The Demon Within (35 page)

“David will bring it home.”

“Ruman?”

“Already left with Brie in the van to help the wounded.”

Of course. That one sentence destroyed any fragile hope he might have chosen her. The shock of the loss staggered her under its weight. Once outside, the clean air struck her like a blow. Her overheated skin burned at the touch of the cold air. They shuffled only a few feet when nausea rolled over her, and her stomach rioted. Humiliated, she doubled over and lost her lunch.

An eternity later, someone tugged at her arm. “Time to go.”

With sheer determination, she forced her feet to move when her body begged her to curl up into a ball and die. Every muscle tightened until her bones ached.

She shuffled toward the van, determined to make it home before she crashed.

The ride back was uneventful, giving her precious time to recover from the worst of the aftereffects. As everyone piled in the house, Caly hesitated near the door. She took a deep breath then willed herself toward the kitchen when all she wanted was to hide under the covers and try to survive as her body consumed every bit of excess energy she had to heal.

A hand on her elbow steered her to the stairs.

“Ruman.” She recognized his touch the way her body lit up. She turned to face him. Though bruised and battered, he’d survived. The worry churning in her gut eased, and her fingers shook as she resisted checking the severity of each injury herself. All she wanted to do was lean on him and just absorb being near him. Then she remembered their last conversation, remembered he had left with Brie, and pulled away. “I need to make sure everyone else is okay.”

“Not until we check your wounds.” Although she admitted it wouldn’t take more than a gust of wind to knock her down, she refused to be hauled up the steps like a child.

Caly glanced at her blood soaked outfit and desperately wanted to give into him, but if one demon knew she had the medallion, it wouldn’t take long for others to figure it out. “I’ll change, but there are plans that need to be implemented as quickly as possible.”

“Not in your current condition.” Ruman didn’t touch her, only crowded close. The heat of his body welcomed her, and she had to fight to recall that he wasn’t hers.

“Fine, but gather everyone in the kitchen in ten minutes.” She retreated to the safety of her room, leaving him in the hall to avoid being alone with him. It was better this way, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember why. The door snicked shut, and Caly couldn’t help the slump to her shoulders when he didn’t protest.

He probably went to check on Brie.

The door banged against the wall, knocking into the drywall hard enough to dent, which only annoyed her more.

“I think I can manage to change on my own.” The caustic words came out more as a challenge than she intended, her heart thudding against her ribs.

“Those wounds need to be cleansed and stitched.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the jamb. “I wouldn’t put it past you to try to leave with only a bandage.”

Caly shrugged then flinched when the action pulled at a nasty scratch on her back. “I can manage by myself.” She always had before, although Oscar would always stitch the wounds she couldn’t reach. A pang went through her at his loss. Good gods, she never thought she’d admit it, but she missed the bastard.

Instead of listening, Ruman stepped into the room, his face impassive. Hiding from her again. Then the finality of it plowed through her. He wasn’t hers and didn’t want to be.

“Whatever.” Caly removed her weapons, careful to place her dagger on the dresser. She kept her eyes on him as she peeled away her shirt, revealing the leather padded bustier and a thin camisole underneath.

For a moment, his gaze dropped to her chest, but instead of distracting, his detached gaze slid over her, searching for wounds.

When she hesitated, he raised an eyebrow, silently telling her to finish or he’d do it for her.

The bastard.

Unwilling for him to see how much his indifference hurt, Caly turned away and mechanically untied the laces that threaded the leather. She pulled it away from her skin and winced, the blood all but sealing the camisole to her body.

Fresh blood trickled down her skin. The wounds stung more now than the original cut. When the leather slapped to the floor, Caly turned her attention to her wrist guards. Claws had nearly ripped the left one from her arm. It dangled by a few laces. Light marks singed her skin beneath, the scorch burns still sensitive but healing amazingly fast.

A feather-light touch brushed her shoulders. Turning her head, she stopped at the expression on Ruman’s face. A kaleidoscope of emotions quickly passed — a pinched look of pain, terror, one of remorse, and something else, something she couldn’t define that caused her breath to hitch in her chest.

His fingers glided above her skin, the warmth of his body a phantom caress. A trail of fire followed in its wake, cascading over her shoulder. A shiver went through her, one that had nothing to do with cold or fear or pain. Her lungs seized, refusing to draw breath as she waited for his next move.

She wanted this.

No matter how she tried to deny it, she wanted him.

When he stepped away and headed to the bathroom, the small part of her that held out hope for them shriveled. Frustrated by the attraction she couldn’t repress, Caly bit back a snarl. She jerked off her pants, wincing when a wound on her back oozed more blood. Eager to be dressed before he returned, she slipped on a loose pair of jogging shorts.

Ruman made her vulnerable when she couldn’t afford the emotion. He scared her as nothing else could.

