by Nadine Mutas
When he had soaked up the essence of the other demon’s spiritual trace, he closed his eyes and focused on the fine threads linking him to all of his kind, the subtle connection he shared with the collective energy he’d been forged from. He probed, felt, tested the different threads emerging from the common field, searched the mass of unseen power for a spark of the energy pattern he was looking for.
Frowning, he opened his eyes after what had felt like hours, though one look at the softly changing light outside told him it had been far less. He turned to Merle, who was watching him with tense attention, and he shook his head.
“Something’s off.”
Her body tensed impossibly further. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t sense him. It’s like…his signature doesn’t exist.”
She joined him in his frown. “Are you sure?” Then, something flashed in her eyes. “Is he dead?”
He considered it then shook his head again. “If he’d died, it had to have been very recently, because you’ve seen him take Maeve just two days ago. If he’d died since then, though, there would still be a residual energy trace of him on the psychic plane.” Searching for the right comparison, he paused for a moment. “It’s like the lingering body heat that only slowly fades after the onset of death.” His gaze flicked to the window. The sky was now a shade of gray, streaked with the finest hues of rose. “There might be another reason I can’t locate him right now.” He jerked his head toward the advancing dawn on the horizon. Already, he could feel his energy waning as the night retreated. A few more minutes at best and he’d be human for all intents and purposes, except he was still almost impossible to kill.
Merle’s gaze followed his to the brightening sky, and she nodded, softly. Her chest heaved with a breath that seemed laden with an invisible weight. “We’ll have to wait until sunset.” And, almost inaudibly, she added, “He’ll have her another day.”
Something rasped along his senses, chafing him on the inside, and it had nothing to do with his fading powers. “He won’t be able to feed from her during daytime.”
Her eyes met his, scorching him. “That doesn’t mean he can’t hurt her,” she whispered, and turned to go.
Chapter 5
They drove back in heavy silence in the quiet of dawn. Rhun stared out the window, while Merle was lost in thoughts so dark they threatened to break her. She’d been foolish enough to assume they would track down the demon without delay—through the anguished haze in her mind, strung out by the desperate need to rescue Maeve, she’d completely forgotten Rhun couldn’t use his powers during the day. By the laws of nature, he was a creature of the dark, his magic inextricably linked to the reign of the night.
She mentally reached out to sense his aura, but all she encountered was the average vibrancy of a healthy male mind and body, and though it appealed to the woman inside her, it differed little from a human energy pattern. Like his demon powers, Rhun’s distinctive preternatural aura lay dormant for the day.
The same would hold true for Maeve’s captor, but Merle didn’t fool herself. Her sister would still suffer torment at the hands of the demon. Reduced to human powers and strength he might be, but a man didn’t need magical means to inflict pain on a woman. Just thinking about it made Merle sick to her stomach, made her hands tighten on the steering wheel until she couldn’t feel the leather anymore.
If—no, not if—when she found that son of a bitch who’d dared lay a hand on her baby sister, she’d rip him apart limb by limb and watch it all grow back, several times, before she’d let Rhun kill him. Yes, that—and only that—might soothe the searing wrath in her blood.
Glancing to her right, Merle watched Rhun stare at the dawning sky, his eyes drinking in the display of vivid colors like a starving man might devour a sumptuous buffet. Right, he hasn’t seen the sun rise in twenty years. Two decades of darkness and pain, a prison that would win any contest for Most Cruel Confinement, hands down. Considering the pain he must have suffered, he was surprisingly sane and…civil.
As she turned the car onto the street leading to her house, Rhun picked up her MP3 player again and browsed through the content. He stopped short after a moment and peered at her, one eyebrow arched.
“Don’t tell me the Rolling Stones are still alive.” His voice dripped with disbelief.
“Yeah, well, more or less.”
He grunted. “Impressive. I’d have thought they’d have partied themselves to their graves by now.”
“I know,” she gave back, joining in his casual conversation before she knew what she was doing. “I never thought they’d outlive half of the Beatles.”
Now he fully turned to her. “Which one of them died?”
“George.”
“So it’s down to Paul and Ringo now, huh? Pity.” He clucked his tongue. “Who else of the Bold and Beautiful bit the dust?”
“Michael Jackson.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Whitney’s gone, too.”
He threw up his hands. “I leave this world alone for twenty years and look what happens.” He shook his head. “Next you’re gonna tell me David Hasselhoff still tortures humankind with his music.”
Merle bit her lip. “Well…”
He closed his eyes and held up a hand. “Please.”
Smiling despite herself, she said, “You know, Arnold Schwarzenegger was governor of California.”
Rhun glared at her. “Now you’re just being cruel.”
She had to chew hard on the inside of her mouth to stop her laughter from bubbling up, laughter which felt so out of place right now, inappropriate considering the sorrows weighing her down. But for a precious moment seemingly stolen from another life, before stifling responsibility, loss and pain, she felt lighthearted, free, in the mood to joke. She wanted to tease, and it startled her. Amusement and joy didn’t come easily. She barely ever got playful, only laughed when Lily and Basil—friends who had grown as close as family—set their minds to it and coaxed it out of her, and it had been like this since long before Maeve’s abduction.
