Demon's Hunger (19 page)

"First week of university, I met another girl who was as confused as I was. We were both trying to find the Med Sci building. That was Amy." She smiled at the memory. "Turned out that getting totally lost together was the start of a beautiful friendship. We had a lot of firsts together. My first time out all night partying. First visit to an amusement park. That was a great day. One of those perfect sunny, breezy days, and we were queasy from too much popcorn and cotton candy and too many roller-coaster rides. We won a stuffed bear, and we swore we'd be friends forever."

She swallowed, horrified when the last words caught and cracked. She was melancholy over a stuffed teddy bear that she'd won years ago and then shoved on a shelf and not thought about in ages. Why was she so choked up?

"And were you? Friends forever?" Dain asked, his voice low and warm and filled with such infinite understanding that she almost started to sob.

"Yes, but lately…" She shook her head.

"Lately she's let you down?" he asked gently.

"No," she whispered. "It's the other way around. Lately there's been a distance between Amy and me, and I feel like it's my fault. I
know
it's my fault. I've let her down, and I'm sick about it."

"Then fix it."

His blunt advice made her blink, made her smile.

"No shades of gray, huh? Just black and white." She laughed. "You are such a
guy
!" And as soon as the words slipped free, she couldn't help but think of how much of a guy he was. Hard muscle. Sinew and power. And just like that, it was back, the part of her that was lust-crazed and mindless, the part of her that was unfamiliar and scary and…
hungry
.

She must have done something to give herself away, because Dain slanted her a glance that was purely wicked, his lips curving, slow and sexy.

Oh, she liked that look, liked the heat it drew from deep inside her. She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, feeling incredibly light-headed.

Desire twisted through her, a sharp sudden ache, and without thinking, she reached over and slid her hand through his open coat, between the buttons of his shirt, until her fingers rested against the naked skin of his chest. Energy crackled in the air, and her fingers tingled like she was getting a series of mild electric shocks.
Dain's magic
, she thought.

He swung his head and pinned her with a look that was pure male heat.

The urge to climb across the console, straddle his thighs, and press her mouth to his, her body to his, was nearly overwhelming. On one level, she was tempted to do just that, while on another, more rational, level, she wondered if her body had been taken over by aliens. Which wasn't exactly rational.

Her breath locked in her throat. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled. From the heat of a simple touch and the slurry of emotions that rocked her.

Her pulse was pounding, and her mouth went dry. She jerked her hand back, dropping it to her lap.

"Sorry," she said. Only she wasn't. She wanted to touch him again.

"Vivien, whatever the hell this is between us, it's not a good idea."

His words were a cold splash of reality, and she felt his rejection deep inside her. She looked at him with a sidelong glance. His jaw was set, his gaze on the road. In that moment, he looked so cold, so aloof, a million miles away from her.

"I know that," she whispered, suddenly miserable. "You made that pretty clear when you didn't come back to the loft last night."

Oh, God, why had she said that? His rejection had hurt her.

"It's… complicated, Vivien."

Complicated
. Because he was a sorcerer and she was a mortal. But that wasn't the whole of it. She sensed something else, some reserve, some wall he chose to erect. She remembered thinking exactly that when he'd stood apart from her in his loft, leaning against the window, surrounded by an invisible moat that kept anyone and everyone at arm's length. She sensed that same distance now, suspected that it was created with deliberate intent.

There were depths here that she had no understanding of. What Dain allowed her to see of him barely scratched the surface.

Turning her face to the window, she tried to blank her thoughts, watching the scenery as they took the exit ramp. In a rapid-fire burst, a series of sharp images came at her, glowing blades and blood. She had dreamed that Dain took a blade for her, put himself in harm's way to keep her safe.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, the visual slipping away, leaving her antsy and nervous.

Her world was topsy-turvy, and Dain Hawkins was the most solid thing in it.

Of course it made sense that she would gravitate toward him, want what comfort he could offer.

Only, she knew that wasn't the reason she felt this way about him.

Two days or two decades, she felt like she
knew
him, was connected to him in a way she had never been connected to anyone else.

He
cared
about what happened to her.

He cared about keeping her safe.

