Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (15 page)

He should have stayed with her, not let her
out of his sight, but Lawrence’s message roused an uncontrollable
passion to confront the man who deceived him and threatened what he
held dear, his woman and his Lord.

Royal grunted as he pulled up until his chin
touched the door’s horizontal frame. Rivulets of perspiration ran
down his naked, gleaming torso. Every muscle screamed in protest as
if about to rupture his skin.

Taking in a deep breath, holding, letting it
seep out, he let himself down, then dropped to the floor.

It was a comfortable prison, as prisons
went. A little cluttered for his taste, with a fully stocked bar,
television, music, books, plenty to while away the time. He had all
the average couch potato could wish for, except his freedom.

The walls closed in on him. The sound of the
clock ticking away the seconds became so irritating, he wanted to
rip it from the wall. The television was a big, blank, watching
eye.

He unbuttoned his Levi’s, eased them and his
briefs down over taut, muscular thighs, peeled off his socks and
went in the bathroom, one hand untying the leather cord which bound
his hair.

Why did Orcus hold him? Ryel Morté Tescién,
obedient servant to the High House who did as commanded. The man
did not know why Royal sought an interview; for all he knew, Royal
did everything asked of him, including deny the woman he loved.
What gave him away?

Fool
, he told himself.
Orcus
foresaw your coming and motive. He was ready for you. You walked
into a trap.

He used the Ways to get near as possible to
Orcus’ lair, then went swiftly. Orcus’ minions awaited him. They
were polite but firm. Their master was occupied but would be
available later. He was shown to a guest room. This suited him
admirably. He could take a look around later when all was quiet.
But they locked him in.

He could not break through a
steel-reinforced door. He had tried in the depths of night when he
hoped no person would hear.

He saw only the man who brought his meals
twice a day.

Stepping in the shower cubicle, he twisted
the control until the water reached body temperature. Hands braced
on the tile, he bent beneath the deluge. Water pounded his head
“Oh, Tiff, what have I done?”

He let out a frustrated yell muffled by the
jetting water and pounded one fist on the tile. He would lose his
mind if kept here much longer.

Closing his eyes, he felt her long, slim
fingers slide over his water-slicked back, circle to his chest,
roll his nipples. The length of her slippery body lay along his
spine, buttocks and thighs. She held to him so tightly, a hair
could not come between them. Her hands came together and slid down
his belly.

Gasping, fumbling for the faucet, he braced
for the shock and turned the water to cold.

Chickenshit
, she said in his
mind.

I miss you
, he told her.

Straightening, Royal began his ablutions as
ice-cold water sheeted him. He doubted Orcus would see him now. He
had to break out, go to Tiff and tell her the truth. Water blurred
his eyes. Where to begin? The first time he saw her and said
nothing? Later that evening when he went to her house, and said
nothing? When they made love for the first time, and he said
nothing? He would be forever damned in her eyes however he couched
his words.

Then so be it. As long as she was safe. . .
.

He’d take her to a place where Orcus could
not find her. Then . . . Lawrence. How could he help Lawrence? He
needed proof to substantiate what Lawrence had told him in the
text.

He turned the water off, stepped from the
shower to the cool tile floor and took a large, soft towel from the
rack. Drying off took seconds as his warm skin performed most of
the job for him. His hair took longer. He used the same method as
on Tiff’s hair, smoothing hanks between both hands.

He went into the bedroom for clean clothes.
How considerate of Orcus to provide them. He would have left them
in the closet, but had worn his clothes for three days and could
bear them no longer.

Now, instead of annoying him, he watched the
clock, willing the minutes to pass. His meal would arrive soon.

Did Orcus’ men wield arcane powers? He’d
discover soon enough.

A soft
clunk
as a key turned in the
lock. His shoulders bunched beneath his shirt.

The young man who entered was tall as Royal
but lacked his bulk. A brown robe tied with rope at the waist
covered him from neck to ankles. His hands were occupied with a
silver tray bearing dishes, silverware and a large glass. He did
not seem particularly alert. After all, Royal was the model of
decorum, and no person dared attack Orcus’ aides; to do so was
tantamount to attacking their master.

