  Breezing into the small café on the corner of Denman and Haro, near the ridiculously expensive Lola’s, she slid into the iron-wrought seat across from me and gently tossed her hair around in a manner that would make any shampoo model turn green with envy. “How’s it look?” she asked.

  “So good I’m debating whether to throw my coffee on your shirt or scratch your face off with my nails.” Friends should be honest, after all. My words came out snarky, but they sounded hollow to me.

  Mel giggled. “That good? Sweet.”

  “Special occasion?” I asked, pushing the skim vanilla latte I bought for her across the table. Red settled beside my right foot and pressed against my leg. Her presence sent warm reassurance along my skin. I needed it to tell Mel about Bola.

  My mouth dried out, and I took a couple of deep sips from my coffee cup.

  She leaned forward, grabbed the cup with both hands and brought it close to her nose to inhale. “It’s my anniversary today. With Dan.”

  “For when you met, went steady, or mated? Or are you such a hussy, that they’re all the same?” My skin grew clammy. Maybe I should just skip the small talk and get straight to the point? Rip the bandage off.

  Mel ignored me, and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm. That’s good.”

  Well, she didn’t plan on elaborating, maybe this was my chance to tell her. I cleared my throat and drew my shoulders back. Now or never.

  “It’s the day we mated,” she said, interrupting my planned speech.

  It took a moment to realize she’d answered my question after all. Today was the anniversary of when she’s finalized the mate-bond with Dan.

  Some of the tension knotting my neck drained away, and I smiled on the inside. Mel had a calming effect on me.

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” I said. “I worried after. When I destroyed the hold Dylan had on me and killed those sadistic wolves…I thought…” I gulped as old fears dredged up and clamped onto my heart. “I thought I destroyed the women, too. A backlash from killing their mates.” Part of the reason I’d lived as a mountain lion for over three decades was because I couldn’t face the guilt of killing the pack’s women.

  Mel shook her head. “We survived. The women didn’t sink into depths of despair, not like those who lose their true mates. I guess it’s different when the mating bond is forced.”

  I nodded, having thought along the same lines.

  “I’m very thankful I found Dan.”

  “Well, it helps that you’re smoking hot.”

  Mel reached out to whack me, but I jerked out of her way. �
�You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. “You have two hot Alphas panting after you.”

  “My animal magnetism is the only reason Wick and Tristan and other men of their calibre are attracted to me. It’s my feras, not really me.” I patted my chest.

  Mel scowled. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  “I give myself plenty of credit. I’ve got legs for days, and my boobs aren’t half bad.”

  “You’re more than that.”

  “You’re right. I’m also ethnically ambiguous, so not only do I get to field intrusive questions from nosy supernaturals about what I am, but dumbass norms as well.”

  Mel’s lids drooped into a smarmy expression. “Hey baby,” she said in a voice several octaves below her natural level. “You have a unique look. What are…er…what’s your…ethnic background?”

  We giggled.

  You women are weird, Red said. She curled up and tucked her nose under her hind legs.

  “Men are idiots.” Mel snorted and took another sip of coffee.

  We clinked our paper coffee cups in a silent toast.

  “How’d you meet Dan, anyway? I don’t think you’ve told me the story.” I mentally shushed my inner voice, the one demanding I tell Mel about Bola.

  “I haven’t had the chance. You’ve been too busy running around with a rampaging, incurable death wish.”

  “I didn’t really have much choice, Mel.” My heart sped up, knowing I could only stall for so much longer.

  Mel puckered her lips. It should’ve twisted her face up into something ugly, but she looked like a pouting lingerie model.

  Mel scanned my face while I took a big swig of cappuccino goodness. “You’re right,” she said. “But I’ll save the story for another day. He took me by surprise. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Why not tell me now?” My gut rolled. Dammit, I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want to see fear on her face again.

  “Because I know the line between your eyebrows represents more than your continued neglect of a healthy skincare routine. You want to talk to me about something. Something you don’t think I’ll like.”