Insatiable Desire

by Rita Herron

  The reverend murmured another prayer, yet Tracy’s spirit lingered beside the freshly turned earth, her pale face somber as she watched her family grieving. Then her gaze met Clarissa’s, and Clarissa silently relayed assurances that they would find her killer.

  Hadley appeared near Clarissa, and she tensed.

  “Death is not the end,” Hadley murmured to her.

  Clarissa inhaled sharply.

  “You know it, Clarissa. You’re not afraid of it, are you?”

  A shudder rippled up her spine, then Hadley left to join the pallbearers.

  Tim Bluster stepped up beside her. “Are you okay, Clarissa?”

  She twisted her hands together, unsure how to answer. She hadn’t thought Hadley dangerous before, but his cryptic comment raised her doubts. He definitely sounded menacing and deranged.

  Still, she hated to point the finger without knowing more. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just sad for the Cantons.”

  Sheriff Waller strode up to her and gestured at his phone.

  “That was Valtrez. He just found another victim in the mountains.”

  Clarissa clenched her hands, desperation mushrooming inside her.

  Pan reveled in the tortured expression on Clarissa’s face. She was beginning to break, the cries of the dead wearing on her. He could see the strain on her face, the pain in her eyes, the fear in the way she shivered as she tried desperately to hold herself together.

  The sweet taste of victory burned his tongue. Another kill, another soul teetering on the edge, on the verge of succumbing. Yes, the Gimmerson girl was weak. So young that she had silently begged for another chance at life. And of course, he had offered it to her.

  He was winning Vincent, as well. Forcing him into the black hole and making him walk by his side to the kill had been genius.

  Tonight Sadie Sue would fill his sexual needs and bring him another step closer to his fall.

  And while she was working her charms on Vincent, Pan would continue to torture Clarissa.

  Torture her until she hanged herself like her mother.

  When Vincent realized she had died as an offering to his father, he would face Zion.

  Then the two would reconnect and battle.

  And evil would thrive as it was meant to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Not wanting to contaminate the crime scene, Vincent forced his hands by his sides. Although he doubted forensics would find trace evidence.

  Unless the girl had torn skin or blood from the body the demon had possessed.

  But if he told the sheriff he’d seen a demon, Waller would think he was crazy. And he couldn’t identify a human face, just a black shadow.

  Frustration knotted his insides. The girl lay facedown, was barely recognizable. Her bones had crunched and shattered, her face was distorted, her nose smashed, cheekbones jutting through skin, arms and legs twisted at odd angles.

  Had she suffered a heart attack before she’d hit the ground? He hoped so, or she would have felt horrendous pain. For a second the canyon swirled around him, trees racing past, time suspended, and he felt himself slipping back into that black hole where he enjoyed the pain.

  No . . . He latched on to the last vestiges of his morality and fought to resist the pull.

  The screech of a siren alerted him to the sheriff’s arrival. Vincent fisted his hands by his sides as he and the deputy pushed through the trees to the clearing.

  “Holy mother of God.” Waller’s complexion turned a pasty green, and he halted and swiped at his forehead with the back of his arm.

  The deputy took one look at the body, then glanced at the ridge above and whistled. “Hell of a fall.” He twisted to stare at Vincent with narrowed eyes. “How exactly did you find her?”

  Vincent dredged up every ounce of his restraint to maintain a detached face. “I was searching the mountains and discovered several dead animals in the woods—looks like they’d been mutilated. Then I heard shuffling, and screams. By the time I ran through the woods, she had plunged below.”

  The edge to Bluster’s voice hardened. “Thought you were guarding Clarissa?”

  He gave Bluster a hard stare. “I was. But the black rock each victim held came from a cave somewhere in these hills. I thought the killer might be taking his victims there.”

  Waller inched closer to the dead girl’s body, then checked around her. A second later, he lifted what was left of her right hand and cursed again. “There it is, the black rock.”