Royal rose to meet him with a smile. “Will
he see me today?”

The man visibly tensed. “He may find time
later, my Lord,” he replied in a low, gruff voice.

Royal nodded pleasantly. “I understand. The
burden of his duties weigh heavy upon him. Please tell him I await
his pleasure.”

The man relaxed. He took one pace nearer
Royal, the tray held out to him.

Royal took the tray in one hand, but seemed
to fumble so it tipped. The dishes slid off. Crockery and glass
exploded on the floor, food splattered.

Royal acted chagrined. “I’m terribly
sorry!”

As the man gawked at the mess in dismay,
Royal swung the tray and clipped him on the side of his head. To
his surprise, the aide flew across the room, his spine hit the wall
and he bounced off, landing in a sprawl on his face.

Baffled, Royal approached the man
cautiously, wondering if he faked unconsciousness. He’d hit the man
hard, but expected the blow to temporarily incapacitate, not render
insensible. Alert, he felt for a pulse, then gently turned him.

He sat back on his heels, stunned to see the
young face disfigured by a shattered cheek, ruptured eye and
bruised forehead.

Royal hesitated with indecision. He
regretted wounding the fellow this severely, but could not linger
and forgo this chance to escape.

He sprang to his feet, opened the door and
looked along the deserted corridor. He did not sense another person
in the complex but that did not surprise him. You could not sense
Orcus’ presence or that of an aide as you could a brother or sister
Gelpha.

He hurried along the corridor, around the
corner and found himself face to face with Orcus.

“Oh, Ryel. What have you done to
Joshua?”

Royal refused to fall to his knees. He stood
tall, but Orcus was the Burning Man - Royal’s nerves quivered
within his flesh. What ghoulish creature hid inside the flames?

“Move aside and I will leave
peacefully.”

“Return to your room, Ryel.”

“Why do you hold me captive?”

“I may still need you.”

“For what purpose?” Royal growled.

A laugh came from the flames. “As bait.”

Royal thrust past him. His shoulder hit
soft, resilient flesh.

Colored lights flashed behind Royal’s
eyelids. Every nerve ending sizzled as if short-circuited. His
heartbeat increased, so rapid he could not breathe. He thought his
heart was bursting. His muscles became loose and he fell into
darkness splintered by stars.

CHAPTER TEN

Mel and Jack stared at me, aghast. Their
expressions told me nothing as those never change, but their
posture and overall tautness mirrored their distress.

“I thought you should know.”

“In case you don’t come back?” Mel
wailed.

I flared my eyes. “Course I’ll be back,
dummy.”

Jack’s knuckled hands went to his mouth.
Wordless, he gazed at me with a stricken expression, the one he
wore as he died. Jack doesn’t silence easily. My roommates were not
bolstering my confidence in the upcoming expedition. The opposite,
in fact.

Mel shook her fist at me. “I can’t believe
you’re going there with that woman, or whatever she is!”

I could say the same. Maybe it was a bad
dream and I’d wake in a sweat. Pinch me, someone.

“I know, Mel. But I need her.” I squeezed
the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “I’ve got nobody else.”

“You could wait a little longer. Maybe he’ll
be back tomorrow,” Jack said. “And where will you be? Off with
Morticia Addams.”

“I wish. But I don’t think so, Jack. He’s in
trouble. The text on his cell is a clue.”

I heard Royal say,
That’s my girl, best
detective in the American North West
.

I went to the refrigerator for a diet cola
and stowed it in my backpack. A bar of milk chocolate went in my
back pocket. I like to be prepared.

No sense delaying. I had to take Mac to
Janie and get back to Montague Square by nine. I went in the hall
and took Mac’s leash off the peg, which brought him trundling to me
with a bright look in his brown eyes. He even wagged his tail.

I bent to slip the Martingale collar over
his head, straightened up and turned to say bye to my roommates.
They were no longer in the kitchen.

They hate good-byes. So do I.

If I was going to be emotional, I should do
it in private. I gathered Mac to me, one arm beneath his barrel
chest, the other supporting his hind quarters. He struggled a
little, then settled into my embrace. Mac is not the cuddly
type.

