Red Demon

by Deidre Knight

  She only smiled and then crooked a finger. “Bend down, Sable. I want to see the scars.”

  He stood taller, indignant. “Oh, no you do not. I won’t allow you to attempt another healing on me.”

  “Get over yourself!” She swatted his withers with the scarf. “I used to work at a salon, and maybe we could do something.”

  He kept rubbing his crown, imagining what she’d think of him with that long black hair cascading to his hips. He’d be almost . . . attractive again. Maybe he would let her brush it, just once. After a moment, he bent down to her level, quite a feat because she was a tiny woman compared to his gargantuan size.

  “A little lower,” she urged, and he caught her scent as she pressed soft fingertips against his burning scalp. “Yes, that’s good. I just need to see . . .”

  All at once, she had those palms open wide and spread across his head. He squirmed, knowing her intent, but she only held harder.

  “No, I’m doing this,” she said, as he pried at her fingers.

  “Do . . . not . . . heal me!” he bellowed, remembering all too well the pain she’d experienced with the spikes.

  “It’s your hair, for crying out loud! You deserve to have that . . .” She squirmed as he yanked her up against him, knocking her with his right foreleg, and they were in an outright scuffle, she determined to keep her healer hands on his scalp—and he equally resolved to block the action.

  But the pain, that heat that always radiated across his skull—it did the most miraculous thing.

  It stopped. And then so did she, letting her hands fall to her sides.

  “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” she asked softly, then added, “Uh-oh.”

  And fainted right against his chest.

  “What am I supposed to do with you now?” Sable asked, giving Sophie an awkward little shake. She’d collapsed against him like he was an upright bed or her favorite pillow, and passed out cold.

  “Sophie!” he hissed, shaking her harder. She released a quiet moan, turning her cheek against his chest, and settled in.

  He stomped first one hoof, then the other, staring up at the night sky as if a solution might come tumbling down. “Spartans!” he thundered, just in case one of them might be in the area and could retrieve the bizarre human. The warm, good-smelling, incredibly soft human, a tinkling voice whispered in his mind.

  “Stop!” he cried, as much to himself as to her. With a start, she woke, squeezing his arms to steady herself.

  “Oh, golly Pete. I hate it when I do that. How long was I out?” She rubbed her eyes, backing away from him, and he found that he sorely missed holding her, all that softness against his own body.

  He swished his tail, trying to control his reactions. Getting away from Sophie was the best plan. He trotted down the street but then turned back. “Why did you come for me? Tonight you sought me out.”

  She held up the scarf and then tossed it right at him. “Catch!” she urged, and he did so on pure reflex. This time, he balled it in his fist, keeping it.

  “I wondered what you could tell me about something important, actually.” She moved closer; he trotted farther away. She followed again; he jittered sideways. Finally, rolling her eyes, she plopped down on a stone bench.

  “What can you tell me about female Djinn?” she asked.

  He grew very still. She knew about Layla; she’d ask for no other reason.

  “What do you want to know?” he returned.

  “Can they do a little trick, this thing where they can, I don’t know, bind together with someone’s soul? Someone who died?”

  He barely breathed, but his mind warred with itself, torn between warning her about Layla’s vicious strength and protecting his cousin so that evil might wax strong in the world.

  If Layla were victorious, that would possibly mean that his traitorous thoughts toward this particular human would be snuffed out. Because Sophie would be gone, too. If Layla went far enough.

  “Female Djinn will do anything for sex. They have very specific compulsions for men who don’t want them. They’re consumed by the need to capture unwinnable affections—this is because they were cursed by Ahriman that way after one of their kind tried seducing him. If you’ve encountered a Djinn, a female sort . . . she’s probably after a particular male.”

  Sophie leaped to her feet, walking much closer. “But can they bring back a dead person?”

  He glared at her. “I’ve said too much.”

