by Rita Herron
“Not another one of your ghosts?”
“No.” She shivered. “This was different. Not a spirit reaching out, but death coming for me.”
She reached for her purse. “But don’t worry. I won’t bother you again, Vincent.”
His chest heaved as she walked outside into the humid night. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the woods, to run for hours, to forget that he’d ever had her.
To kill and mutilate as his father had taught him to do and purge the longing from him. Painful to have both inside, this constant war tearing at him. The bad came easy; the good was more difficult.
But a killer, a demon was out here and had come for Clarissa. The same one he’d seen in the woods . . .
Emotions squeezed his chest, and he touched his pocket, where he kept the angel amulet. She had stood up for him when he was young. Had the nerve to tangle with his father. And even now, she’d given herself to him without asking anything for herself.
He couldn’t let any harm come to her.
He had to follow her, stay with her. Had to do his job. Protect her and find a way to slay this demon.
But he wouldn’t touch her again. He couldn’t, or he would lose himself completely.
Clarissa gasped for a breath as she hurried outside into the humid air. She was a fool to throw herself at Vincent like that. She was barely holding on to the thin, tattered strands of her own sanity—how did she think she could save him?
And how could he be intimate with her and throw her out as if there was nothing between them but sex?
Because he’d been abused and no one had ever loved him.
Thunder rumbled above, hinting at an impending storm and a reprieve from the oppressive heat. The earth was dry and hot, dying, starved for water as if the devil had lit a wildfire beneath the ground and drained it of life.
But she had never felt more alive.
Yet at the same time she felt drained, as well. Starved for more of Vincent.
She hated herself for it.
Her skin tingled from his fingertips, her nipples throbbing for his mouth, her womb clenching as if he was still inside her, her entire body quaking with the intensity of their lovemaking.
He hadn’t made love to her, he would say.
Whatever he called their coupling, she wanted him again.
Because she had made love to him.
And once was not nearly enough.
But his warning pounded in her ears as she climbed in the rental car and drove toward her house—his father had lost control and killed his mother.
She had to protect herself. Guard her emotions or he would steal not only her body, but her heart and soul.
She could survive a broken heart, but her soul he couldn’t have. If she surrendered it, the spirits who depended on her would lose their way. Then they, too, would be left vulnerable and lapse into the darkness instead of the light.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Pan rejoiced in his conquests. The young girl from the ridge had taken his hand tonight and relinquished her soul.
She was his now, another victory on the notch of his bedpost into the upper realm. When she made a kill, she’d be his forever.
And Vincent was teetering . . .
Winning a Dark Lord would ensure he earned that extra lifetime he’d yearned for since the early days of his demise.
A demise that had been painful, an existence that had meant burning in eternity forevermore on the lowest plane of the underworld. This short stint on earth had reminded him of what it was like to be free of the pain.
To be human.
He wouldn’t go back, no matter whom he had to torment or kill.
Time was ticking. Three days until Zion arose from the grave for the coronation.
Destroying Clarissa was the only answer. He had to stop her from sleeping with Vincent again. The Dark Lord’s sexual prowess lended to his vulnerability, and she had the key to absolve his dark side to the point of nonexistence.
He had to escalate his attack on her. Yes, tonight he’d show himself to her in demonic form again.
She had to fold sometime. And soon.
And when she did, he’d be watching. Then he’d offer her salvation.
A chance to join Vincent forever as he claimed his post at his father’s side and led the demons.
And if she didn’t, he’d find a way to get Vincent to kill her as his father had his mother.
But first he’d lead her to the mines, where so many of Eerie’s people had died. There the dead never rested.
And when he trapped her there, they would torment her forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fear for Clarissa sent Vincent’s heartbeat into a spin. He grabbed his weapon, rushed out to his car to follow her, and sped down the mountain.
He should call the sheriff, request that Deputy Bluster drive to Clarissa’s and watch her tonight. She’d be safer with him than she would with Vincent.
Or would she?
Bluster was human, couldn’t go up against a supernatural demon.
Would Vincent be able to defeat one if necessary?
A week ago, he would have denied believing in their existence.
But today he’d seen the monster cause an innocent girl’s brutal death by pushing her off the mountain ridge without even touching her.
A light of recognition dawned.
It was all tied to him and his father, he realized. The evil, the eclipse, the black rock, maybe even these girls’ murders . . .
What if his father had found a way to return from the grave? Maybe the cave with the black rock served as some type of portal for Satan’s warriors.
Bad blood, bad blood . . .
He parked in front of Clarissa’s house, then strode up to the door. She opened it before he even knocked. A menacing growl echoed from inside, but this time Wulf stared at him but stood back.
Clarissa lowered one hand to rest on the top of the huge animal’s head, her voice low but commanding. “Good boy. He’s not the enemy.”
“Are you certain about that?” he asked.
“Yes.” She paused, her mouth set in an angry slash. “But you made it clear that you have no feelings for me, Vincent. So we’ll finish this investigation and we can both go our separate ways.”
