What Goes Bump In The Night

by C. R. Jane

  "Heart of the East, shine your protection on our desperate cause and rise with hope on the new dawn." Rodon sipped from the goblet and passed it to Sir Garrett.

  "In the Watchtowers of the South, we watch and wait to light the holy fires." Sir Garrett took a large gulp-fully confident in the brew he'd made-and passed the cup to Barrington.

  "The dead gather in the West, the dark, cold home of eternal slumber."

  Ian shivered, though Barrington never seemed to be bothered by his words.

  "The circle be cast," Ian whispered, his words slurring slightly. His tongue felt numb. Hopefully he wasn't allergic to whatever that secret ingredient was in Sir Garrett's potion. "The circle be bound. The circle protects us all."

  The magical fire already burned low. Shadows thickened in the lingum's chamber. Even the lanterns seemed to have burned out, leaving only the glowing red coals on the stone bowl to stand against the dark.

  "Poisoned shadows, I call you." Barrington's voice rang in the darkness, proud, confident, and arrogant with the flair of a circus ringmaster. The man had been born for this. Unfortunately, he knew it all too well. "I summon you, deathstalker. I summon you, cobra. I summon you, widowmaker. I summon you, grimdark. You are bound to our circle. You are bound to our will. As long as our blood powers the spell, you are conjured to this realm to do our bidding."

  The hairs prickled on Ian's nape. Ice trickled down his spine. His heart pounded frantically, waiting for the spell to snap into place. What would their conjure look like? He'd never seen a grimdark demon, though he'd read many accounts, some more wild and far-fetched than others, even from people he trusted.

  Twisted creatures, half man, half beast. Demonic. Fur and wings, pasty white skin, glowing hellfire eyes. Others said they had no eyes. Only empty black orbs that glittered like obsidian mirrors.

  The cup came into his hands again. He gulped and passed it to Rodon, afraid to look away from the cauldron. His head swam. What the fuck had Sir Garrett put in that potion? He tried to ask him, but his tongue felt like a wad of cotton.

  Barrington picked up the cauldron, shielding his hands with material that looked all-too familiar. Ian was sure that was his coat. His favorite coat. Damn the man. If he burned a hole in it…

  Barrington stepped over to the smaller circle of salt and carefully poured the cauldron's contents out inside the circle. "From darkness, we call you to rise."

  Wind swept through the chamber, snuffing out the lanterns.

  "Ow!" Barrington yelped, and the cauldron clattered to the floor. "Motherfucker, that'd better not leave a scar."

  "Leonis," Ian cautioned softly. "Don't move. You might break the circle accidentally before we're ready. Rodon, can you manage some light, please?"

  "Already working on it," Rodon replied.

  A soft pearly light started to glow beneath Ian's shirt. Holding his breath, he fished out the selenite pendant. It gleamed pure white.

  Something inside the circle hissed.

  Rodon muttered a spell in his language, and a ball of energy grew above them like a mini sun, slowly growing brighter to illuminate the grids.

  Something very dark. Very large. Waited. In the circle.

  Intrigued, Ian took a step closer, but the shadows drew up tighter. The creature made another soft sound. A cry of pain that tugged on every protective instinct Ian possessed. It wasn't a shriek, howl, or the grunt of an animal, but soft and fragile. Pained.

  He tucked the glowing selenite back inside his shirt, and the thick shadows loosened to reveal…

  "Fuck," Barrington whispered.

  A woman.

  Chapter Three

  Stunned , Ian stared at the woman inside the circle, his befuddled brain hopping from thought to thought as he tried to comprehend what had happened. The grimdark were twisted, foul creatures. They murdered everything in their path, animal or human. They even laid waste to crops and forests, spreading black rot that no one had yet been able to reverse.

  The spell had included grimdark flesh. Yet this woman looked… human.

  Were all grimdark actually human, rather than demons? Or demons spawned to look like humans? Were all grimdark female? He'd never heard any such thing.

  He stepped closer to the circle. Rodon obligingly lowered his lighted sphere to better illuminate their conjure, though she had enough power to keep darkness twisted around her like a black cloak. That gave Ian pause. Magelight couldn't penetrate grimdark shadows.

