Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series

by Holley Trent

  Her body was as confused as her mind. His gentle touch felt so good, but her knees began to bob beneath it.

  “You’re safe, Marion,” he whispered, keeping his gaze locked on hers. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for months. I wanted you to learn to trust me first, or you wouldn’t have believed me.” He dragged the pad of his thumb along her jaw, and she both moaned and shuddered in fear.

  “You know I can’t lie to you, sweetheart, don’t you? Tap into that place”—he trailed his index finger down her neck and made a light circle over her heart—“and listen in.”

  “This is ridiculous. I can’t—”

  “Listen to it. Please. This is about me, you, and our future, so please try. Just tune in, and trust your heart. Trust your gut.”

  “What about my brain?”

  “Brains get in the way. Just try.”

  Forcing out a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and tried to tune out logic and reason, and listen to the little voice that never steered her wrong. Not even back in Idaho.

  The little voice said, Hurting you would be hurting himself, and besides … you’ve touched him before. Yesterday. And nothing happened.

  Something should have happened, right? Shouldn’t she have felt something besides comfort when she grabbed his wrist if she were losing her claim to her soul?

  She opened her eyes and saw the plea in his expression, and it was so clear that he wanted her so badly. Her. Whether it was the Fates who were responsible for his endearment, she couldn’t say, but she was glad it was there.

  “I want to trust you,” she said.

  “I know it’s hard, and I know you’ll probably want some proof, right?”

  She nodded, and knew she probably looked a little crazed. “That would help.”

  “You can ask your grandmother, Julia, or even Mrs. Tate.”

  “Mrs. Tate?”

  “Yes. She’s like you. She bore a demon’s children, so no matter how Pop touches her, no matter how hard he tries to sully her, he can’t mark her soul.”

  “I’m safe because of the baby? So, after she’s born …”

  “You’re safe from me forever. Forever, Marion.”

  “Oh,” she said lamely.

  Did this mean they could have a real relationship, not just frustrating chastity?

  Okay, maybe she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not without proof.

  “I’ll talk to Mrs. Tate,” she said, and waited for him to show some sign of offense.

  He didn’t. “I’ll arrange it. We’ll see if we can bring her here as soon as possible.” He pushed up to standing and drew the papers out of his pocket. Sitting, he extended the top-most sheet toward her. “Hey, I’ve been working on getting you a bit of leg room. I know you’re feeling pent up. I’ve always had an eye for real estate, and I couldn’t let that deal slip away.”

  This was all too much at once. What was this?

  Marion turned the page sideways and studied the simple map. That parcel looked familiar, with the trees at the rear, the creek at the right.

  “Is that the neighboring lot? The cotton field that hasn’t been seeded this year?”

  “It is. You may have noticed the signs during your walks.”

  He knew about those? Shit. She dragged her shirtsleeve across her forehead. What next?

  “The property went up for sale back in January. I talked it over with Clarissa, and she thought it’d be a good idea if I bought it. If for nothing else, she and Claude could extend the wards and expand the safe area for the supernatural types who need a bit of respite. But I thought maybe you could live there. We could build you a house wherever you want it, and you’d be just a short walk away from your grandmother and sister. Look.” Gently, he took the paper back, being very careful to avoid touching her hands. He made a circle with his finger near the property border. “The new wards would be strongest right around here, and John and Ariel thought they could move back here.” He pointed to a spot sort of near the woods, just on the other side of the property line.

  “You’d … build me a house? Just for me? Uh, us?”

  Heat rushed up her neck to her cheeks. There went that shyness again. She hoped the ballsy bitch would come back soon, because she didn’t like feeling this vulnerable. Love felt like such a weak thing. Was that was it was, love? Or was it fear?

  “Yes. Well, not just us. Us and our daughter.”

  “Why can’t we stay here?”

  “Certainly, you could stay if you wanted to, but it might get crowded in here.”

