Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series

by Holley Trent

  “It was just a joke, Charles. Have you always been so uptight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a chill pill. Go with the flow. Let down your hair, and whatnot.”

  “I find it difficult to be flippant given our current dilemma, sweetheart.”

  He had a point, but shouldn’t they have been a bit more casual with each other? It was as if they’d gone about their relationship in the wrong order. They’d been intimate first thing, and now they were in the uncomfortable getting-to-know-you stage. He was her daughter’s father. The least she could do was be cordial, but she wanted more than that. She wanted some substance to go along with those butterflies she felt in her belly every time he was near.

  Maybe they couldn’t touch, but they could talk. That was the least people who were supposedly fated mates could do, right? She still wasn’t sure if that was true. If there was such a thing as true love, why did so many people end up with partners who were no good for them? Partners who hurt them?

  She drew her feet in front of her and crossed her legs the best she could, clearing her throat again. “So …”

  She’d never had much practice in flirting. Boys back in high school hadn’t paid much attention to her. She’d been too withdrawn. As an adult, she wasn’t much better. If she wanted a man, all she’d needed to do was be candid about it. In an odd turn of events this time, she had the man, but barely knew him.

  He pushed both eyebrows up, and the morose expression of a moment ago receded with his anticipation. “Yes?”

  “Um … so, when’s the last time you had short hair?”

  “Short hair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Of all things you could ask, you’re curious about my hair?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been watching a lot of Highlander reruns. I’ve got a thing for Adrian Paul circa 1994.”

  That made him chuckle, and she loved seeing the way his good humor reached the eyes that were always so sad. Had she been part of the reason for that sadness?

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Really. I have no shame in admitting I’m shallow.”

  “So I shouldn’t cut it?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “A preppy cut wouldn’t suit you. Besides, it gives me something to pull if I need it. Could I touch it, or is that included in the hands-off policy?” Not that she’d be doing the sort of hair pulling she really wanted to be.

  He didn’t answer immediately. His smile sagged a bit at the corners, and he uncrossed his legs. “Yes, you could touch it. It’s dead, after all.”

  Slowly, she eased off the bed and padded the few steps toward him, stopping in the open V of his legs, being careful not to bump him with her unwieldy belly. Slowly, she nudged his hair from his face and tucked it behind his ears without touching his skin. “There we go,” she whispered. “I can see you now.”

  She eased back to the bedside and his white-knuckled grip on the chair arms loosened. “Why so tense?”

  “Restraining myself from touching you is rather difficult because of how important you are to me.”

  “I wish you could touch me. I—”

  She what? She was so desperate for affection—his affection—that she fought back tears some nights? She’d never felt more at home than that day she’d been tangled up in his bed, with his limbs.

  His brows knit, lips parted, and mouth formed some word, but before he could speak his mind, she cut him off. She didn’t want his pity. “Is it that way with your father? Does everyone he touches go to Hell?”

  “Um.” He drew in a breath, and seemed to study her intently. His gaze was so penetrating she had to look away from it. Why did she feel so ashamed all of a sudden, so nervous? She was having a child with this man.

  “No,” he said finally. “It’s just because of my particular hodgepodge of genetics. My mother was a very sensual being, but not in a sexual way at all. Her touch was comforting. It conveyed her love for people. In me, I guess there’s some sort of short-circuit where it doesn’t play nice with the demon stuff. Anyhow, I think the last time I had really short hair was around 1963. Claude and I had brief stints in the military at Pop’s behest. Lucky us, we got deployed overseas. Naturally, we were too busy avoiding landmines and bomb-strapped prostitutes to be particularly productive doing the incubus thing. Pop wanted to pull us out, but it didn’t seem right that we could come and go as we pleased without repercussions while all those men in our unit were stuck in the jungle wishing they could go home.”

  “Huh,” she said lamely.

  Could it be that her cambion had a noble streak? Everyone kept saying not to judge the boys for what they were. Maybe she should start listening, because obviously the guy was far more interesting than just being a good lay. Oh, the stories he could tell.