  Some of that darkness was her hair, long, black, shining tresses that wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were black as well, though perhaps a darker crimson. It was hard to tell in the magelight. Her skin was pale and smooth. Too pale, he decided. Ghostly. Dead. Completely devoid of color. That actually made him feel slightly better.

  She shouldn't look so human.

  Despite the corpse-like color of her skin, she was still beautifully made. Her face looked delicate, her cheekbones sculpted high with a pert nose and lush mouth. Not deformed in any way, shape or form, other than the too-white ghostly flesh.

  "Tell us your name, conjure," Barrington demanded.

  She looked at him and then the rest of the men one by one. Perhaps it was Ian's imagination, but he swore her gaze lingered on him the longest. He could still taste Garrett's brew on his tongue. Everything seemed slightly stretched, even his thoughts, as if time had slowed.

  "Crimson Black," she finally said in a voice that made a cold sweat break out on his forehead. Luscious and decadent, her voice made him think of silken sheets and soft flesh and sweaty moans. But underneath the sultry, husky timbre, lay something… deadly. Like a poisonous spider waiting for her prey to come just a bit closer.

  Then he realized what she'd said. Her name. Wide-eyed, he stared at her a moment and then dragged his gaze to Sir Garrett's. Pale, his face a tad bit green, he mouthed, "the crystals," back at Ian.

  Indeed. The crystals. The spell's offerings. It all made a dreadful kind of sense. Later, he'd have to ask Rodon where he'd obtained the grimdark flesh. Maybe its owner had been female.

  "By your name, I command you, Crimson Black." Barrington leaned down to stare into her eyes. "I command you to fulfill the purpose for which we have conjured you. You will obey us four without question."

  Her head tipped slightly. "What names are you four called?"

  "Lord Leonis Barrington. Lord General Commander Rodon. Sir Garrett Alden. His Royal Highness Ian Gyles."

  Inwardly, Ian winced. Why had the man felt the need to mention his title? Not that it meant anything. He might be the eldest Gyles prince, but a wizard couldn't rule. He'd accepted his fate long ago, but having it mentioned so casually, to a demon, no less, was like salt in a wound.

  She repeated their names, looking at the men one by one, until she finally settled on Ian. "I will fulfill the purpose for which you conjured me."

  "And you will obey the four of us without question," Barrington repeated.

  One corner of her mouth quirked, sending goosebumps racing down Ian's arms. Too knowing, too confident, too…

  Devastatingly female.

  "I agree to obey you four without question, so there is no danger, Lord Leonis Barrington. You may release me."

  He chuckled roughly. "Not so quickly, conjure. We must establish a few rules."

  She dropped her gaze and averted her face ever so slightly. The pale flash of skin through her artfully tumbled hair combined with the demure tilt of her shoulders proclaimed innocence, trustworthiness, and somehow begged for assistance at the same time. "Please, gentlemen, may I have some clothing first?"

  Ian would eat Barrington's leather boots if this creature would ever be a damsel in distress, but her voice quavered. She'd already managed to cement one dangerous element in his mind. She'd forced him to acknowledge her as female, and now, she was deliberately playing to those stereotypes.

  Th
is was no simple demon who'd happily kill as directed and then allow herself to be banished back to oblivion.

  Barrington was an arrogant bastard on his best day, but even he scrambled to grab some clothing for her to cover herself. Unfortunately for Ian, it was his coat. If it had survived the smoldering cauldron, perhaps she-

  Demon , he told himself sternly.Grimdark. Conjured evil. It came to our summoning. It. Not she.

  Again, he had to admit that the conjure was playing them all. It had known exactly how to tug on an aristocrat's deeply inbred sense of propriety.

  "A few rules." Barrington cleared his throat. "You will kill only grimdark. Not humans."

  Slowly, she straightened, so gracefully and elegantly that she reminded Ian of a flower unfurling. Only this flower would never see the light of day. He still marveled at her delicate beauty, even though her complexion reminded him of a corpse. A beautiful living Sleeping Beauty, woken from the slumber of death. His coat swallowed her delicate frame, making her appear fragile.