  “What do you mean? You and Claude moving in full time?”

  That actually wouldn’t be so bad. She just felt safer when they were all around, and there was so much more warmth when the house was crowded and filled with the three brothers’ playful arguing. And, yeah, she wanted to keep her incubus near. Maybe he was retired from the profession, but when he disappeared for days or weeks at a time, she worried that the connection she thought they had meant nothing to him. Whenever he returned, she regretted ever feeling that way because he always had such sadness in his eyes when he looked at her. He didn’t act like he’d forgotten about her. That was her hang-up. A side effect of Foster Kid-itis.

  “No. We just found out today. Your parents are coming home. It’s one of the things Claude, John, and I have been working on since last year. I’m going to rendezvous with Julia and John. We’re going to go meet them and get them here discreetly. If they get teleported in, they won’t leave a trail to follow. Like you, they won’t be able to leave the property for the time being, but no one but us will know they’re here.”

  Marion hadn’t thrown up in months, but suddenly, a feeling of queasiness rolled over her in waves.

  Her parents? What would they think of her? Would they judge her?

  “Sweetheart, maybe you should lie down. You look pale.” He pressed his warm hand against her forehead, and added to her dizziness. His touch shouldn’t have felt like such a taboo, and maybe it always would.

  “Oh my God.”

  Did they know she was pregnant? By a cambion?

  “They’re going to kill you,” she said in a squeak. She didn’t even know them, but that seemed the obvious course of action.

  She raked his hair back from his eyes with shaking hands he took hold of and pressed against his lips.

  “I probably deserve it, sweetheart.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sylvester Thomas held both of his daughters in what seemed to be a spine-crushing embrace, judging by the wheezing sounds escaping from the women’s chests. He rocked them a bit side to side, murmuring something to them in a language Charles couldn’t parse. Russian? No. Not quite that.

  Marion seemed to be enduring the hug more than enjoying it, judging by her pinched expression and wide eyes. She held her arms tight against her sides and let herself be swayed.

  Her gaze tracked over to Charles, and there was a plea in it. Help me, it said.

  How could he? He was in enough hot water with the newcomers as it was. He gave her a grin he hoped looked sufficiently contrite. The one thing she’d really wanted to be rescued from in all these months wasn’t monsters, but a hug, and Charles had to refuse her. Maybe they could laugh about it later.

  “I’m so happy you’re hearty and hale,” Sylvester said, letting go of the girls.

  Ariel drew in a breath and straightened the now rumpled dress she’d worn to work. “A little less hale after that hug. Jesus Christ, Daddy.”

  “I’m so pleased you’d call me Daddy after all these years.”

  “You’re pretty hard to forget.” Her gaze tracked over his stocky frame.

  He was average height, but powerfully built. He’d kept in shape while on the road. He’d probably had to.

  “I didn’t get the luxury of having anything to remember,” Marion said in a voice so soft, Charles wasn’t certain she’d meant for anyone to hear it.

  Clarissa had. She pressed her palm against her overwhelmed granddaughter’s back a
nd rubbed, saying nothing.

  John eased in closer to Charles and murmured, “Still waiting for the fallout.”

  “It’s coming. He’s already insinuated that he’d make sure I’d never impregnate anyone ever again.”

  “Want to teleport out of here?”

  “I don’t think that would leave a good taste in their mouths, or the girls’.”

  As if on cue, Lottie Thomas positioned herself in front of them and looked from John to Charles. Her dark eyes were piercing, her stare emasculating. She was teeny-tiny, not much more than five feet tall, but both John and Charles took a reflexive step backward.

  She hadn’t said a word to them since they’d escorted the Thomases to the house, but now she seemed to have hundreds of them on her tongue. Not a one of them was likely to be positive.

  “You look just like your father,” she said to John in a soft, modulated voice.

  “You’ve met him?”

