Dark Desires After Dusk (8 page)

Y
ou're a . . .
slob,
” Holly murmured with a shudder, aghast at Cadeon's living quarters.

“Tell me how you really feel, Holly. No need to hold back.”

Shirts hung over lampshades. The floor was dotted with old pizza boxes and crushed beer cans. DVDs were strewn everywhere, some with titles that had her flushing with embarrassment.

The chandelier that hung overhead had seventeen lit bulbs and ten bulbs out. She itched to knock out two more to make both numbers divisible by three. “This is . . . how can you . . . you live like this?”

When they'd first pulled up to this estate, she'd been impressed by the luxurious Garden District residence, one not far from her childhood home. They'd driven through wooden gates past the mansion to this pool house—which was also striking, easily twice as large as her spacious loft.

But inside, chaos reigned.

“Didn't know I'd be having company.”

“Would you have cleaned if you had?” she asked.

With a shameless grin, he said, “Nah.” Taking her by the elbow, he steered her to his bedroom, then into a bathroom that thankfully wasn't the biohazard she'd been expecting. “You've got five minutes. Clear?”

Holly nodded silently, still stunned by the disorder, shaking from the need to fix it.

“This is not the time to be peering at your new ears in the mirror or examining your claws.” He turned on the water, adjusting the temperature. “Just get the blood and swamp water off.”

He picked up a shampoo bottle, and must have found it empty, because he tossed it. “I'll be back.” He jogged out.

When he returned, he had a towel and washcloth over his shoulder and his hands full of miniature shampoo and conditioner bottles. “My flatmate can't pass up anything free. There should be some you'll like.”

He opened the glass enclosure and carelessly dropped them into the tub, where they scattered randomly.

Random. Holly hated random.

Tossing the towel and washcloth on the counter, he said, “I'll dig around, see if I can find you something to wear that won't swallow you. Call me if you need anything else.”

When he closed the door behind him, she locked it. After tugging the filthy shirt over her head, she folded it and the towel as well. She grabbed the washcloth, then stepped under the steaming cascade.

All around her feet, bottles rolled with no order, no design. They taunted her.

She knew she didn't have time to arrange them into threes, but could barely resist the urge.
Just don't look down
.

Yet she had to in order to grab shampoo. Taking a breath, she plucked up a bottle.

Then she closed her eyes as she lathered her hair, trying to ignore her pointed ears with their sensitive, sharp tips and her longer, stronger . . .
claws.

After shampooing her hair twice and rinsing conditioner through it, she scrubbed her skin till it burned.

Cadeon hadn't wanted her to gaze at her new features, but she had no inclination to. She just wanted out of this nightmare, wanted to get back to her ordered life, her ordered loft, her on-track career—

Oh, God, Tim!

Her boyfriend of over two years was even now in California presenting their research at a conference, working for their future. They planned for him to get a job at a local software security firm and continue his research, while she would teach.

How could she face him like this? How could she explain?
Well, I got struck by this bolt of lightning, and, voilà, I was able to kill a dozen demons. Did the lightning hurt? No, it felt great. Like a hug from someone you'd really missed.

She had to get this condition reversed, would be willing to do just about anything not to be like this any longer.

Would I trust Cadeon to help me?
The comforting presence she'd sensed watching her for so long—could it possibly have been him?

She remembered him from the day she'd won that award for differential equations student of the year. He'd stammered and flushed, behaving so differently from tonight, when he'd been confident and strong. And
cocky
. He couldn't have been more cocky. It was as if he had a separate personality or even a bolder twin.

Her eyes widened as she recalled him in the truck, touching her . . . privately. In all the chaos, she remembered that burning hand covering her between her thighs, his rough palm holding her up . . . his low growl that made her breath hitch.

When she turned under the water, the spray hit her breasts, and it felt delicious. Tingles of pleasure radiated through her . . . .

How could she be aroused after what she'd been through tonight? And after what she'd
almost
been through?

That man—that fiend—had been about to rape her on a stone altar. They all had. At the memory of all of them leering at her, thinking they would be inside her, she shuddered with disgust, any warmth dissipating.

Yet they hadn't hurt her, because she'd protected herself. She'd killed tonight. Viciously.

And I did it with joy in my heart.

At that thought, she gave a cry, her eyes flashing open, hands diving down to collect the bottles. The impulse to systematize the random couldn't be resisted. She bent down, collecting the eleven samples. Not a multiple of three, but it would have to do.

On the edge of the tub, she set out three groups of three with spaces between them, all labels out, of course. She leaned back and eyed the spaces, adjusting them for equidistance.

She set the two remaining bottles on the other side of the tub, on their tops. If they were upside down and separated, then they weren't part of the same set as the others. They wouldn't have to be included. She'd nullified them.

She rose, and her eyes immediately began scanning for something else to arrange—

A hand shot through the water, snatching her arm and yanking her out of the shower. The side of her face collided with a bared, muscular chest.

Just as she was about to shriek, Cadeon covered her mouth with a callused palm. “They're coming . . .” He
trailed off, those green eyes dipping to her body as she futilely tried to shield her nudity. Seeming to give himself a shake, he produced a T-shirt.

