Green-Eyed Demon (Sabina Kane #3)

by Jaye Wells

  A low keening cry rose from my diaphragm. “Oh, gods, Adam!” The pain was literally too much to contain.

  Seemingly oblivious to my agony, Rhea turned and put her hand on her hips. “Adam? I told you to stay put.”

  The ghost looked up and stilled, one hand pressed against his chest and the other against the solid wall of the tomb. A white bandage marred with a splotch of bright red wrapped his chest.

  Rhea’s voice sounded far away. “You’re going to reopen your wound stumbling around like that.”

  That’s when it clicked that, unlike David’s ghostly form, I couldn’t see through Adam.

  “I needed to…” He paused. “Sabina?”

  At the sound of his voice, my knees finally buckled. “Adam?” I whispered brokenly.

  He took a step toward me. The move forced his handsome face into a grimace of pain. Something about that expression—so real and unghostly—finally convinced me that he was real.

  Alive.

  Oh, my gods. He’s alive!

  I moved without conscious thought. Moved so fast I’m not sure my feet actually touched the ground. Finally—miraculously—my arms clamped around his solid form until I clung to him like a vine. Hesitantly, his own arms slid around me as great, heaving sobs wracked my chest.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t speak. Just a few seconds ago I was convinced I’d never be okay again. But now, the hope I’d abandoned reignited in my chest.

  From far away I heard Rhea mumble something about giving us some privacy. My head rubbed back and forth on his shoulder. I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t speak. His hands found my face, gently urging me to look at him. “Did someone not make it?” His voice cracked. “Maisie—”

  A whole new round of sobbing began, robbing me of speech. Unable to control myself, I launched at him again, pressing my lips to his. He returned the kiss slowly at first and then relaxed into it, deepening it with his tongue.

  I squeezed with my arms, my hands grabbing at his back. He jerked back abruptly, hissing in pain. I stilled, finally noticing the bright white bandage strapped across his chest. “Oh, gods!” I cried. “I can’t believe it.”

  He looked up from his chest. “It’s okay. Just a little tender.” He smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

  Realizing he misunderstood my meaning, I put a hand to the left of the bandage, stilling his progress. “No.”

  His expression fell, tightened. “Hey, you kissed me first.”

  I shook my head. “No, you fool, I don’t mean no more kissing. I meant, I thought you were dead.”

  Light dawned in his eyes. “Oh, gods, Sabina.”

  “I saw you f-fall and… and then you were so still… I thought it was too late and I never got a chance to tell you—” My voice cracked as a fresh round of tears began.

  He pulled me to him, his arms wrapping around me again. Surrounding me with his sandalwood scent. I breathed in deeply as he rocked me, placing soft kisses on my hair, whispering, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  The storm of emotion passed quickly, leaving me exhausted. I lifted my head from his shoulder. Placed my hands on either side of his dear, handsome face. Looked him in his eyes, which were red and glistening with his own emotions. “I love you,” I said. “I’m sorry I hurt you by sneaking out. I was trying to protect you. All of you. But I only ended up making things worse. Can you forgive me?”

  His expression was serious, too serious for my comfort. “You love me?”

  I tilted my head. Was that a trick question? “Of course.”

  “Then I should probably tell you I forgave you for your decision five minutes after I realized you’d left.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What? But those things you said—”

  He rested his forehead against mine. “Were said out of fear.” He swallowed hard. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “The thought of you facing all that by yourself—the idea of you dying alone—made me more terrified than I’d ever been in my life.”

  I kissed his lips softly. “I was scared, too,” I whispered against his lips. Memory of watching my sister feed from him reared in my mind. I pulled back. “Oh, gods—Maisie.”

  He stilled. “Did Lavinia—” His voice cut off as if he couldn’t bear to voice his worry that Maisie might be dead.

  I shook my head. “No, she’s alive. But she still thinks she killed you.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled. “Let’s go.”