  “I need to know. It’s Aristos—you know him, right? He’s a really sweet guy, and my cousin Mason’s in some kind of trouble with this thing. . . .” She pressed both hands to her face. “It’s just too much to even think through. But can a Djinn be separated out or whatever, if she’s done something like this?”

  “There is no hope for your world or your friends,” he said bitterly. “There is no life left if a creature like me has entered your midst.”

  “But you’re good,” she insisted, stomping her foot. And by the gods, the woman seemed to mean it.

  He’d be damned if he offered her any further help after that insult.

  Chapter 39

  “Jules,” she heard Aristos hiss. She was sitting in the library, having begun a small crochet project with Sophie’s yarn, anything to pass the time until the exorcism. And that would be soon, perhaps within the hour.

  Ari called to her again, but looking all around the room, she didn’t see him. Emma and Shay had left to go make sandwiches, so she was alone.

  Then he called her again, whispering her name urgently. “Jules!”

  She followed his voice, walking toward the veranda door. All at once, he yanked her out onto the long porch, a conspiratorial gleam in his dark eyes. He pushed her up against the exterior wall, stroking her hips beneath his large palms as his mouth covered hers. It was desperate, the way he kissed her, and as arousing as it was, as much as she wanted it, his intensity worried her. Holding her palms against his chest, she braced him away from her slightly.

  “What’s wrong?” She searched his face.

  He was breathing heavily. “I thought you were liking that.” He propped an elbow against the wall, staring down at her with a lazy, sensual expression. “I missed you. That’s it. It’s been hours since I held you, and I couldn’t go another minute without tasting you.”

  He played with her hair. “I needed this. You.” His words were seductive, but his eyes told a different tale. He was deeply worried for her safety and their future.

  She cupped his face. “It’s going to work. I feel it, Aristos.”

  He looked away for a moment. “I don’t want you to be hurt . . . not by my power, or by Layla.”

  “Where did Juliana go?” she heard Emma ask from inside the library.

  “She might have gone to her room.” Shay volunteered, her words carrying through that open door.

  “Well, shoot,” Emma said. “I made her a sandwich. I’ll check her room.”

  Ari put a finger to his lips, motioning for her to keep silent. Taking her hand and tiptoeing, he led her around the far side of the veranda, the part that overlooked the river.

  Again, he pressed that finger to his lips, guiding her toward a wicker settee that was filled with plump, soft cushions. Because of where it sat on the porch, no one inside could even see it, but it was luxurious and would definitely hold them both, while affording a lovely view of the river below.

  “Let’s watch the sun set over the water,” he whispered, and he smiled as he looked up at her, but again, that fear and melancholy lurked in his expression.

  He settled into it, opening his legs, and then pulled her down into an embrace. Snuggling her back against his chest, he held her close, one hand on her abdomen, the other along her inner thigh. “I like being sneaky,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s hot. And holding you, all up close, that’s even hotter.”

  He stroked her belly, trailing his fingers lower, walking them teasingly. “Look where I’m going.” He laughed. “This little man�
��s gonna get some. Although, my man”—he patted the bulging erection that he now sported in his pants—“isn’t all that little, is he?”

  “You are very . . . hot,” she said, using the modern expression a little uncertainly.

  Ari beamed with pride at the praise, brushing a hand through his long hair. “You think so? That I’m a hot guy?”

  “You make me very, very hot,” she agreed enthusiastically.

  Jules had no idea why or how it happened, but suddenly her body really did get hot. Literally. Like it had done in the bathroom of the Crab Shack. “Oh, no,” she moaned, gripping her head. “No, I won’t let you,” she told Layla. Raw terror gripped her, and even though she knew that the emotion fueled Layla’s power, gave the demon more strength and command, she couldn’t fight the tide of fear that rushed over her.

  “What’s wrong?” Ari asked, trying to sit up, but Juliana’s whole body went rigid, and she began to shake. As she started convulsing, sensing Layla’s dominance emerging, she struggled to battle the demon back inside and away. Did everything in her power to tamp down her own fear so that the demon couldn’t feed on it, growing stronger and in control as a result.

