by H G Lynch
Islay’s face flushed pink, and one of the other girls giggled as she beckoned Islay forward. She scooted toward the middle of the circle and leaned toward the other girl, and I watched, fascinated, as they kissed. The other girls, and the guys, all hooted and whistled, and Islay pulled back, grinning and blushing. The guy seated next to her in the circle leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and my fascination died real fast.
I crossed my arms and cleared my throat, and several heads whipped toward me, including Islay’s. Her eyes bugged wide, and she broke into a huge grin. “Ruairidh!” she cried, stumbling to her feet and launching herself across the room into my arms. “What’re you doin’ here, Ru?” she asked, slurring her words.
I smiled at her, though my gut was in knots. “I heard you were here, so I came to find you,” I said, brushing her hair back from her face, so I could see her eyes properly.
A couple of the girls in the circle responded with an, “awww.”
I ignored them, and Islay smiled up at me brightly, her eyes hazy with alcohol. God, I could smell it on her. She was definitely drunk, which was confirmed by the way she clung to my jacket, as if she was having trouble standing on her own.
“That’s so sweet!” she cooed at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She stretched up, pressing herself against me, and I turned my head away, so I wouldn’t be tempted to kiss her.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here,” I said quietly, sliding my arm around her waist.
Her eyes widened. “Where we goin’?” she asked.
“Just back to my house for a while. Okay?”
Her lips formed a small O, and she leaned in to whisper, “Are we going to have sex?”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. “No, Islay. Not tonight.”
She pouted, looking disappointed, and I wanted to kick myself in the head.
“Why not? Don’t you want me?” she asked, her voice soft.
Hell, she was not making this easy. I swallowed. “Of course I want you, Islay. But you’re drunk, and your dad is worried about you.”
Her expression turned hard, and she glared at me. “You’re here for my dad?”
Crap. “No. I’m here for you, babe. I just want to take you back to mine for a bit.”
“But not for sex?”
Forget a medal, I deserved a fucking sainthood after this. “No.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to go. I’m having fun!”
“Islay—”
“I’m not leaving,” she said, jutting her jaw out stubbornly.
Under other circumstances, it would have been cute. I opened my mouth to argue, considered just tossing her over my shoulder, but she lifted her chin.
“I’m not leaving . . . until you kiss me.”
The world dropped out from under me, and I met her gaze to see if she meant it. She did. There was a determined look on her face that I’d seen before when she’d been tutoring me for Maths. It was the look she used when she demanded I do an extra page of equations. I couldn’t fight her when she had that look.
I swore under my breath and captured her face between my hands. Bending my head, I laid the lightest, briefest kiss on her lips, and backed away before I could get sucked into the taste of her.
Islay scowled at me. “That wasn’t a real kiss. I want a real kiss, like you did the other night. On the sofa at my house.”
She smirked, and I had a flashback of my hands on her bare legs, my tongue in her mouth, her breasts pressed against my chest. Fuuuck. She was killing me.
I knew I shouldn’t do it, that it would be taking advantage when she was drunk, but I needed to get her out of there and sobered up before I could send her home. And the not-so-small bastard part of me wanted to do it. Even drunk, she was beautiful, with a flush to her cheeks and a glimmer in her eyes, and she was asking me to kiss her. I’d have to be either gay or a saint like my brother to refuse her.
I was neither.
My will collapsed, and I grabbed her, slanting my mouth over hers in a hard, demanding kiss. She made a soft, breathy noise against my lips, and I responded with a growl, my hands fisting in the back of her jacket. She leaned into me, her lips parting under mine, and I took the opportunity she was offering. Sliding my tongue past her lips, I tasted the alcohol on her breath, and something sweet that was all her. She gripped fistfuls of my hair as she kissed me back fiercely, her mouth hungry and hot, demanding more.
I broke away abruptly, breathing hard, and stared at her. Jesus. She smiled at me with swollen lips, her chest rising and falling with her quick breaths, and I had to close my eyes and count to ten to keep from kissing her again.
