Or maybe I no longer had to fear the beast. Maybe she was like a super duper ass-kicking fera I could use at will?
No. She was still a bitch and dug her talons in every time to prevent me from regaining control. I should only use the beast form when necessary.
Almost becoming a Bola victim? Definitely necessary.
Bola. Invisible grime coated my skin. My stomach turned. My arms ached as if invisible hands still gripped them and held me down. My throat warmed as if his hot breath still scraped the sensitive skin.
I found my underwear and what remained of my clothes. Bola and Christopher’s scents wafted off each piece, embedded in the material. I snatched them off the floor, and threw them in the garbage.
My mind raced with all the things I needed to do, but one item kept popping up at the top of the list.
I needed to get clean.
****
Night fragrances of japonica and honeysuckle flittered around, but Bola’s stank still clung to my nostrils. No amount of air freshener would get it out. Not that I snorted the stuff, but I’d sprayed my apartment three times and took an hour-long shower to scrub my skin. Bola’s attack left me angry and confused.
Mad cow disease? There had to be a logical explanation for the recent abundance of male interest directed my way. “When it rains, it pours,” sure, but this was ridiculous.
Tristan and Wick wanted me as a mate because of the connection between our animals; Clint wanted to dominate me; Sid had no qualms over feeding sexual energy off me and hinted at wanting something else, something more; and now Bola wanted a piece? My animal magnetism explained this a little, but there had to be more to it than that. I might be horny as all get-out from the lack of sexy time, but that was nothing new, and my raging pheromones had never incited this level of male attention before.
Tristan and Wick, I understood. Might not know what the hell to do with that situation, but at least the “why” part was taken care of.
Clint? I only appealed to him because I came close to killing him. He wanted to dominate me to assuage some inner self-esteem issues. Like getting on top of me meant he was superior somehow. I definitely didn’t fit his type.
Then there were the Demons. I didn’t get the sense this had anything to do with me, at least not with me as a woman. Something else was involved. It had to do with my status as the Carus, but what? Nothing in the Encyclopedia of Supernatural Beings hinted at reasons Demons would stumble over themselves to possess me.
Maybe I should ask Feradea? This must be her mess, somehow.
I could call on Booth to help.
Did I want to use my one and only deity favour to find the answer? I’d planned to use it to find my birth family instead. If they still lived.
Men and deities aside, I had something else to do first.
You coming? I asked Red.
She leapt onto my bed, and curled up.
Guess not. I threw on a robe and stalked over to my neighbours’ place. Their large identical-to-mine door stared back, and I paused to take a deep breath. When the adrenaline evaporated from my bloodstream, it left my limbs heavy and my energy sapped. I tapped the faux-wood with my knuckles and waited.
Ben opened the door. He brushed his shaggy hair out of his face and beamed at me. “Andy! Just in time. We were about to get started.” He looked down at my robe. “Uh. You might want to put some proper clothes on.”
“You.” I jabbed him in the chest with my forefinger.
Ben took a step back.
I followed and jabbed him again. “You. Better. Explain.” Jab, jab, jab. “Why Christopher just showed up in my apartment, possessed by the masochistic Demon.” JAB.
Ben fell back onto his couch, and stared at me with wide eyes. I’d poked him all the way to his living room.
Matt and Patty poured out of the adjoining rooms, Patty carrying a carrot microphone and Matt with a pink feather boa wrapped around his sandy hair like a turban.
“What’s going on?” Patty asked, blue eyes wide. When he realized he spoke into his “microphone,” he scowled at it and threw the carrot away. Like we didn’t all just see that.
“Ben, here, was going to explain how Christopher has been running around town possessed by a Demon.”
Ben gulped. “I didn’t know!”
“How could you not?” My hands flew to my hips. The scent of his truth softened my anger only a bit. “Don’t tell me you thought he was banging Witch groupies this whole time.”
Ben’s laced his fingers together and started twisting them around. “No. I was getting worried. The locator spell failed. I planned to go over to your place tomorrow and ask for help.”
