Possess Me Under The Mistletoe

by Mila Young

  She swiped the weapon off the floor and handed it over. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Now, we destroy it. On the count of three, open the door, and I’ll strangle the demon out of it.”

  He grasped his loop in two hands, his muscles taut. Blood dotted his arms. All because of a goose. His friends would never let him live that down. “It’s getting vanquished, now.”

  “One. Two. Three.” Cyra flung open the fridge.

  He lunged forward. But the goose fluttered to the ground between them. Before he could hook his lasso around the head, the animal swept out of the kitchen.

  “No, you don’t.” He chased after it, but it vanished into the hall and swung left toward the living room. His fear spiked, and he careened into the corridor, having lost sight of the bird.

  Skidding into the living room, he found Henry and his wife on the couch, their eyes huge. Nora gasped.

  “Son, what happened to you?” Henry asked as Cyra came in and stood alongside Gunn, still gripping the spoon.

  “Goose attack,” he replied. “Did you see it going this way?”

  Both shook their heads. “How did a goose get in the house?” Henry asked.

  “It’s the dead one,” Cyra piped in. “From the laundry room.”

  “The laundry room?” Gunn asked, still confused how Cyra knew about the bird. Was it part of her misfired spell?

  Nora stiffened and placed a hand on her chest. “I was told the bird was dead, and I’d even half plucked it, ready for baking.”

  Cyra placed the spoon down on the coffee table. “It’s dead, but we think a spirit is controlling it.”

  He wiped his neck and came back with blood on his fingers. He needed two seconds to clean himself up, but for now he wiped his cuts and would have to live with a bit of blood dribble.

  Henry was on his feet, squaring his shoulders, as if preparing himself for the worst. “Why is the house wrapped in mistletoe? What is happening to our home? We only had a small spirit problem, and now everything is wrapped in vines. And what is this talk about an undead goose, and why are you bleeding so much? Are we really in danger?”

  Nora sniffled and hugged a cushion to her chest, but the terror scribbled over her face said it all.

  Gunn frowned. God, if he had access to his bike sitting outside, he’d grab the spare lasso and holy water vials, along with a couple of blessed knives. But that wasn’t possible. One thing was irrevocably true: they were fucked until they worked out how to leave the property.

  Cyra approached Henry. “To make sense of this, first we need to know about anything you’ve brought into the house in the last few months. Furniture, artwork”—she counted them on her fingers—“creepy dolls, rocking chairs, old boxes found at archaeological digs. That kind of stuff.”

  Henry and Nora exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “Nothing. We’ve been trying to de-clutter,” Henry said. “We’ve been selling a lot of our belongings.”

  Okay, it was worth asking again, but they must have missed something. Gunn stared over his shoulder, expecting the bird to attack again. He wiped his brow and came back with a bloody hand. Shit. He needed to get bandaged up, too.

  A loud bang erupted upstairs, and everyone glanced up to the vibrating chandelier.

  He turned to Cyra. “Stay here with them.” Before she could respond, he turned on his heels and rushed out of the room. With his lasso in hand, he was ready to hunt, and he was targeting the upper floor first, betting his life that was where the speck demon had gone.

  Chapter 8

  Cyra

  “It’ll be okay,” Cyra insisted. She had zero ideas how any of them would escape the house, but she couldn’t show her dread, and instead decided to pretend they’d find a way through this. She clasped Nora’s clammy palm while Henry trudged from the couch to the window, frowning.

  The couple reminded her of her grandparents when Chase had broken the rules and driven their car while under sixteen and on a learner’s permit. He’d had an accident and had fallen into a coma for a week. They’d never left his side at the hospital. They’d barely spoken, eaten, or slept. Terror had been a permanent expression on their faces, knowing that whatever happened to Chase was completely and utterly out of their control.

  Henry and Nora wore that same look of defeat. Guilt iced Cyra’s chest because her mistake had caged them in the house. She wanted to fix the problem so bad to prove herself to Argos, but, instead, everything had gone to crap. Despite the urge to run and hide for eternity, she plastered a fake smile on her face because that was what everyone needed. Right?

