“Andy,” Tristan purred as he approached. He wore a close-fitting T-shirt and dark-washed blue jeans that accentuated his lean, muscular build. His white sneakers matched the stitching in his pants.
I said “hi,” but the deep growling coming from behind me drowned out my voice. I flung my arm out to stop Wick from charging out to confront the Wereleopard Alpha. Wick pressed his solid chest against my sleeve, and then took a deep breath. His muscles relaxed, but he remained close, his body heat seeping through my clothing and licking my skin.
Tristan reached me and darted in to peck me quickly on my cheek. He wrinkled his nose as he withdrew, but didn’t comment. He probably smelled Wick on my skin. Awesome. Another awkward moment. There’d been one like this before, but the order of arrival had reversed.
“Tristan,” I said. “Please come in.”
Wick stalked farther into the apartment before Tristan entered. Wick’s feet thumped against the wood flooring. The sound disappeared once he got to the living room with the large rug. His decision to leave me with Tristan avoided the uncomfortable scenario where one of the Alphas would have to give the other his back. That wouldn’t happen. Ever.
The silly image of them trying to walk side by side down my hallway and getting stuck flashed through my mind. They’d never fit with their broad shoulders.
Tristan hung back at first and then gestured with a sweeping hand that I go before him, and when we rounded the corner to the living room, we found Wick pacing. He stopped at our arrival.
“Does anyone want something to drink?” I asked.
“I’ll have water,” Tristan said. “Thanks.”
I looked over at Wick, and he nodded.
“Will you two behave if I leave you alone together?” A justified question. Last time they’d attacked each other and made a disaster of my living room.
“We’ll be good,” Wick said. He held his fingers up to his forehead.
“Scout’s honour?” I guessed.
“Sure.”
When I brought out the waters, I sat down on the couch with Tristan. Wick apparently, preferred to pace. I should enjoy the male attention, but the bubbling nerves in my core prevented it.
“Well, since you’re both here, I may as well get this over with,” I said. The cushions of my couch provided little comfort to my nerves.
“You’ve made your choice?” Wick asked.
Tristan sucked in his breath.
“No. I need to tell you about Bola.”
Both men relaxed, and then tensed again, as if dancing a choreographed number.
Tristan reached out and placed his hand on mine. With a gentle squeeze he said, “You don’t need to. Not if you don’t want to.”
I shook my head. “It’s a need and a want. You both need to know what baggage you’re dealing with, and what…personal history I have with Bola. He might comment on it, and I’d rather you be prepared than blindsided.”
Wick moved around to sit on my other side, and Tristan kept his warm hand on mine.
“In the final days, when he got really desperate to complete the mating bond, Dylan summoned a Demon to inspire love within me. It failed. Not even Bola could incite such a reaction from me at that point. But I don’t think he tried very hard. He got what he wanted regardless of his success.”
“And what was that?” Wick asked, his voice quiet and rough, no longer whiskey poured over warm cream, but gravel churned in a cement mixer.
Images of dark rooms, reeking of sweat, blue cheese and alcohol—fear and shame. The candle light illuminated the circle formed with blood soaked salt.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the memories, but they kept coming, hitting my brain cells in wave after wave.
A male pack member with the red eyes of the possessed. Naked. Hard.
Strong arms holding me down, pinning me open for the Demon host.
The penetration, the panting, the smell of his twisted pleasure, and the drain of my energy as he fed off my pain and humiliation.
Deep breath.
Sweat dripped down my back as I struggled to put my past into words. After my short talk with Mel, I decided on the direct method; verbally spew out the truth, like ripping off a bandage. It worked with Mel, right?
I continued, “Bola became a part of the raping tag team. That was the price he named when Dylan summoned him and requested his aid, and that’s what Dylan granted.”
The glass in Tristan’s hand shattered, and the smell of his blood flooded the air. At the same time, Wick jumped off the sofa and kicked over the coffee table. My drink sprayed across the floor.
My throat grew thick again, my face tingled. If only the flooring would surge up and swallow me whole. “I lost count of the times Dylan, his pack, and Bola violated me. By the end, I learned how to distance myself from my body. They could have my flesh, but not my mind. It was the only way to protect myself.”
Silence.
I cleared my throat. “Bola wasn’t there the last time, though. That much I remember. I’d had enough. The…beast had enough. When it was my turn, again, something inside me snapped. The beast took over, and I annihilated the pack. I lost control and ripped them to shreds.”
My chin dropped, and I stared at my hands as my gut twisted in knots.
More silence.
The room buzzed with energy. Outside, cars drove by my building and a couple argued about who should pick up their dog’s poop on the sidewalk. The living room, which had smelled nicely of fresh flowers and laundry detergent, now stank of burnt cinnamon, hot metal and manky snakeskin. My nose wrinkled up on its own.
“I’m going to kill him,” Wick seethed.
Tristan plucked the glass out of his hand, and watched the gashes in his skin heal. “You’ll have to beat me to it.”
Wick growled. Tristan growled. Their eyes flashed yellow. The couch dipped as Tristan’s weight shifted, and he prepared to lunge.