  His injuries slowed our progress, but before we made it halfway back across the main avenue of the cemetery, Giguhl entered the area. When the demon saw Adam he went statue-still. Then he was nothing but a blur of green. Adam didn’t have time to brace himself before Giguhl was on him. “Mancy, you’re alive!”

  Adam groaned. “Not for long if you don’t stop squeezing.”

  Chastened, Giguhl gently lowered Adam back to the ground. The demon’s claw came to rest heavily on the mancy’s shoulder. With a huge grin Giguhl said, “Godsdamn it’s good to see you.”

  Adam smiled up to the demon. “You, too.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Looks like Team Awesome lives to fight another day.”

  “Damn straight,” Giguhl said. “Although if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer it if another day doesn’t come ever.”

  I smiled at my demon and my mancy. “Amen.”

  The demon rounded on me. “And you, no more of this running-off-by-yourself nonsense.”

  My joy dulled. Time to pay the piper—or the Mischief demon, as it were. “I’m sorry, G. I thought I was protecting you guys.”

  The demon crossed his arms and puckered his black lips. “Magepire, please. You think I don’t know you by now? I appreciate the sentiment, but next time you decide to go off half-cocked, come talk to Gigi first, okay?”

  I smiled up at him. “You’re the best minion a girl could ask for, Giguhl.”

  “Yeah, well, when we get back to New York you and me are gonna have a nice long chat about our roles in this relationship.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but movement near the tombs grabbed all our attention. The rest of our ragtag army emerged from between two mausoleums. Zen and Rhea stood on either side of Maisie, supporting her weight. My sister’s head hung so low her limp red-and-black hair curtained her face. The infusions of blood from Adam and Lavinia had filled out her body a bit, but her skin still looked too pale.

  “Maisie!” Adam called, half running, half limping toward her.

  Her face came up slowly. But instead of jerking in surprise or blinking in shock, she regarded him with dead eyes. Seeing her lack of reaction, he stumbled to an awkward halt a couple of feet away. “Maisie?” he whispered.

  With a shaking hand, he reached for her. My stomach clenched as she shied away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said in a venomous tone. “I’m tainted!”

  I moved forward to intervene. But Rhea shook her head. Feeling helpless and hurting for both of them, I clenched my fists.

  “No you’re not, Maze. It’s okay.” He tried again, and this time she allowed him to place a gentle hand on her arm. “It’s not your fault.”

  Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. “I killed her, Adam.”

  He pulled her toward him as sobs wracked her body. “Shh. It’s going to be okay.”

  Beside me, Giguhl’s claw found my hand. I looked up at the demon with tears blurring my vision. For the first time since I let Maisie step in and kill our grandmother, I wondered if I’d made the right decision. Of the two of us, Maisie was less experienced with violence. She’d already been through so much. And even though her actions were just to my way of thinking, I knew Maisie never would have done the deed if she hadn’t believed Adam was dead. And even if she’d been able to muster the rage to kill Lavinia, she would never have chosen to feed from the Domina as the means. As far as I knew, Maisie had never drunk directly from a living being until tonight. She was th
e one who got me started on bagged blood as the more humane option. And to return the favor, I’d just introduced her to the more violent side of vampire life. The blood she’d consumed—both Adam’s and Lavinia’s—and the killing would likely haunt her for a long time to come.

  While Adam continued to comfort Maisie, the other mages and fae joined us. Everyone fell into a loose circle, and many of the faces looked to me as if for guidance. If they’d been expecting a speech, they were disappointed. I had no energy or desire to wax poetic about great victory over our foes. Instead, I sighed deeply. “Zen, I think it’s best if you and PW come with us to the fae court. The heat’s going to be on once the mortal authorities discover what happened here.”

  As if conjured, the sound of sirens carried to my ears. We had to get out of there.

  Zen looked around at the ruined building, the evidence of battle. Finally, she said, “That’s probably best. As long as we can return eventually if we choose.”

  I looked around, performing a quick head count. “Where are Mac and Georgia? Erron, Ziggy?”

  Giguhl spoke up. “They all left once the fighting was done.”

