Through a Crimson Veil (6 page)

“What did it look like?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” he snapped. When her eyes started dancing with amusement, he realized she’d picked up on his frustration. Was she withholding information on purpose? What was her game?

“Some demons can shapeshift,” she said.

“Yeah, but you should be able to see through that.” It was damn hard for one demon to fool another. Illusions didn’t work very well, as they took a hell of a lot of energy—not to mention, concentration—to maintain when another demon tried to see through them. That was why demons rarely fought each other while cloaked. Shapeshifting would drain even more power.

“I couldn’t,” she disagreed. She trailed a fingernail across his nape and a shiver went through him. “I was too busy fighting to stay alive and looking for a chance to escape.”

Shit, he hadn’t considered that. Mika would have had more on her mind than seeing through an illusion. But that raised more questions than it answered. “What about while you were mouthing off to him? Was he cloaked then? And why did he disguise himself to attack you?”

“I don’t know.”

She shrugged, her breasts moving against his bare chest. The flimsy tank top she wore teased him, and he took hold of the hem, ready to tug it over her head, before he realized what he was doing. Conor released the cloth and took his hands off her.

“Give me a break. Just because I didn’t question you last night doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You want me on the job, then give me the information I need to take care of things.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” she said.

She looked uneasy, but how much of that was real, and how much was some act? “Let’s start with the basics. Where were you when you first saw this Kiverian?”

“Biirkma.” A rumbling noise escaped him, and she quickly added, “It’s a major city in Orcus. Unless you’re familiar with it, what good does it do to be more specific? If
I tell you I was in a square near the palace, does that mean anything to you?”

“You have a point. So he insulted your mother and you made a few smart-ass remarks, right?” Mika nodded and squirmed a little on his lap. “Okay, he wasn’t shapeshifting during this time, right?”

“No, but I’m not sure I can describe him. I wasn’t paying attention until he confronted me, and as soon as I realized he was looking for trouble, I started trying to get away from him. I’m a weak demon,” Mika said, sounding apologetic.

“Of course, you didn’t realize he was
looking for trouble
until after you lipped off.”

Her contrition increased. “I’m Mahsei. We’re impulsive.”

Conor took a deep breath and realized he was getting sidetracked again. That happened a lot around Mika. “Describe him. Give me his height, weight, hair and eye colors.”

“He was maybe your height, but not as big as you are. His hair was dark, and he wore it long.” Mika shrugged. “I can’t say what color his eyes were. It was night.”

“You’ve just described about half the male demons,” he commented, voice neutral. “It seems to me that since you were targeted, you would have paid more attention to detail.”

She shrugged. “There was a lot going on.”

Conor bit back a curse. “Let’s try this instead. How did you and the Kiverian get across the veil?”

“My dad can do summonings. How do you think he met my mom? As for the Kiverian, he must have a human minion.”

Looking past Mika’s shoulder, Conor considered her answer. It wasn’t quite as easy as she made it sound. First off,
minion
wasn’t all that accurate a term. Though they probably wished otherwise, the residents of Orcus couldn’t control humans. Secondly, not just anyone could successfully call out demons—only those who had an innate magical ability. Few humans fell into that category, and most of
those were too well-trained to be used. Even the handful who were open to trading a summoning for a favor knew enough to put tight boundaries on the demon.

“So you’re saying your fath—”

Mika rocked her pelvis against his. Conor swallowed a curse. That response made her smile; then she trailed her mouth over his left shoulder and upper arm, down to his biceps. She bit the muscle, and Conor lost his train of thought. All he could think about was how her position gave him access to a wide expanse of her bare skin. He lightly bit the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then pulled away, appalled. Even though he was half Kiverian, he didn’t bite women in passion. Ever. Until today.

“Stop,” he ordered.

She didn’t. Instead, she used her teeth another time. He felt the beast inside him struggling for freedom, and its strength scared him. He would be swamped, taken over—he didn’t doubt that.

“Mika,” he said.

She ran her tongue over his collarbone, and he knew she planned to ignore him. It was time for drastic measures. He took hold of her waist, picked her up and sat her on the table. Her eyes widened and she gasped. That’s when he remembered the spilled orange juice.

He didn’t apologize. “Maybe that will cool you off,” he said instead, taking another step back. Three feet didn’t seem a safe enough distance, not with how he reacted to her.

“Conor,” she purred with a smile that made him twitch, “there are more pleasurable ways to get my panties wet.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again without speaking. Taking in her tousled hair, her softly glowing eyes, that tempting grin and her incredible body, he knew there was only one thing for a smart man to do: Retreat.

Her laughter followed him as he fled.

Mika sat cross-legged on the couch and frowned. Conor McCabe clearly came from the minimalist school of home
decor. The walls of the great room were a soft ivory, without so much as a cheap print to break the monotony, and the furnishings were simple—one sofa, apparently picked for durability rather than comfort or style; one coffee table that looked as if he’d rescued it from a trash heap; and his oversized desk.

The office area held most of her interest. Not only was the desk huge, the bookcase was as well, and it was crammed with texts. The desktop was empty except for a computer screen, a keyboard, and a stack of papers with a geode paperweight on top of them.

Mika rubbed her forehead. It felt so lonely here, so barren of life and joy. Looking at the room—at the whole home—made her hurt for Conor. Not that McCabe would appreciate that. He’d get prickly if she said anything, but if she were living here, she’d make the place burst with color and vibrancy. It was just what he needed.

She blew out a sharp breath. Conor had disappeared for good, and she guessed he was out investigating or doing whatever the first step was in his plan of action. The house seemed emptier without him.