  “How will it be okay?” Henry faced her, his arms stiff by his side, and that earlier iciness spread through her body. “You just told us we’re trapped inside our home with a demon, a portal to Hell is upstairs, and an undead goose is stalking the house.” His face paled and Nora released a cry. They weren’t taking the news well, but there was nothing to put them at ease when their souls were in danger.

  “I’m not sure I even believe you,” Henry continued, his voice rising. “But I have no explanation for that.” He pointed to the vine-covered window. “The phones don’t work, so how can we call for help? Lord, please let someone in the neighborhood see our house and come to our rescue.”

  Cyra stood, convinced no one could rescue them. If Gunn couldn’t cut through the vines, what would others do? But, worse yet, if anyone else saw the mistletoe re-growing before their eyes, the whole incident would turn into a circus, plastered all over the news, and people would poke fun at Henry and Nora for living in a haunted house. And forget her job with Argos. They’d fire her for drawing attention to their work.

  “Gunn is an experienced demon hunter,” she explained. “We’re in good hands.”

  “Like an exorcist?” Nora asked, her voice high-pitched and ready to snap. “He doesn’t look like a priest.”

  Cyra drew a lock of her hair over one shoulder and curled it around her finger. “He’s a different type of demon specialist, but we’re all in good hands.” The smile on her face grew strained. She loathed lying. But she couldn’t scare these folks anymore.

  Priority one was stopping the demon. It had shown itself to her twice now, and Nora had confirmed she’d seen it, so that meant the fiend was toying with them, but considering it only showed itself downstairs, while it attacked her in the attic told her something crucial. Perhaps it holds power upstairs. Whatever it was connected to must be up there, so in theory, Nora and her husband should be safe here. As long as the goose was upstairs too. She studied the staircase. How long had Gunn been gone? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Why hadn’t he returned yet? What if the demon had defeated Gunn or, worse yet, tossed him into the Underworld? Her thoughts flew to the fleshy ground she’d crash landed onto in Hell, and shivers raked down her arms.

  She got up. “I’ll be back. I’m going to check on Gunn.”

  Nora snatched her wrist, her fingers cold against Cyra’s skin. “Please don’t go.” Reducing Nora to begging had Cyra wavering. Would they ever feel safe in their home again after this?

  Cyra scanned the living room for something to empower Nora and found her oversized metal spoon from the kitchen on the coffee table. Not the best solution, but better than being empty-handed. She broke her contact with Nora, collected the weapon, and whispered, “Bless this object. Give it the power to protect anyone who wields it.” A spark of energy zipped down her fingers and into the spoon. The small incantation should mean anything the spoon hit would receive double the force.

  She gave Nora the weapon. “If the goose returns, use this. I’ll be two minutes, max.” Her muscles twitched with a sudden urgency to find Gunn. “Stay in this room and stick together. I think the real danger is upstairs.”

  She hated leaving them as they stared at her with lost-puppy-dog eyes, but she had to make sure Gunn wasn’t about to die either. She darted upstairs, two steps at a time.

  “Get your head straight,” she mumbled under her breath.

  On the
next floor up, the hallway disappeared behind a wall of darkness and going in there had electrical sparks gathering in the pit of her gut. “Gunn, are you still up here?”

  No response. Chills encased her chest, making breathing close to impossible. She didn’t want to enter the attic, ever. But what if Gunn needed help? Each image of him dying drove her forward as her heart raced.

  And this was why her idea of never separating was the solution. Of course, Gunn had had to be the hero and rush off on his own. Crap, if she found him alive, she was kicking him in the shins for scaring her. Then they would come up with a real plan of action.

  Nausea owned her. She grabbed the lighter in her pocket, flicked it on and used the golden flame to lead the way. She collected her small blade from her boot and entered the shadowy corridor, eyeing the end.

  She moved a few steps deeper into the hallway.