Ever since her grandmother’s death, Merle had had to carry the weight of her inheritance as the family’s head, and slowly, surely, it had taken its toll. The balance of the magic abundant in the world was a frail one, easily disturbed, hard to control, and each line of witches was integral to this balance, with the head of the line being the vital part. Merle’s own essence had become intricately interwoven with the powers beyond as she’d assumed her responsibility, and—just as her fellow witches—she now had to take measures to uphold the balance. Sometimes, all it took was a small offering.
Sometimes, small wasn’t enough.
Merle shivered at the memory of the last time she’d had to appease the Powers That Be, had to pay them back for the magic she’d used. Fractured parts of her soul, blood that wouldn’t stop flowing…
She shook her head, pushed the feeling of nauseous helplessness and growing depletion far away, locked it into the place reserved for the darkest of memories. It was the same place that held the image of a burning cherry tree, the smell of scorched flesh, the sound of screams echoing in the late afternoon. Screams that were her own.
This, she thought, was why lighthearted laughter eluded her. It had died that day, sixteen years ago, long before her grandmother’s passing, long before Maeve had disappeared. For Merle, careless joy was part of a childhood which had ended too early, burnt to cinders like the tree she’d used to climb.
She parked the car, got out and trudged up the steps to the veranda, with Rhun trailing behind. He was humming “Bad” by Michael Jackson, and he did it with such glee that Merle wanted to smack him.
Once inside, she made a beeline for the library, where she perused the shelves, pulled out a volume here and there. Coughing at the dust whirling around her, she dumped the books on the large desk in the middle of the room. Rhun had followed her and now sauntered around the study, frowned at the mess of books and papers cluttering the carpet and th
e table, and then leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves. His arms crossed in front of his chest, he focused those piercing bright eyes on Merle with an intensity that made her squirm inside.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Trying to create a vortex of chaos?”
She barely stopped herself from throwing the volume she was holding straight at his head. The book was too valuable. “I’m doing research,” she said instead, rubbing her forehead with her free hand.
“On what exactly? How to keep order? Because I can see you need some improvement in that field.”
I can’t kill him, I can’t kill him, I can’t… She dropped the volume on a pile on the desk. “Maybe there’s something I’ve missed, some other way to find that bastard—”
“Don’t bother. There isn’t.” He said it matter-of-factly, but still, the finality of his statement sucker-punched her in the guts. “That aside, you really should spend the idle daytime hours until sunset better than by uselessly skimming through dusty books. I think you should—”
“If you’re suggesting I have sex with you…” she cut in, anger bubbling in her veins.
Smirking, he shook his head. “You know, not everything I say is aimed at getting me into your sweet little panties.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to.”
“I don’t.” Even to her own ears, her answer had come too quickly to be credible. Images of Rhun poised above her as she’d lain on the stairs flashed before her inner eye, and the parts of her body he’d touched heated in remembrance. The mere thought of what it would feel like to have all that impressive male strength between her legs, skin on skin, pumping fast, working her up until— “I don’t,” she repeated, her face flushed with all-too conscious embarrassment.
“Uh-huh.” Rhun gave her a knowing look that only fueled the fire spreading in decidedly feminine parts of her body. “Well, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me with your Freudian slip-like suggestion—now, please, would you put down that book? There’s no need to start throwing things at me.”
“Get to the point,” Merle snarled.
He clucked his tongue. “Impatient, are we?”
The book she’d been holding slammed into the shelf—missing him by a good three feet. Merle groaned. Never, even if her life depended on it, had she been able to hit a godsdamn mark.
Rhun had not even deigned to move, he’d just watched the literary missile fly past him, and now turned to Merle again, eyes dancing.
“Maybe if you aimed for a spot a few feet to my right, you’d hit me.” He caught the next book in midair and pinned her with a serious look. “Merle. Stop throwing for a sec.”
“What?”
“When was the last time you slept?”
That startled her like nothing else, made her pause. “I was asleep when you broke in here.” She lowered the book she was currently holding. “You know, after you left me bleeding on the mausoleum floor?”
“Are you still mad at me about that? I did come back to you, little witch, didn’t I?” He strolled over, all sinuous moves and casual arrogance, his eyes intent on hers. When he stopped right in front of her, only inches away, his body heat brushed over her like a physical caress. “And just for the record, I did not leave you bleeding. I closed those holes.” He raised his hand and tapped one finger on the pulsing vein on her neck.
It was such a fleeting, light touch, and yet it short-circuited Merle’s entire system. How could he affect her like this? He didn’t even have his damn demon powers! She checked her mental shields, reinforced them with meticulous effort, and yet…they hadn’t been breached in the least.
“And back to my point,” he continued, examining her with a look that seemed to strip her bare, “that bit of sleep you caught a short while ago was what? Half an hour? A quick nap at the most. Now tell me, when was the last time you really slept?”
Something inside her crumbled, and she closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the bone-tiring exhaustion she’d been fighting back with the force of her despair. Every muscle ached, her limbs burdened with lead. “Three days ago.”
