Demon's Hunger (13 page)

He'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

"Vivien, I need to go."

It almost killed him to leave her.

Fucking choices. There was only one he could make if he was going to be able to live with himself. He'd guarded the wall for centuries, his duty too deeply ingrained to be ignored.

"Go?" Such betrayal in a single word. It was a knife to his gut. "Why?"

"There's something up there, Vivien." He jutted his chin at the roof, and then some instinct made him ask, "Can you feel it?"

Her dark green-gold eyes were wide, wary.

"Yes," she whispered.

Well, hell. How was that possible?

"I need to find it. It's what I do—guard the wall between dimensions, keep the demons in check. And you need to stay here." He grabbed the thick pipe that ran up the side of the building, then swung up to balance on the terrace ledge. He shot a last glance at Vivien.

He was losing her. He could see it in her expression. She was scared, bewildered, her body aching as his was. But he had to leave her before he lost the chance to catch the demon.

"Vivien, that thing you sense is a demon. You need to go into the loft. Don't leave for any reason. Don't open the door for any reason. Not to
anyone
. You'll be safe inside, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

This was not what he'd planned. Not what he'd wanted. The thought drew him up short. From the second he'd laid eyes on Vivien Cairn,
nothing
had gone as he'd planned.

She was staring at him, her expression blank and bruised, and the demon aura was fading fast, the trail rapidly growing cold.

He needed to hurry if he was going to catch the thing before it disappeared altogether.

"Vivien, baby, go inside. Stay put."

She didn't move, so he leaned over and gave her a little nudge. She didn't even glance at him as she walked to the open terrace door, somnolent, like she didn't have a clue about where she was. Maybe even who she was. Something here was definitely off beam.

He hesitated, torn. Duty pulled him in one direction, and his concern for Vivien pulled in the other. Why did everything have to be about fucking choices?

"Nod at me, Vivien. Nod at me so I know you'll stay put," he snarled, needing to know she'd heard and understood. Needing to know she'd be safe.

Drawing on his magic, he summoned his acacia-wood staff and closed his fist around it as it answered his call, sparking with light and power. Though every sorcerer drew magic from the dragon current, each also had the ability to summon a single perfect weapon, one suited to his unique skills and talents. His was a staff of acacia wood, imbued with power and light magic.

Her gaze flicked to the staff, and the sight of it seemed to get through to her. Maybe she remembered seeing it when he'd fought the demon in her basement. Whatever the reason, she drew a deep breath, nodded, and stepped inside, pulling the glass door closed behind her. Her actions were jerky, as though she was barely aware of what she was doing.

Something wasn't right.

Worry bit at his gut. But she was inside. Warded. Protected.

For good measure, he cast an extra spell, taking no chances with her safety. Through the glass, he saw her almond-tipped, green-gold eyes watching him.

Then he grabbed the undulating current of the
continuum
, visualized the roof, the place he wanted to be, and disappeared.

Dain circled the building for the third time. Nothing. No demons. No
hybrids
. Not even a human with a psychic talent.

The only supernatural in the vicinity was him.

He'd hunted through the building, the roof, the alleys and streets that fanned out like a maze, but there had been nothing for him to find.

It was as if the demon he'd sensed hadn't been there at all.

He could almost believe he'd imagined it, except his gut was telling him that the threat was real. He'd learned to trust his instincts. The few times he'd ignored them, mortals had paid for it with their lives, and the Compact had suffered betrayals and defeats. Now his gut was screaming that something dark followed Vivien Cairn, wanted her, hunted her.

And he was bloody well not going to let it get her.

A bitter wind swirled down from the north, biting through the linen of his shirt. He hadn't thought to take his coat. His mind had been occupied elsewhere.

Stepping into the shadows, he quickly looked around, made certain he was alone, and conjured his long coat, transporting it from the penthouse. Better, though this frigid weather was giving him a hankering for the tropics.

Frustration gnawed at him. Not even the canniest demon could hide its trail so well. Out on his terrace, he'd been certain he felt a disturbance in the dragon current, the
continuum
, a strange turbulence in its normally smooth glide. But his search had turned up nothing.

