Phoenix Broken (26 page)

As if
.

It was too late. If she'd had second thoughts about going through this deal with Alcide, Scott had just erased them. Nothing would stop her now. The next time that man touched her, there'd be no doubt in her mind as to why.

Sitting across from Alcide hours later, Des' thoughts were as scattered as those autumn leaves
.
One, though, kept fluttering above the others.

What am I doing?

"Anything yet?" Alcide dealt himself two cards, not looking at her.

"Our metabolisms are different. Maybe it's just going to take awhile."

The werewolf shrugged, the red in his beard and hair glowing in the warm yellow light of the kitchen. She caught him side-eyeing her as the minutes ticked by, his dark gaze full of concern.

Alcide had brought the drug to her. He'd showed her how to inject the pale blue liquid. Then he'd waited with her.

And waited.

The werewolf was good company. He'd kept her frayed nerves from ripping totally apart. But after bullshitting, talking and playing cards for seemingly forever, she was beginning to lose hope.

Finally, Alcide pushed back from the kitchen table, staring at her as he laid his cards down. Aces and eights; full house. He'd won for the sixth time in a row. She'd only beat him twice and Des knew damn well he'd thrown those hands out of pity. As far as she could see the wolf had no tells at all. He’d make a fucking fortune in Vegas.

Alcide glanced at the shiny metal clock tucked on the wall with all the mirrors.

"It's been almost an hour. How you feeling?"

She sighed. "Completely normal. I don't think it worked, Alcide."

"I warned you, it doesn't seem to affect some shades. There is one way we can tell for sure," he cocked his head, sweeping that bright wavy hair back from his eyes. "If you wanna have a shot at me to see if your sex mojo still works, go for it."

It made her laugh. "No offense, but I'm
so
not going there with you."

He grinned. "It was worth a try. I guess you're one of the exceptions, Des. Sorry. Well, not really, but …"

She waved his concern away, while her insides continued to shake. She'd wanted it to work so badly
.
"Yeah, I get it. Go on now, you might be able to catch Mags at the club, if you hurry."

He stood, but looked down at her, brown eyes soft. "You sure you're good then?

"I'm fine, really. I'll just take a shower and go to bed. Go get her, Tiger. I mean, ahh…well,
Wolfie
doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?"

Alcide's chuckle trailed down the hall as he saw himself to the door.

She got up and set the alarms before walking into the bathroom. Her last chance to prove that she was innocent of enticing Scott with her demon had swirled down the proverbial drain.

Des stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was in a messy bun, her face pale and resigned.

Was there relief there, too? Yeah, maybe. Alcide had warned her everyone's reactions to the suppressant were different. Shades were very unpredictable, except vamps; who were apparently immune across the board. He'd given her a low dose, but if it was going to work it surely—

Her knees shook. So violently her teeth rattled.

Des gripped the marble as something cold and heavy seemed to slither down her spine, making her buckle as it shut off her neural pathways one by one.

Her stomach lurched as the odd feeling started to spread. Icy, yet burning hot. Followed by numbness. Not like a limb going to sleep. No pins and needles, just
nothing
. Sensation wiped clean, muscles going lax…total nothingness. Panic tried to take hold, but couldn't.

She slid to the bathroom floor.

"Alcide?" Des whispered, right before the awful nothingness engulfed her throat.

The werewolf was gone. Dimly, she heard the fading roar of an engine that must've been his bike. Then her ears went away. Her eyes. For an instant—the most terrifying of her entire life—Desdemona simply ceased to exist.

Blind.

Deaf.

Dumb.

There was no her, only a spark snuffed out.

Like the too-bright flash of a camera bulb, she was back. Then out again. Back and forth. Cycling faster and faster between the awful nothingness and a scorching reality until her mind felt like it was going to implode.

Between one breath and the next, everything stopped.

Des was laying on the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor, listening to her heartbeat. All her senses functioning, but every inch of her on
fire.

She took a breath to scream, but the flames drowned that too.

Leaving only…

Ash.

"She'd better fucking show, Mags."

"She will. I've told you that three goddamn times already. Shut up, Davidson."

"Why are you in such a bitchy mood?"

Something bright and cold snapped out of those blue eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired of men this week. And all their superlative bullshit." She stared straight at Scott when she said it.

The other two men at the table raised their eyebrows, exchanging looks, but neither was stupid enough to comment. Not even Dustin.

Everyone knew Mags had two settings; prickly and full-on pissed off. She rarely went into the second, but when she did, people had been known to seek therapy afterward.

Scott was past giving a shit. He'd gone from pissed to worried days ago. On up to panic mode last night.

Now he was pissed, panicked and worried.

This emergency meeting Miles had called with less than an hour's warning was sure as hell not helping. Everyone who knew the details of Des' business with Phoenix was there. Mags, Nolan, and Dustin. Something was up. "Where's she been all damn week?"

"Busy."
Mags' answer every time he'd asked after Des the past five days. Hearing the word again made him want to stand up and hurl the table across the room.