“Neither of you can kill him. Yet. He’s in the body of my Witch neighbour.” My chest grew tight, and my stomach sank into my core. Why couldn’t things be easy? Why did life continuously throw these choices at me with no desirable outcomes and no clear solutions?
Tristan squeezed his bloody fists together, and Wick went back to pacing.
Silence dropped over the apartment again. It stretched and stretched and stretched. I had no interest in who picked up the dog poop outside, or how many cars passed. I wanted… What the heck did I want? Comfort? No, not really. Talking about my history left me raw. I wanted acceptance. I wanted these two strong men to hear the truth in my words, hear the horrors of my past and tell me they still wanted me, that everything would be okay.
“Well, that went well,” I said. “Look, I’ve had forty-eight years to get over this, to deal with the hurt, pain and humiliation, and it still pisses me off. I understand this information upsets you, but you need to support me right now. Not the other way around.”
Wick’s shoulders heaved as he struggled to get his breathing under control. His fists clenched and unclenched. “I can’t…” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked sideways at Tristan. He’d wrapped his hand in the base of his shirt to soak up the blood. With Were healing, the wound would’ve mended already, but he kept it twisted in the blue cloth. When he caught me looking, he untangled himself and reached out to hold my hand. He squeezed.
The burnt cinnamon grew stronger and came off Wick in waves, my gaze snapped back to him. He shook his head. “I can’t even console you. Not with him here. Why did you tell us together?”
Fair question and it took me a moment to consider why I dropped this landmine on them in such a way. It was easier. For me. More distance. “Maybe I don’t want to be held. Maybe I just want you to listen,” I said.
Wick grunted and looked away. “I hate this.”
“Not getting to hug me, or my history?” I asked.
“Both.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say. “If I could erase—”<
br />
Wick held up his hand. “Stop right there. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Tristan nodded. “Dylan was not your fault.”
Wick grunted in agreement. He shot the Wereleopard a dark look, like Tristan stole his line. “The truth of your past is hard to hear. I want to kill Bola, or do something to make the pain inside you go away.”
My lungs constricted. I opened my mouth to object. I had over forty years to deal. My past no longer pained me.
Wick settled me with a flat stare.
“We can smell it,” he said.
Well, damn. He had a point. My emotional pain stained the air. The cushions on my couch wouldn’t swallow me whole, even if I wished it.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Wick continued.
I nodded.
Tristan squeezed my hand again, and I turned to smile at him. His full lips parted to say something, but Wick’s voice cut him off.
“Unlike this guy,” Wick said.
“What?” I asked. My neck stiffened. Not that it always had to be about me, but geez, if any moment should be centered on me, it would be this one. What did Tristan have to do with my painful past, anyway?
“Tristan has a lot to answer for.” Wick folded his arms
The Wereleopard Alpha released my hand, and got to his feet slowly. “What do you mean by that?”
“You killed Andy’s handler. From what I hear, you gruesomely gutted him in his own home without mercy.”
“That same handler used Andy and was a wanted fugitive,” Tristan said. “He had a kill bounty on his head.”
Wick’s eyes narrowed, and he stopped pacing to square off. “What else have you done?”
“Excuse me?”
“If you killed a defenseless norm for Ethan, what other dirty work did you do?” Wick took a step closer to Tristan.
Part of me wanted to rip Wick a new one for using this opportunity to take a dig at Tristan. The other part wanted to know the answer, too. What else had Tristan done for Ethan? What was he capable of?
Would it change things for me?
I’d done some pretty heinous things myself.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed at Wick. “Like your hands are clean? Are you going to stand there with this lofty act and pretend you haven’t done any tasks for your master? Weren’t you the one holding down Andy as your master blood-raped her? We both had masters, we both know what that means, and we have to live with it for the rest of our lives.” Tristan took a step toward Wick. They stood inches apart. “The only difference is I no longer serve a master. And you do.”
The truth sent an arrow to my heart. I cared for Wick, but his actions were often not his own. They were Lucien’s. I tended to forget this harsh reality whenever we were together because my reaction to him was so overwhelming, but Tristan’s reminder acted like a cold rag to the face.
Wick jerked to attention. His mouth flattened into a grim line and his muscles tensed.
What the hell? I told these men my deepest, darkest, dirtiest history, and they turned it into a pissing match.
Heat spread from my chest, up my stiff neck and across my face.
“Guys,” I said.
They ignored me and leaned toward each other, arms out.
“Guys!” I shouted. They both hesitated and reluctantly turned their heads to me. “I’d like you both to leave.”
Wick’s eyes widened and Tristan flinched. They both moved toward me. I jerked to my feet.
“I have a lot to think about and a lot to do. I’m emotionally exhausted, and I can’t do any more of this right now. If you really want to scrap like frat boys at a mixer, then take it outside.” I shouldered past them, and stalked to my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and fell face first into my soft duvet.
The men left quietly without a single word. I don’t know how they did it without tearing each other apart or without one of them turning his back on the other, but they must’ve made a silent agreement to get the hell out of my space. Good.
****
With a heavy heart in a hollow chest, I sat on my bed after Tristan and Wick left and stared at nothing, letting the tangled emotions flow out of me. An empty husk.
