A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (15 page)

Tresa stomach revolted. Then someone
bumped her roughly as they squeezed past. She had to get out of here.

Turning, she pushed through the press of bodies. Impossible as it seemed, the house was even more crowded now.

“Hey there, Tresa.” Carson was suddenly there, grinning in welcome. “Glad you could make it.” He spread his arms widely. “
Mi casa es su casa
.”

“Hey,” Tresa greeted him over the noise, her gaze darting nervously as people continued bumping into her. She stuck out her elbows, trying to make space for herself amid the sea of bodies.

“Where you going?” he called out over the volume.

“I need some air.”

She looked around, catching no sight of Darius. Though he was taller than most guys here, she couldn’t see him anymore. The image of Erin flashed through her mind. She was probably dragging him into a bedroom upstairs for a quickie. The blood rushed to her face at the sudden image of them together, going at it in a fever of sex.

Maybe that kiss earlier had whetted his appetite and he would slake his unanswered desires on Erin.

“Come on. I’ll help you.” Carson’s hand
closed over hers and soon he was zigzagging them through the crowd.

She kept her head low and followed, glad to know she’d be free of this suffocating press of people soon. In the back of her mind she wondered how she was supposed to gather information about any of the victims when she couldn’t even abide being here.

They cleared a set of double doors and stepped out into the mild night. Voices and music throbbed behind her. She moved ahead of Carson, walking several feet out into the yard, craving distance from the jumble of humanity. She stopped beside a large oak, gripping the rough bark as if it were a lifeline.

“You okay?” Carson’s hand settled on her back. His face was close, etched in concern.

“Fine.” She gulped a clean breath. “I don’t do crowds.”

He smiled in sympathy. “Then why did you come here?”

“Guess it didn’t occur to me that it would be quite this crowded.”

He angled his head. “It’s a party. More than that, it’s Jason Morris’s final hurrah. Everyone’s got to show up to say farewell to that dickhead.” A sneer entered his voice. “Funny how in death you become such a saint.”

Her attention focused sharply. “Why was he a dickhead?”

“He was a player. He’d do anything to get into a girl’s pants, and then he’d trash-talk her afterward. The guy destroyed lives but it never hurt his rep. Girls kept falling for him.”

Like Balthazar’s witch? Is that what had happened? Had he used her and cast her aside afterward? It seemed plausible. But what about the female victims? What could they have done to get on her bad side?

“Shannan Guzak and the other girls. Did Jason ever trash-talk them?”

He snorted. “Doubtful. Those were regular hookups. He didn’t piss them off. They kept coming back for more. I saw Shannan leave Jason’s room the night before she died.”

Tresa nodded, processing this. The female victims had all slept with Jason Morris. He was the connection. Maybe one of his hookups had been Balthazar’s witch. But if Carson was to be believed, the list of candidates was long.

“Hey.” His hand rubbed small circles against her back. “You okay? You’re not having one of your visions, are you?” He brushed the hair back from her face and she was suddenly aware of just how alone they were. The party
was in full swing in the well-lit house several feet away, but they stood in dark shadows.

She laughed weakly, uncomfortable with his closeness. “No. I’m not.”

“So.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “My little psychic—can you see the future? Are you and I going to become good friends?”

She stepped clear of his hand, not liking where this was headed. “Look. I need to find Darius.”

“Thought you two weren’t together.”

“We’re not.”

“Then what’s your hurry? He’s probably having a good time with Erin.” He closed the distance between them again. “And I thought you didn’t like it in there, anyway. Why not stay out here with me where it’s nice and quiet?” His fingers grazed her face again. “I like talking to you… hearing your voice.”

She grasped Carson’s hand and tried to pull it from her cheek, but he resisted. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong kind of idea—”

“How can I be around you and
not
get the wrong kind of idea?” He released a gust of alcohol-laden breath. “You’re just so fucking hot.” He unexpectedly pressed his mouth over hers in a moist, clumsy kiss. She gagged at the slimy sensation of his tongue pushing inside her mouth.

She shoved against his chest, ready to push him back, but she didn’t get the chance.

