Phoenix Broken (22 page)

Every time she passed it, Des stopped to look, at least for a moment. This time she stomped past without a glance, so mad at Scott she wanted to scream.
Asshole!

Something swiped at her waist, making her cry out. She dodged, but it happened again. Thin and whip-like, something snagged both her arms, like cords holding her fast. She couldn’t see what was attacking her. Des yanked back and opened her mouth to scream—

"Easy, angel. We weren't done yet."

Scott's voice had her mouth closing with a snap.

He walked around the blazing fountain, his own eyes a bright, startling green. "I never said it was okay that I got pissed, Des. Just that I was. I know it's fucked up. This is
all
fucked up. And I don't mind repeating the apology I made last night, but so help me god, angel, you accuse me of calling you a whore one more time, and I will lose it." Scott took a breath, staring at her. "If I let you go, are you going to listen?"

Des glanced down to see what held her fast and gasped. It was one of the willows that lined the drive. Several of its slender branches were coiled around both her wrists and her waist.

"What the hell are you?" She breathed, ignoring his words for the moment to stare up at the tree that held her. He flicked a finger and it released her, branches coiling back to hang innocently with the others.

"Earth elemental."

She'd heard of so-called elemental
paras
before. They were the rarest of the
paras
and the said to be the weakest. The earth ones supposedly made great gardeners and florists, but she'd never heard of one that could control plants like
this.

The willow waved at her cheekily, branches bowing and rippling like elegant green fingers.

Her frustration vanished in sheer wonder. "Can you like, move rock and stuff, too?"

Scott chuckled. "That would be hella cool, but this isn't The Last Airbender. Do you see a blue arrow on my head? Plants are my thing; my
only
thing. But if it's mostly green and has roots…yeah, it'll listen to me."

"Listen? You talk to them?"

"In a manner of speaking. It is a bit like another language, but both wilder and deeper than any you've ever heard, angel."

Des walked closer to the tree, utterly fascinated as she stepped beneath its slender, feathery canopy. Several fronds reached out to tickle her neck, then stroke her face with their leafy tips. She giggled.

"This
is
plenty hella cool, Johnny. Oh my god—you really did mess with Guido's damn tree, didn't you?"

He laughed. "It was dying anyway, Des. It was a mercy, and what can I say, I was pissed."

"Yeah, well, so was he." She touched one of the branches petting her with an awed fingertip. It coiled around her palm as if shaking her hand.

Glancing back at him with a smile, Des caught a flicker of bemused delight on his face that made her insides go gooey. Scott looked so different when he smiled, when he let a little happiness in. She could see a completely different guy buried there, under all the darkness and pain. But that guy scared her more than the asshole.

That
guy she could fall for.

Her smile faded. With a sigh, Des shook her head, "Not that you deserve an explanation, but I wasn't flirting with Alcide earlier.
He
was flirting with
me
. And getting nowhere, I might add. It would probably be a lot easier on both of us if I was attracted to him. But I'm not. And you damn well know it."

Through the branches between them and the flickering crimson light from the fountain, Scott's eyes stayed on hers for several heartbeats. Then he sighed.

"Maybe you're right, Des, maybe I am insane. Especially when it comes to you. But…"

"But what, Johnny?"

You make me feel like I am waking up…and I'm not sure I want to.

That I'm
ready
to.

He couldn't say that shit to her—he couldn't.

Scott rubbed both hands in his hair. "I think we need a drink before we face your buddy and Centaries. Let’s go out and get one. Somewhere you and I can just…talk."

"Why? So you can snap at me again in five minutes? You run hot and cold so fast, I can't keep up. Even demons get whiplash." She wrapped her arms around herself again, looking small, cold and tired. "I should just wait for Mags."

He should let her go. Get some more distance.

Only he couldn't. "Please, Des."

She studied him for what seemed like an eon and a half. Finally, she said, "A drink does sound good."

Scott let out a breath, giving her a smile. "Why don’t we make that a couple? We can always grab a cab."

"Aren't you afraid I'll take advantage of you?" Des tried for that light teasing note she used so often, but he heard the air of defeat behind it. Scott found he didn't care for that, not at all.

It's not you I'm afraid of, angel, it's me.

He couldn't say that either. So he shrugged. "Try it and I'll sic some poison ivy on you. Now come on, I gotta place in mind."

Scott took her to the Dirty Sock, a sports bar just a few miles from Phoenix Inc. that both he and Jules frequented. Des wrinkled her nose as she read the name on the marquee.

Scott grinned at her. "It's a play on words, from when the White Sox threw the World Series."

She frowned, looking blank.

He couldn't help the heartfelt groan. "Aw jeez, you don't follow
baseball?"

Des laughed. "'Demons aren't big on sports, Johnny. Unless it involves a lot of blood and screaming."

Shaking his head, he opened the door for her.

"You're killing me, Smalls," Scott groaned again when she blinked at him. "Damn woman, you need some education. If it wasn't so late in the year, I'd take you to a game."

"Would you really?" His hand went to her back, on the pretext of guiding her to the bar. The feel of her tensing under his fingertips made him grit his teeth.