  I mentally added not being able to say good-bye to them to my long list of regrets. Mac and I had our conflicts, sure, but she’d come through in the end. As had Erron. Maybe one day I’d be able to thank all of them in person.

  But for now I had to get everyone to else to safety and then deal with the questions waiting for me back at faery central. No doubt the three leaders of the dark races were eagerly awaiting news of Lavinia’s death so they could claim victory and move on with their plans.

  One of the faeries stepped forward, a tall, muscular male with the bearing of one used to leading. Ilan, I presumed. “The Queen instructed us to cover up any signs of battle. It’s too risky to leave evidence behind.”

  The sirens grew closer.

  Giguhl squinted at him. “How exactly are you going to cover this up?” He gestured around. “Look at this place.”

  Red flashing lights reflecting off the walls of the building and screeching tires signaled the arrival of the cops. A Pythian Guard, a black-haired mage I’d met in New York named Wallace, looked at Adam for a decision.

  “Too late,” Adam said. “Everyone circle up.”

  “But the Queen—” Ilan protested.

  “Would be even more pissed if she had to bail the captain of her guard out of jail,” Adam barked. “Circle. Up.”

  Everyone jumped into action, grabbing the hands of those closest. No time to stop and look around. No time to reflect on what happened here. No time to worry about what tomorrow would bring.

  Adam grabbed my right hand and Giguhl my left. Static crawled across my skin. I looked from my best friend to my lover to the dark, haunted eyes of my twin.

  Rising power made my chest tighten. And then, as I looked up at the sky to thank the goddesses for sparing everyone I cared about in the world, a voice called out, “Stop and put your hands up!”

  The air popped and we were gone.

  Acknowledgments

  The word thanks seems so… inadequate sometimes. Especially when you’re acknowledging people who support and ensure you get to pursue your life’s dream every day. Ply me with enough wine and I’d blubber about the following people for hours.

  Devi Pillai, editrix extraordinaire, who makes sure I look like I know what I’m doing with this whole writing thing.

  Jonathan Lyons, my amazing, very patient agent. Thanks for being so cool and for reminding me to focus on what’s important.

  The geniuses at Orbit: Lauren Panepinto, Alex Lencicki, Jack Womack, Jennifer Flax, and the sales and marketing gurus, who make Sabina and her author look so good and make sure that people know about the books in the first place.

  Suzanne McLeod, my kickass critique partner and an amazing writer in her own right.

  The readers, who preach the gospel of Giguhl to everyone they know. You guys humble and amaze me.

  Booksellers, the world’s most passionate book lovers. You guys rock!

  The League of Reluctant Adults and Leah Hodge, whose support and snark are essential to this writer’s sanity.

  The Migues, Wells, and Hughes families, who inspire and support me in all sorts of remarkable ways.

  Zivy and Emily, my best sister-friends and members of my own Team Awesome.

  Mr. Jaye and Spawn, who were dragged along for this ride but endure it with patience and humor. ILY. NTB.

  And finally, thank you, New Orleans, for being the best muse ever. Please pardon any creative licenses I took with you. I hope, at least, I did your spirit justice.

  extras

  meet the author

  Raised in Texas, Jaye Wells grew up reading everything she could get her hands on. Her penchant for daydreaming was often noted by frustrated teachers. Later, she embarked on a series of random career paths before taking a job as a magazine editor. Jaye eventually realized that while she loved writing, she found reporting facts boring. So she left all that behind to indulge her overactive imagination and make up stuff for a living. Besides writing, she enjoys travel, art, history, and researching weird and arcane subjects. She lives in Texas with her saintly husband and devilish son. Find out more about Jaye Wells at www.jayewells.com.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed GREEN-EYED DEMON, look out for

  SILVER-TONGUED DEVIL

  Book 4 of the Sabina Kane series

  by Jaye Wells

  All around the track, the crowd of vampires, werewolves, fae, and mages—mostly males—went apeshit. Males leaned in over the banked side to pound on the planks and scream for blood. They’d come to the right place. The Hell on Wheels Roller Derby was a carnival of fists, fangs, and catfights.