  “What other kinds of trouble have you and Claude gotten yourselves into?”

  He grinned. “Claude’s exploits are his to tell about, but I’ve had plenty of shenanigans of my own I’ll tell you about in due time. Right now, though, dinner? I know someplace we can go where no one will bother you.”

  “Well, let me get my shoes. Where is this place? How come you haven’t taken me there before?”

  “It’s Julia’s and Calvin’s house. It’s in a sort of void zone for demonic radar. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but you’d be as safe there as you are here.”

  She sighed. “So I’m just moving from one shark cage to another one.”

  “It’s the best I can do right now.”

  Well, that was someplace to start.

  He stood and pushed the chair back against the wall. “Calvin’s pack was having something called a pig-picking on his property and he said to bring you by for a proper hazing.”

  “Oh, who could resist an offer like that? Barbecue and hillbillies? Sign me up, baby.”

  She slipped on her flip-flops and looked into the dresser mirror to fluff her hair.

  Charles worked his thumbs over his phone’s touchscreen and eased toward the bedroom door. “Texting Julia. She should be here in a moment to zap us over.”

  “Calvin said teleporting is a surefire way to kill a man’s courage. It’s my first time, so good thing I’m not a man.”

  “First time, really? That’s right. Ariel drove you to the beach.”

  “Yeah. Julia wanted to teleport us, but Ariel didn’t think she’d have the energy to teleport there and back and then do the shielding thing. They argued about it.”

  “Ariel was probably right. Julia is still in the learning curve and unexercised. But, hey, teleporting’s not that bad. No more dangerous for you and the baby than walking through an airport scanner, I suppose. Werewolves are just wired funny. Ariel’s done it enough with Mark, and she’s never complained as far as I know.”

  “No, she hasn’t. I got all the complaining genes, I guess.” She shrugged at her reflection and sighed. God, she was a mess, and Charles wanted to be seen with her? Must have been something wrong with him.

  “Isn’t this cute? I’ve having a baby soon, and here we are going on our first date,” she said.

  “I don’t know if cute’s the word I’d use, but I’m glad you see it as a date. It may be the only one we have for a long while.”

  “And why’s that?” There went that petulant voice again. When did she turn into such a brat?

  He sighed, tucked his phone into his back pocket, and fixed that ocean-blue stare on her. “Because I’m making a huge mess for my father and I need to do it before he realizes he’s sitting in it.”

  She swallowed, and fear rolled down her back like it had at the beach yesterday. “Does this have to do with me?”

  “No, sweetheart. It has to do with all of us.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marion’s flushed cheeks and heavy breathing ignited an unfamiliar sort of fear in Charles. Had the teleport impacted her more than she let on?

  Was she in labor?

  “Marion?”

  She
put up her left hand and breathed through parted lips while scanning the area around them.

  Calvin’s back deck and yard were strung up in festive white twinkle lights, and the three-quarter moon added brightness to what would have otherwise been a woods-darkened lot. Seventies rock and roll played through portable speakers someone had plugged an MP3 player into, and people sat around talking, laughing, and nursing their beers while waiting for the pig to roast.

  “Th-they’re all werewolves?” she asked.

  “Every one of them. Except Julia, of course. Why?”

  He didn’t take her for the type of woman to be so fearful of a bunch of folks who’d rather play poker than bay at the moon.

  “They just seem to be really, really here.” Her fingers tightened around his naked wrist as she took another step onto the deck, and he stumbled crossing the threshold upon registering her touch. He couldn’t harm her, of course, but he’d expected their next touch to be intentional. There she went and grabbed him out of the blue to pull him along. An accident. She kept saying her brain was like Swiss cheese because of the pregnancy, and now he was witnessing it. She didn’t seem to notice her blunder, or him tripping because of it. She just let go of him and leaned against the railing, looking down at the fire pit.

