Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (21 page)

I shook my head, whispering, “No.”

The knife dipped at Gia. “Ask her.”

“I can’t. She’s dead,” I gasped out.

“And so are you,” he said as he came at
me.

I woke sitting upright, drenched in sweat, my
gun in both hands. My lungs stuttered for air, my eyes swam, tears
on my cheeks.

On her knees, Gia watched me from where she
perched on her bed. “I hope you don’t intend to use that on
me.”

I let the Ruger fall on my bent knees.

“A nightmare?”

My voice sounded gritty. “Something like
that.”

“Chris told me you had . . . visitors. I
decided to let you sleep.” She unwound one leg and climbed off the
bed, then moved to stand over me. “But I should check your
shoulder. Do you have a fever?” She held her hand out palm up, as
if to feel my forehead.

I flinched away and slid off the bed. I had
to get out of the room where shadowy reminders of my dream gathered
in the corners. Staggering to the door, I pulled my hood over my
head.

Outside in the corridor, I leaned on the
wall and wiped my face with my fingers. My chest still heaved. My
shoulder pulsed with pain.

“What is it, Tiff?” Chris said.

He stood beside me, barefoot, now wearing
midnight-blue silk pajama bottoms. Where in hell’s name did he get
those? He came closer and I pressed to the wall. I didn’t want him
or Gia with me. I needed to be alone with the memory of my
dream.

His hand fell on my shoulder. “What
happened? Did you and Gia fight?”

I shook my head mutely, then managed to say,
“Only a dream. But it was damn real.”

He gently squeezed my shoulder. “Perhaps
sharing will help.”

The trauma of the nightmare still held me. I
couldn’t shake the images which pounded through my head. I don’t
know why I told him.

I don’t know how I ended up leaning on his
chest, hands loose at my sides, cheek on hot, smooth skin. His arms
were around me, his hands swept up and down my back in a slow,
soothing motion. My tiny inner voice said it wasn’t right, to let
him hold me again. But it felt good.

His smooth, lulling voice was balm to my
ears and calmed my thudding heart. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I
won’t let anything harm you.”

As I relaxed, I distantly wondered if he
used his demon charm on me, and didn’t care. I relished the demon
heat of his body as it enveloped me, the strength of his arms.

The motion of his hands changed; they molded
my shoulder blades, traced my spine, bathing me in penetrating
heat. His breathing became heavy, hot on my neck as his hair flowed
over my shoulder. He cupped my buttocks and pulled me tight into
him. My own breathing coarsened. He was aroused, and something
sweet, warm and treacherous swelled deep in my groin.

“There, Sweetheart,” he crooned.

The endearment, from him, hit like a splash
of cold water in my face. I put my palms on his chest and pushed.
“Don’t call me that!”

He lifted his hands from me. “Damn me, I
forgot it’s his pet name for you.”

Pet name? Royal called me sweetheart the day
we met, before I became it in truth. My heart thrilled each time he
used it.
Sweetheart
. An ache of longing rose from my chest
to my throat.
Royal, where are you? I need you.

Chris swung so his back pressed the wall. He
inhaled deeply.

After a moment, he said, “Dream therapists
say our minds pluck images from our memories and insert them in our
dreams as reflections of our desires, fears and uncertainties.
Supposedly, our subconscious is trying to tell us something. For
example, being attacked stems from feelings of anxiety. Your anger,
fear, or jealousy can manifest as a threatening figure. Nightmares
are your unconscious trying to get your attention when you’re
deeply troubled.”

I brushed the back of my wrist over my
forehead. “Well yeah. I am deeply troubled. I was attacked by a
threatening figure, three of them in fact.”

“So your dream makes perfect sense. Gia. An
attack by a man in black. Those men tried to kill you. You’re
afraid and you’re not confident Gia can protect you.”

“I asked her to take me to Cicero, not
protect me.”

He went on as if I had not spoken. “But why,
in your dream, did Royal betray you. Do you not entirely trust
him?”

“I. . . .” I bit my lower lip. “I trust
Royal to do what he believes is right.”

“But not always what
you
think is
right.”