  She whispered, "What if humans try to harm me? Am I not allowed to protect myself?"

  Barrington smiled, settling back into his confidence. "As if humans could ever harm you."

  Her lips curled in a beckoning, sultry smile. Deliberately, she dropped her gaze down Barrington's body. She stared at his groin. Openly. And licked her luscious lips.

  A rush of heat flooded Ian and his cock stirred, even though she wasn't looking at him. He'd wager every man in the room had gone rock hard.

  "Men hurt women every day," she said softly, though her voice echoed in the chamber.

  In those few words, he heard a multitude of emotions. Fear. Shame. But most of all, rage.

  He had so many questions. Where had she learned such feelings? Was this all an act meant to persuade and trick her masters into freeing her from the circle? Or could she be sincere? But how could a grimdark conjure be sincere?

  "Bah," Barrington muttered darkly.

  She dragged her gaze up to his face and smiled sweetly. "Is everything not proceeding according to plan, Lord Leonis Barrington?"

  "What are you?"

  Not good if the strongest summoner in Malwyrd had no idea what he'd actually managed to call to the circle. Ian stepped closer to Barrington and laid a hand on his arm. He automatically tipped his head down to Ian. "Send it back."

  She focused on him, and it was all he could do not to take a hasty step back from the circle, even though he knew they were safe. She couldn't cross the protective salt barrier, though the flickering flames in her eyes said she definitely wished she could wrap her hands around his throat. Or perhaps lower, because she allowed her gaze to wander down his body the same way she'd looked over Barrington earlier.

  At least Ian's less-fashionable trousers didn't reveal his unfortunate response to her as much as Barrington's tight breeches would have done.

  "When you fuck, is he inside you, or are you inside him?"

  Barrington quivered, whether with rage or shock, Ian didn't know. He didn't dare look away from the conjure. He could only hope his face didn't reveal how shocked he was. Not by her language, but by her perception.

  By the slow, knowing curl of her lips, he'd failed to keep his face from betraying him.

  "Ah, yes, I should have known," she whispered, nodding. "Despite all his brash arrogance, he likes to be conquered. And despite your quiet, bookish ways, you like to dominate your adversary, whether it be with wits or with that magnificent cock you hide so carefully. It is quite impressive, isn't it, Lord Leonis Barrington?"

  "Shut up," Barrington retorted, his cheeks reddened.

  Rodon snorted. "She has you two pegged perfectly. And who am I, my lady?"

  Her head tipped as she studied him. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh my. I'm so sorry, Lord General Commander."

  A tear slipped from her dark eyes. Ian could see it clearly against her pale flesh. Because it was red. Like blood.

  Rodon drew himself up, stoic and stern and silent as always. He didn't say anything in response. Everyone in Malwyrd knew the tall, broad-shouldered stance of their commander. He'd stood over the grave of his wife and children exactly the same way.

  They'd been slaughtered by grimdark while he was away protecting the borders. At the time, no grimdark attack had ever come so deeply into civilization. Ian had always thought Rodon had been targeted somehow, no matter how unlikely it might have seemed that a demon horde could plan out such an attack and execute it in perfect secrecy.

  They were mindless ravaging killers.

  Staring at their conjure, Ian could only shake his head and call himself a fool.

  She turned to Sir Garrett and effortlessly assessed him as well. "Quiet, unassuming, the perfect student. It's a shame your professor never realized that you study so hard to please him, not because you care in the slightest about the lessons themselves. But your mentor never fucks anyone but Barrington. Don't feel badly, Sir Garrett. His Royal Highness has his eyes focused solely on his lost crown. All other conquests are merely a distraction."

  Hands fisted at his side, Ian fought himself. He wanted to blurt out a denial. He wanted to turn to Garrett and press his forehead against his and beg for forgiveness. How could he have been so oblivious?

  Her words pierced through the veil that had clouded his eyes all these years. Of course Garrett harbored a crush on him. Of course Ian enjoyed fucking Barrington, because it was always a sweaty endeavor to bend the man to his will. And yes, he still thought of his crown, that sat on his brother's head instead of his own.