Tipping his head back, he looked up to the windows of his penthouse. Vivien was in there, warded and spelled with enough magic to keep her safe.

She was there with her sleek body and sweet mouth. So damned sweet.

What the hell had he been thinking out there on the terrace?

A dark smile curved his lips.

That was just it. He hadn't been thinking. He'd been following pure instinct.

She was human. Mortal.

The truth was, he couldn't guard her safety every second of every day, not unless he made her a prisoner. Even if he could find a way to protect her, eventually she would die like all those of her species. Like Moria. Like Ciel.

And he would be left alone once more.

He'd learned to live with it, the great gaping gulch in his heart, the loneliness. He didn't want to let her in, to care for her—perhaps love her—then lose her and need to learn the lessons of loss all over again.

He scrubbed the back of his hand along his jaw. Christ. Tennyson had been wrong, that shit about it being better to have loved and lost. Dain figured he obviously hadn't tried it. It was better to feel nothing. Nothing at all.

He definitely didn't plan on loving anyone ever again, least of all a mortal who was being actively hunted by demons.

The sound of a woman's giddy laughter echoed along the empty street, and he turned to watch a couple scurry from a nearby building to a black Infiniti parked at the curb. Feet sliding on the ice, they clutched at each other, dipped and swayed, but didn't fall.

Something about the scene made Dain's chest ache with that same choking feeling he'd had outside Vivien's burning house.

Man, he was edgy. And it didn't help that he knew Vivien was up there, in his loft, waiting for him. Or that he knew going back up there right now would be a big mistake.

He chose his lovers with care. Always. One night, nothing more. Vivien threatened his ability to stick to that rule. He had no doubt that once he took her, made love with her, he'd want another night and another until he wouldn't be able to let her go. Already, he didn't want to think about letting her go.

Man, it was like he'd bonded with her the instant he'd seen her, connected on some deeper level. And that made no sense. He felt like she was a soft mist, finding the cracks in his walls, sliding through in places he couldn't block. She warmed the darkest, coldest places inside of him, the ones he had locked away long ago, so deep and tight that he barely knew where to dig to find them.

What the hell was he doing? He'd known Vivien for
a. day
.

The thought brought no comfort, because, for a sorcerer, time had little meaning. It was instinct that mattered. Instinct and magic. And instinct was telling him that Vivien, with her brave heart and beautiful soul—a woman who used her unique intellect to see justice served, who battled mortal monsters as he battled supernatural ones—was special in every way.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Dain glanced once more at the windows of his loft, then abruptly turned away. He couldn't do this. Couldn't let himself care about her. Couldn't let himself
feel.

It was so much easier to put up a front, to keep it all for show. Laugh with his comrades but keep his own counsel. Make love to a woman who wanted what he wanted—a single night, knowing they'd never see each other again, knowing there was no emotion to the deed. Easier still to use his hand, all by his lonesome.

So much easier to pretend that he wasn't frozen from the inside out.

Because the alternative was to let himself care, feel, trust.

Trust. Now there was a concept. Yeah, he'd trusted the Ancient. His adviser, his mentor.

Look how grand that had turned out. He'd spent centuries as the Ancient's acolyte, immersed in learning, trying to move past his grief, his bitterness, by losing himself in a quest for knowledge.

And then somewhere along the line, he'd realized something wasn't right, that the Ancient had changed. There had been signs, small ones at first, then more blatant proof. Dain had spent a century doubting himself, his trust in the Ancient slowly eroding, his trust in himself a double-edged sword. He'd pretended to trust the most powerful sorcerer among them, even though he'd suspected betrayal.

He'd been a spy, a mole, watching, waiting.

He hadn't been surprised when his worst suspicions had ended up as truth, but he couldn't say he'd been happy to have been proven right.

Worse, he felt like
he
was the betrayer, the one who couldn't be trusted because he'd kept what he knew from his brothers in the Compact, and it had almost cost Ciarran and Clea their lives.

One more burden of guilt to add to his list.

Rubbing his knuckles up and down the center of his chest, he shook his head. He didn't want to think about these things, didn't want to thaw. Didn't want to let Vivien's heat melt the core of ice he'd nurtured for centuries, to free the emotions he'd buried.