And she liked that feeling. Liked it a lot. Which made her feel extremely uncomfortable because she'd never thought of herself as a person in need of a protector.

No, it wasn't the protector persona that was the issue. It was the fact that she felt certain, on a soul-deep level, that Dain truly cared about her.

Pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, she wondered where her analytical skills had disappeared to, where her ability to assess and evaluate had gone, because all she was left with were emotional upheaval and confusion.

"We're here."

She opened her eyes as they pulled into a long driveway that led to a mansion. No other way to describe it. The place was walled and gated and had a massive fountain in front and an expansive lawn that spread out like a picture postcard, all pristine white snow and pretty trees.

The house was two stories and had amazing masonry work, a slate roof, and stained-glass front doors—basically a magazine dream. As they left the car and headed for the house, Vivien was immensely glad that she was no longer dressed in a thin T-shirt with only her slippers on her feet. The sweater and coat Dain had conjured for her were soft and cozy-warm.

The air was cold and crisp, and her breath puffed white mist as she asked, "What are we doing here?"

"Visiting."

"Who?"

"Friends."

Lovely. He was a real fount of information.

"Can you please try for something other than enigmatic?"

His hard mouth curved in a smile. "I've been told it's a long-standing failing."

That smile turned her insides liquid.

"It's Javier's house," he said grudgingly after a moment.

His tone made her laugh. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He arched a brow and caught her hand to steady her as her foot slid on an icy patch. Her skin tingled at the contact, a sharp sensation that wasn't quite a sting, and she had the crazy thought that when he touched her, his power, his
magic
, flowed between them. Unbidden, an image of the light she'd experienced on the terrace, flowing around and through them, feeding her hunger, leapt to the forefront of her thoughts. A delicious shiver played across her skin. She had the urge to twine her fingers tighter with his, to shift her body closer.

She glanced down at his broad, strong hand, his skin darker than her own. She wanted to lick his fingers, run her tongue between them, suck on them. Suck on him.

Her heart gave a hard kick against her ribs, half arousal, half fear. Where were these thoughts coming from? Unnerved, she pulled her hand away.

They reached the double door, a dark oak with inlaid stained-glass panels. Dain gave a perfunctory knock, pushed open the door, and led her inside to a marble-tiled entry hall.

"The perks of three centuries of friendship," he said with a shrug. "I can just walk in."

The comment made her gasp. Three
centuries
of friendship. Holy flying fish. She stopped dead in her tracks.

"Is that how old you are? Three hundred years?" The possibility boggled her mind.

"Nah, that's how old Javier is. He's the baby."

The baby.

Which meant Dain had lived more than three centuries. That explained why he sometimes slid into formal speech, a pattern that made him sound gentlemanly, courtly. Like someone from another time.

Because he was.

There was no way for her to grasp that. "You've been alive more than three
centuries
?"

He shot her an enigmatic look. "Much more."

"What of wives? Lovers?" she blurted. "Are you always alone?" The thought horrified her, and she considered what he'd said in the car about mortal friendships and making himself appear to age. "I can't imagine living that long and watching all those you love die."

Dain froze, so still, so silent.

"Dain?" Vivien stepped close, wanting to offer comfort, certain that her words had dragged some dark memory to the fore. Minutes ticked past, and she thought he would not speak, would not tell her—

"Those I loved died centuries past," he said flatly. His eyes met hers, the color washed cold, ice on asphalt.

There was a harsh twist in her heart, a heavy sorrow, layered and deep, as she wondered whom he had loved and how they were lost.

"My daughter, Ciel. My wife, Moria," he said, the words low and rough. "It was a very long time ago. I was young, fresh into my power. Cocky. Foolish. I came home one day to find that a demon had been there before me. I thought merely being a sorcerer conferred safety to them."

The very absence of emotion in his tone told her he held his pain in a cavernous pit, hidden, his suffering done in silence. The fact that he shared it with her left her awed and a little afraid.

"Oh, my God. Dain, I'm so sorry for your loss." She laid her hand on his arm, shaken.

"My loss?" The words were laced with self-derision. "You mean my failing."

His failing
. God, she knew that feeling of self-recrimination. How many times had she wondered if Pat would still be alive if she hadn't let him drive off that night, angry? If his death wasn't at least partly her fault. She knew all about self-blame.