“That’s it. It’s time to go now, Islay,” I said, my voice a little harsher than I’d intended.
She didn’t seem to notice. She just slid her hand into mine and said, “Okay.”
I led her quickly down the stairs, guiding her around the debris of fallen partiers, and pulled my phone out of my pocket as I dragged her down the porch steps. I hit the number on speed-dial for her mobile, since I didn’t know her house number, and her dad picked up after only one ring.
“Did you find her?” he asked immediately.
“Yeah, I’ve got her. I’m taking her back to mine for a little while. Is that okay?”
“Is she sober?”
“Eh…”
“I’ll take that as a no. She can stay with you and Angus until she’s sobered up, and then I want you to bring her straight home. And Ruairidh?”
“Yeah, Sir?”
“If you lay a hand on her while she’s drunk, I will kill you.”
I swallowed. “Got it, sir. Don’t worry. Angus will be in the room at all times, and my mum will probably want to take care of her.”
“Good. I’ll be calling to check up on her later. And thank you for finding her, Ruairidh.”
“No problem. I wouldn’t have slept knowing she was out there.”
There was a pause, and then he asked more quietly, “You really care about her don’t you?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir, I do.”
He sighed. “I thought so. Take care of her, Ruairidh.”
“I will.”
He hung up, and I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Islay tugged on my arm, and I looked at her questioningly. Her eyes were round and wet, and a little clearer than they had been. She looked like she was about to cry, but she was smiling.
“I know you’ll take care of me,” she said softly.
I titled my head. “You heard what he was saying?”
She nodded. “Every word. And for the record, I know you wouldn’t take advantage of me, even without Angus in the room.”
I eyed her. She had more faith in my self-control than I did. “How do you know that?”
She beamed at me. “Because I trust you. Because you’re a good person. Because you’re incredible.”
God, she was like an angel after my life of demons—both literal and metaphorical. I kissed her on the forehead and murmured, “I wish you were right about me. I really do.”
We were still a block away from my house when the hairs rose on the back of my neck, and a shrill spike of alarm shot down my spine. I stumbled to a halt and looked around, gripping Islay’s arm tight.
She looked up at me in surprise. “Ruairidh? What’s wrong?”
What was wrong was that there was a demon nearby. I could feel it with my finely honed sixth sense. It was lurking, watching, waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to stick around to find out. I had to get Islay to safety, right then.
“Nothing,” I said to her reassuringly. “It’s nothing. Just thought I heard something.”
Slyly, I slid my hand under my jacket, resting my fingers on the hilt of the dagger at my hip. I could feel the demon following us as us we walked, caught glimpses of shadows amidst shadows, smelled a hint of sulphur on the breeze. It was stalking us, but it wasn’t attacking, and that made me uneasy. I knew how to handle a demon that was attackin
g, but one that just followed? It was eerie, and again I wondered what it was waiting for, what it wanted.
Finally, I saw the house up ahead of us, but I couldn’t relax. The demon was still tailing us from across the street, prickles of warning zipping up and down my spine, making my hand twitch on my dagger handle. From the corner of my eye, I could see the gleam of its eyes as it peered out from between two parked cars, the reflection of it blurry in the car window, but my heart stopped beating. I came to a dead halt, staring across the road at where I’d just seen the demon. It was no longer there, but it didn’t matter. I knew it had been there. I knew it was still lurking, spying on me, waiting to see what I would do.
My head spun and my heart pounded as I had a flashback to that night. The screaming, the blood, the storm. Those red eyes, glowing like hot coals. Hellfire eyes set in a twisted face of oily black skin.
The same eyes I’d just seen reflected in the car window across the street.
It was there. The demon that killed my father was there. Now. Watching me.
