I think of the low-level creeper in the alley that was encouraging the guys to rape Rebecca. Probably the higher-ranking demon that killed Charlie is working on her now, sending minions to do its dirty work. But why go to so much trouble for just one family?
She moves a little closer. “I should have stopped him, but I wasn’t thinking.” Her eyes are pleading, like she’s asking me to take away the pain.
“I’m so sorry, Rebecca. It’s not your fault.”
She looks away, back out at the water. “I was thinking just now of walking into the waves. Maybe I’d find him again out there.” Her sorrow spills out, feeling like a tide all its own.
“I know it hurts. I know . . . but . . . your brother would want you to live.” The words feel useless as they leave my mouth. But I need to pull her back somehow. Despair thickens the air; it’s obvious the demon is winning this battle.
“I thought you were him,” she says. “That night you brought me home, I thought you were Charlie. You were so gentle, so kind. I thought he’d come back to me.” Our eyes lock. “Maybe he sent you.” She reaches out and takes my fingers in hers. “To watch over me.”
My skin burns where we touch. My lungs freeze up. It’s almost unreal how quick my body reacts to something so small, as if she’s right and it’s all falling into place. But it’s not, and I know that. It’s chemical, physical. Hormones. Not a good reason to give in to the feeling.
She’s close enough now that I can smell dryer sheets on her clothes, mingling with her sorrow . . . woven with a slight thread of hope?
Her fingers grip me tighter, like I’m a lifeline. She moves even closer, and her chest presses against mine.
I know she wants me to kiss her, to comfort her. My skin aches with the urgency to give in, but I—
She licks her bottom lip.
God, help me.
The tide comes in fast, drenching my shoes, an instant jolt back to reality.
I pull away, just a little, but I don’t let go of her hand. I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to. And I really don’t want to stop touching her.
“Rebecca.” I swallow, trying to form words. “It’s important that you—you need to realize how important it is that you live.” A demon would only be working overtime on her and her family if she was important. Vital in some way for the endgame. A threat to the darkness.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re important. You need to be strong.”
Her eyes fill and spill over, tears streaking her cheeks.
I start to pull back, but she grips my hand tighter and won’t let go. “Please. Tell me I’ll see you again.”
I stare at her, not sure what to say. Then I reach up to my chest and touch the hamsa charm I got from Hanna. Pulling it over my head, I realize I’m not supposed to save it for my sister like I thought. Rebecca needs the protection more than Ava right now.
I press it into Rebecca’s palm as I slip my other hand from hers. “Take this. Wear it. And don’t let go. Please . . .”
She studies the gift, rolling it with her fingers. After a second or two she nods, agreeing to live. At least for one more day.
Relief washes through me, a rush of hope, and before I can stop myself, I pull her close and kiss her forehead. But I release her in almost the same breath, stepping back, allowing space between us.
“Good,” I say. “I’ll be around.” I’m not sure it’s true, but I want it to be. God, help me. I want to be a part of her redemption.
I turn and walk away before I can say it out loud.
SEVENTEEN
I don’t look behind me as I return to the house to find Kara. Rebecca will be okay for tonight. I tell myself I’ve done what I could. All I could.
But I’m full of shit. I could have told her the truth. I could’ve warned her about the demon, about what it’s trying to do to her. Maybe she would’ve listened . . .
No. No, she wouldn’t have. The news would’ve gone over like a ton of bricks.
Keep it hidden, keep it safe.
It’s time to go back to reality. I need to find Kara and get her home before she does anything too stupid because of my big mouth.
I step onto the deck, which is abandoned now; the couple that was making out on the lounge chair is gone. I’m about to grab the door handle when something moves in the corner of my vision.
The scent of sulfur hits me, forcing a cough as I choke on the sudden strength of it. It’s here. My pulse races. I grip the door handle, staring at the glass, trying to decide if I should face it. My reflection stares back at me, jaw clenched, fear in my eyes.
Why bother pretending I’m not aware of its presence? It knows I see. I know it knows.
There’s a scratching at the deck. I look down. A cat-sized demon with a warped spine emerges from the house through the glass door. It glances up at me, pointed ears perking in my direction. A necklace of tiny bones clinks around its neck—it’s the demon from the alley, from the night Rebecca was almost raped. It hisses through dagger teeth that drip with saliva, back hair bristling.
My muscles tense, ready to act, but the demon turns and crawls over to the other side of the deck, resting at the hooves of a ten-foot creature three yards away.
Holy shit.
The larger demon stares at me with red eyes—stares through me, as if trying to burn me to a crisp by mere will.
All I can do is gape back. Thick horns sprout from its head, at least a foot and a half high, and its feet are cloven like a goat’s. Muscles wrap each limb, strong as iron. The body is a man’s, except for the places where bone juts through the black skin and takes the shape of thorns and prongs.
“Seer,” it growls in a low rumble that shakes the air.
My insides turn liquid. This thing could crush me into nothing.
I slide my hand into my pocket, gripping a pouch of sacred dirt, and recite Psalm 91 in my head: With His feathers He will cover you, and under His wings you will trust; His truth is an encompassing shield . . .