  “No. But I make it my business to know him if I saw him. He’s got a reputation.” She swiveled slowly toward Charles. “I heard he has more than a hundred children. How many do you have besides the one you put in my daughter?”

  Clarissa slipped in between Lottie and the boys and put up her hands. “Don’t do that. They get enough of it from me. Besides, who are you to criticize whom the girls ended up with, given your own circumstances?”

  Charles wanted to know more about those circumstances, but wouldn’t dare say so. Not when Lottie’s attention was on Clarissa at the moment and not him.

  “Don’t rock the boat, Lottie. Sylvester, you hear me?”

  Sylvester looked up from yet another crushing hug and blinked at Clarissa. “I have no idea what you mean. I’ll be civil.”

  “I need you to be more than civil. This has been my show for the past twenty-five years and I’ll run it as I see fit. These boys are in my house on my say-so. Don’t go harassing them.”

  “Or else what?” Lottie asked, voice still in that modulated wisp. It was almost sing-song.

  Charles didn’t know who was scarier—Sylvester with his knives strapped to his boots or his little wife in the pink cardigan who never raised her voice. She’d probably kill him while wearing a smile.

  “I hate to say it, Lottie, but if y’all can’t get along, you and Syl will have to go. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Mother, I just … didn’t expect this. When we met them at the rendezvous point, we hardly expected demons to be our escorts. The messenger didn’t tell us who they’d be.”

  Marion stepped across the braided area rug, hands resting atop her belly, and didn’t seem to know where to stand. She looked from her mother, to Clarissa, to Charles, anxiety marked by her red cheeks and wide eyes, and finally moved to Charles’s side.

  He lifted his arm to wrap around her, but dropped it just in time.

  She looked up at him, and the question was clear in her expression. What am I supposed to do?

  He wished he could answer that, but he didn’t know. What was she supposed to feel for parents she’d never known? Should she try to squeeze out a few joyous tears or something, or was it okay to be a little numb?

  “Tired?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Why don’t you go on upstairs? You’ve been up so long. I’m surprised you haven’t crashed already.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded again and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “Are you … coming up?”

  He looked at Sylvester, whose green eyes were narrowed into slits. Lottie wore her same unreadable expression. Clarissa gave her head a minute bob toward the hall and stairs, granting her permission, though Charles knew it came with an unspoken warning: Don’t be stupid.

  Marion’s trust for him was tentative, and he knew that. She’d spoken with Julia and Mrs. Tate, and both confirmed what Charles had said. She knew they had no reason to lie, especially not Julia, who cared so much for her extended family. He needed to ease Marion into this thing. They’d gone nearly a year without intimacy, so he couldn’t just assume she’d be ready to go at it again just like that.

  They had time. A lot of time, if Claude got the information he needed from Charles’s mother.

  He groaned at the thought. Why had he agreed to that spectacle? He said okay, and they were going to bring her spirit through when conditions were right. He was already bracing himself for her disappointment.

  “Claude should be back with dinner in about an hour,” Clarissa said. “I’ll call y’all down.”

  He followed Marion up the stairs and into her room and closed the door behind him.

  She sat on the bed’s edge, wringing her hands and staring at the floor.

  “Too much at once?” he asked. He pulled the armchair by the dresser closer to the bedside and sat.

  He wanted to take her shaking hands in his and squeeze them, rub them until she was calm, and if he’d had to do this whole thing over again, he’d make it so he could do it. He wouldn’t wait so long to explain things to her. He wouldn’t hold out on her.

  “Yes. You know, nine months ago I was trying to figure out where I wanted to put down roots so I could have a home base. You know, some normalcy. I wanted to find some place to raise the kids I’d have with the husband I hadn’t found yet. I imagined it’d be this wonderful thing, because growing up, I didn’t have family.”

  “It was just me and my mother until I was around twelve, and then she got married, but at least I had her.” He’d craved that nuclear family as child, too, but now as a grown man, he knew with some parents, it was better for them to not be in the picture. He wasn’t sure that scenario applied to Marion and Ariel, however.