"Bullshit. Why'd she blow off Centaries last night?"

"I don't know, maybe she couldn't stand the thought of your company. Ever think of that?"

His fist slammed on the desk.

Dustin jumped. Mags gave him a dismissive glare and Nolan looked resigned, his massive arms folded over his chest.

"Fuck that. She was supposed to be there…"

"Why? It's not like anyone really believes you two are a thing. How can they with the way you treat her? I doubt even Calimente believes that shit. He just lets you in because she asked."

"Mags." Miles voice came over the speakers and everyone looked up as the video monitors flickered on. Miles stood on screen, his tone cool, his face hard. "She agreed to this."

"Yeah, so?" Mags' expression was mutinous, though Scott knew damn well the vamp was one man who intimidated the hell out of her. "Calimente let Scott in last night, even without Des. Just like she
promised
he would. Docie May didn't show. How is that Des' fault?"

"Yes," came a quiet voice from the doorway. "How is that my fault?"

Des entered the conference room, shutting the door behind her. Scott came half out of his seat. Only sitting back down at Miles' pointed cough.

She was pale.

So fucking pale.

Something wasn't right. He knew it. Scott hadn't seen her since that afternoon in the gym. After a day, he'd started texting, calling. She ignored everything. No one answered the door at her and Mags' place. And the one time he'd gone crazy enough to break in, no one was there and he'd brought Phoenix's security down on him. Nolan's look had been resigned then, too. Scott decided someone must've warned the women he was coming. He was betting on Alcide, who also seemed to be avoiding him, damn the werewolf's hide.

Desdemona took the only open seat at the small table, directly across from Scott, but she didn’t look his way. Her eyes stayed on Miles' image. God, she looked
frail.
What the hell was going on? It'd only been a few days, but—

"Please continue. You were explaining how the vampire not showing is my fault?"

Miles' electric gaze narrowed. Scott didn't like the way the vampire was looking at her, but her tone had bordered on flippant. Several people in the room shifted uncomfortably. Scott felt a surge of protectiveness that both scared him…and pissed him off. He wanted to grab her, haul her out of the conference room, somewhere far from the vampire's gaze. Miles might be an ocean and more away…

But that didn't mean shit when it came to Rousseau.

"I don't necessarily think that it is your fault.
Yet
. However, it is suspicious. I would like to remind you of what to expect should you betray me, Desdemona." If the French vamp's gaze hadn't made people uncomfortable enough, his icy tone was far, far worse. Scott was surprised hoar frost didn't form on the goddamn monitors.

Des seemed unaffected. His uneasy feeling increased.

Des had always been poised, self-assured, but there was something damn near cavalier about the way she was acting with Miles. That was a dangerous attitude with any shade, but with Miles, it was fucking insane.

He'd seen this behavior before, Scott realized. It was how soldiers acted when they'd been through such hell, they just didn't give a shit anymore. They'd walk straight into a kill zone with a shit-eating grin on their face, guns blazing. He tried to get Des' attention, but she was having none of it, her eyes never leaving the vampire's face.

"Oh, I remember. And I haven't done anything that breaks our agreement."

"Haven't you?"

"Not a thing." Her smile was brittle, but steady.

Miles returned it with interest, before giving a shrug. "Fine, let's table Docie May for the moment. I've something to relay that might interest you all, especially
you
, Desdemona," he said coolly, "I've a lead on who attacked you and Mags. Nolan, I'm sending you the full report directly, but it just came up, a few minutes before I took this call."

Nolan nodded and Miles continued. "My team went over the vid feeds from Mags' house that night. One of my people has identified the assassin. They say he's the Dullahan."

Miles might as well have dropped a bomb. Everyone at the table looked shell-shocked, except Desdemona, who merely looked puzzled. Nolan turned to her at once, his eyes wide.

"Jesus, you told me Irish, didn't you?" His expression hovered between fury and awe. "Scott, if this guy really is
the
Dullahan—"

"Oh, come
on.
" Scott realized that despite being as stunned as the rest of them, Mags was trying not to roll her eyes. "That's a fucking legend. The Dullahan isn't
real."

"He is." Scott's certainty cut through both Nolan's panic and Mags' disdain. His head was pounding. "But it can't be him." Not after Des.
Fuck no.

He refused to believe it.

Des' grey eyes met his for the first time since she'd walked in the room. He looked away.

"Why?" Nolan again. "Why can't it be him?"

"You know why. If it was him, she'd be dead. They'd both be. He never misses and he never lets anyone who sees him kill live." Scott couldn't look at anyone, his eyes staring into space.
The Dullahan after her?

"Oh get off it, both of you! The Dullahan is a
myth.

"Says the woman sitting in a building frequented by vampires and a werewolf. Oh, and a half blood demon. Perhaps you've heard of the Reveal, Mags?" Scott sent the telepath a sneer of his own.

"Davidson." Her tone was sarcasm distilled. "I was raised on those tales. He's like the freakin' boogeyman, he doesn’t
exist."

"He's real, Mags. I've seen him."