He was suddenly flying through the air, landing on his back several yards away with a loud grunt. Darius stood there, legs braced wide, chest heaving, as he looked down at Carson. The boy moaned, rolling on his side.

She made a move toward Carson. “Did you hurt him?” She wanted to say,
Did you kill him?
—but caught herself.

Darius grabbed her arm, stopping her. “I hope so,” he bit out. “That was the idea.”

Her gaze snapped to his livid face. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. You. In jail. For murder—not good.” She looked back at Carson in concern.

“He’s fine,” Darius growled.

She twisted her arm free. “Did you have to throw him like that?”

“Hey!” The sound of Carson’s voice caught her attention. He rose unsteadily to his feet, limping a pace away, clutching his side. “Back off, man. She said you two weren’t together—”

“We’re not!” Tresa snapped, turning her glare on Darius.

Darius cocked his head, his pewter eyes glinting sharply in the gloom. “I thought his
advances were unwelcome. Should I have left you to enjoy yourself with him?”

She inhaled and flexed her hands at her sides. “It was under control. I was handling it. I don’t need you swooping in to rescue me.”

He snorted.

She stiffened, still glaring.

“You two crazy fucks deserve each other!” Carson slapped a hand in the air at them and staggered back inside the house.

Squaring her shoulders, she moved past Darius to follow Carson inside, determined to suffer the hot press of bodies again, the girls with their overpowering perfumes and hair products. She’d come here to get information. She’d gotten a little from Carson, enough to know she needed to build a list of all the girls Jason Morris had slept with.

“Where are you going?” Darius growled, falling into step beside her.

“Back inside. We came here to do a job.”

“Oh? And do you have to kiss any other college boys to get it done?”

She cut him a scathing glance. He was one to talk. “Why don’t you go find Erin? I’m sure she’s looking for you.”

His expression darkened.

She took the steps up to the door, feeling
Darius behind her. He radiated displeasure. Somehow she didn’t think he would stray far from her this time, and she was relieved.

She squeezed through the bodies, pasting a smile on her face. Like it or not, she was going to have to be friendly if she wanted people to talk to her.

Suddenly Erin was there again, bouncing in front of her. “Hey! Have you seen—” Her gaze drifted beyond her shoulder. “Oh! Darius! There you are!”

She shoved past Tresa and planted herself in front of him. His hand slipped from around Tresa’s. Annoyed, Tresa plunged ahead, squeezing through bodies and sloshing cups. He could play with Erin all he liked. She had work to do.

Still, she stole a glance behind her. Erin was plastered to Darius, talking into his ear. He stared down at her, a vaguely perplexed expression on his face, as if he didn’t know quite how to disengage from this female.

“Hey there!” A guy reeking of marijuana and beer tossed an arm over her shoulder. She staggered beneath the weight. “You looking
good,
baby.”

“Um, hey,” she greeted him, suspecting that in his current condition, he wasn’t going to be the most useful source of information.

“Can I get you a beer?” he slurred.

She opened her mouth to accept his offer, hoping that he’d leave her to fetch that drink, and then she stopped, a hot wash of fear twisting inside her. A terror that she hadn’t felt in over a year, but knew so well.

She scanned the crowd, her veins burning cold, and a gasp escaped her when she saw the writhing black shape amid the bodies, winding toward her like a serpent.

Balthazar
.

He’d found her.

F
IFTEEN

S
he had no doubt he’d known the moment she arrived in town. Now, for whatever reason, he’d finally decided to reveal himself. She knew that by coming here she was taking a chance, but she’d hoped he’d leave her alone.

Panicked, she began pushing through the crowd, clawing with her hands, using her elbows, heedless of whom she might hurt. She didn’t look back, the old memories of all those times he’d possessed her too terrifying.

She knew it was inevitable. She couldn’t outrun him. He’d found her. He would claim her. Still, she couldn’t docilely accept it.

She choked on a sob, regretting coming. Regretting what was about to happen to her. Hopefully she could be free of this house and all these people before he possessed her. God knew what evil he’d force her to do here, with all these innocents.