  “Do you know who she is?” Vincent asked.

  Waller leaned closer, turned the woman’s head so he could study the shattered face. “Think it’s Cary Gimmerson, but . . . hell, there’s not enough there to recognize.”

  Vincent nodded. “The ME can verify her ID through her dental records. If not, we’ll use DNA.”

  “That’ll take time,” Bluster said. “But I’ll check for missing persons reports.”

  “The crime-scene team on the way?” Vincent asked.

  “Should be here any minute,” Waller said. “So should the ME.”

  “You got your camera?” Vincent asked. “Let’s take some pictures.” Although he wasn’t sure what good it would do, they had to follow protocol.

  “I’ll get it.” Bluster hurried back to the car.

  A minute later, he returned, and shortly after, the crime-scene unit and medical examiner arrived, each as shaken by the shattered body as the sheriff.

  Only Bluster hadn’t been sickened. He’d seemed impressed by the distance of the fall.

  Vincent clenched his hands. He had walked beside the demon and knew the killer wasn’t human. If only he could have seen the human’s face the demon had borrowed.

  “If there was a scuffle, we should find evidence to prove it, footprints, maybe signs of a fight.” Waller walked over to one of the crime-scene guys and relayed the information, and one of the techs began the hike to the top of the ridge.

  Tension knotted Vincent’s shoulders. He had to get back to Clarissa, make sure she was safe and that the demon hadn’t come for her.

  The sun had set as Clarissa drove home from the funeral, the sky a dismal smoky gray, clouds casting a fog over the land. Still haunted by the cries of the dead, she turned onto the isolated road that led to her house, but the mountains seemed to swallow her, the heat sucking the air from her lungs. She cranked up the air conditioner, but the hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she sensed someone following her.

  Or that she wasn’t alone in the car.

  She glanced sideways, expecting to see a spirit, but the seat remained empty. Still, a breath tickled her neck.

  Maybe one of the ghosts had followed her from the graveyard . . .

  She tapped her nails on the steering wheel. “If you’re there, tell me who you are.”

  Just the hiss of a breath again, and a vile heat scalded her skin.

  She pressed the accelerator, speeding up and taking the curvy road too fast. Her car skimmed the guardrail, causing sparks to spew against the darkness; then a rush of cold air skated across her arm. A second later, a girl suddenly moved in front of the car.

  Blond hair hung limp and tangled around a face that had been smashed to pieces. Dear God, it was Cary Gimmerson.

  Bones jutted through skin; her features were twisted, blood oozing from her head and running down her face, her teeth jagged and broken. A scream tore from the woman’s bloody lips, boomeranging across the mountain in a cry of anguish that sounded like an animal being eaten alive.

  Clarissa swerved to avoid hitting her, and the tires screeched, wheels skidding as the car flew into the rail, bounced off, and landed on two wheels. She jerked the wheel to compensate, but the car hit the side of the mountain and spun out of control, sliding and twirling until it finally slammed into the rail and ended up hanging nose first over the ridge.

  Waller gave Vincent a ride back to Clarissa’s to get his car and he headed back to his cabin. Clarissa had left a note saying she’d gone to Tracy Canton�
��s funeral.

  She should be all right surrounded by the crowd.

  He hadn’t showered since the day before, had slept in his clothes at her place, and after tracking through the woods and scouring the crime scene of the murdered woman, bugs had glued themselves to his salty skin, and he smelled like sweat and vile odors that needed to be cleansed.

  Although no amount of bathing could wash away the guilt permeating his soul for standing at the right hand of the demon and doing nothing to save the girl. Guilt and a thirst for vengeance gripped him in their clutches.

  Somehow the demon had hypnotized him and prevented him from reacting.

  The images of the mutilated animals taunted him, as well. He stared at his hands, at the imprint of the angel amulet. His hands were lethal.

  What if he had ripped apart those animals with his hands during the time he’d blacked out? What if this demon had the power to possess him, to lure him into the darkness forever as it had his father?