  Her brother and the others did this for a living! Damn, she wouldn’t want their jobs. They faced danger every day, so no wonder they acted all pumped up. How else could anyone make themselves knowingly confront a monster? Terror squeezed her insides until she was certain she’d die from a stroke.

  Lead filled her stomach. “Okay, I can do this.”

  She reached for the handle to the attic door. Dread was a spider leaving a trail of silk down her spine, but she had this. Like the time she’d returned to the barn back on the farm to face the spirit living there. She’d sent it packing, and all had turned out well.

  When she twisted the handle, the floorboards creaked under her feet.

  “What are you doing?” a deep voice asked.

  Her heart hit her throat, and she spun on the spot, her back against the wall.

  Gunn was leaning out of a doorway farther down the corridor, the light from inside shining outward like a beacon. He arched an eyebrow. “Why are you going to the attic? Do you want to get attacked again?”

  “Shut up.” Switching off the lighter and stuffing it into her pocket, then sliding her blade back into her boot, she rushed toward him, ignoring the cold inching up her legs from the attic door. “I was searching for you. We shouldn’t separate.”

  “Yet you left the old folks downstairs alone?”

  She whacked Gunn in the arm. “That’s for leaving. And I gave them a weapon, promising I wouldn’t be long. Plus, I think the danger is up here, not down there as much.”

  His stare pierced right through her response.

  “Whatever,” she said. “How about you come join us and we figure out our options for getting out of here?” She bent sideways, looking into the room. It was a study, complete with a cherry-wood desk beneath an enormous arched window. She’d love one of those tables at home. She’d use it to work on her spells and new incantations, though it might take up the entire studio. Her thirty texts sat under her bed, along with half her clothes. Something she’d meant to unpack.

  “What are you doing in there?” she asked as Gunn retreated inside.

  Next to the table sat a gaping black hole in the wall. “I trapped the goose in here, but it dug itself an escape route.”

  Cyra crossed the space and crouched near the opening peppered with tiny tear marks around the edges. Inside lay a tiny passage along the wall, but she refused to stick her head in farther in case the bird waited to strike.

  When the door slapped shut behind her, she leaped to her feet to find Gunn standing in the middle of the room, grinning his sexy smirk. The one he’d worn back in the bathroom when she’d fallen prey to his charm. And even with the dried blood on his neck and forearms, he still looked sexy as hell.

  But what was he doing?

  He raised a hand and crooked a finger, calling her to him.

  Her heart palpitated at the sight because she’d dreamed of having someone like Gunn want her. Except right now they were in the devil’s house with his satanic pet bird hunting them.

  Her glance lifted to the single strand of mistletoe dangling above him. The rest of the vine curled along the cornices and originated from the corner of the window.

  “You’re standing below mistletoe. Step away from it.” She folded her arms across her chest, telling herself his lusty expression was the influence of the mistletoe and nothing more. As long as they stayed far away from each other while one of them was impacted, they’d be fine. She rounded the table, ignoring the desperate urge in her chest each time she caught sight of the way he studied her.

  Gunn stretched up for the mistletoe that seemed to have a mind of its own. It zipped out of his grip, flying about like a hose spraying water at full blast.

  Already she was growing light and fuzzy.

  “Cut it off!” she called out, though her knees melted as she studied the way Gunn’s muscles moved across his biceps.

  He charged after it and snatched the greenery, then yanked it. In no time, he had it pulled free from the ceiling and torn from the window. Dusting his hands, he turned in her direction, yet the earlier lustful expression remained.

  Before he even caught his breath, he closed the distance between them. Her fingers tingled with the urge to run her hands through his hair, to feel his abs and the softness of the hair on his chest. Her head demanded she turn away, run out of the room, do anything but give in to the urges.

  Except, with Gunn standing there and one corner of his lips pulled into a smile, temptation teased her. He might as well have placed a chocolate cake under her nose after she hadn’t eaten for a week straight. Nothing would stop her—not now. Not when the man she’d starved for studied her like a sex god.

  Focus. Focus. Focus.