  “Jules, sweetheart, don’t let her do this. Don’t give her the power. Stay calm,” he urged, trying to still her writhing body within his arms. He fastened her back against his chest. “Fight her by focusing on me. Think about our love,” he urged, but no matter how fiercely he worked to calm her, she couldn’t settle down. The fear inside her heart was reaching a crescendo—feeding and strengthening Layla—and her awareness of that fact only birthed more fear. It was a terrible murderous cycle between them.

  Ari pressed a strong forearm over her chest. “Juliana, I am here. Holding you. You have nothing to fear. She can’t emerge if you don’t give her the power to do it.”

  “I . . . I don’t want her to hurt you,” Jules whimpered.

  “Then fight her!” Ari insisted. “Your love for me, your strength—focus on that.”

  She swallowed hard, nodding, and felt a surge of God’s strength and goodness inside her spirit. “Layla, I command you to back down,” she said. “This is my body. Not yours. I have nothing to fear!”

  Inside her mind, she heard a screeching taunt. Nothing to fear but fear itself! The words cackled inside Jules’s head. And all the wicked things I’m going to do with Aristos while posing as you. Think he’ll recognize the difference? I can be very convincing, as you well know. Ah, and he is quite the handsome man. Wonder what I could do with his wings?

  “No! You won’t!” Jules screamed, seized again by a convulsion of panicked terror. “Stop toying with him! I insist that you leave my body at once.”

  “I’m not stopping anything,” were the words Jules heard in reply, only this time they were coming out of her own mouth as she hovered on that precipice. The spiritual brink where she was losing control over her own body—and Layla was emerging, taking charge.

  No! Free me! she cried out, unable to work her mouth any longer, feeling the demon grow dominant. She was being shoved inside, locked away, and even as she tried to scream no longer had a voice at all.

  She went tumbling into the blind, dark, frozen place, and the last thing she heard was Layla laughing. “Be still in there, Juliana,” Layla whispered to her, her emergence complete. “And don’t worry about being gone. I’ll keep Aristos quite busy. I’m only getting started with your man.”

  “Layla, get back,” Ari said, trying to shove her out of his arms. Her whole physicality had morphed, and she wasn’t even trying to masquerade as Jules. She sidled down between his legs, turning slightly, and the minion actually tried fondling him.

  He flung her off at that, and leaped out of the chair, putting as much distance between them as possible. “What are you trying to prove?” he asked, edging toward the library door. He’d get backup, serious Shades and Daughters cover, and they’d deal with her. Now, not later.

  “I’m only curious about the very sexy and powerful man who keeps having sex with me,” she said lightly.

  “I’m not doing shit with you, demon.”

  He remembered Jules saying that she’d not sensed Layla at all during their lovemaking. It was only another tactic. From inside the house, he heard Emma and Sophie, and, sprinting toward that open door, he roared, “Layla! Manifesting, and now!”

  Then everything seemed to be happening in a hyper-speed blur. Shay was out of that room, running faster than he’d ever seen her move. His body went haywire, no warning at all about it. Power started flooding into him, such raw energy—it was more intense than any he’d ever known.

  I have to keep control. Have to destroy Layla . . . but not Jules.

  He spun, and the Djinn had moved right up onto his ass. “Aristos,” she purred. “I love it when you get so lathered up over me. That is definitely hot.” She stroked a hand over her half-exposed breasts. “Like my body. Touch it! Mason’s not here right now, so why can’t we play?” She pouted, looking up at him.

  “Juliana’s not here, either. She’s who I want. Let her have control again—now.”

  “How boring would that be?” She waved him off and sauntered toward the library’s door. “Mason? Where are you, baby?” she called out into the main hall.

  “Leave him out of this,” Ari seethed, forming fists against his thighs. The power ratcheted up, increasing by several large increments, and he could smell sudden smoke from down the hall.