Why the hell did he have to make her feel so much? She dearly wished that her demon would wake and take away her confusion. Everything seemed clearer when she ceded control.

“Sit.”

Caly stiffened, then glanced at him to see him advance on her. From the determined look on his face, she knew it’d be futile to argue. With a sigh, she did as told, stifling a groan when the muscles of her back flexed.

The bed gave behind her as he followed suit. Her breathing stuttered then grew ragged when her body registered his nearness. Jaw clenched, she tried for control, but it was useless. She gripped her knees to keep from bolting. She refused to allow him to know how much he affected her.

She closed her eyes and waited for his touch. She refused to call it anticipation. The smell of chemicals warned her of what was to come. The sting of antibiotic removed any romantic thoughts from her mind. Though uncomfortable, she did her best not to squirm.

It took forever, but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before he moved from cleaning the small wounds to the large gash. As if he slid a hot poker under her skin, Caly gritted her teeth and waited for the pain to recede.

His breath feathered her skin. She tilted her head to see him, allowing herself one glimpse at the man she let close to her heart. He gently blew on her wound as if trying to take away the sting, and her betraying heart tried to melt.

The way his dark lashes rested against his face fascinated her. The silky brush of his hair caressed her shoulders. Her breasts felt fuller, heavier, aching for attention. She’d craved him too much for too long to control her body’s reactions.

He rose, stood before her and then knelt, setting the case on the floor. He parted her legs and scooted closer to better reach the small gashes dotting her arms and shoulders that were left behind by the chipped tiles. His set face revealed nothing.

She swayed toward him before she could prevent it. A whiff of dark musk reached her, the smell irresistibly drawing her closer. Lips parched for a taste of him, skin eager for his touch, Caly abruptly drew up straight, afraid that if she didn’t distract herself, she might make a fool of herself again and offer him her body.

The sting of antiseptic burned her nose and dried the back of her throat, but did little to help repress her baser urges.

“Caly.”

It took her a few moments to notice he was addressing her. She forced herself to face him, willing herself to behave. If she could get through the next few minutes, she’d shore up her walls better, learn to keep her distance.

“A few of these should be stitched. I placed a temporary bandage over them for now.” The lid of the med kit slipped out of his hold, slamming shut. He quickly clenched his fists, but not before she saw his gnarled hand.

“What happened?” Careful not to spook him, Caly grabbed his wrist for a closer look. A slight tug of war ensued, and she growled in annoyance. “If you continue to wrestle with me, it’ll only reopen my wounds.”

He froze.

Caly turned his hand over, palm up in hers. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She traced a finger over the withered hand. His fingers, once strong, were now pale and snarled. “What happened?”

“I touched metal.”

“You could’ve been killed.” And all because of her.

“I did what needed to be done.” Ruman reached for her but curled his fingers into fists, planting them on his thighs. “It’s already healing.”

Tears gathered in her eyes at his stoic attitude, and she gulped for air to swallow the sob that worked its way up her throat. A finger trailed across her jaw, then down her throat, the caress soothing.

Closing her eyes, she imagined more.

Wanted more.

As if pulled from her darkest fantasies, he answered her wish. Soft at first, his lips rested lightly against her throat, a warm touch of breath, then she did the hardest thing of her life.

“Ruman, don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”

Chapter Twenty-six

T
ime stood still as Caly waited for Ruman to reject her once again. She mentally kicked herself for giving him an option, wishing she could take her words back. The erotic picture of him kneeling between her legs burned into her mind and images of him doing so much more caught her breath.

Unwilling to risk him turning away from her, she took the decision out of his hands, and did the only thing she could. She fought for him, using the attraction between them as her weapon.

She placed her palms on either side of his face, marveling at the texture beneath her fingers and the luxury of being allowed to touch him. She lowered her mouth to his, already able to taste him.

Only to have him pull away before she could kiss those sinful lips. She dropped her hands to her sides, curling them into fists. It was all she could do not to whimper in protest. Nirvana had been a hair’s breadth away before he yanked it back.

“You’ve spent your whole life dedicated to killing my kind.” He lifted a hand, settled it around her throat, and she let him, needing his touch, willing to take whatever small bit he gave. His thumb brushed over her pulse, sending her blood pounding. She barely resisted the urge to lean into him. Then his grip tightened. “I could kill you with only a flick of my wrist.”

Her heartbeat picked up speed, but it wasn’t fear or anything that easy. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his chest, unable to resist the urge to flex her fingers. The fierce beat of his heart belied his neutral expression. Hope tugged painfully at her gut. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ruman moved away, and Caly captured his injured hand before he could retreat behind his walls. “In fact, you’d do anything to protect me.” She ran her fingers along the twisted, scarred skin and carefully placed a kiss over the knuckles, wishing she could ease the pain. She looked up into his face, allowing him to see some of her emotions, praying she wasn’t making a bigger fool out of herself.