Seduced by Crimson (9 page)

It was amazing how fast old habits returned. Twenty years since she'd last felt the sucking drain of a self-sustaining demon gate. Twenty years since she and her Phoenix sisters bled to save the world. And twenty years since they'd all died—every last one of them except her, the youngest and most able to hide. And just like that, old instincts returned.
Hide. Disappear. Be no more
.

Except it wasn't "just like that." It took time to escape the horror of her memory. It took a long time before she had the sanity to focus, and when she did, it was to hear Patrick murmuring into her ear that he would take care of her.

She believed him. She believed him because twenty years ago someone else had said that to a terrified child, and it had been true; she had escaped the slaughter. She had escaped Cambodia. And eventually, she had escaped Asia to be adopted into a lovely Christian family in Los Angeles… where another demon gate had just opened and the whole nightmare was beginning again.

She slipped back into madness.

She came back to herself slowly. She lay on something soft, and she smelled herbs. Not the scents she was used to; they had a definite Western meaning in her mind, but no real understanding formed. Someone was chanting nearby, his voice the low drone so reminiscent of the temple of her childhood. And in the background she felt that ever-present horror teasing her consciousness. It was the steady drain of energy from an open demon gate sucking at her spirit, if not her mind. No longer that. She had control of herself again, so she opened her eyes.

She was in a hotel room. Even in the dim candlelight that dotted the walls, she recognized an innocuous floral painting hanging above a generic chair with sturdy, lime-green fabric. Shifting her head a bit, she saw a utilitarian dresser with a TV on a rotating pedestal. On top of that were candles and simmering potpourri. That explained the incenselike scent.

Next came the tall mirror in which she saw… Was that her—tied spread-eagle and naked to a bed? She jerked upright, only to feel the bite of rope around her arms and legs. Only now did she feel the sudden chill on her skin, though in truth, the room was quite warm. "What the… ?"

The chanting continued without interruption. She was now awake enough to locate the sound, which was to her right, by the second bed. A man in a white bathrobe knelt on the floor, his back to her, reciting from a small book. She could see more candles, ceremonial knives, and green leaves scattered in some pattern around him. It was Patrick. She could tell by the short braid of his sandy-blond hair, the broad set of his shoulders, and the seductive timbre of his voice.

"Patrick Lewis, you get me the hell out of this now!" she snapped.

The chanting stopped. Perversely, she missed its reassuring cadence. But her anger was rising as she focused on her bonds. A few experimental tugs told her she was held fast.

Patrick stood, lithely rising up from the ground. He turned slowly to face her, and she bit her lip to hold back her gasp of horror. Patrick was not a man. Well, he was human, but his spirit was more: a steely, razor-edged, intensely focused weapon. And worse, there was now a touch of madness in his eyes that scared her even more than the open demon gate.

"Don't do this," she said. She didn't even know what "this" was, but it couldn't be good. Not with her naked and a six-inch blade gripped in his right fist.

"I have to," he replied, his voice harsh between clenched teeth. Whatever was going on, he clearly believed what he said.

"You don't! Think! There's a way out." She was babbling to herself as much as him. He was getting awfully close with that dagger. "I'm special. I mean, my blood's special. You know, the last of my line thing.
Patrick
!" She was getting desperate; she had to reach him somehow. The ropes were really strong, and she didn't think she could break them on her own.

He pressed his free hand to her mouth. The intent was to keep her from speaking, but there was so much of a caress in his touch that she was more surprised into silence than muffled.

"Don't call me Patrick right now," he said. "It…" He shook his head a moment, his eyes drifting closed as he struggled with himself. Stupidly, all she could think was that he had really long eyelashes. Quite gorgeous.

His handsome face contorted. "Don't call me Patrick," he repeated more strongly. "It dilutes my purpose. I'm not Patrick right now." Then he opened his eyes to look at her, and she again caught a strong hint of some emotion in his eyes. It wasn't madness, she realized. It was desperation.

" 'Patrick' really likes you, Xiao Fei. Our date was…" His eyes softened into a kind of misty green. "It was great, you know?"

She nodded. Yeah, right. Up until the bound-and-naked part, it had been awesome. "Think what you're doing, Patrick. I'm freezing and… freezing. Please—"

"But I'm not Patrick right now. I'm Draig-Uisge."

Drayig Ooshey
? Great. She'd fallen for the nice half of a split personality. Could she pick 'em or what?

He must have seen the horror on her face, because he was quick to reassure her. "It's my druidic name. And I was charged with a task. A desperately important one. That's why I had to tie you up. I can't fail."

"Patrick—," she began, but he pressed his fingers to her lips.

"Draig-Uisge. I have to close the demon gate, Xiao Fei. I know you feel it's open, so you know it has to be closed. All life on Earth depends on this."

She shook her head enough to dislodge his fingers. "Killing me won't close the gate," she lied. "It'd just be murder."

He frowned at her, then followed her gaze to the dagger in his hand. "Oh!" He gasped, abruptly setting it down on the side table. "Not kill. I just need a bit of your blood. For the spell. There was something about the blood—you know, of a virgin—but I think a simple cut would do." His gaze traveled down her naked body. "Unless you're—"

"Don't go there, Patrick. I mean it. Don't even ask."

His gaze snapped back to her eyes, and she was pleased to see he was blushing. At least that much of the Patrick she'd known was back. "Er," he stammered. "As I said, we can fake that part. I think. We'll probably only need a bit."

"I'm a hemophiliac," she blurted. "I'll bleed and bleed and it won't stop." That last part was a lie, thank heaven, but he didn't—

"I know," he said gently, gingerly sitting down on the bed beside her.

Okay, so maybe he did know.

