A Demon's Desire (3 page)

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, standing. “I think
I better go.”

“Your friends look eager for you to
return.”

She looked out the window at his words and
saw her car surrounded by caped figures. Devil or vampires?

“What do you mean?” she asked. “About your
price. I, uh, don’t really understand.”

“Sit,” he said and motioned to the chair.
Emma glanced out the window, hesitated, and sat again. “What I
said. I want you.”

“Like, to kill or turn into a toad or drink
my blood or something?”

“Nothing so drastic,” he assured her with a
half-smile. “Your body.”

“You’ll have to spell this out for me,” she
said. She clutched shaking hands together in her lap.

“The way a man wants a woman,” he said.

“Oh.
Oh
!” she exclaimed and gave a
shaky laugh.

His price reassured her he was indeed human,
and she blinked as her vision grew splotchy from her headache. He
was a handsome man, albeit scary. She could imagine worse fates
than sleeping with the guy in exchange for helping her. Compared to
her soul or yet another dead end, Sissy’s life was easily worth a
night with a stranger.

“But not if you fail,” she reinforced. “And …
you’re not into … weird things, are you?”

“Weird things?”

“You know … uh … chains, whips, leather,
toys, weird things.”

“Nothing you’ve listed but possibly things
you’ve not.”

“Christ.”

He gave a smoky chuckle. Emma sagged, head
throbbing.

“Do we have an agreement?” His voice warbled,
as if traveling through water to reach her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I need to lie down. My
head is killing me.”

“The tea should be taking effect. It’ll help
you sleep. Janet will take you upstairs to your room. We can talk
more tomorrow. Go on back to the counter.”

Emma nodded with a wince and rose, vaguely
realizing she should be pissed he’d drugged her. She couldn’t find
an ounce of energy to be angry and instead, obeyed without another
word. One of the witchy cashiers glared at her before leading her
to a set of stairs in the back.

She found someone to help her. Why didn’t she
feel relieved? Too tired to dwell long, she entered the door the
clerk indicated, heartened to see the dog following her. The hound
led her through the tiny apartment to a bedroom. She pulled off her
shoes and pants, lay back, and murmured a sleepy
goodnight
to the dog.

* * *

The woman named Emma slept through the night
and well into morning, her soft snores filling the small, plain
bedroom. Tristan looked in on her once more. She was entwined with
the bedding like she might a lover, one toned leg slung over
blankets and exposed to her thigh while her arms were wrapped
around a pillow. Long, light brown hair was highlighted with honey
and dark gold and spread over the length of one king-sized pillow.
Though they were closed now, he knew her striking eyes were the
color of spring.

He crossed to his dresser and lit the candle
beneath a small dish of chamomile and passionflower essences. His
blind hellhound, Isolde, had climbed into the bed with her and took
up half of the bed. Tristan gave the dog a pat before closing the
door and retreating to his small living room.

The apartments above his shop were bright and
small, made for function and not luxury. The income from the two
rentals made up for the lack of money coming in from his shop
below. He maintained it to keep his customers comfortable. He
didn’t need the herbs or candles he stocked to work his magic, but
revealing that made even those who hired him as an occult
consultant uneasy. If he’d run into a problem like Emma’s before,
he’d have charged her a few thousand dollars.

He sat on an old, plush couch before the box
Emma had brought and considered it once more. He’d never seen
anything quite like it, outside of his own evil shadows. It was
dark, the essence of its creator lingering despite an attempt to
erase it. A woman, once experienced enough to call up dark magic
but not wield it effectively, and a man, whose essence was stronger
than that of anyone’s he’d ever felt. The woman had help creating
this magic.

Tristan had no need for such spells. He was
born with magic within him, shifting and restless, at times
submissive and at times demanding. His mother called his father a
demon, among other colorful names. Tristan didn’t know what his
father was. His own careful control of the consuming magic came
from years of darkness and struggle, of fighting to suppress the
darkness, and of cursing the man who made him what he was without
providing him guidance on how to live with the darkness.

