Demon Possessed

by Stacia Kane

  At least when she’d thought she was watching a man die. And being fervently and purely grateful that it wasn’t her.

  “Can’t we do it in the morning?”

  He stopped walking, touched her cheek. “You’re that tired?”

  She nodded.

  “I guess it— Actually, that might be better. We’ll keep an eye on her. Maybe we can . . . hmm.”

  “What?”

  They’d reached the car; not Greyson’s Jaguar, which was back at the Bellreive, but the Mercedes SUV the brothers had driven to the hotel. Spud opened the door, then closed it behind them and climbed into the back. Malleus and Maleficarum sat up front. Megan had gotten used to it, the feeling of always being under observation, but she’d also gotten used to saving some discussions for later, when the brothers weren’t around. One of those popped into her head as she fastened her seat belt. She made a mental note not to forget again.

  “I was just wondering,” he said as they left their parking spot. The air conditioning kicked on, reviving her a little. At least, instead of feeling like her limbs were overcooked pasta, she felt fairly al dente. “Why a demon, or a witch, would want to get what’s-her-name involved with some silly faith healer.”

  Megan had been wondering it too, but in an abstract kind of way. Now she realized it was the biggest question, the one she should have been asking all along. The answer she came up with sent cold chills down her spine and woke her up far more than she’d thought possible. Without much hope, she asked, “Because they thought it would be funny?”

  He smiled. It was too dark in the car to see his eyes, but she could picture them just the same, that combination of pride and amusement that flooded her with heat every time. “I do wish that were the case. But I somehow doubt it is.”

  “So do you know why?”

  His hand found hers on the seat, closed around it tightly, as if he was trying to keep it from escaping. “No. But I intend to find out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  By mutual consent, they didn’t discuss the subject anymore, sticking to lighter topics such as which drive-through restaurant to go to, since Megan had effectively missed dinner and they didn’t want to wait for room service. The food revived her a bit, as did the call from Tera informing them that she was all checked in and asking if they needed her to come down now, but Megan still felt half dead. She told Tera they’d see her in the morning and slipped between the sheets on the big, soft bed.

  Perhaps “half dead” wasn’t the best analogy. She shivered. Outside the wide picture window lights glowed yellow against the dark sky, like candles in a cave. Walling them in, watching them.

  Greyson’s arms closed around her, pulled her tight against his warm chest. They’d turned the thermostat down earlier; she didn’t think it was necessary. It didn’t feel as though anything could truly warm her. The entire night since those frantic minutes on the roof seemed to have taken forever and yet less than the space of an eyeblink at the same time.

  She was too tired to sleep; her entire body hummed with nervous tension. He wasn’t sleeping either. His breath stirring her hair was too shallow and fast for it.

  For a second she considered slipping off the little nightie, letting him take her mind off what happened. Probably make it easier to fall asleep too. But . . . shit. She didn’t want to, she realized, because she was afraid of what might happen if they let their attention drift, if they weren’t alert and aware, ready to go after anything that tried to slip through the walls and into their room.

  They weren’t safe there. They weren’t safe anywhere. A being that could fall off a roof and somehow disappear before landing, that could get from the first floor to the roof in a thick tangle of words and magic, could get her anywhere. Her body tensed, ready to jump off the bed and hide if the room’s energy changed, if the witch—if it was a witch—came after her.

  “Spud is on the balcony.” Greyson brushed her hair back from her face. “Malleus is in the hall. He won’t get to us.”

  She relaxed a little. Not just from reassurance but because she didn’t want him to feel her tension. She didn’t like to think she’d been so obvious. Even after almost a year, she hated looking weak in front of him, even knowing he didn’t see it that way. Didn’t see her that way. It was oddly difficult to get used to, the way she couldn’t quite adjust to calling a servant to bring her a snack instead of invading the Ieuranlier’s big kitchen herself.

  “But a witch could still beat one of them, right? Didn’t you tell me once—”

  “We’re not sure it’s a witch,” he reminded her. “Unless you’ve remembered something.”

  “What else could it be? I mean, are there demons that can walk through walls?” She bit her lip, unsure what reply she was looking for. If it was a demon, she wouldn’t worry so much. The hotel was full of demons; surely some of them would help out—although now that she thought of it, she doubted Greyson would approve of her asking them for help, and he’d be right. If looking weak in front of him made her uncomfortable, after eleven months of . . . well, of having a fantastic time and spending more and more time together . . . if that made her uncomfortable, the thought of looking weak in front of the other Gretnegs made her skin crawl. Greyson would never take advantage of her weakness. They would, the way a cat would take advantage of a mouse with its tail caught in a trap.

  “No, not as far as I know,” he said. “But I can’t figure out why a witch would carry you onto the roof and attempt to throw you off. A witch could—”

  “Yes, I know. A witch could kill me with just a few words, a snap of the fingers, or whatever. Tera told me.”

  “I imagine she did.” The amusement in his voice slid over her bare skin, as intimate as a kiss. “That sounds like something Tera would say.”

  “You don’t sound as irritated as I expected you to sound.”