"How do you think we found you?" he asked.

"Bad luck?"

He shook his head. "No, it was
great
luck. And a lot of time and effort. Many searched." He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "Well, actually, they were more computer hacking than anything else, but it took a great deal of time."

"So, you're a hacker," she accused. Anything to keep him talking. The more he talked, the more he was Patrick and not some stupid druidic weirdo.

He shook his head. "Naw. I really am a botany professor, just like I said. It was my mom. She's an Asian studies professor by day. But at night…" His expression abruptly darkened and he looked away.

"At night she's a hacker?"

He shook his head. "She's not anything anymore. The demons killed her two nights ago. My father, too."

She lifted her head, straining against her bonds. Absurd that she wanted to hug her captor, but honestly, that was what she felt. He was clearly grieving. Both parents killed by demons? That had to suck. She knew what it was like to feel loss, and to hate demons.

He swallowed and visibly beat back his grief. She saw him put it away as clearly as if he were closing a dresser drawer. Then he turned back to her, focused again like a weapon.

"We knew there was increased activity at the gate," he said.

"We, who?"

"We druids. The best of us can feel the Earth. And the…"

"The holes in it."

His eyes widened. "So, you do understand."

"No, I don't understand a damn thing here, Patrick!" she snapped. "Why the hell am I tied up and—" She cut off her words.

"Draig-Uisge. Call me by my druid—"

"Fine. Drag-Shoer, untie these damn ropes now!" She had to stay strong. To take back control.

"Draig-Uisge," he repeated clearly. "And not yet. You need to understand what's about to happen."

His words caused ice to form in her veins, and she clenched her teeth rather than start screaming. "You know," she said, "I've really got a headache right now. The gate…"

"It's like mosquitoes on your skin," he said.

"Really big ones. Sucking at…"

"Your sanity."

She shook her head. "My blood." She didn't know how to explain it. Just that the longer she stayed near the gate, the less power she felt inside her. She tugged uselessly at her bonds. "I have to get out of Crimson City."

He shook his head. "No. We have to close the gate. Now."

Xiao Fei let her body drop back in defeat. "Cripes, Patrick." At his stern look, she hastily called him by his druidic name. "Okay, Draig-o'shoe. It's time to fish or cut bait. You've got me tied up here. What the hell are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to make love to you."

She blinked. Somehow, she'd known that was coming. I mean, why else would she be naked? But… "I'm missing the logic here."

He nodded. In fact, he gave her a look that clearly meant,
I share your skepticism, but I'm loony tunes enough to go through with this anyway
. He shifted awkwardly on the bed. "I know it's tough to understand, but there's this spell. Stuff about a man and a woman merging with all of Earth. And when they become one in the b-biblical sense…" His stammer and accompanying blush were almost endearing. Almost. He paused. "You know what that means, right?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I went to school in the US. I know what 'biblical' means."

He paused again, cleared his throat, then plunged ahead. "Well, when they do that with the right preparation and stuff…" He gestured at the surrounding candles and incense and assorted druidic paraphernalia. "Plus the blood—"

"I got the blood concept." Her whole life had been defined by her unnatural blood.

"It will make the Earth whole again."

"And close the demon gate." It wasn't a question so much as a clarification.

"Yeah."

She stared at him. Truly, he looked completely sane.

Amazing how madness could hide in the hottest-looking guys. She sighed. "Let me get this straight.
Sex
will close the demon gate."

He gave a self-conscious laugh. "It's a lot more complicated than that. I have to be focused. You're the power source—or your blood is. I don't know which, exactly. Anyway, I can shape energy. Your energy." He took a deep breath. "So we have to sync with each other before we merge with the Earth. Then I can take your power and shape it to close the gate."

"And by 'sync up,' you mean have sex."

He nodded.

"So, good sex will close the demon gate."

He shrugged. "It's not just sex. But I suppose from your perspective—"

She cut him off. "Really, really great sex will close the demon gate."

He paused. "Yes."

"Patrick, I doubt your dick is that powerful."

He jerked. His entire body twisted, and he faced her more fully. She thought he might hit her. That was the usual response when a man's ego was threatened, right? She tensed her body for the blow.

Instead, he just stared at her. A split second later, he burst into laughter—deep belly laughs that had him holding on to his sides. His eyes even watered. The sound was so infectious that she found herself giggling right along with him, and it was a relief. She half expected him to grab the dagger off the table and slice through her bonds; then they'd go grab a drink or something while they laughed at his little joke. Ha, ha. Tie up the funny Asian chick. Ooooh, and make sure she's naked.

Except he didn't do that. He took a deep, shuddering breath and calmed himself. His laughter faded, though some merriment still seemed to shimmer in his eyes. "You're an exceptional woman, Xiao Fei." He reached out and stroked the phoenix tattoo on her shoulder. "And not just because of this."

It took her a moment to understand. Her tattoo was so much a part of her that she'd forgotten it was there. She'd had it her whole life. She was no more conscious of it than she was her hand or leg. But normal people didn't have a large Chinese phoenix tattooed on their chests dripping tears down their arms. That tattoo marked her as a Phoenix Tear. It proclaimed to the world exactly what she was.

"That's how we found you, you know," Patrick said, still tracing the elegant bird's outline. "It was listed on your adoption papers."

Her sealed adoption papers. Patrick's mother must have been quite the hacker to find that.

"You had no right—," she began, but he cut her off with his touch. He was stroking the phoenix tattoo. He caressed the bird's head, right at the ball of her shoulder. The beak curled toward her armpit so that the dripping trail of phoenix tears slid one by one down her brachial artery. Each tear perfectly outlined her best bleeding spots.