Carpe Demon (Carus #3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  I surged forward and planted my mouth on his to shut him up.

  It worked.

  Strong arms enveloped me, pulling my body closer as his tongue stroked mine. I pressed against his hard muscles, and enjoyed the heat lancing through my body. His hands drifted down to clutch my bare ass. This man could do wonderful things with his mouth. I’d know. His mouth had been on me before.

  I stifled a groan and pulled away. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You sure?” Wick traced circles on my back.

  No. Not at all. “Yeah.”

  He pursed his lips and let his hands fall from my body, freeing me to run away. I’d love to spend more time in Wick’s arms, but the feeling of guilt tugged at my spine. It wasn’t fair to either Wick, or Tristan, for me to keep flip-flopping between the two of them. I had to pick one.

  And soon.

  How could I choose between two amazing men? Two guys I’d developed feelings for, not just because they’d both win male beauty pageants, but because they had something to set them apart. Something unique and touching, strong, yet compassionate. Something that made them…

  Mine, my mountain lion hissed, referring to Tristan. She sent the memory of how his sapphire gaze had twinkled in the moonlight before he kissed me for the first time.

  Mine, my wolf growled, flashing images of Wick’s naked body.

  The two feras squared off in my mind, and grumbled at each other. The falcon flapped her wings, and squawked.

  Shush, all of you.

  Wick, probably sensing my inner turmoil, led me to the window and slowly slid it open without saying a word.

  “Andy,” Wick said. He reached out and stroked my cheek with his thumb. The rough, calloused skin sent my emotions back into a tailspin. “You need to make a decision.”

  My chest ached at the words because he was right. This couldn’t go on much longer. My muscles ached for no reason besides despair sinking into my bones. I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

  “I think your pack may have been targeted by a Demon, tonight. The same one that’s massacring norms around the city.”

  “We’ll be careful.” Wick reached out again, but this time, he pulled me in for a hug. I sagged into the strength of his arms, and allowed myself a minute to enjoy the security of it before pulling away once again.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I said.

  Wick nodded, and stepped out of the way.

  I shifted to a falcon and flew into the night air. Aloft in the dark sky, a wispy thought accumulated at the base of my skull, like something was wrong, or off, and not just my love life. Like someone following me. Bola? I screeched and circled multiple times, but didn’t see or sense anything.

  Maybe it was just my conscience.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Know what? Bitches get stuff done.”

  ~Tina Fey

  With the day gone and my head pounding, I stared down at the sheet of paper in front of me. I’d spent the last half hour at my desk scribbling random thoughts, trying to make sense of a world gone crazy. Traces of cinnamon, nutmeg and caramelized sugar from the banana loaf I baked last night for emotional therapy mixed in the air with my half-assed attempt at breakfast. The cushions of my couch beckoned, tempting me to lay down for a quick cat-nap to recuperate some of my lost sleep. A half-finished coffee sat beside me and demanded I reheat it in the microwave. I reread my list instead:

  My To Do List:

  Find and banish Bola. Or destroy. Utter destruction preferable, if possible.

  Review local university course selections. Demonology 101?

  Find out what the hell Clint is and how to kill him (might come in handy).

  Sing in head when around Allan, it annoys him and helps shield thoughts.

  Allan’s mind reading has limits, find them all.

  Find and remove the mole in Lucien’s horde.

  Expel Lucien. He’s an ass.

  Avoid Sid. He’s a freak.

  Confront Agent Tucker. Or maybe get him fired. He’s a dick.

  Pick a man and get Laid.

  Why is laid capitalized? Aside from questioning my strength in grammar, reviewing my list acted as a calming balm to sooth my errant brain waves. Previously skittering around like a bolting new colt, they’d now settled down to a rhythmic throb, indicating an impending headache. Awesome.