  Bile filled his throat as he parked and headed inside the cabin. He removed his gun and placed it inside the nightstand, ripped off his clothes and boxers, and turned on the hot water.

  But even when he scrubbed himself until his skin was raw, his teeth felt gritty with the woman’s death.

  The animal in him was so strong—could he repress the urge to kill forever?

  Shaking water from his hair, he wrapped a towel around his waist, but the sound of a door squeaking open jarred him. Caution kicking in, he eased toward the door, wishing like hell he’d brought his weapon into the bathroom with him. Then again, would a bullet destroy a demon?

  And would the demon need to use the door?

  Heart hammering, he glanced in the doorway, the scent of an overpowering, exotic perfume suffusing him.

  Not Clarissa. Her fragrance was natural and subtle. Sweetly seductive.

  This one was more blatant.

  Sadie Sue.

  He watched in the shadows, wondering why in the hell she’d come. Then she zeroed in on his half-naked body and rasped a startled response. “Oh, my.”

  He ground his knuckles against his thighs. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, sugar.”

  His pulse kicked up a notch, but he remained in place. “Why? You know something about the murders in town?”

  She shook her head, then lifted one hand and released the clasp holding her hair at the nape of her neck so that it fell like a mane around her shoulders. With a low whisper of his name, she slowly walked toward him. Another step and pure animal need bolted through him.

  Her breasts spilled over her sequined top, a scrap of fabric so fitting and transparent that her nipples strained the fabric. And her shorts—shit.

  They hugged her voluptuous ass so tightly they molded to her clit and rode so high they showcased her crotch as she hiked one foot onto the bed. His cock jumped, aching to be between her legs.

  He remembered her eyes changing color, though, and struggled to control his libido. This woman was not one he needed to tangle with.

  “I don’t have time for games, Sadie Sue,” he said sharply. “Get out of here.”

  “I smell your lust, Vincent. You want me . . .” A grayness swept over the room, the moon barely discernible through the cloud cover, yet suddenly her eyes glowed, penetrating, piercing, enthralling.

  He tried to jerk his gaze away, but the draw was too strong, as if she’d somehow cast a spell over him.

  Time fled again, as if the devil’s hands had swallowed him in another black hole, one that was drowning him in its churning waters.

  As the dark hole diffused his rational conscience, his body became a hungry animal, feeling, craving, needing to be sated.

  He hadn’t been fucked in so long, his balls were full and throbbing, swollen with the need for release. Her warm, willing scent enveloped him, the smell of woman and animal mingling. His eyes narrowed, and a violent hunger for her flesh seized him as she tossed the scraps of her clothing to the dull brown carpet.

  He could crush her with his fists, devour her blood as he had an animal’s. Gorge on her until he was sated. Then snap her neck in two with his bare hands.

  “You need me now,” she said in a purrlike voice that sent a sharp pain of longing through his groin. “But you have to earn your pleasure, Vincent.”

  Fear coursed through him, the memory of his father saying those same words ripping open wounds he thought had bled out forever.

  On some deep level, another voice whispered to him that this was wrong, that he had to fight her, that succumbing to her would only draw him deeper into the devil’s arms, but he was powerless to do anything but watch her and let her take control.

  “You like to be whipped, don’t you, Vincent? Whipped for being a bad boy?”

  Though her voice sounded sultry and seductive, a hideous smile lit her orange eyes, and she suddenly shoved him down on the bed. With a tug, she jerked the towel from him, exposing his heavy sex and the scars on his body.

  She rolled him over. “You have to be punished.”

  He shook his head in denial, but memories of fighting his father’s beatings as a child roared through his head, and he lay immobile.

  She wound a piece of rope around her hands, then lifted one of his arms and tied his wrist to the bedpost. In seconds, she’d secured his other wrist and ankles. Fear burned his throat, but his cock swelled and hardened as she cracked the whip and flung it against his back. Pain ripped through him, the sharp sting causing blood to rush to his head, and he choked back a cry of agony and arousal as she continued to whip him.