Desperate little cries spilled from her lips.
She tripped out the back door, landing flat on her face. Hands bleeding from the impact, she picked herself up and raced into the trees as fast as she could. Her feet pounded over the brittle, dry grass. Wind lashed at her cheeks, chilling the wetness on her skin as salty tears rolled down her face.

Leaves rustled around her, and she knew it was him. Closing in. She felt the heat of him at her back, nipping her heels. He was on her. No sense in running another step.

Sucking in a deep breath, she spun and faced him, bracing herself to fight him like every time before. And like every time before, she hoped this time would be different. That she could somehow hold him off. She prayed for a miracle.

She glimpsed his dark shape before she was swept up in the spinning storm of him, her feet coming off the ground. She dangled, airborne. Dark air circled her like a cyclone, roaring in her ears. And then she was lost. Thrust into a dark corner inside herself.

She was his.

* * *

D
ARIUS UNWRAPPED ERIN’S ARMS
from his neck, ignoring her protests, his gaze fastened
on Tresa as she fled the house, her movements as panicked and desperate as a hare pursued by hounds. Something was wrong.

Terror gleamed in her eyes and his skin tightened, snapping with awareness. He’d never seen her like this. Even when he’d shown up at her house and manhandled her, she hadn’t shown such fear.

He looked behind her, trying to identify the source of her panic. Nothing. No one pursued her. People cried out complaints as she barreled past them, shoving rudely in her escape.

She dove out the back door and he cut through the crowd after her. When he stepped outside, she was a small figure racing through the woods behind the house, well past the point where he had discovered her with Carson earlier.

He called her name, but she didn’t stop. It was like she couldn’t even hear him.

Sudden realization struck him.
What was the one thing that could strike terror in her heart?

With a curse, he quickened his pace, moving at blurring speed, catching up to her easily. Only, she had stopped. Stood, with an eerie stillness, amid the trees.

He paused. Even without seeing her face he
could tell there was something different. Something off. She didn’t hold herself with her usual guardedness. There was a relaxed air about her. He’d never seen her like this, all loose limbed… her guard dropped so completely.

“Tre?” The name slipped out, felt natural. Especially in this moment when he was concerned about her. He walked around her, scanning her from head to toe.

She didn’t appear injured. She was hardly even out of breath from her sprint through the woods. She was as still as a statue but her gaze fastened on him with the avidness of a hawk. She looked different… and yet the same. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different, but everything about her was wrong.

“Tre?” he whispered.

“She’s not here.” The voice belonged to Tresa but it wasn’t her. Not at all.

It was the final confirmation of the sick premonition churning inside him. This wasn’t her. It was Balthazar.

Then he saw her eyes. The lovely whiskey brown was gone, replaced with a tar black that gleamed like spilled oil.

Her nostrils flared like those of a beast scenting the air. “What have we here? A lycan? How… singular.”

“Balthazar?” he demanded.

“Ah. You know my name. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, then, because I don’t know yours. Come now. Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself.”

“Darius.”

“Darius.” The demon-possessed Tresa began to circle him slowly, assessing him. “A lycan not like any other lycan I’ve ever seen. You don’t stink of death.” She lifted her face up and sniffed the air. “You don’t feed. How unique.” She stopped and propped a hand on her hip. “How is it that you’ve come to be in the company of my sweet Tresa? She is sweet, isn’t she… my little minx? Even if she isn’t cooperative.” She smiled, her lips stretching widely. “I am fond of the girl even if she has been a thorn in my side for so many years. What can I say?” She shrugged. “We love our children no matter what.”

He felt a growl rumble up from his throat and resisted the urge to bite out that Tresa didn’t belong to this demon. Especially since she in fact did. The proof of that was before him now in those tar black eyes and cruelly smiling lips.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

Tresa’s arms spread wide. “Here, of course.
Look no further.” Her face, with its curling lips and devious expression, made her look like an entirely different female. She looked evil. This was what he’d expected when he went looking for her.

“Did you wish to say something to her? Go ahead… she can hear you. Well, probably. She’s being very difficult right now, trying to reject me. She’s such a naughty one. Always going against me.” Despite her jovial tone, a hardness glittered in those eyes. Balthazar wasn’t pleased with her.