"Maybe I would. Why not?"

Her look spoke volumes.

"Shut up, Des. And have a goddamn whiskey. We're supposed to be drinking here."

They sat down, Des taking in the ambiance. Not that there was much. It was a good bar and he liked it, but it sure as hell wasn't fancy. When she turned back to him, her face was wary.

"What are we doing here?"

"Clearing the air." He held up two fingers and pointed at the Jameson's. "You can shoot whiskey, right?" he asked her when the bartender set the drinks down.

She raised her eyebrows and toasted him before tossing the amber liquid down her throat. She blinked, then met his gaze. "Start clearing, Johnny."

"When Nolan called me last night, I was scared, alright?" He took his own shot, then slammed the glass down on the bar, harder than he'd intended to. Des jumped. "All's I could think about was,
"What if it's my fault she wasn't ready?"
Fuck, I was so concerned with keeping my distance, what if I put you in harm's way?"

She gave him a dumbfounded look. "Johnny, people have been trying to kill me for a very long time. You've had, what? A week training me? None of this is your fault. I don't understand why you would even care."

He whirled on his bar stool, grinding his teeth so hard he could barely get the words out. "You honestly think I wouldn't give a damn if you got hurt…or killed? Even after last night?"

Her eyes cut away at his tone. "It's not like we know each other very well. And… you seem rather
indifferent
when it comes to me."

"Bull.
Shit.
I'm a lot of things when it comes to you, angel, but indifferent sure as hell ain't one of them." He signaled for another round in the ensuing silence.

Des reached for her drink with fingers that trembled slightly. His eyes tracked the movement. "You aren't so indifferent to me either, are you, Des?"

"Fuck you, Johnny." She tossed the whiskey down her throat.

He watched her swallow, his own throat going dry at the heat in her eyes. "What the hell is this between us, Desdemona? Something is going on. You feel it, too. If it's not your powers, tell me, what the hell is…
this?"
His voice went low, seeking the truth. She shivered in response, her head bowed.

Her hair curtained her face, parting in wild waves to bare her nape. Scott wanted to kiss her there; to sink his teeth into that delicate skin, to taste her and feel those shivers under his tongue.

"I have no idea." Her slender fingers were white-knuckled on the bar, but her voice was breathlessly soft. Was she experiencing the same insanity he was? Did Des lose sleep dreaming about him? Did she wake wet and needy for him? The thought had Scott shifting on his stool.

She raised her head, her grey eyes dark as smoke. Her necklace winked in the lights, a tiny locket on a golden chain, drawing his gaze down to her neck. The bruises from the attack were gone, her caramel skin smooth and unblemished.

"It did help then." He ran a fingertip over her collarbone and watched her lips part. "What I did last night."

She sucked in a breath. "You know it did. I wouldn't even be functional if you hadn't," her voice was husky as she pulled back from his touch. "Thank you."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "First time I've ever gotten a thank you for that particular task."

Her smile flashed. A thought struck him, one that'd cropped up more than once during his hours of thinking about her. Scott stared down at his drink, scowling.

"What now?"

"It's occurred to me, both times we've been… whatever the hell it is that we've been, I've definitely gotten the better end of the deal."

It was her turn to laugh. Loud and long. Des really let go when she laughed. Head thrown back. Losing her breath; eyes shining, cheeks pink.

"Oh Johnny," she snorted. "You've got a lot to learn about succubae."

"Well, don't be shy. Give me a clue."

She shook her head, eyes dancing. "I kind of already did. Last night."

He frowned.

"Come on, Johnny," she said, leaning in close, "you saw what happened when your energy went into me. Remember?"

As if he would ever forget. She'd looked euphoric, gorgeous, and the way she'd lit up, literally glowing. But …

"But you didn't come?"

"No," she agreed, sitting back on her stool. "I didn't. I don't very often, to be honest. Being with someone when they reach their release…being the
cause
of that release…  It’s a rush of undiluted power for me. Like being shot up with the best drug ever invented. It's not an orgasm, Johnny, but damn near as good as. Better in some ways."

He gave her a considering look. “So, basically the harder I get off, the better rush you get?”

“Yup.” No wonder she'd glowed. His cock was already throbbing in his pants remembering last night. That'd been just looking at her, stroking himself off. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have actual sex with her.

Bullshit.

He could. He had.

He
was
.

“Doesn't anyone ever worry how you get off?”

Her eyes slid away from his. “Oh, that doesn’t matter so much.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t it though?”

“Nope. Sex for a succubus isn't about self at all. Not the way I do it.”

“That's crazy, Des. You can give pleasure and get it at the same time. You could've both." He could see it so clearly, Des twisting under him as he sent her over the edge hard. Watching her skin start to glow as he came inside of her, giving her another rush.

Scott knew he could make her lose all control …and he wanted to. So badly he didn't notice how tightly his hand was curled until the glass in it nearly shattered.

Des stared at him, barely breathing, as if she could see the scorching images inside his head. "Don't make offers you don't intend to keep, Johnny."

The desire in her voice had him burning to take her, to haul her outside and show her right then and there. In the alley if he had to, with her legs wrapped around his waist—

Christ!
He was fucking volatile where this woman was concerned. And conflicted.