  After tapping away at my computer, and managing to only curse a few times about the new operating system, I discovered nearby Simon Fraser University did, in fact, offer a Demonology course, but for fourth-year students. I needed to be an accepted undergraduate with a declared major in Supernatural Studies in order to register for the class. Hmm. What if I contacted the professor and requested special permission? Or maybe I could audit the course. They couldn’t prevent me from slipping into the back of the room, could they? Things couldn’t have changed that much in sixty years.

  A couple more clicks and I discovered the summer session had already started, and was well under way. I didn’t have time to wait until September for the next course offering. I jotted down the time and location, and added to my mental notes to go to class and sit in. Couldn’t hurt.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  I jumped in my seat. Someone pounded on my apartment door. I pushed away from the desk, and rose from the faux-leather office chair. With arms reaching for the ceiling, I arched my back and stretched. My mountain lion purred.

  The backs of my legs, sweaty from the chair, stuck to my track pants. I peeled the material off and shimmied a little.

  The pounding continued.

  “Okay, okay. I hear you. Settle down,” I yelled at the door as I walked down the hallway. Who could it be? And how’d they get past the building’s front door? Maybe Ben needed something.

  A familiar vanilla and honey scent seeped beneath the crack of the door, and swirled around the entrance of my apartment. Witch. Male. Christopher?

  Ugh. I sucked in a deep breath, and flung my head side to side to crack my neck. What did he want? I unlocked the deadbolt, and swung the door open.

  Christopher braced his body across the doorway with one arm on each side of the frame. His bent posture gave me a perfect view of his unruly brown hair. The disheveled black hoody, wrinkled blue jeans and tang of body odour told me he hadn’t showered in a while. Did he come here straight from his liaisons? Gross.

  Sniffing as discreetly as possible, I detected something else. Blood?

  “What do you want, Christopher?” I crossed my arms, and leaned my hip against the opened door.

  Christopher raised his head, and his glassy red gaze met mine.

  A slice of ice slashed through my body.

  Christopher was possessed by a Demon.

  Even with fear riding my body, and my feras demanding action, neurons fired in my brain. Connections were made, conclusions drawn. The “normal” man the witnesses reported at every crime scene, the demon host, the familiar scent I couldn’t quite trap or detect—Christopher.

  That meant…

  “Andrea,” Christopher said, in a voice that wasn’t his. No. This voice I knew. My muscles tensed, my body straightened, and my nails dug into my palms. Bola’s voice.

  I stepped back as Christopher’s body lunged forward. In one swift move, he turned toward my retreating body and swung the door closed behind him, letting it slam, the sound echoing through my apartment. I continued to back away.

  “It’s been so long,” Bola said. “No hug for an old friend?” He held his hands out wide, inviting. He must’ve abandoned his control over his scent, because his Demon defiled-almond stench barrelled down the hallway and slammed into my face.

  “You were never a friend.”

  A slow nasty smile spread across Christopher’s face. “But I was something.”

  “Just another perverted rapist.” My words might’ve sounded strong, but inside I shook. My brain wanted to replay memories, ones I tried to locked away, ones Bola starred in.

  No.

  I would
n’t go back there. I’d promised myself never to be a victim again. And I meant it. Time for some revenge. I just had to figure out a way to take him down.

  “You’d be an expert on perverts, wouldn’t you?” Bola grinned, making Christopher’s face contort into an unnatural expression.

  “How did you find me? Did you steal the information from Christopher’s memory?”

  “No. I followed you.”

  “From where?”

  “From the Werewolves’ lair. My, they were easy to find. Easy to stir up. Their pack isn’t whole, their leader is unmated. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you’re neighbours with my host?”

  “You purposely incited violence amongst the Werewolf pack to draw me out?” All the signs were there. I should’ve seen it. Why hadn’t I?

  A gaze of melted chocolate flashed through my memory. Wick. I’d been so focused on what he did or didn’t do with Christine I’d missed the obvious. Idiot!