He touched the box, his body shuddering at
the contact. Yes, he knew this magic, and it scared him. It was
like an icy drink of water on a hot day, soothing yet burning and
too seductive for just one sip. It seemed to recognize him, too.
He’d long ago locked up what he could of the evil within him, yet
felt it urge him to touch the box again. Why this magic clung to
the brown teddy bear within the box, he didn’t know. Emma had
powerful enemies. She was a pure soul, a good soul. Why, then, was
something like this in her possession?

“She still sleeps, Mother,” he said, sensing
the woman’s silent entrance through the kitchen. His mother, a
woman of olive skin and short silver hair, wore a gym suit and
gaudy amethyst and amber jewelry.

“You’re too drawn to it,” she replied, unease
in her voice. “I don’t like this, Tristan.”

“I’m stronger than you know.”

“Don’t underestimate this magic.”

“Have you seen something that I should know
about?” he asked, alerted by her tone. While she claimed to be
retired, his mother still practiced white magic when it suited
her.

“I couldn’t tell you if I had,” she said.
“This evil is something you’ve never faced before.”

“I feel it,” Tristan said and glanced up to
meet dark eyes similar to his. Her features were heavy and smooth
despite her age, her small shape thickened with age. “I couldn’t
turn her away. This magic doesn’t belong among humans, but it feels
so familiar. I can’t place it.”

“I worry for your safety in dealing with
something like this. Don’t get involved in this stuff more than you
must.” The woman before him softened. She perched on a worn chair
that matched the sofa. “Not many seek out the demon’s son. And
Isolde likes her.”

“She fed her a candy bar.”

“The way to any woman’s heart. It’s a shame
she came with this in tow.” His mother’s features were troubled.
She shook off the mood. “You need to fire those clerks. They’re
snotty little girls.”

“They amuse me.”

“By all means, sleep with them and send them
off.”

His mother knew him well, and her bluntness
was refreshing after dealing with the average person too afraid of
him to formulate a coherent sentence. Normally he did just that:
slept with the clerks until bored with them and sent them on their
way. His gaze drifted to his bedroom. He’d never found a woman who
could accept the darkness within him. In truth, he’d never trusted
his ability to control the evil enough to look for something other
than a fling. No one deserved to be with someone like him,
especially a woman like the one sleeping in the next room.

Emma wasn’t shallow, bitchy, or obsessed.
That kind was easier to get rid of, yet something about Emma drew
him. The woman had been dead on her feet but too determined to
quit. He admired her for it. Perseverance was oftentimes the only
thing standing between life and death. He’d been down that road
many times in his own struggle with his evil half.

“Did you take her car to your house?” he
said.

“Yes. I’m surprised it lasted the night in
this forsaken place.”

“Isolde watched it.”

“Bless that dog. If not for her, you’d have
no
decent
company,” she said.

“You’re harsh, Mother.”

“Honest, dear, not harsh.”

His mother looked thoughtful, and Tristan
studied her, waiting for her frankness to overwhelm her hesitation.
He leaned back and slung an arm over the couch back. His mother was
a seer, a white witch who saw visions of the future. Though she
claimed not to practice, she still meddled in the lives of her sons
and her friends when she pleased.

“Son,” she said at last, “I don’t think she’s
the normal flimflam you date. She dresses nicely and has a clean
car, and her aura is as clear as a spring morning. She fell into
your arms. I want you to promise only to do what you must with this
darkness to rid it from her, and then keep her. I think I’ll like
her.”

“It’s business, Mother, not personal. You
shouldn’t be peering into my future anyway.”

“I’m getting anxious for grandchildren,
Tristan.”

“You think it’s wise to bring more demons
into the world?” he teased.

“Bite your tongue, son!” she retorted and
glared at him. “You go out of your way to avoid a quality woman,
and when one’s thrown into your lap, you still don’t see her.”

“I see her, Mother. My intentions aren’t as
noble as yours.”

