Phoenix Broken (33 page)

Scott pulled back, his brows furrowed as he looked down at her. "Do you even realize how often you do that?"

"Do what?" she looked back curiously, watching the snow catch on the tips of his golden hair.

"You compartmentalize demons and humans all the time, but I can never tell which you identify as."

She smiled. "Because I am both, and neither."

"I don't get it, but then I don’t get how you can be so close to Calimente if…"  His voice trailed off.

"So close to Guido when his father is so vicious?" she said gently. Scott shrugged, his lips pressing together.

"Guido is not Valencio. No more than I am my father...or that you are yours, Scott."

Tension tightened the muscles under her hands, but he didn't look angry, just reflective, considering her words.

"Some people would say blood will tell."

"Well, Desdemona says
actions
tell. Guido has never done anything in his life that would hurt me, Scott. Quite the opposite." His eyes clouded at that and Des sighed.

"Can we go back in now?"

"What? Hell no, angel. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have stopped if I—"

"Of course, you wouldn't have, silly. How could you know? I want to go back in."

He grumbled something in his throat, but she smacked his chest. "Quit that. If I've learned one thing, it's that you've got to face your memories. Otherwise you just give them more power. Besides, the furballs are adorable and warm. If you haven't noticed, this island girl is freaking cold."

"That
I could fix," he muttered, one arm still tight around her waist as they headed back to the door. She gave him a sideways smile knowing from the shadow in his eyes, he was wishing he could fix everything that easily.

She understood, because she felt the same way. But somethings you couldn't fix.

"I know you can, but later. I want to do this, Scott. I need to."

An hour later, they were tangled in her bed, both coming down from a very long and exhilarating fall. Scott watched the light play across the ceiling, breathing hard as Des sprawled across his chest.

Life was intruding on the bubble he'd tried to create for himself. Scott couldn't stop thinking of the horrible story she'd told him and the questions it'd put in his head, or the fact that Merry had called earlier and told him to invite Des to Thanksgiving dinner. Her request hadn't surprised him as much as it should have, maybe because he could see Desdemona there so easily. Laughing with his kids, helping Merry in the kitchen. Even joking with Frank. He stroked her hair. She could slide right into his life. And out of it just as easily.

The shadowy video image from earlier wouldn't stop playing in his head.

The Dullahan.

Was the bastard out there right now?
He should go back to Calimente, find out if his men had seen anything. As Scott had said in the IT room, both he and Nolan were well aware the demon had kept men on Desdemona night and day since Scott had told him about the attack. His men showed up on all the vid feeds. The same three, rotating eight hour blocks.

Dustin had given them all names; Scratchy (forever scratching his balls), Cancer Stick (a skinny demon that smoked) and, for some odd reason, Bill. Bill was the guy with the spider tattoo on his face that he'd seen twice before with Docie May.

Scott exchanged nods with ol' Bill every time he left Des' house at night. The demon would try to be somewhere different every time, obviously hoping to fool Scott, but Scott always made him, even if he had to cheat once or twice and send out his power to search the nearby yards to find the bastard.

As an earth elemental, grass was Scott's preferred security system. Scott could feel the slightest pressure on any blade when he opened himself up enough. The grass was almost dormant now, but if he tried, maybe he could sense some—

Des' fingers curled into the chain around his neck, tugging lightly, pulling him back to her.

"Is this a dog tag?"

It was so much a part of him, but Scott never forgot it was there
.

"Yeah, it is."

"But you're not in the military anymore, right?"

"Once a Marine, always a Marine, angel." She blinked at him, making him wonder how much a demon would even know about the service. She turned the metal over in her hand. He'd caught her looking at it before, but she'd never asked until now.

"What's it for?"

"Mostly identifying your remains if you get killed in action."

Her body stilled, but she didn't drop the tag.

"Then you don't need to wear it anymore … so, why do you?" She seemed to be asking herself the question, not him. He waited. "Respect?"

He smiled.
Good guess, angel.
But …

"Not entirely." It was more because some memories should never be forgotten. Ever. They should carry a tangible weight, so they couldn't fade around the edges. He didn't know how to put that into words for her, so he didn't try.

Her eyes trailed over his body. It got to him every time, the feel of her eyes on him when he was naked. Scott was just about to roll her over, but her words stopped him.

"You don't have any military tattoos." He wondered where she got her ideas on soldiers. Movies, probably. TV shows. Where else?

Actually, Scott didn't have any tattoos or piercings at all. He'd thought about it when Fannie died, but old habits were hard to break.

"I was MARSOC—Special Forces, Des. Having an identifying tattoo is a great way to get yourself killed, or tortured. I hardly ever even wore my tags. Hell, I look way more clean-cut now than I did most of the time I was active." He ran a hand over his hair ruefully, remembering the curls Fannie had loved so much. "We were supposed to be able to blend, you see." Scott watched as Des pulled the tag closer, dangling it in front of her eyes. She looked puzzled as her gaze lifted to his. "This isn't your name."

"Nope. Mine are buried at the bottom of a trunk somewhere. Haven't seen them in years. This," he tapped the slightly bent piece of metal in her palm which always felt hot to him, just as it had when he tore if off on Dan's throat, "I took off of a brother."

"Your brother?"

"In a matter of speaking, yeah."

"He died?"