  Bola’s mouth twisted again. “I knew you’d be linked to them somehow. You never could stay away from the dogs.”

  Did he plan to go back and harm them? The blood rushing through my veins heated as my vision stained red. “What an original insult. Why wait to follow me home?”

  “I want you all to myself this time. No sharing.”

  Though Bola’s essence might control Christopher’s body, it was the Witch’s mouth moving, his eyes leering and his body leaning in. The fluttering in my stomach started to churn the emptiness. Small at first, but it grew stronger with every heartbeat banging against my chest. My skin prickled, wanting to be touched as my knees weakened, and my legs turned to play dough. My tongue tangled in my mouth as I tried to speak. I wanted to run to Christopher, jump him, wrap him within my strong legs and take him to the ground to mount his body.

  Something niggled at the back of my mind. Christopher? I wanted to bang Christopher?

  No. Make love, sweet, sweet love. Make a child with him, and build a home. White picket fences.

  I shook my head. Whoa. I took another step back, and met Bola’s, not Christopher’s, calculating gaze straight on. “Must be getting rusty on the love mojo. It’s not working.”

  Bola shrugged. “Never was my favourite emotion. Too sappy.”

  The stomach flutters faded away, leaving my gut an empty pit, the walls radiating sharp stabs of pain as if the lining dried up and shriveled, transforming my core into a hard rock. Bola walked toward me in slow motion, but the movement occurred too fast for me to react. I was helpless, unable to flee, unable to defend myself. Bola would rip me to shreds while I stood performing my best statue impersonation.

  Statue impersonation? Really?

  “Fear?” I asked, shaking off Bola’s influence. “Also, not your forte. What do you specialize in again? Right. Inciting violence and rage. Bloodshed and war. Why not give me those? I’m already pretty pissed off.”

  Bola paused, as if he considered my question. “Detrimental to my health?”

  “Scared?”

  “Of you?” Bola scoffed. “Of course not.”

  Fear darted through my tissue cells as Bola laid his influence into me again. Images of past events, the rapes, the abuse from Dylan’s pack overloaded my mind. The old, dirty, shameful feelings spiralled up, and threatened to choke me. I staggered to the side.

  Bola’s body smacked into mine and sent us both reeling to the floor. The fear still racing through my veins became a distant throb. I blocked Bola’s fist and elbowed him in the nose. Blood sprayed across my face and the floor.

  Bola used Christopher’s body as a giant paper weight, and I flailed my arms around trying to find some leverage to throw him off while my mind fought to kick his mental influence. He snared both my wrists in a one-handed, vise-like grip. I bucked my hips trying to dislodge him, but he pinned my arms above my head, negating the effect as he braced himself.

  My heartbeat raced like a herd of elephants. This could not be happening. My feras screamed in my head. A flash of gray to my right told me Red had attacked Bola. Probably his leg. Not that it would help.

  Bola’s breath hit my face. Tomato sauce and meat. He reached down, snagged the elastic band of my track pants with his free hand and pulled with his Demon strength. A loud rip filled the room along with our heavy breathing. He flung my shredded pants across the room.

  No. Not this. Anything but this.

  I squirmed under his body, but it did little to deter him. He pushed his hips against mine, forcing his hard erection against the sensitive skin between my legs. I stilled. He still wore clothes, but the feeling of him, down there, even with the barrier of my underwear sent cold chills streaking through my body. My stomach turned to ice.

  “Don’t fight it. You might enjoy it,” Bold said before he ripped off my underwear. Instead of flinging them away like my pants, he brought them up to his bloody nose and inhaled deeply.

  Stomach acid bubbled up my throat.

  “Mmm, Andy. You’re a naughty girl. Who got you so turned on today?” He shoved the panties in my face, covering my mouth and nose. The stale effect of my earlier arousal filled my nose before he pressed the material harder against me. I couldn’t get any air in. I thrashed my arms around, trying to strike Bola. He deflected the blows, but the pressure on my face eased. I turned my head to the side to cough and gag for breath. The air laden with Bola’s stench flooded into me.