"Dain—"

"They were mortal, human." He cut her off, his tone harsh. "And I failed to keep them safe. It came and killed Ciel first, quickly, and I count that as a gift." His lips flattened in a hard line then he whispered, "Imagine finding comfort that she died in a heartbeat."

There were no words. She could find no words to offer in the face of the horror he described.

"Moria was less fortunate. Her suffering was prolonged, the gouges cut in her flesh with precise care. Her body was warm and soft, her eyes not yet clouded over when I found her. Likely, she had been dead only a few moments." His gaze locked on hers, cold, barren. "My hatred of demons, my vow to destroy them, extends beyond my commitment to the Compact of Sorcerers. No matter what, Vivien, if I find a demon, I will destroy it, see it gone from the mortal realm."

Abruptly, he turned and walked down a long hallway that led to the back of the house, leaving Vivien little choice but to follow.

He'd had a wife. A daughter. And they'd died how many hundreds of years ago?

His words tunneled deep into her heart, made her feel fragile and broken and unbearably sad. He was so alone, his pain and hatred his closest companions.

And he'd chosen to share them with her.

Vivien blinked against the sting of tears, wondering why she felt like crying as much for herself as for him.

The hallway opened into a massive sunken living room. White on white. And on the far wall was by far the largest flat screen Vivien had ever seen, tuned to MTV.

On the coffee table was a pile of red velvet charm bags, and she recognized her own among the group. Dain had told her they were locked away, safe. Here? At Javier's house?

Conversation died as they stepped into the room, and every eye turned to them. She recognized Darqun and Ciarran, but the other two people were strangers.

"Hey, Dr. Cairn. You look… better than last time I saw you." Darqun rose and walked toward them. His gaze flicked over her, appreciative. She read a spark of attraction there, but her own response was flat. Despite his significant visual appeal—stunning face, stunning build—Darqun didn't call to her.

For her, it was Dain. Only Dain.

"Call me Vivien. Please." She smiled. "I
feel
better, thanks. The wonders of a hot shower and some clean clothes."

Darqun's brows rose, and his gaze shot to Dain. Vivien was left with little doubt that he imagined they'd showered together. Now there was a thought. She swallowed, visualizing rivulets of hot water running over Dain's naked body. And soap. Oh, the things she could do with soap.

Dropping her gaze, she studied the toes of her boots, forcing herself to silently list the bony landmarks of the humerus. It helped. By the time she got to the capitulum, she was feeling a little more in control.

Darqun and Dain were talking about the charm bags and the bones.

"… need to determine if they're all from the same male."

"Any luck finding a link between Gavin Johnston and Rick Strasser?" Dain asked.

"Not yet. Javier's working on it."

Vivien frowned. Gavin Johnston. Rick Strasser. She should know those names. She
did
know those names. But why?

With a shake of her head, Vivien looked around the room. There was another woman there, sitting beside Ciarran. Vivien hadn't expected that. For some reason, she'd imagined this Compact of Sorcerers as some kind of guys-only club.

The woman rose and strode toward her. She was shorter than Vivien, perhaps five-five or five-six, with dark brown shoulder-length curls, dancing brown eyes, and a warm welcoming smile.

"Hi," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Clea Masters."

"Vivien Cairn."

"I read your paper on identification of human remains by amplification and direct sequencing of mitochondrial DNA. Very cool."

"You read that paper? Why?" Vivien asked, startled.

Clea laughed. She had a nice laugh, friendly and warm.

"I was in med school until a few months ago. I was considering pathology or research. Then I had a small"—she shot a glance at Ciarran and raised her brows—"change of career. Come on, let me introduce you to Jav. You know Ciarran and Darqun, right?"

"Hello." Vivien shot Ciarran a smile, then shook Javier's hand when he offered it.

With the introductions complete, Dain said something to Darqun, who nodded and said, "Yo, Jav, you got some of that vanilla-bean tea?"

With a quizzical tip of his head, Javier shrugged. "Uh, yeah, maybe."

"Why don't we go make some?" Darqun asked.