  “Well, she’s here. Of course, she didn’t come for free—I shudder to think what that bill’s going to be like.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re right, I don’t give a shit. I hope she hits the damn jewelry store downstairs and buys herself a diamond tiara. It’s worth it if she can help.”

  Megan shifted her position, lifted her head to kiss him. The hair at his nape was soft and smooth under her fingers; in the room’s half-light his eyes glittered faintly when she pulled away, the barest tinge of red visible.

  It wasn’t that kind of kiss, though. Not that kind of moment. At least not yet.

  “Thank you,” she said, sitting up to face him.

  He held her gaze; his hands slid up her arm, so lightly it was more like the suggestion of a touch. “I figured out some time ago that you and Tera were something of a package deal,” he said. His smile made her heart give a little leap in her chest. “Since I don’t plan to give you up, I’m stuck with her. Might as well make the best

  of it.”

  “You don’t plan to give me up, huh?”

  His eyes reddened a bit more. “No.”

  “And you think it’s up to you?” She leaned forward, scraped his throat lightly with her teeth. “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Hmm? No. No, I don’t think so.” His hands moved with more purpose, over her shoulders and collarbone, down to caress her breasts through the silk. “I think it’s best if you let me make those decisions, don’t you? You just smile and look pretty, and I’ll buy you more diamonds and a car.”

  She gasped, a sound halfway between laughter and something else, as his hand moved farther down her body and found its way under the hem of her nightie. “A car? Aren’t you afraid I’d leave?”

  It was a flippant joke, nothing more. A joke in the middle of a joking conversation, like the ones they had often. She didn’t expect him to stop, to place his hands firmly on her upper arms. The red light left his eyes as if she’d flipped a switch. “Yes,” he said.

  The change of mood was so abrupt it took her a second to catch it. She’d been so focused on forgetting, on m
oving back to a place she felt confident and safe, it didn’t occur to her at first that he wasn’t flirting anymore, wasn’t joking. It didn’t occur to her—and when it did, she was ashamed that it hadn’t—that he’d just seen two attempts made on her life in as many days and that had their positions been reversed, she would have had a hard time speaking at all.

  Her own smile disappeared. She sat back, resting her bottom on her feet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I sincerely hope not.”

  “You’re . . . you’re kind of freaking me out now.” The words came out hushed, expelled from a throat gone dry.

  “Meg.” A heavy cut-crystal glass of scotch sat on his bedside table; he took a deliberate sip, his serious gaze never leaving her face. “I know it’s not a subject you enjoy discussing, but I think it’s possible you’d be safer if you did the ritual.”

  “The—how? How in the world would that make a difference?”

  “You heard Justine at dinner. They don’t like that you don’t plan to do it. Any one of them could have decided that if you’re going to remain human—”

  “Not any one of them. Not Win, right? And I doubt Gunnar cares or—”

  “Any one of them,” he repeated. “Don’t make the mistake of trusting them.”

  Had she thought the room was cold before? It felt like a meat locker; she rubbed her arms with her hands.

  “I doubt Win’s behind it,” he continued. “But any one of them could have reasons we’re not aware of. This is your life, darling, I don’t want to take any—”

  “If I do the ritual, it won’t be my life anymore.” She said it without thinking, but even if her education and training hadn’t taught her that such moments usually brought the truth rushing to the fore, she would have recognized it. Since the night she’d done her first radio show, the night Greyson and the Yezer Ha-Ra had entered her life, she’d been desperately holding on to what little remained of her old life.

  Doing the ritual would end it permanently. There would be no going back. There would be no leaving the Yezer behind, no moving forward simply as a woman with an interestingly different sort of lover—or boyfriend, for lack of a better term. The piece of demon in her body would grow, would spread its dark wings through her bloodstream, into her organs. Whatever she might gain or lose, whatever remained the same, she would be unalterably, permanently Different.

  “It will be,” he said. The urgency in his voice sent a nervous chill up her spine; she’d never heard that from him before, at least not when discussing a subject other than how quickly her clothing could come off. He’d never tried to talk her into doing the Haiken Kra before either. So why the hell was he so concerned about it now? “Very little will change, but you’ll have that protection; they won’t be able to see you as an outsider anymore. Your powers will strengthen again. Perhaps that thing wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you earlier if you’d—”

  “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

  “Fuck, no, I’m just saying you might be safer, and right now your safety is—”

  “More important than my happiness? Than what I want?”

  “Maybe it should be. Are you seriously telling me you’d rather die than do it? Is becoming demon really a fate worse than death to you?”

  She hesitated. Was it? She’d never thought of it in those terms before. Of course, she hadn’t had any reason to. Her life hadn’t been in danger, not like this.

  And she’d never thought, either, of what effect her decision might have on him or, rather, of how he might feel about it. On the few occasions when the subject had come up, he’d told her it was up to her and he wouldn’t get involved. She’d never doubted that he wanted her to do it but never dreamed it was that important to him.