I grunted.
“I didn’t know!” Ben said again.
I leaned forward. “He couldn’t have summoned the Demon on his own. He can’t speak and he’s not strong enough to complete the ritual without vocalizing the mantras. Only you are.”
Ben’s shoulders sagged.
I waited and stared at his dirty-blond hair, several weeks past due for a haircut.
About to demand more talking, less air sucking, Ben’s breath hitched.
I shut my mouth.
Ben’s whole body tensed, and his hands balled up into fists. His gaze slid to the side and looked over my shoulder.
I followed his glare and turned to find Matt and Patty looking as guilty as a personal trainer caught eating fast food take-out. Matt clutched his boa, pulling it down around his face, in a classic hear-no-evil pose. Patty swayed back and forth on his feet. He reeked of sweat, parmesan cheese and musk oil—fear and guilt. Well, I knew which one would run, if it came to that.
“Start talking,” I said.
“We summoned Bola because of his science knowledge. He promised to give Christopher back his voice in exchange for freedom from the circle,” Matt said. His green gaze darted away.
“He promised no harm would come to us or our den,” Patty quickly threw in. His lithe frame still sweating and swaying.
“Congratulations, the four of you are the only ones safe in this entire world,” I said with a flat voice. My skin warmed, and my falcon demanded I peck at their faces.
Silence blanketed the room. Patty looked ready to bolt.
Hunt, my mountain lion hissed.
“You forgot to specify the length of time.” Ben’s voice broke the strained silence.
Matt nodded.
“We forgot to specify the length of time,” Patty mimed.
Unlike a Demon in a summoning circle, the rising sun didn’t send a Demon possessing a host body back to hell. The Witch fledglings had majorly messed up.
Silence settled on the apartment as the Witches exchanged puppy-dog “I didn’t mean to do it” looks.
“If you guys come together for a group hug and commiserate about this learning opportunity, I’m first going to puke on your carpet, and then I’m going to knock your heads in.”
“So violent,” Patty said. He stopped swaying.
“He tried to rape me.” My throat grew thick, and my face tingled. I swallowed and pursed my lips. No. I refused to feel this way. I gulped back some more spit and lifted my chin.
Matt made a small squeaking sound and covered his mouth. Patty’s face went white, and he looked at his feet. Ben turned to me, mouth agape with soft light-brown eyes.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked. He took a step forward. For a hug? Fuck that. Voluntary touching was so not happening right now.
I waved him off and backed away. “I’m fine. I would’ve killed him then and there, but it wouldn’t be Bola…”
“It would be Christopher,” Ben finished.
I nodded. “You and your den owe me. This mayhem could’ve ended tonight. If anyone else gets slaughtered, it will be on us. We’ll have to live with the knowledge. I risked many lives for the life of one. For you guys.”
Ben winced. The other two looked away.
“Especially you two.” I pointed at Matt and Patty in case they misunderstood. “You guys should have t
old Ben right away when you realized your mistake. Instead, you’ve been running around as if things were normal. People have been slaughtered because of your mistake.”
“We thought we could fix it,” Patty mumbled.
“How long?” I asked.
They tensed, but remained quiet.
“How long were you going to wait before you fessed up?”
They refused to meet my death stare, which provided answer enough. They were going to wait awhile. Maybe forever, hoping someone else would solve the problem. Cowards. Did they even care whether Christopher walked away unscathed?
I jabbed Ben in the chest one last time. “Discipline them.”
Chapter Eighteen
“If you can’t fix it with duct tape or beer, it’s not worth fixing.”
~Redneck slogan
I bolted upright in bed, tangled in sweaty sheets. My heart bashed against my chest cavity so hard it drowned out any other sounds. I gulped back some air and forced myself to breathe evenly. The smells of my room flooded in—laundry detergent, soap, shampoo, coffee. And something else. Not so much a scent, but an absence of one, like I needed to find it.