“Mac,” I whispered in his ear. “You know I
love you, right?”

He grumbled. I hugged him tighter and buried
my nose in his brindle-black fur until he grunted in protest.

I towed him into Janie’s office, the racket
from dogs in the kennel overwhelming. Mac stopped at the door, ears
perked, deciding whether to be enthusiastic about other dogs in the
vicinity or miffed I took him there.

Janie runs a nice facility. Unlike most
kennels where the staff go home in the evening and are only there
to feed the animals on weekends, Janie lives on the premises. Each
dog has a comfortably sized room with an outside run attached, and
Janie lets the dogs out in a communal play area for part of the
day. She knows which dogs can go in together, and with Mac, that’s
important. She could be in trouble if he jumped on some little
furry puff of a dog.

Janie is a petite woman in her early forties
who wears her birch-brown hair cropped to within an inch of its
life and always has a smile in her hazel eyes. I’m so accustomed to
seeing her in worn, hair-covered jeans and sweatshirt, I didn’t
recognize her the time I saw her at the market wearing a smart
two-piece suit. You’d never believe that small, neat body can put a
boisterous Rottweiler on its back.

I spotted her in the dog play area so went
through the office and out the backdoor. Now came the worse part,
at least for me. We went into the kennels, where I had to keep Mac
away from the cages and the dogs yapping at him. He balked when we
came to his kennel. He saw the open door and knew what happened
next.

I had to pick him up, put him inside and
quickly close the door. And see my baby with his nose pressed
between the bars and a look of betrayal in his eyes.

I squatted and touched his wet black nose
with one finger. “I’ll be back. See you later, Mac.”

I say that each time I leave the house or
take him to the kennel. I tell him I’ll return and I always do. So
he’d believe me this time, right? God, I hoped so. Leaving him felt
worse than leaving Jack and Mel. He couldn’t tell me his thoughts
or feelings, but his eyes said it all.

“Okay. Enough. Suck it up, Tiff,” I said to
the empty car as I drove along Janie’s drive to Pineview
Canyon.

The snow’s brilliance dazzled me so I put my
sunglasses back on. The canyon road was clear but for a big black
pickup, but it was far enough behind me that I had plenty of time
to whip into the right lane and drive west to Clarion.

Sunk in gloom, I left my foot off the
accelerator and let the decline take me down. If you know the
canyon, when to give your car a little gas on the flats, when to
ease off, you can coast down most of it and not have to apply your
brakes.

Clint stood behind the wall which follows
the Snake River down Pineview. He waved. I waved back. A quarter
mile on, I flapped my hand at Dave and Mindy who squatted on an
ice-frosted boulder in the middle of the river.

So many dead people in the canyon.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. The
hotshot behind me came down fast, too fast. He’d have to wait; I
don’t increase my speed for anyone and he couldn’t overtake till we
hit the next flat.

Pineview Canyon is beautiful at all times of
year. In some places it is wide enough for a dozen or so homes to
sit on the riverbank and cluster among the scrub oak farther back.
On other stretches, there is barely space for two lanes and the
Snake River flowing parallel. It is a riot of color in spring and
summer when wild flowers bloom on the gentler slopes below where
the rock face soars, and trees stretch their branches from their
precarious hold on the vertical gray, white and ocher sides.
Tourists come from all over the state to see the fall foliage. Now,
with snow on the ground, sparkling along branches, gathered in the
irregularities on the canyon walls, it was a winter wonderland.

The road took me past Graymist. The parking
area behind a row of aspen was nearly full. They must be hosting a
function as the old restaurant is seldom busy in winter. The
rambling white clapboard building hums in summer when patrons enjoy
dining out on the decks which jut over the river. The canyon wall
towered behind it, so high I couldn’t see the rim unless I leaned
forward and took my eyes off the road, which I was not about to
do.

Past the restaurant, the canyon closed in as
I approached the mile-long Narrows with nothing between me and the
river but a low, eroded stone wall which had collapsed in places.
The County was working on it and had erected barricades at the
gaps, but they would not stop a speeding vehicle busting
through.