"Yes, he did." Scott didn't close his eyes because to do so would invite the sight and sound of roaring flames and the smell of burning flesh. "But worse, he got left behind."
Goddamn North Korea.
Even all that shit in Russia had never held a candle to that one night in Ryanggang.

He sighed and pulled the tag out of her fingers, squeezing it once, remembering when it had burned his hand that day. He'd had that burn for weeks, and a scar for a long while after. You couldn't even see it now, and that made him sad.

This fucking tag was all that was left of a smart-ass goofball from Iowa who'd taught Scott how to cheat at poker and taunted him into the bet that had introduced him to swing, and in a roundabout way, won him his wife. No kids, no siblings—even Dan's parents were long dead. Daniel Pierce Riley amounted to a goddamn stone on an empty grave in Arlington and this banged-up piece of metal around his neck. Which is why Scott never took it off.

Her fingers brushed his face.  "Why was your brother wearing dog tags if you didn't?"

"Dan wasn't Forces. He was a S2, a ground intelligence officer, stationed in South Korea. We hadn't seen each other for months. My team was supposed to rescue him and a couple of others that got snagged by the goddamn KPA. That was the plan anyway. It was a trap. They lit the place up as soon as we got inside. Didn't get one of them out and lost half my guys." Second worst day of his life. He'd never imagined anything would come close until that August night two years ago…

"Aerent nontartis aniito roii, cro quaerus reno geeam la pashe nov."
The words were soft and so low, he barely registered them.

"Come again? I speak three languages, Des, but Saanis ain't one of them."

"Ahh, it just means…you would say, maybe…
Let their spirits be free to seek peace.
It's kind of a demon prayer, if there is such a thing.
"
She bent her head. "My dad said something very similar before he lit my mom's pyre."

He stared down at her, hardly breathing.

Des' skin was still flushed from their sex, her hair a wild tangle of gold and brown, damp curls stuck to her temples and her lips were swollen, the skin around her mouth reddened from his stubble. The light makeup she wore had smeared around her eyes, giving a shadowy depth to those pale grey irises that held such compassion for him and men she'd never even met. He'd never seen her look more beautiful.

With a start, Scott noted that she also looked a bit sad, tired, and run down. He frowned. Was this new?
Or hadn't he been looking closely enough?

"Hey, angel, why don't you take a nap?" He pulled the sheet up around them, tucking it in around her and pulling her head to his chest. "I'll wake you in a bit."

Watching her close her eyes with a grateful smile, it hit him. How well did she sleep at night when he wasn't here? She'd lived with this worry that was eating him alive for …

Well,
forever,
basically.

Had there ever been a time when she'd been unaware someone was trying to kill her? Surely as a child…

But no. Besides Calimente's father and his sick game with her pet, Scott remembered very well the few things she'd mentioned about growing up in the Saandon. Even when very small, she'd been reviled, treated like an outcast and worse.

Always as
less.
No matter what world she resided in. No, Des had never had a childhood.

Despite all that, Des didn't seem to worry about herself nearly as much as she should. Certainly not as much as
he
did. Scott sighed, looking down at her face, her lips parted, soft puffs of her breath against his skin.

She was too goddamn busy protecting others. Calimente was three times her size and very likely one of the most lethal creatures Scott had ever met, barring Miles, yet Scott knew damn well why she'd never breathed a word to him about what his father had done to her. She was protecting him. Thinking such knowledge would wound the demon in some way. Who knows?
Maybe she was even right.

It bothered him, but Scott knew she'd take a bullet for that demon. Honestly, Des would probably take a bullet for anyone. Perhaps in part because she believed death was coming for her anyway, but mostly because of her heart. It was far too big and soft for her own good. Which considering her life, was simply amazing.

She
was amazing.

Desdemona deserved so much more than what fate had handed her. Or than he was capable of giving her. Scott shifted uneasily, his fingers tightening in her hair.

He knew this arrangement had never been fair, had known that from the second he'd started this, but he wanted her too badly to think of the consequences. Scott saw the way she looked at him, he didn’t understand it—because he sure as fuck didn't deserve it—but he saw it.

And the knowledge was biting a little deeper every day. It made him sad, but not just for her.

For him.

What was he losing out on by trying to limit their relationship? Desdemona was a woman worth falling for. She deserved to be worshipped, just like Calimente had said. Given everything a man could give. He'd done that once, he'd had that once. What would it be like if he could feel that again?

What would it be like to
never
feel that again?

Scott inhaled sharply, his arms closing around Desdemona without thought, yanking her hard against his chest.

She jerked against him, eyes flying open, startled from a half sleep. He leaned forward, murmuring nonsense, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and burying his face in her hair so she couldn't see his eyes. Desdemona was supposed to be just sex. That was the plan.

Sex and nothing else. That was what he'd told her and Mags—and what he'd tried so hard to believe.

He was lying to himself all over again.

When had he
started wondering if Mags was right about his broken pieces? Of course, Scott wasn't sure he
wanted
to be fixed.

Because he'd had something precious once; something that had filled his whole world with light and love, and it had been ripped away. He couldn't survive loving someone like that again.

Could he?

Scott stared at the wall for a long time after Des fell asleep, finally making the hardest decision of his life.

He left her there, pulling the covers close to keep her warm and kissing her forehead, before walking out the door.