Mags' nostrils flared. "No way."

"Way. In Russia. March 2004. On a rooftop in St. Petersburg. He went into a secured building after a heavily guarded political target. Ten minutes later, he was gone and the target was dead."

"Sounds like you weren't doing your job there."

"Ha
.
Nice try, but
I
wasn't the one guarding that bastard. The target was an arms dealer, and he had nearly a dozen bad ass mercenaries covering him."

"Obviously not bad ass enough."

"Not funny, Mags. We were on recon for another job. We saw him go in—the Dullahan. He was the only one who came back out again."

"Did any of them survive?" Miles this time.

"Not a one."

There was quiet in the room, except Mag's very loudly curled lip.

"Is anyone going to explain what a Dullahan is?"

Mags snorted at Des' question, but her eyes didn't leave Scott's. "He's the Irish version of the Headless Horseman, demon spawn. Can't be killed, hunts at night…and oh yeah,
he has no head!
This guy that went after us most definitely had a
head,
Davidson."

"He did when I saw him too, Mags. Don't be so literal. That's just a way of saying he has no weaknesses. Everyone knows most shades can be stopped if you take their head. By saying he doesn’t have one, it makes him seem invincible. Or maybe he really
can't
die that way. Who knows? But he exists. I've heard too many soldiers and mercs talk about him. Solid men, not exactly the fanciful type. He's a legend alright, but a real one."

"The guy who went after Des was
human,
not a shade. Right, Des?"

Des was frowning. "I think so, yes. But there was something off about him. I can't say for sure what he is."

Mags blew out a breath, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

"I back Scott on this," Miles said after a beat. "I can't speak to the name itself, but my sources tell me this is very much a real man. Operating in the last ten years or so, though no one gave a name to him until around the Dark Days," Miles nodded at Scott. "During the uprising he was pretty active. Mostly taking out shades, but he does human targets, too."

"And half-bloods apparently." Des' voice was calm.
Too calm.

"You need to take this seriously, Des." Scott snapped.

"No," she shook her head at him. "I don't. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.
Someone is trying to kill me. Whoopie, I already knew that." She got to her feet. "If I'm not being blamed for the vamp anymore, I'd like to go."

"Wait, Desdemona." Miles' voice took on an edge. "In light of recent events, I've decided to re-evaluate our agreement. The Dullahan is a formidable enemy. Protecting you just got far more costly. You aren't being of much use where the vampire is concerned. Scott has got that covered, if and when she shows again."

"Only if Guido lets him into Centaries." Des folded her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes wary.

"Yes, well, I feel that's no longer enough to justify protecting you. I want more. I want you to find out what your friend knows about her and the Society's supposed negotiations."

"I told you last week, I asked him about her. He wouldn't even acknowledge the question. That's Guido-speak for
nothing to see here, move along now.
It's Convenīre business, in which case he isn't gonna tell me sh—"

"Use your powers on him. I assume even demons engage in pillow talk."

Jesus fucking
hell.

Scott stared at the vamp, a pulse throbbing in his temple as he got to his feet. He'd known Miles was ruthless, but this was beyond the goddamn pale. Des beat him to the punch.

"My father was right about you."

Miles' eyes flashed, the temperature in the room seeming to plummet once more. "What did Augustine say?"

Des smiled cooly. "That you'd make one hell of a demon."

The vamp's eyes went white-blue. "
You—"

"That's enough, Rousseau." Scott's voice cracked through the room like a whip. Everyone held their breath.

Miles' eyes never left Desdemona's face. "I warned you, Scott. Demons can't be trusted. She has to prove herself—"

"Not like that, she fucking doesn't. Pull that shit, and Phoenix Inc. won't stand with you anymore, Rousseau. I guarantee it."

In the ensuing silence, Des whirled from the conference room without a backwards glance.

Minutes later, Dustin followed Scott out of the meeting that had come to a very awkward end. Miles had cut short the video call, with a meaningful look at Scott.
"I'm pulling my people from her. Phoenix wants to continue protecting the demon, be my guest, but I'm cutting her loose."

Dustin sighed, his voice strained. "Miles was
way
harsh."

Scott agreed. He'd wanted to reach through the monitor and rip Rousseau a new one, but he tried his damnedest to be objective. "He was. Miles hates demons, Dustin. We've always known that. And I'm sure he's got his reasons." Not that Scott felt a one of them made it right to suggest such a thing to Des.

"Miles is an ancient vampire with deeply ingrained prejudices. I don't think he's capable of trusting her kind, even if he wanted to." The tech looked troubled. "But no race should be condemned by the actions of a few, or even of the many, Scott. There will always be good and bad. I thought Miles was one of the people who understood that."

There was disappointment along with puzzlement in Dustin's voice, but Scott shook his head. "Who's to say he's wrong about demons in general?" He was wrong about Des, though. Scott knew that now. It had taken another man treating her like shit for him to see it. She wouldn't use her powers on him. Not consciously. Why? For fun,
a bit of a lark?
Des wasn't fucking built like that.