“Here. Arms up!”

“Stop looking at me! I need to dry o—”

“Holly, put your goddamned arms up!”

Startled into complying, she did, and he dragged a man's T-shirt over her wet body. He smoothed the shirt down her, boldly, familiarly.

“I'm not looking, pet,” he said, but his voice was huskier, and she could
feel
his eyes on her breasts.

She dropped her head in mortification, only to find that the button fly on his jeans wasn't all the way done, as if he'd rushed in here in the middle of getting dressed.

A line of golden hair trailed from his navel down his flat stomach to where only three buttons were fastened.

He wasn't wearing underwear.
Stop thinking about that. Stop thinking about it!

She swallowed, averting her eyes once again. Her gaze landed on the table beside his unmade bed, visible through the bathroom door. Atop it was a book on psychiatry, of all things.

*   *   *

Cade dragged a still sputtering Holly from the bathroom to the den, then bent down amid all the belongings scattered throughout the room. “Two black SUVs just pulled up outside.”

He didn't want to freak her out, but Cade thought some vampires had already broken into the main house.

“Here, take this bag.” He tossed a prepacked duffel bag to her. Inside were his clothes, his lucky bush hat, cash, and gear.

“How can you possibly find anything?” She surveyed the chaos as if horrified anew.

“It's my system,” he said absently, distracted by her wet T-shirt.

She followed his gaze, flushing violently, plucking the fabric away from her hardened nipples. But he'd already seen her in the bathroom.

Gods, how I saw her.
Before, Cade hadn't known she was a true blonde. He hadn't guessed how pink and tight her little nipples were. And her breasts were much larger than they'd looked in the past, even when he'd seen her in her swimsuit.

They'd be a perfect handful for him.

He shook his head, needing to concentrate on getting her the fuck out of here.

“Cadeon, this isn't a system. This is the studied absence of one.”

“Yeah, not as good as the one you were using for the shampoo samples. Agreed.” He hadn't missed how she'd arranged them so precisely.

She had a disorder that made his disorder a special kind of hell for her. They were going to have to talk about her loosening up a bit.

Attention back to his task, he dragged on a black T-shirt, then snared a leather jacket from a chair. He spotted his flask of demon brew. “Catch.” He tossed it to her without looking, but didn't hear it fall.

“Heads up,” he said as he pitched a sat-phone in her general direction. Again she caught it. The Valkyrie reflexes were coming online nicely. Grabbing his sword and a sleeping bag, he turned to her.

She blinked at him, then down at the flask. “These are
the supplies we needed to get here? Twenty percent of our supplies is alcohol?”

“Good point. Twenty percent is seriously underprovisioning—” Sensing a change in the air, he tossed her the sleeping bag as well, and unsheathed his sword.

In a cloud of smoke, Rök appeared, bloodied sword raised.

Holly jumped back, but Rök didn't miss a beat, lowering his weapon and raking his gaze over her. Still staring, he addressed Cade: “You dress her in a wet T-shirt and make her carry the bags? Damn, Cade, I like how you roll.”

In Demonish, Cade said, “She doesn't know she's mine. She'll get an idea when I tear out your throat for ogling her like that.”

“Point taken,” Rök said smoothly in the same tongue, turning to Cade. “You've got a slew of leeches on the street, waiting for you to pull out. And two dead ones in the main house.”

Cade sheathed his sword. “Lucky thing there's a back way out.”

“You meeting up with Rydstrom?” At Cade's nod, he said, “Good luck with that. Enjoy her while you can.”

“Are you going to provide a distraction? Or maybe you'll just get summoned away right when I need you most?”

Rök was one of his best men, but the demon got summoned more than anyone Cade had ever known.

“Swimbos,” Rök said with an aggrieved shrug.
Swimbos
—Rök's play on She Who Must Be Obeyed. “Can I help it?”

“Yeah, you can, Rök.” Smoke demons formed temporary
pacts every time they had intercourse. Pacts allowed one to summon a demon at will. “Give celibacy a chance.”

“Anything else you'd like me to do? Maybe something
possible
.”

“Capture one of these vampires for info. Follow the trail and take out whoever ordered this. Also, get our crew to eradicate the rest of the Order of Demonaeus.”

“Easy enough.”

Cade took Holly's hand and dragged her toward the garage, but not before Rök let out a wolf whistle at her all too visible backside.

In English, Rök said, “Looks like you're getting a swimbo for yourself.”

Cade yanked off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. He bared his fangs at Rök, who merely gave a deep laugh.

“Who is that?” Holly whispered, cheeks flaming.

“Rök, a smoke demon. He's a mercenary in my crew. A fugitive. Lives under a terminate-at-will order in two dimensions.” Cade took the bags from Holly. “As you can see, he's all broken up about it.”

Inside the garage there was only one choice of vehicle. Rydstrom was driving his “normal” car, a rare Mercedes McLaren. And Cade had just hobbled his old truck.

All that was left was Rydstrom's pride and joy—which Cade and Rök were strictly forbidden to drive.

Desperate times, Rydstrom . . .