Dancing With Demons

by Trudi Jaye

  I need to know what the hell I’m doing.

  It’s time to get back to my work, rather than going on dates with horrible guys. I glance over at Connor. Now that I’m here, I can admit the truth. A big part of why I’m here is because I wanted to piss Blade off. All that talk of finding out information… tenuous at best.

  The fact that he threatened to expose me?

  Problematic, but not unsolvable. I’ve already decided I’m going to leave.

  Piss Blade off?

  Hell, yes.

  He said he didn’t want to be anything more than friends; he said our first kiss was a pity kiss… Of course I’m pissed at him. Of course I wanted to get him back for making me want him when he’s so obviously in control of his emotions.

  As the elevator descends, I touch my fingers to my lips.

  Then he goes and kisses me like that. Like I’m the only thing he wants. Like I’m the focus of all his attention.

  My brain is about to explode with the possibilities of it all.

  Meanwhile, instead of being inside my apartment, enjoying the wonders of Blade’s body, I’m here with this guy. I glance over at Connor and find him looking at me. I smile like I’m dazed by his good looks, and he smiles back.

  This is going to be such a shitty night.

  11

  There’s music playing softly in the background, and the restaurant we’re in is the kind that doesn’t tell you the cost of anything on the menu.

  Connor is acting smug, like he’s enjoying the feel of having me under his control. I’m only just hanging onto my pretense of being subservient and enamored by a thread.

  “I’ll order for both of us,” says Connor with a smile. “I know what’s good here.”

  I blink, every part of me wanting to tell him no, thanks, I’ll order for myself. But what would smitten Hazel do? She’d say… “That sounds lovely, Connor.”

  So much for the delicious food that was going to be the silver lining to this already painful evening. But… “I’m allergic to shellfish,” I say, just in case he was going to order the oysters. I don’t want him getting all handsy because he’s ordered a known aphrodisiac.

  He nods. “Good to know.”

  When the waitress comes over, he orders himself a steak, and gets me a salad. I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused.

  “So tell me, Hazel, how have you been this week? Working hard?”

  I nod, mentally trying to figure out what to tell him. “I helped the Professor tidy up the lab. Whoever trashed it did a really thorough job.” I watch his reaction to my comment, but there’s not even a flicker. I still don’t see why Connor would have done it. Blade’s suspicions seem more based on his jealously of my date with Connor than real evidence.

  “Do they have any leads on who might have done it?” he asks.

  “The police weren’t that interested. They didn’t really even understand what most of the devices were for, let alone what they’re worth. But Blade has some ideas. He’s going to follow up on a few leads. He says it was personal, like it was done by someone wanting to get back at the Professor.” I look at Connor innocently.

  He nods wisely. “Best to let the professionals deal with it. The police will get to the bottom of it.”

  I take a sip of water and look around the tasteful room. It’s not overcrowded, and the decor is in pale tones, interspersed with elegant vases filled with twigs. It’s very modern and cool.

  Way out of my normal league.

  “So, do you come here often?” I ask.

  Connor smiles. “Sometimes. I enjoy their food. How about you?”

  I shake my head. “Never been here. I’m more of a steak and fries kind of girl,” I say, trying to give him a big hint that his order of a salad was wrong for me.

  “A pity. This place suits you.”

  “Suits me?” I raise my eyebrows at him. I couldn’t think of a place that suits me less.

  “You seem at home here. You have a certain natural elegance that is very pleasing.” He reaches out and places his hand over mine on the table. “I am very attracted to you, Hazel.”

  Alarm bells are ringing in my head, and I have to control the urge to get up and run from the restaurant. I guess when you’re controlling women with magic, you don’t have to be subtle. I slide my hand out from under his on the table. “You’re moving a little too fast for me, Connor. I think we should get to know each other a little better before making those kinds of declarations.”

  His eyes darken, and his magic swirls faster. “I don’t believe in waiting around hoping. When I see something I want, I take it.”

  It suddenly occurs to me that my blithe assumption that I’ll be able to get out of this date without even a kiss goodnight was very, very wrong. Connor is clearly expecting something.

  I push my glasses up my nose. “Tell me about yourself. Where do you live? Who are your parents?” I put my elbows on the table, cradle my chin in my hands and stare at him like he’s the most interesting thing I’ve seen all year.

  Thankfully it works.

  “My father was never around. He was always working, and died when I was young. My mother raised me. My supernatural abilities come from her. She took over the family business, and made it the thriving concern it is today.”

  “She must be a great woman.”

  His fingers tighten on the stem of his wine glass. “She was. She died two years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. You must have been devastated.”

  “I miss her every day.” He’s looking into the distance, his face dark like he’s remembering something terrible.

  “I miss my parents, too,” I say softly.

  He raises his eyebrows like he’s surprised and turns his gaze back to me. “Even though you killed them?” he asks.

  What? “I didn’t kill my parents.” Who the hell does he think I am? He wanted to go out with someone who actually killed her parents?

  “So the police are wrong? You didn’t do it?” He doesn’t seem concerned either way, just curious to know more.