  “Every day since I’ve come here, I’ve wondered if I’m fit to be around people.”

  “Of course you are. Everyone loves you.”

  “Shush. I feel like I’m in a glass terrarium and everyone’s watching me.”

  “If they’re watching, it’s because you’re beautiful.”

  “You’re full of shit, Charles.” She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes.

  “I mean it. I’m lucky to have you as my very significant other.”

  “Whatever that means, right?”

  “We’ll play it by ear, just like we have been.”

  She pulled her legs up onto the bed and wriggled down to put her head on her pillow. “You going to be around more? I’m going to have this baby any day, I mean. You should probably be close, just in case.”

  What was that about? She should have known better than that by now.

  “Just for the baby?”

  She didn’t answer. She just closed her eyes and sighed again.

  But that was okay.

  • • •

  Marion watched the red digits on the nightstand clock creep ever closer to dawn. Some people counted sheep. She watched digital clock numbers.

  She hadn’t been so restless since that major progesterone surge in the first trimester that had her pacing the floors of the small house to combat her insomnia and psychedelic dreams. Now it wasn’t unfettered hormones keeping her awake, but her daughter’s insistent head-butting of her maternal bladder and one of her precious little baby knees wedged beneath Marion’s ribs.

  It didn’t matter how Marion rolled; there was no comfortable position to be in. The last couple of times she’d slept upright, she’d ended up falling over and waking just in time to slap down her hands and prevent her head’s collision with some protruding furniture edge.

  Charles, on the other side of the full-length foam body pillow, shifted, turning toward the curtained window.

  She listened to his breaths, and found them shallow. Not relaxed.

  “Are you asleep?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “Is all my rolling around keeping you up?”

  “No, I’m not that light a sleeper. I’ve slept through bombs.”

  Marion pushed up onto her right elbow and nudged the bottom of her right ribs, hoping the gi
rl would shift toward center. “Do demons actually need to sleep?”

  A long silence stretched between them, and briefly, Marion worried that her question was offensive. It’d been genuine curiosity, but she could see how a person would take it otherwise.

  “Demons?” he murmured. “No. Demonic offspring? Depends.”

  “What on?”

  “What they’re mixed with.”

  “How human they are, you mean.”

  Another long pause, and then he grunted acquiescence. “I guess we’re going to go there, huh?”

  “We’re past due, don’t you think?”

  “Quite. What do you want to know?”

  “Did you always know? What you are, I mean.”

  “No.”

  “How did you find out?”

  He rolled onto his back and scooted up so his spine pressed against the headboard. “I don’t want to dump things on you too fast.”

  “Too late for that.” She pointed to her belly.

  “That’s fair.” He rubbed his eyes and blew out a sigh. “I had a normal childhood. Normal enough, I guess. I didn’t know anything was unusual about me or my mother while growing up. It was just the two of us until she married my stepfather, and I never thought to ask where my father was or why my grandparents weren’t around. My mother was just … everything. I never felt like I was missing out on the nuclear family.”

  Well, that made one of them.

  “From what I know about your father, I’m surprised he left her alone. He seems the territorial type.”

  “He didn’t leave her alone. Yes, she refused him after I was born, but he didn’t really go away. Not completely. He antagonized her a lot. I didn’t know it at the time. Didn’t know it until after he claimed me and brought my mark online.” He held up his left palm and the archaic symbol etched into flesh glowed blue.

  “I know she’s not around, but aren’t demigoddesses supposed to be immortal?”

  “Immortal meaning hard to kill? Yes. She’s dead. She was killed a hundred years ago.”

  Killed? She put a hand to her belly as a painful Braxton Hicks contraction clenched her core. Oh God. Snuffing out a demigoddess couldn’t have been an easy thing, right? So what chance did Marion have? Shit. She’d never leave the property ever again.