The beast stirred.
She pushed for power.
No. Not happening. My inner bitch could calm down.
As if I spoke to her directly, which I kind of did, the beast settled, nestling back in my core.
I hadn’t lied to the men. After forty-eight years, the past usually held little power over me. With the reappearance of Bola, however, old fear, weakness and humiliation resurfaced. Less sharp, the pain didn’t slice as deep, but it still cut.
Spilling my history to the men had slapped a bandage on the old wound, but now something else coiled up my spine. The thought of Bola made another emotion surge up to rattle the beast and put me on edge.
Anger.
No longer an empty husk, red hot rage boiled in my veins.
Maybe I needed an emotional timeout. I had no desire to let the beast take over and rampage through the Tri-cities in destructo-mode.
Instead, I got off the bed, made a tea, took a deep breath and dug out my phone.
Forget the timeout. I needed some answers.
The old man’s voice crackled over the phone. “Ambassador McNeilly, what a pleasant surprise.”
Alone in my living room with only the lingering scents of Wick and Tristan, I relaxed on the couch, and rested my head on the back. Agent Donny O’Donnell, the coyote Shifter. I’d first met him when I’d tried to choke the life out of Tucker and since Donny did nothing to stop me, I’d considered him a friend ever since.
“Cut the crap, O’Donnell. You always seem to know when I’m going to call, so this shouldn’t be such a shock.”
O’Donnell cackled, and I wanted to smack my phone to see if it would hurt him on the other side.
“Good point,” he said. “I guess the real surprise will come when you tell me why you are calling me. There’s such an array to choose from.”
“How do you detach a Demon from a host’s body?”
“Ah, so it is about Demons, then. Is the host willing or unwilling?”
“Unwilling. No wait. Willing, sort of.”
“Is it you?” he asked.
“No, you old coyote, it’s not me. The host was originally willing, but the Witches botched the agreement and forgot to specify a possession time limit.”
O’Donnell whistled. “There’s a lot of botching going on in your life, isn’t there? First the failed attempt on Clint’s life. Now this?”
I glared at the phone.
Donny cleared his throat and continued, “As long as the host is alive, the Demon is tethered to the realm of Earth and cannot be banished. You will need to either kill the host or catch the Demon outside the host’s body.
“Both of those will be difficult.” Technically, killing Christopher wouldn’t be difficult aside from tracking him down, but morally the decision sucked. Christopher would be dead and Bola sent back to the demonic realm, free to return on his next summoning.
“No other options?” I asked.
“Well…” he said.
“Anything.” My fingers dug into the couch’s soft material.
“There’s always divine intervention.”
I snarled into the receiver and held the phone back to jab the “End” button with my index finger.
“Wait!” O’Donnell said.
My rigid finger paused millimetres from the screen. “What?” I asked. “I’ll say thank you when I get over my dire circumstances.”
“Whatever.” Donny vocally waved off my comment. “Divine intervention isn’t as outlandish as it sounds. Think about it. And before you hang up on me, I wanted to ask how things are going.”
“Really? Did nothing from our conversation give you a hint?”
“With your feras,” he clarified. “How’s your fox? Have you had any other…?”
My eyes narrowed. “Donny O’Don
nell, if I catch you sneaking around my house at night playing Peeping Tom, you’re going to be sorry.”
The Shifter chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Have you met your newest fera yet? What is it?”
This time my finger didn’t falter when it hit the button to hang up. Donny took way too much enjoyment from the debacle of my life. I could just picture him wheezing in his office with that laugh of his, slapping his leg.
Chapter Twenty
“Apparently, my greatest achievement for today was keeping my mouth shut.”
~Andy McNeilly
The warm summer air clung to my skin with scents of lilac and jasmine. A perfect night for flying. Unfortunately, my destination was Lucien’s manor, and as soon as my bare feet hit the expensive Italian marble, the Vampire lair sucked away all the enjoyment from my short flight. As if Lucien tapped an emotional vein and fed.
I stood in a fluffy white bathrobe, compliments of Allan, and waited for Lucien to finish his meal in the other room. Soft sucking sounds and smells of decay and the dregs of a wine barrel wafted through the grand receiving room to scratch the inside of my nose.
I hated this place.
Judging by the increasing pitch and rate of moaning from whatever woman Lucien used as a blood bag, my wait would end soon.
I stood on the red rug in front of his throne-like chair in the giant, empty room. All of Lucien’s minions were preoccupied with running errands, but the air in the vacant room hung heavy with layers of Vampire scents. The room closed in on me.
Need to be free, Red whispered.
I stared down at the ghost-like fera wrapped around my leg. Her soft belly pressed against the top of my foot, and her cold snout tickled the skin behind my ankle. I’d left her at my place, but somehow she’d winked back into existence once I landed at Lucien’s. I needed a fera operating manual.
I can’t dispel him, yet. He can still kill me, I told her.
If he keeps ordering you around, he might kill you anyway.
She had a point.
“Andrea,” Lucien crooned. He swaggered into the room looking ever the Italian model, the red rug his runway. “Thank you for coming.”
Carpe Demon (Carus #3) Page 14