  I swallow hard. “You really thought I killed my parents?” The words are barely more than a squeak. “And you still wanted to go out on a date with me?”

  He shrugs. “I was sure you had a good reason. And I understand having… difficult… parents.” His eyes flash with something I don’t understand. “I like what I see today, rather than who you might have been five years ago.”

  “That’s a very… modern… attitude,” I say. I manage not to narrow my eyes and glare at him. I’m pretty sure the fact he can use my secret to blackmail me is a big part of why he likes me. Blade was right about this date. It’s turning out to be more dangerous than I was expecting. I let out a slow breath. I’m going to have to out manipulate a master manipulator, and it’s not going to be easy.

  Connor spreads his arms wide and smiles, his magic coiling around him like a smoky snake. “I’m nothing if not modern. That’s why I’m so interested in your work, Hazel. It’s the future of the power industry. They just don’t know it yet.”

  “What are you planning to do with all the power the demons could provide?” I ask.

  “Give it to the people. Access to electricity will be easier than it ever has been before.”

  “What if it’s not stable?”

  His eyes snap to mine. “Is it unstable?”

  I hesitate, trying to think through my answer. “I don’t know yet. But demons aren’t the same as hydroelectricity, or the electricity generated in a power plant. They’re alive. They think. They won’t passively allow you to use their energy.” I think of the demons caged at the smelter plant. “They’ll escape if they can.”

  “That’s what I’ve got you for,” he says with a smile. “To iron out all the technical details.”

  “What if I can’t iron them out?”

  “Of course you can. This is too big an opportunity for you to fail.” His eyes are glinting in the candlelight. “You won’t fail me, will you, Hazel
?”

  I shiver. He’s threatening me, maybe without even realizing he’s doing it. “Of course not,” I say.

  But one thing has become clear over the course of this date. Connor’s not stable. He’s more than a little power crazy. And he won’t stop until he’s got what he wants.

  12

  The salad is delicious, despite my preference for steak. It’s got little bits of pomegranate and blue cheese in it, mixed with fancy lettuce leaves and delicate pieces of chicken. The dressing alone almost makes it worth having Connor staring at me across the table like I’m his next course. I use my dessert fork—on purpose to annoy Connor—to put another tiny mouthful of lettuce, chicken and dressing into my mouth.

  He’s been playing nice since our food was delivered to the table, but now that he’s done, he’s leaning back, staring at me, his magic swirling expectantly around him. He’s like a coiled snake, waiting for me to make the wrong move so he can strike. Maybe he’ll strike whatever I do.

  “Tell me about your business,” I say a little desperately. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

  He shrugs, looking around us as if assessing what he sees in the restaurant. “I enjoy what having money gives me. Beautiful surroundings, a fast car, an attractive woman with me at an expensive dinner.”

  “You think I’m only here because of your money?” I say sharply, forgetting myself for a second.

  “You’re here because you want the grant, aren’t you?” he retorts.

  “I’m here because you said you’d tell the authorities who I really am,” I reply sharply. “The grant money is just the icing on the top.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could take the words back. Enamored Hazel wouldn’t say that to Connor.

  But Connor doesn’t seem to mind; he smiles as if my words amuse him. His magic swirls toward me, and I lean back in my chair, trying to keep it from touching me. But unless I actually stand up, there’s nowhere I can go to avoid the smoky tendrils of his persuasive power.

  It slides along my skin, slippery and damp, and I have to work hard to suppress a shudder. The passion of Blade’s kiss has worn off, and Connor’s magic is starting to have an effect, however weak. I have to concentrate on keeping my thoughts my own, and not allowing them to be twisted by what Connor is saying.

  “Like I said, the money has its benefits,” says Connor, his vivid blue eyes watching me with a ferocious intensity. He hasn’t asked me to go home with him yet, but the atmosphere is thick with unspoken expectation.

  I bite my bottom lip in an attempt to control the words that want to burst out of me in reaction. Is the reason he’s so sure I’ll agree really just because of his money? Or does he use that as a cover for his siren magic? Is it a way for the women he dates to explain why they’re unable to say no to his persuasive powers? My little demon buzzes inside me, egging me on, and I lose the battle. “You wouldn’t care if I was only with you for the money?” I blurt.

  “I always get what I want. It doesn’t matter how I get it.”

  Connor’s words chill me to the bone. He doesn’t see the difference between a woman going to him voluntarily, and someone being forced.

  “So it’s not about mutual attraction?” I say. I know it’s a bad idea to poke the bear, but I can’t seem to help myself. The tension in the air is so thick I could cut it with the dessert fork I’m still clenching in my fist.

  “I’ve never had a woman say no to me,” murmurs Connor. He’s rubbing one finger over the folded white table napkin that’s lying on the table next to his plate, and it’s like he’s stroking my skin. It makes me feel unclean, like I’ve already agreed to everything he wants, and I’m his for the taking. His magic slides over the bare skin of my arms and up around my neck. It feels like the silken strands are strangling me, and I reach up to rub my neck trying to unobtrusively push the magic away. His blue eyes glitter with amusement as he watches the movement of my hand.