Come to the forest, a husky voice filled my head.
I flung back my cotton sheets and jolted out of bed, the urge to listen to the voice undeniable. Which of my feras spoke? I shrugged. Did it matter? A compulsion hadn’t pushed me like this since…I glared down at Red.
What? she asked, all innocent.
“Again?”
She curled up on her spot on the bed, tucking her nose under her hind legs.
“Ahem.”
One fox eye popped open and she said, Go to the forest, Carus. You need control.
I sputtered. “Control? I need to—Argh! Didn’t I just stop myself from eviscerating Bola? Where’s my gold star?”
The call of the wild pulled my body, and my stomach dropped. I staggered and steadied myself, one hand on the headboard.
“I don’t have time for this,” I said, to no one in particular, as I straightened and attempted to shake the sleep from my limbs.
Make time, Red said.
I clenched my fists and released; clench and release, clench and release. Screw this. I needed sleep more. Sure, I needed all my feras in a row, but what if I lost control? When I gained Red, the added animal in my head had almost caused spontaneous combustion. Could I afford to risk that right now?
No. I needed sleep. Maybe I’d deal with this new fera tomorrow night. If I didn’t bring my A-game to the bonding, this animal might be the straw that broke the Carus’ mind.
I closed the window, and flopped back into bed. My head sank into the pillow. Ahhh. I missed you, pillow.
You’re losing it, Red remarked before snuggling into the back of my legs.
I agree.
****
In a fog, I ran backward looking over my shoulder. Five men with Kiss masks ran backward, yet chased me at the same time. What the heck? If they wanted to catch me, why wouldn’t they run forward as I ran backward? I’d plow right into them. My heart rate kicked up a notch, and I tried harder to get away, but I kept running backward. Or did we all run forward, and some divine entity hit the rewind button to play some awful joke on us?
I’m so confused.
Suddenly, I ran into a house that looked vaguely familiar. People partied all around me, dancing, drinking and having fun. Was that Mel? I waved my arms frantically at her as I kept running backward. Up some stairs. Passed some weird masked guy in the corner.
I paused, mid-stride, frozen in place, forced to watch as the man in the corner pulled off his mask.
Tawny, thick brown hair, hazel eyes, full lips twisted into a cruel sneer.
Dylan.
I jolted up in bed. Again. My head swam with the quick movement, my vision went fuzzy. My hair flopped into my face, and I ran my hand through the rat’s nest. I turned and groped my nightstand to find my phone, still blasting out the song I’d set for Mel’s calls. That was it. Mel was getting a new ringtone. When my dreams resembled music videos, it was time for a change.
“Hello?” I said as I hit the “Accept” button. Or at least I think I said that. It sounded more like a zombie’s war cry.
“Did I wake you up?” Her near-cackle told me she already knew the answer.
“Uh huh.” I rubbed my face and stretched.
Mel said something, but I missed it. Sometimes stretches were so good, I tuned out everything else.
“Sorry, what?” I asked.
“You need to tell Wick about Bola,” she said. “All of it.”
“Um,” I stalled, not liking the idea one bit. Mel didn’t know the most recent Bola events, she only referred to my history. Still half-asleep, exhausted brain cells fired repeatedly, trying to get the message through to the rest of my body. A chill ran along my spine. Nope. Still didn’t like the idea.
It’s not that I feared Wick’s reaction, not really. The idea of discussing one of the most traumatic and…
I swallowed some more air, and stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling provided no answers, either.
“Andy?” Mel spoke softly. “He knows something’s up with me. He can feel it through the pack bond. I can’t hide it.”
Blood rushed through my veins and a heavy weight fell in my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. “What happened?”
A pause. “He asked me what was wrong.”
I held my breath. Such a simple question could crack open my tightly-woven defenses against my past. I’d sealed those memories for a reason—a fear if opened or revisited, I’d return to the weak, damaged soul Dylan had turned me into. I’d plunged into the fear time-capsule a couple of times already.