The small demon climbs up the larger demon’s leg and up its side to perch on its shoulder. It tips its oversized head at me curiously.
I take a step back. The chill of the large demon surrounds me, forcing my breath out in quick white puffs. “Stay back.”
“How are you here?” the large demon asks, and I wonder why its words don’t sound garbled. I can understand it.
Still, I have no idea what it means. How am I here? What?
“The father,” it says. “It is the father’s magic. The others claim you are not possible. You should not exist, Seer. You have no father in this world—I have searched.”
My mind spins. What the hell’s it talking about? How does it know these things about me? And what does it mean that it searched and found no father?
I lean on the sliding door to keep myself up.
“Don’t say it,” I plead. But I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Don’t say what? The truth? I’ve both wanted and feared the answers for so long.
In a flash, the beast is close enough to touch me, a breath away.
I press into the glass at my back, positive it’s about to crack from the pressure.
The monster hovers over me, its sulfur breath stinging my lungs. “I will be watching you, Seer,” it says. “Your flesh is mine if you meddle in my task. Hordes of my kind will chase after you, tormenting you until you break. They will strip the flesh from your bones and tear the heart from your chest.” It licks its cracked lips, tongue slick grey. “I will make sure of it. It should not be so difficult to destroy a boy who should not exist.”
Then it backs away a little. “But your presence will not be known to the dark prince of these lands if you stay away.”
All I feel is the thunder in my chest.
The beast turns to the smaller demon on its shoulder. �
��How is the seer’s companion?”
The small demon rises up and whispers in its lord’s ear. The large demon’s sneer grows, and it looks over at me, face turning smug. It takes a deep breath, filling its lungs. “Yes, I smell it now. She bleeds.”
And I know who they mean.
Kara.
“What have you done?” I ask.
The smaller demon hisses, baring its teeth.
The large one laughs with a low rumble. “Merely a little insurance for your cooperation, Seer-boy. I’ll find you again. Soon.”
With a suck of air, both of them are gone, leaving only the reek of death behind.
I fumble for the door handle, rattling the glass in my urgency.
Images of blood and bits and horror flash through my head . . . the sound of my voice calling her a bitch . . . me caught up with Rebecca while Kara was in trouble.
I crash into the crowd, pushing back at the thick, dark energy, reaching out, searching, searching. The scent of copper and pain fills my chest.
Breathe, just breathe. That’s not the smell of blood. It’s not.
But it is . . .
I scramble up the stairs, stepping on a passed-out body, nearly tripping on a bong, sending it crashing into the wall with a crack. I grab the first doorknob I come to—burst in on two couples tangled together—move on to the next, and the next. By the third I’m nearly coming out of my skin.
The knob won’t budge. My fist pounds on the wood. “Let me in!” I growl. “Let me the fuck in!”
I hear a moan.
“Kara? Is that you?”
Another moan. Not of pleasure but of pain.
My skin catches fire, and I kick, cracking the doorjamb. One more kick and the door swings open.
I take in the shape of a couch on the far wall, a TV on the other. An end table knocked over, a lamp on the floor. A bloody handprint near the window.
My throat clenches tight. “Kara . . .”
Another moan comes from somewhere in the room, and there’s movement behind the door. An arm. A bloody-knuckled hand. The smell of dagger-sharp fear.
I rush over, pulling her from the shadows, lifting her up. “I’m so sorry,” I say, gathering her into my arms.
Please be okay. God, please let her be okay.
I look her over, her arms, her legs. Nothing looks broken. Her face is swollen and bloody, one eye already purple, a cheek puffed up and split.
“Hey, that’s mine,” comes a slurred voice behind me.
I turn to see Pink Polo Boy. He’s swaying a little.
I set Kara back down gently. “What’d you do to her, you little shit?”
“Nothing yet.” He sounds pissed. “The bitch’s playing Fort Knox.” He waves at his face, pointing out something I hadn’t noticed before. Scratches. And his jaw looks a little swollen, like she hit him. “You can have at her if you want.” He smiles, all twisted and wrong, like he’d be thrilled to watch me use her.
My vision turns red, and I lunge, pummeling him before he can move. A left to the gut, bending him to knee him in the face. Then I lift him back up, his nose gushing blood, and thud him in the side of the head with my fist.
He falls over in a heap.
I go back to Kara, lifting her into my arms. She moans, curling into my chest. “I’ll kick his ass,” she mumbles.
I release a small laugh, relieved to hear her voice. “Yeah,” I say. “He’ll be down for the count any second now.”
I carry her from the room. A small group of onlookers stands outside the door now. I pass them and walk down the stairs. They follow, whispering to each other, craning their necks to see the damage done. Rebecca’s one of the faces, her mouth open in shock as she watches me pass by with Kara in my arms.
When I’m back in the night air at the front of the house, I have to gasp to breathe. My head is fogged with all my lingering rage, the mess of what just happened, and what it might mean.