  The worst part about this whole situation is that Blade was right. This date is out of my control. My blithe assumption that I could control Connor seems idiotic right now. I clench my hand around my fork like it’s some kind of talisman, and wonder what the hell I’m going to do.

  I don’t know the answer, so I ask the question that’s been bugging me ever since Connor insisted on this date. “Why do you want me?” I ask. Why is he insisting on this date with me, an awkward and reclusive supernatural researcher who doesn’t even know how to use her powers? “You could have any woman, you could pick someone poised and elegant, who knows the right fork to use,” I wave the fork at him, “and who knows how to play the game. Why me?”

  Connor smiles, the kind of smile a predator might give when they know they’re in charge of a situation. “I’m aware you know the correct fork to use, Hazel. That’s part of your charm. You like to tease me, to push my boundaries, and I find I enjoy that.” He rubs his tongue over his bottom lip, as if in anticipation of a decadent chocolate dessert. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met before. You are intriguing. I can feel your raw power and it calls to me. There is nothing I want more than to be close to you.”

  My eyes widen at his blunt words. Too late, I realize everything that’s been happening tonight has been to his schedule, not mine. I should have had some kind of plan in place, some way of extracting myself from this situation. Instead I decided to just throw myself into the lion’s den to prove a point to Blade.

  “There is nothing you could say or do that would persuade me to give you up, Hazel,” says Connor. His magic is bearing down on me, and I feel it slithering along my skin and infiltrating my body. My demon is vibrating urgently inside me, trying to fight the waves of power coating me with its compelling heat, but it’s too powerful for both of us.

  An influx of desire hits me, and suddenly all I want is to be closer to Connor. To feel his body against mine and his seductive words in my ear. I moan, and lean closer to him, putting my hand out toward his across the table. He smiles smugly and puts his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin of my palm.

  Even as I give in to the sensations, part of me knows it’s because I’m losing the battle against Connor’s siren magic. It’s stronger this evening, perhaps because of the intimacy of the setting. He’s been staring at me all night with his intense blue eyes, like he’s concentrating all his efforts at persuasion on me.

  My little demon buzzes inside my stomach, and for a moment I regain my senses. How am I going to get out of this situation? What would a real SIG agent who’s had all the proper training do right now?

  What would Blade do?

  My stomach clenches in reaction. Blade is probably at my apartment relaxing on my sofa and watching television. Is he wondering what I’m doing? Does he care that I need his help? I recall my last glimpse of Blade as I shut the apartment door, his blazing amber eyes burning into mine, his body clenched tight with anger. I lick my lips and remember how swollen they were from the punishing kiss he gave me.

  Connor’s siren magic is dulled for a moment, and I can think clearly again.

  I’m still holding my dessert fork and I do the only thing I can think of to break the spell.

  I stab my wounded leg with the fork.

  13

  The pain is excruciating, but worth every second. It clears my mind of Connor’s magic, and I’m able to think clearly again.

  The fork is sticking out of my thigh and I scream like one of the patients I used to know at Ravenwood, who would cry like a banshee whenever she couldn’t find her teddy bear. The exclusive air of the restaurant is immediately shattered, and a shocked muttering rises like a wave through the room. Our waiter rushes to the table, and as soon as he sees my leg, he glances around at the other diners. “Is there a doctor in the house this evening?” he says.

  An older man with a goatee gets to his feet. He’s at a table with an elegant older woman, and a young boy. He nods to them, and then walks in our direction.

  “If madam will come with me, I’ll help you to a mor
e comfortable location,” the waiter says smoothly as he helps me to my feet. I glance over at Connor, but his expression is stony. He’s not amused by my antics this time. Too bad. He doesn’t get to use his powers to force me into sleeping with him, no matter how much he might want me.

  I let the waiter put one of my arms around his shoulders, and he half carries me to a back room set up with basic medical equipment, including a bed. The doctor follows us in, and Connor comes into the room last.

  “If madam will sit on the bed,” says the waiter. He helps me up onto the plastic-covered foam mattress.

  “Shouldn’t we pull it out?” I say, my breathing ragged. I’m starting to wonder if this was such a great idea after all. The fork is wobbling in my leg, and the pain is radiating up and down my thigh.

  Before the waiter can answer, the older man who volunteered himself as a doctor steps forward. “Do you have anything I can use to staunch the blood flow when we pull it out?” he asks the waiter. Without waiting for an answer, he moves over to the sink, and washes his hands with the soap by the tap.

  The waiter opens a cupboard at the end of the bed, and pulls out a medical kit, handing it over to the doctor.

  “My name is Dr. Fletcher,” says the doctor as he leans over my leg, examining the wound. “How in the hell did you manage to get a fork in your leg?”

  I try not to look in Connor’s direction. “I’m just clumsy, I guess,” I mumble. It’s not like anyone forced me to stick a fork in my leg.

  Dr. Fletcher gives a skeptical grunt. “I’m going to have to pull it out. It’s probably going to hurt.”

  I nod. It can’t hurt worse than it already is.

  He holds one hand on my leg, and without hesitation pulls the fork out of my wound. Turns out I was wrong about the pain. A line of shooting agony rolls up my leg, and I lean back gasping for breath.