Clea snorted. "That's man-speak for let's go talk without the womenfolk," she muttered to Vivien. Then with an arch look at Ciarran, she turned away and pulled one of the white wing chairs forward, settled into it, and reached out to open the laptop on the coffee table.

"We might as well start without them," she said.

Vivien glanced at Dain. "Sorcerer business?"

"Just going to make some tea," he replied, but the tension in the smile he sent her branded his words as a half-truth at best.

Turning back toward Clea, Vivien exchanged a look of female understanding. So maybe it was a guys-only club after all.

"You think they believed you about the tea?" Javier snickered as he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and flopped onto it, his white teeth flashing against the dark stubble shadowing his jaw.

"No, but tea would be great, thanks for offering," Dain said with an edge of sarcasm.

Javier held up one hand, palm forward, and rose to cross to the range.

"Yo, Darqun, you're closest to the fridge" he said. "You wanna grab breakfast?"

"I ate already," Darqun said, and there was an odd inflection in his voice that made Dain look at him quizzically.

Darqun shrugged. "I hit Abe's Eats again."

"Why?" Javier asked. "After what you said about the place yesterday…"

"I dunno. I just feel like I dreamed about it, and I'm not done with it, you know?"

"No," Dain said bluntly. None of them knew because none of them had prophetic dreams like Darqun did.

He watched with barely leashed impatience as Darqun pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside.

"What's in here?" Darqun asked, dragging out a white cardboard box. "Those sweet cheese puff things with the cinnamon sugar?"

"Yeah. And some of the lemon ones, too."

Carrying the box, Darqun snagged a stack of napkins as he passed the counter and made his way to the table. Dain watched him with growing edginess. He wanted to tell them about what had happened on the way up here, but at the same time, he wasn't in any rush to share. How fucked up was that? Resolutely, he focused on keeping his cool.

"What?" Darqun asked, catching Dain's expression.

"I thought you said you ate already."

"But these are those cheese puff things!" He used his thumb to split the gold sticker that read mattisse patisserie, popped the lid off the box, and tunneled in to snag a cake.

"Why are all the gris-gris bags in one place?" Dain asked, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and index finger lightly against the lids.

"We wanted Vivien to look at all of them at once," Darqun said around a mouthful of cheese puff. "And with the house warded and spelled, not to mention five sorcerers in one place, the charm bags are safe."

Dain couldn't argue the logic, but still he felt wary, edgy. Exhausted.

"Sit down before you fall down." Ciarran's voice was low as he came up beside Dain and dragged a chair away from the table. "When did you last sleep?"

Dain sat, a little annoyed at the big-brother treatment, but since he lacked a defense, he made no comment. "A couple of weeks ago."

"A long while." Ciarran studied him. "But not long enough to drain you this much." He moved a step closer, and Dain tensed as threads of light spun out from Ciarran's hands, the strange crackle of his foreign magic playing over Dain's skin.

He forced himself to stay in place, though the urge to leap up and pace away was strong. Ciarran's healing touch augmented the quick fix Dain had done on himself in the car, but the sensation of it was strange. He wasn't quite comfortable with Ciarran's new power, the peculiar blend that was both light-sorcerer magic and demon darkness.

Yeah, the whole demon thing really didn't work for him.

But Ciarran had been his comrade for centuries; Dain had known him before the demon parasite nested inside of him. He meant well and had become really interested in acting the part of healer ever since hooking up with Clea, so Dain forced himself to tolerate his ministrations.

"A demon blade nicked your right kidney," Ciarran said, passing his gloved hand over Dain's lower back and then moving to his arm. "And your forearm, again. Would you like to tell us about it?"

Dain felt the other sorcerers' attention sharpen and focus on him.

"I stopped on the way here for a little social engagement with four
hybrids
in a gutted building." Dain eased his chair back onto two legs. "They had Vivien, and they did something to her, something I've not seen before. She was in some kind of trance, and her eyes were spooky, pearlescent white swirled with gold. Lights on, no one home."

"
What
?" The word exploded out of Javier. "How did they get to her?"

Dain had thought about that during the entire drive up here, and the conclusion he'd reached didn't sit very well.