Desdemona was a demon. Worse than that, she was betraying someone who—from her own words—was her best friend in the world.

It was something Scott couldn’t understand. She was a shade. In and of itself, that wasn't something that bothered him. Her moral code, though—or apparent lack of one—unsettled him. It also didn't fit with the little he knew of her. He'd heard the report from both her and Mags last night. Nolan had recorded every word, including all that Scott had originally missed. Des' account glossed over it, but Mags' had been crystal clear. When Mags had gotten hit, Des had tried hard to save her, even baiting their attacker to keep his focus off the telepath. And she'd known Mags less than a couple weeks. That behavior wasn't consistent with a backstabber.

His kids adored her after a few hours in her presence. Nolan tried to be objective, but he clearly liked her, and Alcide was enamored. Then again, the werewolf seemed to feel that way about anything with curves...

Still—

"Why me, anyway?"

Des raised her eyebrows, her cheeks still pink. She looked him up, down, then up again. Her frank, appreciative perusal made his dick jump in his pants. She cocked her head and pursed her lips. "Well, it sure isn't your sparkling personality, Johnny."

"If you just want me for my body," he said without thinking, "I might be okay with that."

The amusement in her eyes died. "I don't think you are. You've been sitting here, trying to tell yourself you are. But you're not a casual sex kind of guy, Johnny."

"You don't know me, Desdemona."

"I didn't say I did. But give me some credit for picking up bits and pieces."

Bits and pieces of a man broken beyond repair.

Both of them went quiet.

For the first time Scott noticed how loud it was in here. The fifteen TVs blaring, the sounds of the kitchen and the other customers. Somehow when he and Des had been talking, all that had receded. Now the silence between them stretched, growing taut.

Des picked up her shot glass and flipped it over. She bit her lip, which had his damn cock stirring again, before looking up. "I doubt I could say no to you, Johnny,” his breath stilled, “…but not if you're going to hate me in the morning."

He dropped his eyes. "It's not just about you, Des. I have…issues. Things I can't get past. Things I don't think I
want
to get past."

"Are you ever going to tell me about it? About what happened to her?"

Scott caught himself spinning the ring on his finger at her words. He’d have to remember to take it off again before they hit Centaries. A roaring seemed to fill his ears as he stared at it, the sound of Fannie's voice as she'd slipped it on his finger that first time.

"Mine, all mine now, Magic Man."

He twirled the gold band one more time, watching the light catch and flash on the etchings; leaves and vines, tangled together forever. "Surely you've gotten the gist by now. Mags—"

"No." Her stiff reply cut him off. "I asked her not to tell me. Toby said his mother died. That a bad man killed her. That's all I know." He looked up to see Des studying him. "It's your story. Please share it with me."

Scott took a breath. He wasn't sure he could do this.

That he
should
do this. Share his last memories of Fannie with another woman? Then Des’ voice slipped over him, soft and sure. "You loved her very much."

It wasn't a question, but Scott felt compelled to answer.

"Did I fucking
ever.
I loved that woman beyond reason." He choked, suddenly realizing how long it had been since he’d really talked about Fan.

No one wanted to talk about her anymore. Scott thought that was one of the worst things of all. Losing someone was bad enough; losing the chance to talk about them was salt in the wound. He couldn't talk about Fannie to anyone. At least not without them getting that scared, miserable look in their eyes. When he looked at Des though, her gaze was steady on his. A look almost tangibly warm with compassion, but not pity. That look seeped into him, giving him strength.

He’d expected it to feel all wrong, talking about Fannie to her, but it didn't.

Her eyes followed his back to his wedding band. For a moment, neither of them spoke. When Scott finally did, the words felt like they were being pushed from him, syllable by syllable. A purge.

He'd never really put it into words, not for someone who had no clue.

"Daimen Cross murdered my wife."

"Cross." Des' mouth opened. "That was the name on the picture Miles gave me. Of the woman I'm supposed to watch out for. Docie May Cantrell.
Known associate of Daimen Cross."
She looked at him, her expression tight. "It also said he's a vampire."

"Did it say anything about what a sick fuck he is?" Scott signaled for more drinks, ordering water this time. Once the bartender set them down, Des hesitantly put her hand on his, the one with his ring.

"Why
your
wife?"

Scott drew away on the pretext of raising his glass. She let him go, saying nothing.

He swallowed the water down, then stared into the mirror at the back of the bar. All the people laughing and having a good time behind him. Trust him to take a beautiful woman out for drinks and end up talking about his dead wife.

"Still not sure." And that bothered him. A lot. "We did have an altercation, me and Cross. When he kidnapped Jules' wife. Before she was his wife. You haven't met Jules and Rissa yet, have you?"

She shook her head. "But I know who he is. And I've talked to him on the phone a couple times. Your boss, yeah?"

"Yeah. Well, one of them." Scott had to laugh. "It's been quite the road. We started out as friends. Well, not even that—not at first." He snorted again. "He and Fannie were best friends. Fannie's my…was my wife’s name." For a second, Scott couldn't breathe.