Wait a minute! Was this leading to
you
don’t trust Royal but you can trust good ol’ Chris?
I angled my
eyes up. The merest quirk lifted one side of his mouth.

“Listen, Sigmund, it was a nightmare.”

“I’m sure you’re correct.”

“And what’s between me and Royal is none of
your business.”

A door opened. I pulled my hood up and
ducked my head as someone walked past us and on down the
stairs.

“In truth, dreams are inexplicable. I dream
of sex all the time.”

I bet.
“That’s supposed to signify .
. . what?” I grumped.

“However often, I can never get enough.
Sometimes, a dream is just a dream.”

He turned to me. His index finger sculpted
my cheek, traced my jaw and stopped its exploration in the soft
hollow at the base of my neck where it burned, an ember on my skin.
“Sweet Tiff, have pity, assuage my needs.”

I revolved away so he didn’t see my smile.
“You disgust me.”

“Ah well.” He made a face. “I bid you
goodnight then.”

He crossed to his door and rapped with his
knuckles. “Cherise, my love, are you still awake?”

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

“Where were you last night? You said you
wouldn’t be long.”

“If I remember correctly, you asked me to
take you to Cicero, not protect you.”

I said the same to Chris, so I couldn’t
complain.

“Does it matter? You seem to be in one
piece.”

“If not for Chris. . . .”

“I thought he would be useful.”

The way she said it made suspicion fritter
along my nerves. “Did you
know
someone would come after me
here?”

She hesitated before saying, “No.”

One word, yet said with reluctance. I was
not reassured. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She laughed. “Many things, Miss Banks. Many
things.”

Gia’s comb rippled through her long black
hair. Cosmetics perfectly enhanced her features. Lacking a
reflective surface, I had to guess how I looked. With wisps
sprouting from my braid, eyes puffy, lips dry, I felt like a
hag.

“Helmet on,” she said, sounding far too
perky for this early in the morning. “We’ll arrive at Burch
Mountain before dark if we leave now.”

In the warm morning air, we left the city by
a different road. The black surface stretched ahead for miles,
gradually tapered by distance until it merged with the surrounding
countryside. We followed a winding river as it moved between dry
clay banks, gathering shallow streams to it. The fringe of the
mountain range was clearly visible now, green hills and rocky
outcrops climbing to bare peaks higher than I had estimated.

We passed small towns, villages, hamlets,
scattered homes, riding through a vast agricultural area. No breeze
stirred acre after acre of tall, golden grain. Cattle stood
together listlessly.

We stopped on a high overlook midmorning.
Chris produced more paper-wrapped packages, these containing sweet,
chewy fruit and grain bars. Gia had more water which she shared
with us. I would have killed for an ice-cold diet cola.

The land dropped away on the other side of
the road. Far below, the river carved through a magnificent vista
of purple corrugated hills. Tiny yellow wild flowers grew on the
verges and the grassy hill which rose at our backs. I smelled their
sweet perfume and pictured the colors on my mountain valley in
spring. It seemed so far away.

Chris and I were still nibbling the cereal
bars when Gia walked up the hill behind us and over the crest.

Chris cocked his head. I nodded. Side by
side, we traipsed up the hill through long grass and over patches
of dirt strewn with tiny pebbles.

Gia stood with hands loose at her sides. She
half turned her head at our approach, but I don’t think she saw
us.

The land before us dipped slightly, then
leveled. I drew in a quick, pleased breath. Curvaceous crystalline
structures of all shapes and sizes spread over the plain in the
distance. Some bulbous, others thin as icicles, they glowed with
pearly light. Pyramids, squares, rectangles, globes, soaring towers
with flat or pointed roofs. Slender jewel-tone spires of garnet,
sapphire, emerald, amber and amethyst rose among the buildings, if
that’s what they were. Sparkling strings joined one structure to
another; they looked like strands of spider web beaded with dew. I
couldn’t take it all in.

My eyes were filled with beauty. “It’s
amazing. Who lives there?”

“Nobody, now,” she said so softly I barely
heard her.

“It’s . . . exquisite.”

Gia turned and the sadness in her eyes
pierced me. “It is indeed.”