"They didn't get to her," he said flatly, his mind spinning webs of scenarios, all of which were fucking lousy and none of which made much sense. But as he went over it again and again, one conclusion was irrefutable. "They didn't get to her," he said, feeling incredibly weary. "She went to them."

Moving to the couch, Vivien sat and tried to focus on the task. She felt strange, her head woozy and light, her insides coiled tighter than a DNA helix.

"I thought we could set up a database to catalog the contents of each bag," Clea said, drawing Vivien's attention. "Just tell me what you need included."

Vivien blew out a soft breath. She found it both fascinating and daunting that these powerful sorcerers needed
her
help. The least she could do was concentrate.

With a glance at Clea, she asked, "Can't you identify the remains through magic?"

Now there was a twist. She was asking that question in all seriousness, as though magic was just another experimental variable.

"No." Clea shook her head. "These bones are spelled and warded with ancient power. That's why Dain approached you in the first place, Vivien. He has some ideas… suspicions—we all do. But suspicions aren't enough. We need to deal in absolutes."

Vivien tried to concentrate as she and Clea began their task, but her mind was on Dain, and she sensed his return before he arrived, not by sound or scent… but by
instinct
She
felt
him heating her blood, electrifying her nerves. She was connected to him, and she felt that he was…
hurting
. His right side, a deep aching pain.

Suddenly, flashes came at her, like a scene viewed under a strobe light. Creatures that were men but not men. They had knives, attacking her, running at her, and Dain was there, standing before her, a solid barricade letting no harm befall her.

He hadn't left her, hadn't deserted her. He'd protected her…

From what? And when?

She'd been so hungry.

Frowning, Vivien tried to remember, tried to drag the bits of information into a cohesive whole. But there wasn't enough there for her to grab on to, and the images snapped out of focus and disappeared, leaving her feeling cold and confused.

Was it a memory or something conjured in her imagination?

Turning her head, she watched Dain enter the room, and, yes, he did seem to be favoring his right side just a little. His gaze met hers and she frowned. He looked cold, distant. Tired. Vivien almost asked him what was wrong, and then she realized they had an audience and that discussion might be better left for a private moment.

He rounded the couch and eased down next to her. Her fingers actually twitched with the need to touch him. Leaning forward, he set a mug of black coffee on the table. For her.

She shot him a smile of thanks.

"Is there a scientific way to identify for certain that these bones and the skin and stuff are all from the same person?" Darqun asked, plopping down in the second wing chair. "Can you look at the DNA?"

"With bones this old, I think that's out of the question," Clea said, and cast a questioning glance at Vivien.

"We could create a profile from mtDNA," Vivien said, dragging her attention away from Dain. "The remains are old, the skin samples necrotic, so RFLP and STR are out, because there's no possibility of nuclear DNA extraction."

Javier settled on the ottoman, his knees splayed, his forearms resting on his thighs. He glanced from Vivien to Clea.

"I speak eleven languages, ladies," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "But whatever you were just using isn't one I'm familiar with. Wanna try again? In English this time?"

Darqun laughed. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind the DNA-for-dummies version myself."

"Sorry. I can't help but slip into geek mode sometimes," Clea replied.

"Ditto for me." Vivien took a breath, mentally paring down her response. This was a topic near and dear to her heart. She knew she could ramble on long enough to put them all to sleep. "RFLP and STR are two common means used to analyze DNA extracted from the nucleus of a cell. Older biological samples that lack nucleated cellular material—things like hair, bones, teeth—can't be analyzed by those methods."

She glanced around to be certain everyone was following her, and as her eyes met Dain's, she got derailed. He was watching her, his expression hard, remote, but his eyes were alight with interest and, what? Respect? Pride?

An odd feeling filtered through her, and she quickly looked away. Too late. Her skin tingled, and a jolt of heat shot through her as he shifted position, his thigh coming flush against hers. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and dropped her head as though examining the bag in her hands.

It was happening again, a powerful jolt of lust slapping her at the most inopportune time.

Not now
, she thought, more than a little desperate, willing the surge of desire away. She turned the charm bag over and over in her hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Dain's sleeves were rolled up, his forearms bare, taut skin over hard muscle. Her ill-timed yearnings ramped higher. She swallowed.
Not now, not now, not now
.