My head started to throb. Wick already knew some of my past. So did Tristan. They’d both been sweet and understanding, but this… If I told Wick, this might set his wolf into a fit, and that would jeopardize his whole pack.
“I didn’t say anything,” Mel continued, filling the silence with her trembling voice. “But I couldn’t lie to him either. He’s my Alpha. I told him it was your story to tell. I’m sorry.” Mel spoke so quickly, her words blurred into one long run-on sentence. “I know it’s not something you like to think about, let alone discuss, but Wick should know. I think it will help him understand your…you better.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” The pillow cushioned my head, but my brain still pounded against my skull. Wick had been patient and understanding with my need to go slow, but with only a few puzzle pieces, he didn’t know the extent of the “why” for the situation. Wick never pressed me for information, and his confusion never changed his demeanor toward me—loving, caring, and patient—he was the perfect boyfriend…until Lucien used him against me, repeatedly.
“Dan knows,” Mel continued. “He agreed not to say anything until you talk to Wick. Please do it soon. He would never use his power to order us, but he deserves to know. And you might not believe me, but it actually helps to tell someone else. You shouldn’t bottle this all up.”
Well, crap on toast. I knew that, but it didn’t make the thought of revealing my inner, darkest secrets any more digestible. Besides, Mel may have gone through similar trauma, but she didn’t have to worry about containing a rampaging beast hell-bent on destruction. Yeah, I’d successfully reined in the beast a few times, but that didn’t mean the next time would go my way.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll get on it.”
“Let me know how it goes. I’m here for you,” she said.
I grunted and hung up.
Chapter Nineteen
“I think all men should have to spend one day possessed by evil, hungry, emotionally expressive Demons so they can forever understand PMS.”
~Olivia Wilde
Under settings on my cell phone, I hit the “Save” button and cackled. Now every time Mel called, I’d hear the theme song to an old video game. That always brought a smile to my face. And I’d dreamed of being in the game countless of ti
mes, so I knew it wouldn’t weird me out like last night’s experience.
It also helped, momentarily anyway, to take my mind off talking to Wick, and what had almost happened in my apartment last night with Bola.
Someone knocked on the door. I jumped. Coffee sloshed out of my cup and landed on my hand. Gah! I never functioned well when I woke up early or unexpectedly. Caffeine should come in an intravenous option.
Red yipped and ran to the door like a frenzied Chihuahua. I walked through my home, bare feet digging into my plush rugs and then plodding against the wood flooring. All the while my brain snagged on the possible marketing campaigns and coffee labels for intravenous coffee—IV League Coffee, Down the Drain, Tubular Coffee.
Rosemary and sugar wound its way from the entrance, announcing my guest before I reached the peephole. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and swung the door open.
A giant-sized Norse god greeted me.
“Hi,” I said, rocking back on my heels.
Wick smiled. “You always smell like coffee.”
“That’s because I run on the stuff.” My smile faltered a little. Too forced.
Wick’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek. Despite the innocent gesture, my face warmed.
“You need to take better care of yourself. Get proper meals in you,” he said.
Red wound around Wick’s feet.
“Come in,” I said.
You know you’re not a dog, right? I said to Red.
Vaguely aware she growled at me and stalked off toward the bedroom, Wick’s face held my attention.
His mouth softened, and he brushed past me, his chest to mine, as he stepped into my place. My nipples pinged at the contact. Brat! He did that on purpose. His light denim jeans clung to his powerful legs, and the bright orange soccer jersey he wore showed off his impressive pectoral muscles.
I stepped back to close the solid door when someone else entered the building, just down the hall from where I stood. Warm air rushed in. Citrus and sunshine flooded my nose. I hesitated, my bare toes curling into the wood flooring.
Only one man I knew smelled that good. Had Mel contacted them both to get them over here at the same time? Two birds, one stone, and all that. I wouldn’t put it past her, but I doubted she had Tristan’s number.
Carpe Demon (Carus #3) Page 13