  “There’s no guarantee it would make a difference,” she reminded him. “You said yourself you don’t know. We don’t know who’s behind this. It could have nothing to do with—with what I am. Right? And if I do this just because someone’s after me, and it turns out to be totally unrelated . . . it just doesn’t seem like the right way to make a decision, does it?”

  His gaze slid away from her face, down to her hands resting on his flat, smooth stomach. “No,” he said, his voice flat. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

  “I know. I mean, I’m worried too. But you just told me we’re safe in here. And really, it’s not exactly the way I want to think, but if they’re going to get me they’re going to get me, aren’t they? We’ll find out what’s going on. And Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud will keep me safe. You’ll keep me safe. I took a chance earlier. I shouldn’t have gone into that hall by myself; I should have let you come with me. I won’t do that again. Now that we know it’s here, I’ll be more careful, I promise. I just—I don’t want to rush into anything.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that important to you. Staying human.” His hand covered hers, turned it palm up; he examined it with that same incurious stare. “I always assumed . . . I understand if you’re scared, but I’d be there with you. It’s not—”

  “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to. I don’t see a good reason to.”

  He looked up at her, his eyes shadowed. “Isn’t the—no. Never mind.” His expression cleared, as if he’d wiped it clear with a cloth. “This is your decision, darling. If it’s not something you want to do you’ll never be happy with having done it, will you? I’m not going to try to talk you into it. If the possibility of death isn’t enough, I don’t see what I could offer.”

  The whole conversation felt wrong; her earlier exhaustion came roaring back, along with the odd certainty that something she didn’t understand had just happened.

  Something she didn’t understand but should. She’d had that feeling before, hadn’t she? Something lurking in the back of her mind, a memory she couldn’t pin down. Hell, a memory she wasn’t sure was there at all.

  And she was exhausted, and she had survived a murder attempt and had spent fifteen or twenty minutes convinced she’d killed a man. So it was entirely possible she was reading something into it that didn’t exist, spooking at shadows in her mind.

  Not to mention the abrupt change of mood. And if she were honest, the fact that she didn’t think he’d ever been that direct about his feelings in regard to her.

  That she was important to him she didn’t doubt, hadn’t in months, in almost a year. That he wanted her, wanted her company, she didn’t doubt. And although he’d never said it, she didn’t doubt that he loved her.

  It wasn’t as odd as it might have seemed, the fact that he hadn’t said it. She hadn’t either. She’d never really felt the need. Actions worked better, said more; they both spent so much of their time talking, both at work and to each other, that it had simply never seemed necessary. Their Christmas together, when he’d given her the diamond necklace now sitting in her jewelry box on the dresser and told her he’d tried to find one as beautiful as she was but it had been an impossible task. The things she cooked for him and gave to one of the brothers to slip into his desk drawers or leave in his car when he wasn’t looking, so he’d find them and know she was thinking of him. The day he’d told her it was silly of her not to keep things at his place. The day she’d found her radio show on his iPod, because if he couldn’t listen to it live, he’d record it for later.

  Those memories stood out, but there were hundreds of other, smaller moments that stood out just as much, that warmed her when she remembered them and made her feel secure. Words were lovely, but they were just words. They couldn’t always be trusted; she of all people knew that.

  She didn’t always trust words. She hadn’t always trusted Greyson. But since that Christmas, she had, and he trusted her. That trust between them had been something solid enough, strong enough, to support them both.

  So the feeling that she had failed him somehow, that she’d misunderstood something, made her skin colder than it had been before. She ran her palms up his chest, leaned forward and rested her head on it, listening to the
steady beat of his heart with her eyes closed; after a moment his hand came to rest on her hair, warm and reassuring.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said. “If I know Tera—and I do—she’ll be banging on the door at some ungodly hour, wanting you to go out and play tennis and have a makeover or something.”

  “As if I’d let her talk me into that.”

  “And thank God. The last thing I want is for you to wander around looking like a Tera clone. I happen to think you’re quite lovely the way you are, despite your crankiness and violent streak.” He shifted position so she could stretch out more easily beside him and she did so, relieved. Whatever had changed in the air changed back; everything was normal again.

  “Am I?”

  “Cranky and violent? Yes. I hardly think that comes as a surprise.”

  She smiled. “No. I mean the other thing.”

  “Ah. Fishing for compliments is never an attractive behavior in a lady, you know.”

  “Humor me. It’s been a rough night.”

  He was silent for a moment, absentmindedly stroking her thigh. Or perhaps not so absentmindedly, after all; his fingers kept inching higher and higher, urging the silky fabric out of the way.

  “It has been rather rough.” His other hand found her chin, lifted it to look in her eyes. “I think I know a way to salvage it, though.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like humoring me, I have to say.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll be very pleased when I’m done. In fact, I believe I can guarantee it.” His hand moved with more deliberation, eliciting a sharp little gasp from her. “See?”

  She managed to nod.

  “And to answer your question, sheshissma …” His voice was none too steady itself; she’d managed to find a use for her own hands. “I think you know very well what you do to me, and how very much I hope you’ll keep doing it.”

  “Show me,” she said.

  And he did.