Which meant he wasn't going back up to his penthouse right now.

He blew out a breath. One last circuit around the block. Check out the construction site on King Street and the new condo building that was still half empty. It would give him time to cool off.

Hopefully, Vivien would be asleep by the time he returned to the loft.

Funny, he'd never thought of himself as a coward.

Setting off, he walked the distance, welcoming the activity, the distraction. The construction site was clear, but as he jogged to the next block and rounded the corner of the condo, his body went on alert. Something had been here. Something with a familiar freaky signature aura, like the one he'd sensed out on his terrace. The same demon? Maybe. He couldn't be sure.

He wasn't even certain that it
was
a demon. There was something off about the trail, just like there'd been something off out on his terrace.

There was also a recognizable trace here.
Hybrids
. Dead ones. But no remnant of sorcerer magic. So what the hell had killed them? The only natural predators of
hybrids
were sorcerers.

Or demons. But why would a demon kill its own minion?

Jogging to the back of the building, Dain eased around the corner. The place was in the final stages of construction. Piles of refuse overflowed the two massive trash containers. As he rounded the first container, his senses went on overload. The
continuum
twisted and writhed, warning him that there was a disruption in the weave of dimensions, a wrongness.

He smelled a hint of brimstone and the stink of
hybrids
, and in the mix was the bizarre aura that was demon and not demon. What the hell was going on?

A faint moan carried to him. He slid his staff along his palm, adjusting his grip, and moved forward to find a single dying
hybrid
lying in the shadows, its fist curled tightly, ragged edges of red cloth protruding from between its fingers.

Kneeling by the creature's side, Dain saw a hissing, bubbling mass to the right, the putrid remains of another
hybrid
.

"Who attacked you?" he asked.

The
hybrid's
eyes opened and rolled toward him, like black, soulless marbles. Fear flickered there, and then nothing, as though it knew that whatever threat Dain posed could be no worse than what it had already experienced.

"Why were you attacked?"

"S-s-s-succ…" The
hybrid's
eyes stayed locked on his for an instant, then flicked to its hand.

Dain reached out and uncurled the
hybrid's
fingers, finding a red cloth bag. He pulled it free just as the
hybrid's
body jerked and spasmed, then finally disintegrated in a hissing, bubbling ooze.

Rising, Dain scanned the area, then studied the bag in his hands. It was torn, the contents disturbed, and the magic that warded it disrupted. He peeled apart the edges of the cloth to find a lock of hair, a glass vial of what looked like sand, and not much else. No bones.

Damn. Whatever had attacked these
hybrids
had taken the bones.

If he'd had the slightest doubt that the demons were planning something around these gris-gris bags, it evaporated like alcohol exposed to air.

Slowly, he turned a full circle. Whatever it was, the thing was gone, but he felt a distinct trail, its odd signature aura, leading to the rear door of the condominium building. He shoved the remains of the charm bag in his pocket and moved.

Bypassing the building's security was a breeze. A touch of his acacia staff to the lens blanked each camera; a touch of his hand and a shimmer of light opened the locks. He refracted light, sending the rays scattering in all directions, effectively making himself invisible to the security guard at the desk. The guy didn't even look up.

Dain shoved open the door to the stairwell, pausing only long enough to get a track on the demon's trail. Up. Five flights. Ten. His feet pounded the stairs. On the eleventh floor, he exited to the hallway, every sense humming.

There was magic here. Thick, dark magic, clouding the air in a choking haze.

Third door on the right. He didn't need any special abilities to get inside. The door was unlocked, already cracked open an inch.

Not good. Not good at all.

He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The sharp scent of death crawled into his nostrils, metallic, heavy, blending with the unmistakable ammonia of drying urine.

Reaching behind him, he pulled the door shut, flicked on the lights, and took in the scene.

Chrome and glass coffee table littered with a razor blade, a couple of rolled bills, and some white powder.

Rap music pumping on the stereo. Flat screen on the far wall.

A guy sprawled on a black leather couch.

White and red patterned shag rug.

Wrong.

White
shag rug.

Red
blood.