  Bola laughed. He brought my underwear to his face, took another long drag of air and then chucked them over his shoulder. “Maybe one day I will inspire that response.”

  “In your dreams,” I spat. “You’d rather inspire pain and fear.”

  “Too true,” he said. He thrust his jean clad hips into me again. “You give such a delicious response.”

  His hand reached down again, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The sound of his fly being unzipped reached my ears and my limbs began to shake.

  No. Not again. Never again.

  The beast stirred.

  Blood pounded in my ears, and time slowed down. My vision clouded. An edgy feeling vibrated through my core, flowing out to my arms and legs, giving me strength, feeding me with energy.

  Should I risk it?

  Did I have a choice?

  Taking a deep breath, I called on my beast.

  She answered, barrelling up from the deep, dark place inside where I kept her chained. I met Bola’s smug expression, and roared.

  The beast rose with rage and I embraced her, as I would any of my feras, accepting that she was just as much a part of me, and my soul as the other forms. I willed the change. Skin stretched, bones snapped, teeth elongated, claws protracted, scales replaced fur. My shift forced Bola to release his grip. He stumbled off me, and scrambled out of the way.

  I pushed off the ground, eyed the fragile mortal shell Bola wore in front of me and roared again. Saliva flew from my mouth and splattered against his face. One of my picture frames fell off the wall, and shattered against the floor.

  Instead of cowering or running away as I expected, Bola’s smile grew. “You’ve learned new tricks, Carus,” he said. “You’ve come into your own, finally. Dylan was never strong enough, good enough, to hold you for long.”

  I stepped forward to throttle him. His wide red eyes reflected my menacing shape like a mirror. Resembling a dragon-human-demon hybrid, my beast body stood over eight feet tall, with hard obsidian scales running along my back and legs. The only soft part of my body was where the impenetrable scales gave way to my face and to the soft black fur that covered my stomach and chest. Large, black wings with almost translucent webbing spread out from my back as extra appendages and a long, spaded tail swished around my feet.

  What caught my attention and the beast’s was my vaguely familiar facial features. Surrounded by my straight black hair and two short horns protruding from my forehead, my reflection stared back at me through dragon-slit eyes.

  I blinked.

  The beast nudged my mind, prodding me into action.

 
Destroy. Destroy this weak husk, this shell housing a Demon, and then destroy them all, she hissed. Her compulsion settled into my bones like a lead-paint coating.

  Bola.

  The Demon who wore Christopher’s body. Time for revenge. I barred my teeth, and stepped forward.

  Bola waggled his forefinger at me and tsked. “Would you harm this vessel I wear?”

  I stopped.

  My beast growled in my head and threw her control forward.

  I locked my knees and narrowed my eyes at Bola. I didn’t like Christopher that much, but I liked his roommates, his brethren. I owed them not to take him out, not yet, anyway. There must be another way to destroy Bola.

  The beast wailed in my head, raking her sharp talons against my brain.

  Bola walked to my sliding glass doors, and opened them. Before stepping out into the night, he turned to me. “This will make things more interesting; my victory, more sweet.”

  I growled, but Bola was already gone, taking Christopher’s body with him.

  The beast roared again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “When angry, count to a hundred; when very angry, swear.”

  ~Mark Twain

  Rain pelted the bay windows in my living room as a not-so-rare summer downpour moved through the neighbourhood. I lay in a heap on the floor and fought the beast for control of my body. The struggle seemed to go on for hours, but when I finally stood on two human feet and checked the clock, it told me it only took half an hour, max.

  With past success, and more notches on my belt, the transition from beast to human became easier each time.

  How did I feel about that? Not sure.

  Beast form still didn’t come naturally to me. The day it became comfortable…might be the day I take out another Werewolf pack. Only this time, they might not deserve it.