He gave a clipped nod. “Is the demon here now? Did you sense him?”
“No.” She ran a hand through her hair, raking it back, and his gaze zeroed in on the bruise on her forehead.
He removed the amulet from his pocket. “I want you to put this on.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“The amulet was my mother’s. The bloodstone stands for courage, and the angel is for protection.”
Her expression softened. “I can’t accept a gift like that, Vincent.”
He lifted her hair and slipped the chain around her neck. “Please, Clarissa. I’d feel better if you wore it. It might help keep you safe from the demon.”
She traced a finger over the golden wings and looked up at him, emotions glittering in her eyes. “The wings look like the scar on your hand.”
He nodded. “They are. My mother lost it in the fire when my father killed her. I couldn’t save her, but I reached into the flames and retrieved it.”
“Thank you, Vincent.”
He wanted to hold her again, but he couldn’t make false promises. “Go to bed now. You look exhausted.”
Sadness and confusion flickered in her luminous eyes, but she turned and climbed the steps to her bedroom, ordering the dog to follow her as if she accepted his statement. He heard the water kick on, knew she was taking a shower. His body throbbed with the need to join her, to be inside her again, but he forced himself to step outside on the porch instead.
The night sounds of the forest engulfed him. Then came the screams of the girl as she’d fallen over the ridge. The image of his father’s hand touching the black rock, fire glowing from its edges.
And his mother’s
pain-filled cries as the fire consumed her.
As soon as he destroyed this killer and made certain Clarissa was safe, he’d leave this damn area. Clarissa would be better off without him.
Still, he phoned the research center and left a message for the doctor to call him to discuss the study. He wanted to know what they’d learned about his blood.
If he was pure evil, or if he had a chance at redemption.
Clarissa scrubbed her body, desperate to free herself of Vincent’s masculine scent, but it had invaded her pores and lingered on her skin just as his touch lingered in her mind, and the intensity of their lovemaking lingered in her heart. She was connected to this man now; maybe she had been from the beginning.
And nothing could break that connection.
Unless he kills you.
A seed of worry sprouted inside her as she flipped off the water, dried off, and dragged on a cool cotton nightshirt. She hated sleeping in underwear, so she slipped into bed without it, aching to have Vincent’s arms around her and his sex between her thighs again—the emptiness inside her was almost unbearable.
She traced a finger over the amulet, hurt and confusion lodging in her chest. She had to accept that he didn’t love her.
But why would he have given her something so special if he didn’t care about her?
Finally exhaustion plagued her, and she closed her eyes, welcoming sleep. But Cary Gimmerson’s spirit came to her—her shattered face, then her blood-soaked hands reaching for Clarissa, pleading for her to save her. Jutting bones, broken and protruding through bruised and battered skin, cracked and popped as the girl’s body floated in the shadows of the moss-covered trees.
“He’s coming for you next,” the voice whispered. The other victims appeared beside her, each one paler, their bodies disintegrating.
The wind picked up, sending dust and bones swirling in a haze around her, and she choked as the ashes invaded her throat and the scent of decay filled her nostrils.
“Who killed us?” Billie Jo wailed.
“I didn’t want to die,” Daisy cried.
Suddenly, a sea of other ghosts bled into the darkness, their screams of pain and anguished moans bombarding her.
“Why don’t you help us?”
“Someone killed me.”
“He cut me open and ripped out my organs.”
“Why have you deserted us?”
“She can’t help us. She’s weak like her mother.”
“We’re all alone now. She’s sleeping with the enemy, in bed with a demon.”
A thousand more voices shouted in her head, screaming that she was a failure, that she would betray them, that being with Vincent would sway her into becoming one of the demons.
She twisted and turned, clawing to escape the horrific images and sounds, yet her mother’s dead body swinging back and forth from the Devil’s Tree taunted her. The creak,creak of the branches, the whistle of the trees in the wind, her grandmother’s cry when she’d found her.
Daisy’s body hung beside it, her wide, sightless eyes staring into space, pleading.
Then Clarissa saw herself. Her hair tangled around her ashen face. Slash marks across her wrists where she’d first tried to end her life. Tear tracks where she’d cried as she begged for death to end her misery.
The rope tightening around her neck, choking her, cutting off the air as she kicked the chair from beneath her and prayed for God to forgive her.
A tortured cry wrenched her from sleep, the wail of a dying animal making her jerk her head up and search the room.
The demon was here; she sensed his presence.
Then she saw the shadow. A black faceless monster hovered at the foot of her bed. A hideous laugh reverberated through the air, and the animal’s cry followed, this time more distant. The smell of blood assaulted her, an animal’s blood, and she vaulted off the bed.
She recognized that animal’s cry. Wulf, her beloved dog, her best friend and confidant.
He was no longer in the room. But his blood soaked the floor.
A scream of anguish jolted Vincent, and he clutched the porch rail with a white-knuckled grip, searching the shadows of the live-oaks bordering Clarissa’s property for the source. No, not out here.
Inside.