  Great; don’t burn the Angels’ home down, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the overload. He moaned with it, feeling his stomach spasm and his spine burn.

  “Show me those wings, won’t you?” Layla teased, walking back toward him like Delilah herself. “I can think of lots of things to do with a feather.”

  That was it. Enraged and overrun with his own power, he seized Layla by the upper arms. “Give me Jules back!” he roared into her face. “Leave her body now, Layla. By the Highest God, you may not command this body.”

  Layla shrieked at the words, recoiling in horror, and he kept on. “By the name of the Highest God, you must leave her. By God’s authority, you must go.” She began coughing and sputtering, but still there was no sign of Juliana.

  “Stop invoking his name. You have no right,” she hissed, her eyes fully red. “You’re not a hunter!”

  “No,” a surprisingly calm voice said. “But I am. And you’re going down tonight, once and for all.” Mason Angel moved right up to the demon and slapped his hand across her face.

  The whole crew had moved into the library, setting about the work of the exorcism once the proverbial starting whistle had sounded. They’d prayed and warred and commanded—and Layla hadn’t relented for a moment. Not by leaving Jules altogether, and definitely not by returning control to her.

  Mason’s frustration had started to show in the past few moments, and he finally forced her down onto the hardwood floor, pinning her there by sheer will, because she was strong.

  “Come on, Ari!” Mason urged. “Get on over here and do your thing.”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head right then, and she began muttering something unintelligible in Persian.

  “Why won’t she let Jules come back out?” Ari demanded, kneeling beside her.

  Mason shook his head. “Don’t think about that. Just lay your hands on her.”

  Ari couldn’t help hesitating. What if he couldn’t control himself enough to keep from hurting Jules?

  Mason’s voice got more insistent. “Aristos, seriously. If you ever wanted to go nuclear, do it now. Unload your power on her. Do it now, buddy. Come on!” Mason coached him.

  Jamie Angel moved to her other side, squatting beside Mason. “In the name of the Highest God of all, relinquish this body,” Jamie said. “We claim the blood of Jesus Christ over her.”

  Wonderful, Ari thought, because right then Layla, in true demon fashion, began foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

  “We might hurt Jules,” Ari said, watching Layla’s violent re
action. She began convulsing against the floor, eyes rolling even farther back in her head.

  Mason saw his hesitation and, in a decisive move, forced Ari’s hands down onto Layla’s chest. “Come on, man. We might not get a shot like this one again. She’s weakening. Lay it on her!”

  Ari focused hard and let loose every bit of power inside his body. It just rolled out, so much easier than usual, a burning cauldron of intensity.

  And for a moment, he saw Jules’s auburn hair, a subtle realigning.

  “No!” Jamie shouted. “We don’t want Juliana right now. Keep her back,” he commanded the demon. “I have spiritual authority over you. And, Layla, this is you and us, right here and now. Juliana stays out of it.”

  The Spartans had circled about them, and as Ari glanced up, blinking at the silver in his vision, it was reassuring to see his brothers. He dug in deeper, unleashed more of what roared in his bloodstream.

  Layla howled, a low and rabid sound that made his hair stand on end—and, for just a moment, he eased up. Which was the precise moment she sprouted leather wings and claws, and her whole body became covered with nasty green scales.

  “Fire in the hole!” Jamie shouted, and Ari lunged for her, but was too late. She flew out of his grasp, beating those hard, ugly wings right in his face as she moved.

  Moved, in fact, right toward the circle of his brother warriors. “Watch out!” Ari shouted, leaping to his feet, chasing after her, but she had the advantage of flight.

  River tried to intercept that movement, stepping right into her path.

  “River!” Nikos’s voice was filled with true panic. He windmilled his arms, trying to catch the demon’s attentions. And it worked. Layla trained her full focus on Nikos, hissing and panting as she stared him down.

  “Me,” Nikos said calmly. “Bring it on. You and me, Layla.”

  “Nikos, don’t,” Ari tried cautioning.