  Finally, she untied him and rolled him over. He thrust his hips up, silently begging her to fuck him now. Instead, she retied him and cracked the whip across his chest.

  Sickened by his own weak cravings, he closed his eyes and pictured his reward when the beating ended.

  Clarissa wiped at the blood on her forehead and tore at the air bag. The car shifted slightly, rocking forward with a shrill screech, and she held her breath, terrified her car would careen over the mountain ridge and dive into the canyon.

  Another screech sent terror streaking through her. She had to get out of the car. She fumbled with the door handle, latched her other hand around her purse strap, and shoved open the door. The car rocked again, teetering on the edge, metal scraping the rail, which had buckled with the impact. Praying it didn’t give way, she shoved open the door and jumped onto the embankment.

  Her ankle twisted, and she grasped for something to support her as she stumbled across the pavement. Remembering the girl in her path, she shuddered. Her face and body had been crushed by something.

  Clarissa searched the road and the railing but didn’t see Cary anywhere.

  The truth dawned, making her heart clench. The girl was already dead; her spirit had been reaching out to Clarissa. But her spirit had faded now.

  Had she been murdered like the others? Had she crossed into the light, or to the dark side?

  Sweat beaded on her neck and blood trickled down the side of her face, but she swiped at it and collapsed onto a grassy patch, then scrambled in her purse for her cell phone.

  Dragging in a breath, she punched in Vincent’s number and let it ring, but no one answered. Frustrated, she realized she hadn’t thought to call the sheriff’s office, so she punched in his number. Tim answered on the second ring.

  “I’ve had an accident,” she said. “Can you send a tow truck?”

  “Are you hurt, Clarissa? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No, I’m okay. But I need help with my car.”

  “I’ll call Bennett on my way over.”

  “You don’t need to come, Tim.”

  He grunted into the phone. “No, I’ll be there.”

  She hung up and breathed in deeply, searching the darkness for the spirit to reappear, but the shadows revealed nothing.

  Feeling edgy, she paced the side of the road, time ticking by in slow motion as she waited for Tim and the to
w service. The road was virtually deserted, the heat stifling.

  But screams of the dead assaulted her, echoing from the hills, the whisper of a demon against her neck. She spun in circles, searching the darkness, covering her ears to drown out the cries, but they refused to leave her alone.

  By the time Bo drove up in his wrecker, she was near panic, her neck and hands sweating.

  Bo’s scarred face contorted into a frown as he scrutinized the scene. “You okay, Clarissa?”

  She nodded, although being alone with him made her nervous. “Just shaken up. Afraid my car didn’t fare so well.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” He examined the vehicle and clicked his teeth. “You’re lucky. Another inch or two and you would have plunged over.”

  A shiver chased up her spine. “I know.”

  His beady eyes settled on her. “What happened?”

  She couldn’t tell Bo about the spirit. “I was upset after leaving Tracy’s funeral, and I took the curve too fast and lost control.”

  “It’s easy to happen.” His tattoo glinted in the faint light spilling from his parking lights. “They say around town that you see things. Ghosts. Is that true?”

  She folded her arms, hugging herself. “Yes.”

  He took a step closer. “You see Tracy today?”

  She hesitated and bit on her lip. “As a matter of fact, I did. She and Billie Jo and Jamie are having trouble moving on.”

  Unease tickled her spine, but Tim’s cruiser arrived, saving her from elaborating. He parked and climbed out, a worried look on his face.

  “You’re sure you don’t need a doctor, Clarissa?” Tim asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, I just want to go home.”

  “I’ll take care of the car and give you a lift,” Bo offered.

  Tim cleared his throat. “I’ll give her a ride. I need to talk to her anyway.” He angled his head at Bo. “Where were you earlier, Bennett?”