Another cry boomeranged through the screened doorway, and he spun around and ran into the house.
Heart hammering in his chest, he took the steps two at a time, terrified that he’d find Clarissa dying or in the hands of a demonic monster.
Suddenly, he slammed into Clarissa rounding the corner to the staircase.
She screamed and tried to jerk away, her body quivering as he embraced her.
“Clarissa, it’s me, Vincent.” He searched her face, yet the hallway was pitch black, and all he could discern was the terror in her wide-set eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Her nails dug into his arms as she gulped a sob.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she cried. “It’s Wulf . . .”
“What happened?”
She dragged him back to her bedroom. “In here, he’s gone. Blood . . .”
A sliver of moonlight fought through the clouds and streaked the room, just enough to illuminate the blood. But he didn’t have to see it to smell the metallic odor or to know that it had spilled from an animal.
“The demon must have hurt him,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was here, sleeping. Wulf was at the foot of the bed, then he was gone . . .”
And Vincent had been downstairs on the porch. He hadn’t seen or heard anyone come in.
But he might not, not if a demon could slither through the shadows or orb through time.
Clarissa’s knees buckled. “Wulf can’t be dead, Vincent, he’s the only family I have left.”
“We’ll find him,” Vincent said, although instincts cautioned him that the dog might be dead. He might be chopped to pieces, his body scattered in the woods for the other animals to feast upon.
He urged Clarissa to sit on the edge of the bed. “Stay here. I’ll go search for him.”
She shook her head, a desperate air to the frenzied movement. “No, I’m going with you.” She stood, threw off her gown, and rushed into her closet, grabbing clothes. He sucked in a deep breath at the sight of her naked body, his own instantly growing hard with desire.
But now wasn’t the time . . .
What if the killer was watching? Had taken the dog to lure Vincent away so he would leave Clarissa alone and vulnerable?
If he fell into that trap, Clarissa might die. He couldn’t let that happen.
She dragged on jeans and a T-shirt, then socks and sneakers. “Come on, we have to hurry. He’s bleeding—he might be in real trouble, or worse. Near death.”
Panic laced her voice. Still, reservations kicked in. What if they did find her dog ripped apart as he had the other animals?
Or what if this was a ploy to lure them into the demon’s trap?
Clarissa didn’t intend to take no for an answer. She refused to let Vincent search for Wulf alone. Wulf would respond better to her, especially if he were injured and sensed a threat.
“Let me grab some flashlights.” She rushed past him, down the steps to the laundry room. Vincent’s boots clicked on the wood floor behind her.
“Clarissa, it may be dangerous out there.” His dark eyes met hers. “We don’t have any idea what we’ll find. I discovered other animals mauled and mutilated in the woods. If the same demon that killed them has done something to Wulf, it won’t be pretty.”
She swallowed back another bout of tears, willing herself to be strong. “Don’t you see, Vincent? It’s the only way. We have to do this together.”
She handed him a flashlight, gripping another in sweat-soaked hands, anxious to leave.
“I don’t like you going,” he said in a gruff voice. “So stay close to me and follow my lead.”
She nodded and gestured to the laundry room. “I saw more blood in there. I think Wulf went out through hi
s doggie door. He was probably chasing the demon.”
A hint of fury flickered in Vincent’s eyes before he masked it, and she understood his silence. He suspected Wulf had gone off to die alone.
Grief welled inside her, but she forged ahead, determined to find him no matter what his condition.
Vincent led the way as he tracked the trail of blood through the woods, forging deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain as if he instinctively knew which direction to go, as if he’d become one with the land and smelled the blood and evil.
Clarissa followed close behind, breathing deeply as she increased her pace to keep up with his long stride. The smell of fear felt oppressive, cloying, and her energy began to drain as if some physical force were sucking the life from her.
Heat from the ground seeped through the soles of her shoes, and an eerie quiet blanketed the mountain, the occasional howl of a mountain lion or bear rumbling in the distance. Fear vibrated off the ridges, echoing in her ears, and the stench of blood and maimed animals swirled in a vile stench around her.
Vincent paused, body rigid, a hiss escaping into the tension-filled air.
Clarissa hesitated and held her breath. “What?” she finally asked. “Do you hear Wulf?”
“No, other animals. I smell their blood.”
She stepped forward, but Vincent stood, blocking her sight with his big body. “You don’t need to see them, Clarissa. It’s brutal.”
“You think the demon destroyed them?”
“Maybe. Or it’s possible that some teenagers are up to satanic rituals.”
She didn’t believe that and neither did he, but she refrained from comment as he pulled her aside, then guided her to the left through a path heading west, away from the desecrated animals.
A sick feeling pitted Clarissa’s stomach, but she said nothing, simply followed Vincent.
As they plowed through the woods, the cries of other lost spirits poured from the stone walls of the mountain, closing around her. Beckoning her to help them. Drawing her deeper into their pain and the realization that something sinister was trying to recruit them to leave the light and join the quest for darkness.
“Look!” Vincent shouted. “The blood trail is leading into that mine.”