I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. Mostly, I wanted to call it out and rip it apart inch by inch, the way it had done my father. I wanted to kill it with every fibre in my body. The rage, the bloodlust, was so strong that I tasted metal in the back of my throat and my vision clouded at the edges. I was shaking, my hand gripping the handle of my dagger, so hard my knuckles ached.
“Ruairidh,” Islay whimpered. “You’re hurting me.”
Her voice pulled me back from the edge, and I looked at her, realising I was crushing her hand. I quickly let go, blanching at the sight of the red finger marks I’d left on her skin. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Islay. Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she looked at me worriedly, rubbing her hand. “What’s wrong? You’ve been weird the whole walk home.”
I tried to force a smile, but my nerves were shot. My hands were trembling, half with fear and half with rage. Shit. Shit. I needed to get Islay out of there, but I needed to find that demon and kill it. I was torn between my duty to avenge my father, and my need to protect Islay.
In the end, the thing that tipped the scales was the fact that I didn’t have my sword. I couldn’t take on the demon with my tiny daggers. The thing had killed my dad. It was no Lesser demon. It was an Obsidian Demon—the highest level of demon, born of the deepest, darkest depths of hell.
I needed my sword, and only Angus knew where it was. I would take Islay to the house, make sure she was safe, make Angus give me my sword, and then I would find that motherfucking piece of evil and put an end to it. I had to end it. I needed the closure of knowing that my dad’s killer was no more. Maybe then I could stop being so angry. Maybe then the nightmares would stop.
Maybe then, I could have a normal life, with a normal girlfriend, and a normal family.
Maybe I could be the incredible guy Islay thought I was. It would take work, but for her, I was willing to try. I was willing to do anything for her.
I loved her.
I was head-over-heels, heart-achingly, brain-poundingly in love with her.
“Islay,” I said in a steady voice. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, and do as I ask, okay? I’ll explain everything later, I swear, but right now . . . right now, I need you to run. I need you to get to the house and get inside. Angus will be waiting for you.”
She stared at me with wide, scared eyes. “Wh-what? Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”
“But . . . .”
I shook my head. “Please, Islay. Go. Now.”
With one more scared glance at me, she turned and ran, and I thanked God she was sober enough to run straight and fast. I stayed where I was, watching her go until she reached the house, hoping that the demon only wanted me. Once Islay was safe inside, I pulled my daggers and started backing up the street, my eyes darting to every shadow, my muscles tensed and ready to leap into action any second.
“I know you’re still here, fucker. I can sense you.”
Something rustled in the bushes to my left, and I whipped around, brandishing my dagger. I stared into the leaves, straining to see anything in the gloom, and a shadow whooshed past my right side. I spun, lashing out with my blades and hitting nothing but air. A familiar clicking laughter echoed into the night air around me, the sound I’d heard in my nightmares every night since the thing had killed Dad.
I gritted my teeth and gripped my daggers. It was toying with me, and I didn’t want to play. Not until I had my sword. Then we could really dance.
“Don’t go anywhere, sweetie. I’ll be right back, and then we can play,” I murmured, knowing it was listening. I turned and sprinted the last ten metres to my house, diving up the porch steps and flinging the front door open. I slammed it shut behind me and fumbled to slide the chain on, grabbed the house key from the small table in the entryway and locked the door.
But I didn’t relax. I was surprised the demon hadn’t killed me while it had the chance, while I was alone and barely armed, but it was just screwing with me. If it wanted to kill me, a locked door wouldn’t do shit to stop it, and it would probably kill everyone in the house at the same time—Angus, Islay, my mum. It would kill me last. I knew it would. It would want me to see what it did to the rest of my family. To the girl I loved.
Just thinking about it made me want to puke. I forced back the nausea and pelted up the stairs. I found Angus in his room with Islay. She was stretched out on the bed, her face turned away from me, her limbs spread awkwardly. I glanced at Angus, who was standing at the end of the bed with his arms crossed.
“Is she okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “She ran in, rambling about you telling her to run, and that she thought you were in trouble, and then she passed out. Almost cracked her head on the floor. How much did she drink?”