  "Fuck this shit," Barrington retorted. "Conjure, I dispel-"

  It was probably the stupidest thing that Ian had ever done, but he lunged forward and scuffed his shoe through the salt circle before Barrington could banish her.

  Chapter Four

  Time froze. Ian watched the conjure's face as he broke the circle holding her captive. He saw the flare in her dark-red eyes, a smoldering coal catching flame. She smiled with a wicked sort of glee. Shiny white teeth too perfect. Lips too soft and full.

  The most poisonous creatures they could acquire flowed in the spell powering her. The onyx blade waited only for her to put it to use.

  Resigned to his fate, he braced for death. The Malwyrd throne would never be his. The crown would stay on his brother's head. Exactly as the gods had ordained when they'd given him magical gifts deemed inappropriate for rule.

  Everything he'd worked for his entire life would be gone in an instant. His friends and lover, destroyed.

  But he had to know.

  Was she unique because they'd conjured her? What else could she tell them about grimdark that might help them turn back the hellish tide destroying the world? How had she been able to read them so well, better than they even knew themselves?

  Barrington growled a curse and rushed toward his bag of supplies near the door. Rodon unsheathed his sword, adding another glow to the darkness. Ian had spelled that blade himself, imbuing it with healing ability and a lust for grimdark blood. The glow brightened, as if a full moon had suddenly popped out from behind the clouds.

  She hissed at the light but still lunged for Ian. She wrapped her hands around his throat, just as he'd imagined she would. He met Sir Garrett's panicked gaze and gave him a sad smile. Such a beautiful, gentle young man. He would regret never indulging in his tender ardor.

  The conjure's body felt like cold marble against his. Her fingers were strong. Much stronger than his. He felt the promise of strangulation, as if she could squash him easily with a flick of her wrist.

  But then she locked her lips to his.

  Stunned, his eyes flared wide. Succubus? Was this how he would die? Somehow, he'd never expected a grimdark to know how to kiss. She pushed her tongue between his lips, as aggressively as Barrington would have done.

  Poison? Perhaps in her saliva. Or she'd drain his life essence. His
heart pounded desperately, waiting for the weakness or pain of death to approach.

  Surely, she would taste like foulness. Demon taint. Death.

  She let out a soft sigh against his mouth and pressed more tightly to him. Tasting him, as he was tasting her, and there was nothing foul about her kiss.

  She tasted like nothing he'd ever known before. Like the air on a heavy, humid summer night, ripe with exotic flowers that only bloomed in the darkest hour. Mysteriously sweet, as if she'd eaten a candy moments before, and the sugar lingered on her tongue. She moaned, deep in her throat. A feminine growl of hunger. A sound Ian had resigned himself to never hearing.

  Women avoided his kind for fear of bearing another wizard, even a prince of the realm. He'd told himself he hadn't minded. Just another lie he'd condemned himself to live.

  She enveloped him, her shadows closing around them like a curtain. He wasn't afraid, now. Not with her hungry hands tugging at the ties of his shirt so she could slide her palm down his chest, though she carefully avoided the selenite pendant.

  Her breath sighed out as she lifted her mouth from his. "You're so warm, and I'm so cold. Does it hurt you to give me some of your heat?"

  He did a quick mental scan of his body. He had no pain. He didn't feel weak. He wasn't dying.

  He'd freed a conjured demon from the circle.

  And she hadn't killed anyone yet.

  Her skin was still hard and cold beneath his palm as he smoothed his hand down her back, as if she wasn't alive. She wasn't as tall as him, and her body's structure seemed incredibly delicate despite the strength he felt in her. "Not at all."

  A whisper of movement drew his gaze up. Rodon slid closer, sword rising.

  "No! I'm unharmed."

  Rodon didn't lower the sword, but he did pause, his gaze searching… as if he couldn't see them.

  Of course. Ian could still feel the chill of her shadows flowing about them. He cupped her cheek and stared into her strange red-black eyes that burned with desire. "Are you a succubus?"