Pink Polo Boy was so drunk he won’t remember me or Kara. But the demon made itself very clear: it’s planning on keeping tabs now.
I never should have come.
EIGHTEEN
Kara’s quiet the whole way as I drive us back home. She stares out the car window, watching the sleeping city blur past.
I want to plead her forgiveness, knowing it’s my fault she was knocked around. But in order to explain that, I’d have to explain everything else, and I’m not sure how.
“Are you okay?” I ask—maybe six times.
She doesn’t answer.
When we pull into the driveway, she stays quiet, looking out the window. I turn off the car and get out, but she still doesn’t move, so I go around to her door and open it. Without a word she scoots out, grabbing my arm for support.
She leans on me all the way to the house, stumbling a few times.
My feet stop the second time she loses footing, and my heart speeds up. Maybe I should call a doctor, put her back in the car, and take her to the ER. “Please, Kara, this is killing me. Tell me you’re okay.”
She looks up, her eye swollen a little, her cheek cut. “Not my first time at this rodeo, cowboy. I’ll be fine.”
“I could take you to the doctor.”
“Calm down. The prick didn’t get in any body shots, just a knuckle to the face and a penny loafer to the thigh. Maybe two. I’m good.” She motions to the back door. “Now put your big boy pants on and take me upstairs so I can sleep this mess off.”
I get her to her room, set her on the bed, and tiptoe down the hall to my own room to check on Ava. She’s sleeping soundly. I slip off my shoes, toss my hoodie onto the bed, and head downstairs to the freezer and then the bathroom, grabbing a wet washcloth for Kara’s face. I enter her room again with a bag of frozen peas and the rag.
She takes them, muttering a thank you. As I settle myself beside her, she gives me an odd sideways look. “What’s wrong? Don’t you have your own room?” She puts the bag of peas over her left eye.
“Just making sure you’re okay.”
“Always gotta save the girl.” She moves the peas and studies me. “Why is that? Isn’t it exhausting?”
I laugh, but it has a bitter edge. I’m glad she’s warming up to me, but I say, “I’m no savior.” I’m the reason you’re sitting here with frozen peas on your face.
As we both fall silent, I look around the room, realizing we’re surrounded by a collage of newspaper clippings and images, scribbled words and drawings. There’s a strange theme of life and love. Every inch of the walls is covered. It’s a work of art, really. There’s a sunscreen advertisement with children playing in a pool, a flyer for an unwed mother’s home with a teen cradling her round belly, and a drawing of an older woman gazing out a window with longing in her eyes.
The largest image is a tattered movie poster of Gone With The Wind. The stars embrace in frantic desperation against a backdrop of images from the Civil War.
None of it is what I expected from this sad, dark girl.
Kara breaks through my thoughts. “I’m sorry I freaked out at you in the kitchen. You’re not a total ass.”
“Actually, I am an ass.” I take the rag from her and pick up her hand, wiping her bloody knuckles with the wet washcloth. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
She stares at my attempt to clean her wounds for a second like she’s frozen, but then she pulls her fingers back and shivers. “You need to go to your room.”
I study her face, her white-blue eyes. The memory of kissing her at the club surfaces, and I realize that she’s still only wearing her bra.
I try to swallow. “Okay.”
I stand and head for the door, feeling off kilter. This is Kara. I don’t even like her. What am I thinking?
“There was something there,” she says, stopping my movement. “In the room when he attacked me.”
She shakes her head. “I told the guy that I just wanted to sit for a second, and he flipped out. A complete one-eighty—too quick for me to stop him. And there was a faint rotten egg smell. I didn’t even connect the dots until he started hitting me.”
I shift my feet. “What do you think it was?”
She looks right at me. “As if you can’t guess.”
“Kara, please believe I—”
She raises her hand, waving off my words. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You didn’t know.” She touches her cheek absently, feeling for the bruise, and flinches when her fingers find the wound. “So how was the Angelic One?”
My heart sinks. “She was fine.” I move closer to the bed, wondering what to do, what to say. It’s obvious she’s hurt by what happened, but it’s more than the violence. She almost seems . . . jealous.
Why would she be jealous of Rebecca?
She puts the bag of peas back to her cheek. “Well, good. Did you get the information you needed?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I study her, wishing the house didn’t muffle her emotions so I could know what she’s really feeling. “Your arm’s bruised.”
She moves her arm, looks at the emerging violet splotch, and then says, “My hip, too.” She puts the peas down and stands, peeling back the waist of her pants a little, showing me another bruise. “Kinda looks like a turtle.”
I can’t help smiling at her silly observation. And then something beside the odd-shaped bruise catches my eye. Her tattoo. I hadn’t gotten the chance to see it close-up until now. It’s made up of woven green vines and a cluster of small violet flowers. There’s a pink lily off to the side, and the vines continue to climb from her hip, reaching up to her rib cage.
Violets and lilies. Ava’s words. She said something about violets and lilies from the dream about our mom the other day. But what was it?
. . . he must touch the violets and lilies to find surrender, to find his hidden blood . . .
Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin.
Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) Page 13