  Fuck. He’d wanted to tell her back there in the bedroom. He’d wanted to press his palms to her cheeks and kiss her until she was breathless. He’d wanted to say, “It’s okay. We can touch, we can make love,” but the timing was bad. Her likely reaction would have been a complete and total freak-out, which was exactly what they didn’t need right before a social outing.

  Later. He’d tell her later.

  “I thought maybe it was fluke. It wasn’t a fluke, was it?”

  “You thought what was a fluke?”

  “Whenever Calvin visits Momma’s, I always feel like there are suddenly a bunch more people in the room, but it’s just him.”

  “Oh.” He shouldn’t have been surprised she felt it, given her recent observations. “It’s his energy. Something about shapeshifters and their overactive metabolisms. It doesn’t bother me. I can tell they’re supernatural, but couldn’t tell what kind unless I already knew them. Claude can usually tell.” And he imagined Marion would be able to discern the same thing with some experience. He slid his cell phone out of his back pocket and typed in a text message to Clarissa.

  Hey. No disrespect intended, lady, but perhaps you’d like to tell me why Marion can sense werewolves when neither John nor I can. Just wondering what sort of traits my daughter will end up with. No big deal.

  He didn’t expect her to answer. He just wanted Clarissa to know that he knew she was hiding something. She’d probably run him up a pole for the cheek later, but oh well. He put the screen to sleep and tucked the device back into his pocket.

  “You going to be okay?” he asked.

  Marion pushed back from the rail and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I already feel better. I just needed some time to process the sensory overload. Why can I feel that? That’s not normal, is it?”

  “Normal? No. Come on.” He indicated the steps down to the yard. Best they just dance around that peculiarity for the moment. “I want to introduce you to Calvin’s mother. She crocheted a blanket for the baby. It’s ugly as sin, but thank her anyway.”

  “You’ve got pretty good manners for a demon.”

  He scoffed, and watched her descend the few stairs to ground level. “I was raised by my mother. She was keen to instruct me in the more refined mannerisms. Wouldn’t do for me to be uncivil in public, and if I was, it usually got back around to her. I hated disappointing her.”

  From the bottom step, he pointed toward the barbecue, indicating the woman with salt-and-pepper hair. “There’s Mrs. Wolff.”

  Marion nodded, and they walked. “Your mother. Was she—”

  “Charles!” came a gravelly voice that was most certainly not that of the matronly Mrs. Wolff.

  Charles lurched forward awkwardly from the sudden addition of weight onto his back and sighed upon spying the little butterfly tattoo atop the bare foot skimming his right leg. “Hello, Sweetie.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her nose against his shoulder. “Where’ve you been?”

  Marion moved in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest and pinning him with a cold gaze. That must have been hard for her. Try as she might, it was difficult for those brown eyes to appear anything but warm. She must have been well and truly pissed. He shouldn’t have felt so exultant at such a thing.

  “Sweetie?” she said in a voice dripping with venom. She drummed her fingers on the sides of her bare arms. “I guess you call everyone sweetheart, huh? Who’s your friend, Charles?”

  He tried to tip Sweetie off his back, but she clung tight, chattering in his ear about how he never came around.

  He sighed. “Sweetie is her name, sweet—” He clamped his teeth on the word sweetheart and squatted so Sweetie’s bare feet touched the ground.

  She got the hint and got off, but wrapped her left arm around his waist. He left it there. Wasn’t worth the fight, and she didn’t mean anything by it. She was just friendly. He’d need to follow up on his promise to Calvin to find his sister’s mate soon, or she’d likely cross the wrong bitch.

  “Believe it or not, Sweetie’s her legal name,” he said, and nodded in greeting to Mrs. Wolff joining their congregation. “Marion, please meet Calvin’s mother, Mrs. Wolff, and his sister, Sweetie. They live over in town.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Marion said, but her voice indicated she meant anything but. Her gaze trailed down to Sweetie’s hand at his waist, and red inched up her cheeks.