  But a flare of blurriness washed over her mind, stealing all thoughts but Gunn, ripping away all fear, leaving her drowning in arousal.

  “Jump into my arms, baby girl,” he commanded.

  No hesitation. This was right, and she’d do anything he asked. She leaped up, and he drew her against him. He winced as if in pain but never released her.

  Her legs snapped around his waist, ignoring the pain across her calf from her earlier injury. She coiled her arms around his neck, unable to get close enough.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked.

  “I’ll survive.” He pressed his mouth to hers, and her world dissolved into a puddle.

  “Gunn,” she breathed. Confusion threaded through her and all other thoughts disintegrated. She shouldn’t have been enjoying this, but she couldn’t stop herself, not when he licked her neck, his teeth taking tiny nips. She moaned.

  The roughness of his kiss left her wet and pulsing, her pelvis faster against his hardness.

  Carrying her to the desk, Gunn brushed everything aside with one hand and laid Cyra onto her back. His tongue teased her mouth, and she parted her lips, sucking on his offering. No doubt had ever crossed her mind that Gunn wouldn’t be stupendous in bed, but experiencing him firsthand catapulted her into a world of euphoria.

  He broke their kiss and stared into her eyes. “I want you so bad,” he groaned.

  “Yes,” she breathed as he lowered a hand over a breast, squeezing, pinching her pebbled nipple. She throbbed with desperation to have Gunn inside her.

  He lifted her shirt to reveal her silky black bra.

  She peeled the fabric down and over a breast, offering herself, ready to do this. “Take me.”

  He latched on to her nipple, sucking and nibbling.

  Writhing beneath him, she arched, an inferno scorching her. She’d gone to second base with her past boyfriends, but none had ever left her buzzing, ready to snap. She’d played with herself, more recently picturing Gunn’s face pressed between her legs, devouring her.

  Her mind kept pestering her, telling her to return downstairs, as if she’d forgotten something. And that Gunn wasn’t the guy for her, but she had to be wrong. How could he not be when he stared at her as if he owned her? And she desired a guy who looked at her that way. A man who’d die before leaving her.

  With her hands in his hair, she clenched them tighter. “Gunn, be my first. My only.�
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  His breaths quickened and yet hesitation crowded his eyes.

  “I’ve never felt this way,” she continued. “For weeks, I waited for you to make a move. I even fantasized about you when I masturbated.” She reached down and popped open the buttons on her pants. With the back of her knuckles, she stroked his thickness, pressing against his jeans.

  “Oh, baby, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Please. Don’t make me beg.” Except she’d do it with no shame. Not when she’d been waiting for Gunn to stare at her with such sexiness. If he didn’t take her soon, she’d implode. This felt right in every way. She’s known him for the past month, dreamed about him, craved him, and there was no way she could pull back now.

  He ran a hand across his chin, his palm scraping his short facial growth. “If you were mine, I’d give you anything you asked for.”

  She drew in a hitched breath, and her response came out a whisper. “Then make me yours.”

  “Hell, Cyra.”

  She was crazy about Gunn, from his strength to the way he softened around her, and even to his fingers worming their way up her shirt. She gathered his shirt into her fists and wrenched him forward. Their mouths clashed, and she inhaled his breath, kissed him with the boldness she’d held on to for too long.

  Maybe this could work out between them… God… she moaned at his touch, desperate like never before.

  His fingers hooked into her pants and underwear, and he wriggled them down her legs. Breaking their bond, he ripped them off her feet, her body jerking from the force.

  Fuck.

  The coolness of the room brushed against her bare thighs, the earlier cut stinging slightly. Gunn’s gaze dipped as she opened her knees, and she burned with desire. Everything about Gunn excited her, and right then, she craved his approval. Unsure what to expect, she waited, terrified to take another breath.

  “Baby girl. You’re killing me with your sexiness.” He kneeled in front of her, as if she were something to be worshipped, his fingers digging into her hips as he hauled her closer. Her butt perched on the edge of the desk for the taking.