  The pack rounded the second corner when the ref blew the whistle to put the jammers into play. Soon they’d attempt to skate their way through the cluster of blockers to try and score. In the meantime, we blockers were trying to incapacitate each other as quickly as possible.

  I delivered an elbow to Scarlet O’Scara’s nose. The satisfying crunch and spray of blood distracted me from the werewolf coming up on my rear. The fist slammed into my back with the force of a sledgehammer. Two ribs snapped. A split second later, spine-bending pain almost sent me to my knees. My skates scrambled for purchase, but I somehow managed to dig in and right myself.

  “Oops,” Bitch N. Heat said, shooting an evil smile over her shoulder. The wolf on wheels wore boy shorts, fishnets, and a tank top with a skull bedazzled on the back. Lucky for me it wasn’t a full moon, or that elbow would have thrown me across the room.

  I welcomed the pain like an old friend, my legs pumping harder, faster. I finally caught up with her at the next bend. Delivered a stabbing jab to kidneys as I passed. I considered following it up with a leg-sweep, but I needed to buy some time for my ribs to finish healing.

  Rounding the corner, I skated ahead of Bitch. Giguhl screamed from the sidelines, “Look alive, Red! Jammer’s coming!”

  I looked over my shoulder and spied my real prey. The black star on her helmet looked like a bull’s-eye.

  The jammer for the Jersey Devils went by the name Ima Cutchoo. She was tough for a mage but lacked my vampire stamina and speed. In a real battle, her magic skills might have made her a contender, but the brass armbands we were required to wear put the kibosh on that option.

  I slowed so she could catch up, dug in, and bent my knees. Muscles bunched, waiting to strike. Ima fought off bumps from my teammates but passed them easily, earning two more points. On her left, our own jammer, a fae named Stankerbell, struggled to make it through the gang of Jersey Devils defenders.

  Decision time: Should I help my own jammer score, or take out Ima so she couldn’t?

  The scent of blood filled the arena. Heightened my predatory instincts, made my fangs throb. Made answering my own question easier. But also raised a new one.

  How long’s it been?

  I turned to glare at Ima. She ma
de eye contact, her eyes sparkling with confidence. My own eyes narrowed with deadly determination.

  Three months? Four?

  All around me, my teammates were taking out Jersey Devils to clear a path for Stankerbell. A faery slammed to the floor and rolled into my path. My leg muscles screaming, I jumped her writhing form. The crowd went insane. Hands and fists slammed into the wood to urge us on. In the chaos, some fingers might have been rolled over, but it was hard to tell screams of pain from screams for blood.

  She was gaining on me. Almost there.

  Not quite four—next week it’ll be March.

  Ima’s panting breaths reached my ears as she rode my ass. I could feel her indecision, her brain working to decide the safest path around me. I held myself in check, luring her into a false sense of security. Then, just as she drew up on my right, I threw out my arm like a snake’s strike. Clotheslined. Ulna to windpipe—a satisfying crunch. The force of the blow knocked her feet into the air. She hovered there for a moment like someone had hit the pause button for a better view of the action. Then gravity kicked in, and bam! Her back slammed into the wooden floor with a loud crack as her spine broke.

  Whistles screamed. Boos and cheers from the audience. Gurgles from Ima as she curled up on the hard ground and spat blood. A mage healer rushed out onto the track to help the fallen Devil.

  I skated away. The crowd apparently didn’t approve of my strong-arm tactics, because their cheers quickly turned to boos. Even in dark-race roller derby, there were some lines one didn’t cross, apparently. I raised a fist and extended the universal salute finger to share my opinion of their rules.

  Ignoring the threats coming from the Devils’ bench, I aimed for the center of the round track and Giguhl. He wore green shorts with knee-high tube socks and a T-shirt that advertised the name of our team, the Manhattan Marauders. A clipboard and a scowl accessorized his coach’s uniform.

  “Seriously, Red?” he demanded. “This isn’t Thunderdome. You can’t maim the other team.”