  Oh. Let’s not give her the wrong idea.

  He took a step sideways and reached into an open drink cooler to subvert Sweetie’s clutch. He extended a bottle of water, and she took it after casting one more warning glare at Sweetie.

  He needed to diffuse the situation, and quickly. “Uh, Sweetie. Mrs. Wolff, this is the Marion you’ve heard so much about. My—”

  His what? There wasn’t really a term for everything she was to him. Soul mate? Cheesy. Partner? That seemed antiseptic.

  “My girlfriend.” The word seemed entirely unsuitable, but it’d have to do. He’d never used that word to describe any woman in his life before. Even before Pop marked him, he’d been far too casual with women to attach any titles.

  Marion’s furious expression crumpled into one of adorable confusion, and Mrs. Wolff at her side nodded knowingly.

  “I was just telling Clarissa over the phone last week that I reckon she wouldn’t go past the next full moon, and Clarissa said she probably would ’cause women in her family always carry babies over-long. We got to talking and talking, and you know how we do once we start chattering, and she told me about all the construction work going on at the house and—”

  “Ma!” Sweetie stamped her foot. “Go get the blanket!”

  Mrs. Wolff’s jaw flapped. “The what?”

  “The blanket. Go get the blanket from the guest room. For the baby.”

  “Oh! I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Wolff gave Marion a little pat on the belly and said, “I made it from an old family pattern. You’re gonna love it, I sure do swear. I make ’em for every girl what gets knocked up. All the Wolves. Everybody in the pack short of Sweetie has one.”

  Sweetie sighed.

  Marion’s chuckle was dry and a bit nervous-sounding. “Okay. Uh, thanks?”

  “Be right back.” Mrs. Wolff hurried toward the deck, and Sweetie turned doleful eyes to Marion.

  “You’re so lucky,” she said. “You got you a classy one. Guys around here wouldn’t know a bouquet from a baseball.”

  “I think calling me classy is a flattering exaggeration,” Charles said, laughing as much at Sweetie’s words as Marion’s expression of incredulity.

  Sweetie rolled her eyes and tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Oh, stop. I wish someone would love me the way you
love her, Cupid. Just the way you talk about her makes me wish for my own Prince Charming. He don’t have to ride in on a white horse or even a white Ford Mustang. I’m not picky anymore. He could drive a gotdang Civic and I’ll be all right with it.”

  “It’s okay to be picky,” Marion said softly. “There’s someone for everyone.”

  She sounded like she actually believed it. Maybe she did now. He sure felt it when she raised an unusually timid gaze to him.

  Oh yes. She needed to be kissed and soon.

  “I know. It just gets hard waiting sometimes when you’ve got a mother like mine.” Sweetie inclined her head toward the house. “Let me go see what’s holding her up. She gets distracted real easy. Maybe by the time I come back, I hope you’ll have mustered up some good actin’ skills, ’cause Marion—that blanket’s ugly.”

  She walked away with the stealth of the beautiful predator she was, calling over her shoulder, “Get her a sandwich, Charles. There’s plenty to go around.”

  Charles stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited for Marion to meet his gaze—for her to say something. Anything.

  She fidgeted her water bottle’s cap and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “You get used to being around the wolves. They come on a little strong sometimes, but they don’t mean anything by it. You should be flattered. The enthusiasm means they like you. If they were uncomfortable, they’d shun you,” he said when she didn’t break the silence.

  “Does everyone know what you can do? The Cupid thing, I mean.” She kept her stare trained on her bottle cap.

  “Yes. I think most folks do by now. It was something I kept under wraps about myself until last year.”

  His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he pulled it out, squinting at the screen as some female werewolf—one he didn’t recognize—pulled Marion away, chattering about her cute haircut.

  Clarissa had texted You don’t need to know. That knowledge wouldn’t serve you or either of the girls in any way, shape, or form. Will you have Marion home in time for dessert? I churned ice cream. Tell her it’s butter pecan. She likes that.