“Before the end of this, you’ll have to make
some choices. Maybe you can stop hiding up here and start living,”
she said and rose. “I’ve said too much. The ladies and I are going
to town. I’ll drop by and check on
her
on the way back.”

“No cheating if you’re going gambling,” he
warned. “Not that I haven’t told you a thousand times, but you’re
not supposed to use your magic for selfish reasons.”

“I’m retired. Besides, it’s not cheating if
you lose sometimes,” she called over her shoulder as she
disappeared into the kitchen.

Tristan watched her leave with a small smile.
When the kitchen door clicked shut, he leaned forward again and
gazed at the box. His mother’s strange wariness around the darkness
made him think she, too, recognized it. She’d never tried to make
him promise not to finish a consult, and she’d never looked as
troubled as she did when he shared the details of his job.

He lifted the box. Whatever it was, it was
bad. Really bad.

Emma, Emma. What on earth did you drag us
into?

Chapter Two

Emma stepped from the shower and dressed
quickly, convinced the owner of the apartment would appear out of
the shadows at will and determined not to be naked when he did so.
She used his comb to work out the tangles in her hair and opened
the door from the small bathroom to the bedroom to allow the steam
to escape, wearing a pair of boxers and a T-shirt she found atop
his plain, worn chest of drawers.

Her hellhound waited on the bed. Sightless
white eyes turned toward her, and her tail thumped in greeting.

She felt rested for the first time in two
weeks. The room was pleasantly scented, the dark, earthy musk of a
mysterious man. His scent clung to her skin; she had not tried
overly hard to scrub it free. She
liked
the way he smelled.
She’d forgotten how comforting a man’s scent could be after two
years eschewing the opposite sex.

The simplicity of his neat and clean bedroom
bordered on sterility. His drawers contained folded, organized
clothing, and pairs of shoes peeked from beneath the bed. There
were no pictures, no wall hangings, no trinkets, doodads, or
decorations.

She hesitated before opening the door into
the hall. The Great Dane climbed off the bed and nudged past her,
starting down a narrow hall with a cool wooden floor. She followed,
peering into a tiny living room with an awkwardly massive couch.
The dining area, a round table with four chairs, sat squashed in
the corner of a narrow kitchen.

Her stomach roared to life. She took in the
empty dish drainer and spotless sink, the aligned appliances on the
countertops, and the spacing of towels hanging off the oven. It was
not what she expected, though how she expected the devil to live
she didn’t know. No fire and brimstone or minions roasting humans
over a spit.

She opened a small pantry. Herbs hung from
the ceiling and jars of creams and pastes lined the wall before
her. The scent of the pantry was strong, and she recognized
rosemary, basil, and mint before the urge to sneeze made her grab a
box of cereal and close the door. She crossed to the refrigerator
and grimaced as she looked over the contents of his fridge.

“Who knew the devil was a health nut?” she
muttered. She retrieved soy milk, fished out a bowl and spoon from
cabinets, then turned at the hellhound’s whine. The Great Dane
stood with its nose at the cabinets under the sink. Emma opened it
to reveal a folded bag of dog food and clean dish.

“Your master is a bit on the anal side,” she
told her.

After breakfast, further exploration led to
the discovery of her shoes sitting with his under the bed, and her
purse tucked away in one of his drawers. She changed back into the
clothes she’d been in the night before and debated leaving her
dirty bowl in the sink to break up the creepy organization around
her or rinsing it and putting it away. He had, after all, taken her
in.

He’d also drugged her after blackmailing her
into having sex with him. But she’d do anything to have Sissy well
again, even sleep with some weird stranger. After all, her last
boyfriend had been a stranger to her even after their time
together.

She left the bowl in the sink and put on her
shoes without making the bed.

“C’mon, angel,” she called to the dog and
started to the door in the kitchen. She held it open for the Great
Dane, who led her down a narrow hall lined with three more doors to
a set of stairs. The scent rising from the floor below caught up
with her as she descended the stairs. It was different from that of
the night. Jasmine, she mused, and something she didn’t recognize.
Sultry, exotic scents, like the shadow man himself.