“Where did they go? Why would anyone leave
such a beautiful place?”

She lifted her chin. “You ask too many
questions. Come. We have a long way to go,” she said curtly.

She walked away without another glance.
Chris followed, I lagged behind, walking backward, until I had to
turn or fall down the hill.

Gia strode down the hill, spine stiff,
shoulders squared, head erect. As I watched, her shoulders slumped,
she crossed her arms to hug herself and bowed her head.

I’m going back out to look around.

Did she come here last night? With the
hostel so close, how could she resist?

I think I saw an abandoned Dark Cousin
city.

We did not climb the slopes but followed
their line until we angled into a canyon of bare rock and pockets
of gritty soil, the road weaving between stunted trees and low
prickly shrubs. The road became half its former width then suddenly
was no longer there; only an oft-used trail continued onward.

The mountain rose over us like an old
snaggled tooth. Trees did not cling precariously, mountain growth
did not sink roots in grooves and cracks; it was barren and
forbidding. We drove for miles until we reached a rift where the
canyon’s sides angled up and outward, with huge boulders mounded at
the base. The Harley decelerated and stopped next to Gia’s idling
bullet bike. The unexpected cessation of motion pushed me against
Chris’ back. I sat with my hands on his shoulders. They cut their
engines.

“Well, my Lady, here we are,” he said softly
into the still mountain air.

The Shovelhead tilted on its stand. Chris
cocked one leg over and slid off the seat. Gia already stood beside
her bike. I slid my stiff limbs to the ground. We three walked to
the rift and looked through.

A valley bound by peaks spread before us.
Shelves of smooth rock surrounding the circumference made giant’s
stepping-stones. The valley floor was only about a hundred feet
below and fairly level except where broken by rock formations.
Trees all but hid the grass, sand and patches of stony ground. A
small stream white-watering over boulders ran diagonally from one
side to the other.

The trail forked. We could go down to the
valley floor or along a wide ledge which wound out of sight around
the rim.

“Look yonder,” Chris said, pointing along
the ledge.

The trail disappeared and reappeared as it
followed the towering walls. Across the valley, a black, oval shape
marked the mountainside.

“What is that? A cave mouth? He lives in a
cave?”

“Now we walk,” Gia said. But first she and
Chris pushed their bikes behind a boulder.

We took the ledge, the bleak mountainside
looming over us. Gia and Chris walked close to the rock face and
kept their eyes on the valley. We walked for twenty minutes.

Gia stopped. “Mr. Plowman and I can go no
farther,” she said as she pointed down at the valley floor.

I moved away from her to peer down and
didn’t see anything different at first. Four giant rocks rose from
a clearing in the trees, more trees and smaller, blockier rocks
beyond. Then I spotted smoke spiraling up. What I at first took for
small rocks were manmade structures built of gray mountain
stone.

I looked back to see Gia bear left, leaving
the trail where an outcropping bulged from the mountainside. Chris
followed her behind the concealing rock. Wondering where we were
going now, I went after them.

We walked into a slot canyon, the smooth,
towering walls no more than five feet apart and curving high
overhead until mere inches separated them.

“Now we wait while you talk to Cicero,” Gia
said.

“Maybe he’s not home,” I said, hoping like
hell he wasn’t. I suddenly had no inclination to talk to
Cicero.

“He’s here.”

My legs went leaden as if all my weight sank
to my ankles. I didn’t want to go on, yet did not understand my
reluctance.

Gia pulled pins from her hair; it tumbled
down her back in a black waterfall.

I slipped my backpack off and rotated my
shoulders to loosen the kinks.

“A village lies farther ahead,” Gia
said.

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“It belongs to Cicero’s people, thus to
Cicero. They serve him but don’t live with him. The Seer values his
privacy too much to allow that. One of his minions is with him
now.”

“Won’t they sense us?”

“No. The Seer and his people do not have
that ability. If we hide, nobody will know we are here.”

“They won’t?” Chris said as if he
disbelieved her.

“Yeah. Aren’t they all-seeing etcetera?” I
added.

“You will have to trust me on this,” Gia
said, with a pointed look at Chris.