Rhun’s hand curved around her nape again, a touch so intrinsically possessive that it should have made her back away. At this moment, though, it somehow felt…right. Too tired to fight his slow erosion of her defenses, Merle relaxed in his hold, leaned her forehead against his chest. Just a little, just for a moment. By the gods, he felt good. Warm, hard, uncompromisingly male. She wanted to wrap him around herself.
His breath brushed the top of her head. “You should rest.” Slowly, languorously, his fingers stroked her neck, and it was so damn soothing despite all her common sense. “You’ll be of no use to Maeve if you’re weak and tired. Sleep, and we’ll look for her come nightfall.” His other hand had come up to her lower back, a pleasant pressure, pushing her toward him.
It was then that Merle realized she was letting him hug her. Oh, hell no.
She snapped her eyes open, pulled back with a start, and stumbled as she stepped away from him. “You’re right.” Her heart pounded, her thoughts were a flustered mess. Avoiding eye contact, she started for the door, stopped, half-turned. “I’ll lie down for a few hours. You can watch TV, or read something, or do whatever demon stuff you usually do during daytime, as long as you stay inside and away from me. And don’t even try to leave—I’ll cast a spell that alerts me if you choose to skip and run, and believe me, you don’t want me chasing you down.” Thus spoken, she marched off out of the room and went upstairs.
Damn sneaky demon.
While walking to her bedroom, she cast the warning spell under her breath. “Within these walls, all hold and hide, allow no breach from either side.” It was actually more of a reinforcement of the wards to also work inwards, but it would do. Good thing her grandmother had made sure she learned basic spells by heart so she wouldn’t have to consult the grimoire except for more complicated rituals.
And right there, she stopped in her tracks. The grimoire! She’d left it in the mausoleum when she’d scrambled out to get home and replenish her energy. Closing her eyes, she thumped her head against the doorjamb to her room and remained like that, her arms hanging down her side.
For a moment, she pondered driving back to the cemetery to retrieve the book and her tools, then decided against it. If she didn’t fall asleep behind the wheel on the way to the cemetery, she’d sure as hell collapse there in the mausoleum. Rhun was right, she needed to rest, and the last place she wanted to sleep in was a graveyard. She’d locked the mausoleum on her way out, so her belongings would be safe until she’d pick them up later, after she—
“Didn’t make it to your bed?”
Merle whipped around—staggering—to find Rhun standing behind her, lips curved with unconcealed amusement.
“You know,” he drawled, “I’d have carried you upstairs and made sure to tuck you into bed if I’d known you were that tired. I mean, you have to admit, sleeping against a doorjamb is not exactly comfortable…”
Her eye twitched. And her exhaustion had little to do with that.
He sauntered past her through the door. “So, this your bedroom?”
She followed, keeping a wary eye on him. The way he prowled around her private sanctuary was a truly disturbing sight—a dark predator stalking the lair of its prey. He brushed his fingers over her dressing table, her jewelry, sniffed at her bottles of perfume, and studied the photo collage of her family and friends she’d hung on the wall above her bed. All the while, he moved with such disconcerting poise among her personal effects—as if he owned it all. It made her skin break out in goose bumps.
“Listen, you really need to—” She stopped short and stared at him, baffled, and not a little terrified. “What are you doing?”
He’d shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over the back of the chair in front of her dressing table, and was now in the process of taking off his shirt. He paused in pulling it up. “You’ve seen a man undress before, haven’t you?”
“Well, usually, people don’t go to bed in their street clothes. I certainly don’t. In fact, I prefer to be naked when I join a female in bed.”
She stared. Blinked. Closed her eyes and rubbed them with the fingers of one hand. “You are not joining me in bed. If you want to sleep, use one of the other rooms.” She opened her eyes again and waved at the door.
“You know that’s not going to work.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he exuded an amount of male arrogance that was impossibly disarming. “I’d just steal into here and snuggle up to you at some point anyway.”
If she hadn’t been so weary, she might have smacked him for his smugness. And for sneaking the image in her mind of him snuggling up to her. Breathe. “I’ll lock the door then.”
For a moment, he was silent, eyebrows arching. Then he laughed. And laughed. And just kept on laughing. While Merle gaped at him in outrage, he pulled off his T-shirt, still chuckling, and laid it neatly on top of the leather jacket.
Merle continued gaping at him, only now it wasn’t in outrage anymore. Her gaze was glued to the display of rippling muscle and lickable skin in front of her. Why, gods, why? Of all the demons to recruit for help, she had to pick one with a swoon-worthy body.
She mentally slapped herself back from lust-induced insanity. “I could just bind you in the Shadows again for the day.”
“You could.” He kicked off his boots and proceeded to unbutton his jeans.
Merle averted her eyes. Somewhere in this room must be her senses. If she didn’t look back at him, she might find them again.
“But, then you’d have to unbind me again at sunset, which means you’d have to feed me your blood again. And—seeing how the Shadows tend to starve me out after only a few hours—I’d have to nearly drain you—again. You don’t want a repeat of that, do you?” Unhurriedly, with a natural confidence that was as magnetic as it was intimidating, he strolled over to her. Naked. Temptingly so.