I shook my head, sliding my daggers back under my jacket. “I don’t know. She was already drunk when I got there. I thought she’d sobered up a bit on the walk home . . . .” I raked a hand through my hair, stressing the hell out. “Fuck. Angus, I need my sword. Now.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “I take it there’s a demon out there? You’re seriously going to go and fight a demon while your girlfriend is lying here unconscious? Jesus, Ru—”
My nerves were already frayed, my adrenaline pumping, and I didn’t have time for his shit. I snapped, grabbing Angus by the collar and hauling him close. “I’m not fucking around anymore, Angus! The demon that killed Dad is outside right now, and I swear to God if you don’t get me my damn sword, I’m going to throw you out the window and use you as demon bait. You got me?”
Fear and anger showed in Angus’s baby blues, and the blood drained from his face, so fast I thought he might faint. “It’s out there?” he whispered, as if the demon might hear him. Hell, it probably could.
I nodded.
He closed his eyes and said, “Let me go. I’ll get your sword.”
Cautiously, I released him. He stepped back, swore, and stalked out of the room. I sincerely hoped he was going to get my sword form wherever he’d stashed it, and not lying to me, because otherwise I was going to slap him with a hunk of raw, bloody steak before I tossed him to the demon.
He returned five minutes later, holding my sword the way kids were taught to hold scissors when they were walking around with them—by the handle, pointy end down. A dirt-stained scrap of oilcloth, tied up with garden twine covered the blade, and I scowled at the neglect of my most precious possession.
“Where the hell did you hide it?” I grumbled, taking my baby from him and tugging off the twine. The oilcloth slipped off, and underneath the blade was shiny, clean, and razor-sharp. I smiled, adjusting my grip on the handle, and ran my eyes over the familiar Gaelic script along the flat of the blade. As my blade is my soul. It was true. Holding my sword again, I felt as if a piece of me had been restored, a piece I hadn’t even realised was missing until I had it back.
“I hid it in Mum’s g
ardening shed, behind the bags of fertiliser,” Angus said with a sheepish grin. “I knew you’d never look there.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. Still, I glared at him. “You are so lucky I don’t have time to kick your arse right now. Look after Islay. If she wakes up, get her some coffee to sober her up.”
He cocked his head. “And if she asks where you are?”
“Stall. This shouldn’t take long. But get the bandages ready. I have a feeling this’ll get messy.”
Angus looked worried. His lips were pinched, his brow furrowed. It was the same look he used to wear before Dad and I went on a hunt and he couldn’t come along.
I gave him my cockiest grin and twirled my sword. “Don’t look so worried, baby bro. I’ve got this.”
He didn’t look convinced, but I couldn’t reassure him anymore than that. We both knew there was a good chance I wouldn’t come back at all. But Dad’s cardinal rule had been to never act like it. If you did, the fight was as good as over before it even started. Angus just nodded at me solemnly. I went to the bed and kissed Islay on the forehead. She shifted in her sleep, murmuring my name, and I smiled. Putting my lips to her ear, I whispered, “I love you, Islay.”
She made a soft noise, her head turning toward me, but I was already pulling away. My heart was in my throat, my stomach churning. I didn’t give myself time to chicken out. I strode out the door with my sword in hand, ready to fight.
Chapter Twenty-Five
** Ruairidh **
I stepped outside cautiously, my sword held crossways in front of me. The worn leather grip felt comforting in my hand, and the gleam of the blade in the light from the nearest streetlamp was like a sharp, silver smile begging for bloodshed. My senses were on high alert, the hair on my arms lifting in the cool breeze, my nose catching the scent of night-blooming flowers, car exhaust, and the lingering whiff of sulphur. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the dark street, my night-vision straining to penetrate the blackest shadows underneath cars and between buildings. Every cell in my body was tingling, my blood running hot and fast with adrenaline, my mind clear and sharp.