Her intention when she’d walked into the kitchen earlier had been to test how strong the bond between them was. Already she was comfortable with Conor, as if she’d known him forever, but he’d lived his entire life in the human world. How much did he feel? Before she’d been able to get any answer, he’d begun questioning her. Mika’s scowl deepened. There had been no choice except to divert him, and she’d used their attraction to do it. She certainly couldn’t tell the truth.

Not with the way her promise to the Council was worded.

The Council. Mika stretched out her legs, resting her heels atop the coffee table. She’d finally figured it out. The reason why they needed her, the reason why they hadn’t had Conor killed and then ransacked his home at their leisure, was the protective field surrounding his property.
They must have tested it, and once they’d discovered it couldn’t be breached, they must have decided they needed someone he would allow inside.

They’d laid out a plan for her to enlist his aid and she’d never asked the one question that would have occurred to any idiot. Why didn’t she just break into his home and find the spell? If she’d raised that issue, odds were good she would have gotten a better bargain than the one she’d agreed to.

Slouching in her seat, she gazed at her bare toes. At least she’d protected Conor. He might hate her when the spell disappeared, but her vishtau mate would be safe.

The vishtau. Mika sighed. The timing and the man couldn’t be worse. Yet she couldn’t imagine wanting any other now that she’d spent time with him.

Sex was casual among the inhabitants of Orcus. She’d never embraced that lifestyle, maybe because she’d lived too long in the Overworld, or maybe because her grandma Noguchi had such a huge influence on her, but Mika didn’t condemn others for taking their pleasure. And in all honesty, there had been several demon males she would have gone to bed with—if they hadn’t scorned her because of her damn human blood. Since she wasn’t willing to settle for some weak creature, and certainly not for a human, she didn’t have much in the way of firsthand experience.

Still, she’d grown up with the openness—she’d witnessed plenty—so she wasn’t ignorant. Nor was she shy. Conor was her mate and she wanted him, why shouldn’t she touch him?

It wasn’t as if he were fighting her off. She hadn’t been bold enough to straddle him torso to torso, not with the memories of her previous rejections, but he hadn’t hesitated for more than a second before pulling her the rest of the way forward. He’d told her to stop kissing him, yet at that very moment, Conor’s hands had been underneath her tank top, exploring the bare skin of her back. He didn’t
want to want her, she was aware of that, but his desire was as strong as hers.

Nothing would be casual between them, not with this bond. The thought made her shiver. And while it was a connection that they could fight for a short time, the longer they spent together, the more difficult it would be to resist. Which made it a foregone conclusion where they’d end up.

And once they became lovers, their link would only solidify. They would want each other more, and the need to protect the other would grow. She felt it already, suspected Conor did too, and that it played a part in his agreeing to watch over her.

Mika sighed. She needed to get off the sofa and begin searching. It was already full dark and she had no idea how long McCabe would be away, but she didn’t move. She was in no big hurry to find the spell. It might be a longshot, but if Conor had more time with her, grew to like her, maybe he wouldn’t be unforgiving when the truth came out about her duplicity.

Did he know of the vishtau? Probably not, and that was to her advantage. He couldn’t battle it as easily if he didn’t understand what it was. Since the bond was viewed with reverence in Orcus, it was unlikely any demon had spoken of it to a human, and it wouldn’t be in one of his books.

At some point, she’d have to explain it to him. The thought was daunting. He wouldn’t want that kind of tie with her—especially after she completed her mission.

She tugged at her shirt, pulling the hem down to the waistband of her shorts, and laughed as her sense of humor surged back. Poor Conor. Part of the vishtau was overwhelming sexual desire. More than desire, it was need, craving, yearning…There wasn’t a word in any human language strong enough to describe the urge to mate. And the longer they were together, the more powerful it would grow. It was part of being a demon even he wouldn’t be able to deny. Not for long.

With another laugh, Mika pushed herself to her feet. She
could think while she searched, and she needed to start looking. The Council was positive McCabe had the incantation of legend, and that he was only one capable of using it. After spending time with him, she had some doubts. Not that he had it—
that
wouldn’t surprise her—but that he might perform it.

According to the legend, the spell not only enslaved all demon will to the one who wielded it, but would lower the veil that kept her people imprisoned in Orcus. Given his feelings, Mika was sure the last thing Conor McCabe would want was demons loose again in the human world. It didn’t matter if he had control; simply seeing them would remind Conor of what he was—and of what he hated.

Though she doubted McCabe would ever use it, Mika knew she couldn’t take any chances. As long as that incantation existed, so did the possibility that it would be enacted, and she wouldn’t allow her family to become thralls to anyone.

She looked around, trying to choose a starting point for her search. It was difficult. If the spell wasn’t part of a grimoire, it could be anywhere: tucked in one of his books, in a pocket of a jacket, on his computer. And while Conor was neat, he also seemed to have accumulated a hell of a lot of paper.

Mika huffed out a long breath and, with one hand, pushed the hair off her forehead. She’d begin with his desk and work her way through his office area first. That was the most likely place. If that failed, she’d keep looking. She had no choice.

When she sat in his chair, she felt his essence strongly. Obviously Conor spent a lot of time here. For a moment she stopped and indulged herself in the sense of him, at least until she felt the ache of the vishtau return between her thighs. Mika squirmed, trying to make it ease, and reached for the deep purple geode paperweight. It was heavy and big enough that she needed two hands to hold.
The geode held Conor’s vibration too, and as she cradled it against her chest, she found it somehow calming.

Reluctantly, she returned the stone to the desktop and, with a sigh, forced herself to get to work—the Council wasn’t going to accept any excuses. She opened the top left desk drawer. Pulling out a stack of papers, she began sorting through them. Receipts. Half a bazillion of them. She groaned. McCabe needed to get better organized. Unless she was mistaken, these were income tax documents. Some of the papers were crumpled up. The damn man better hope he never got audited.

Mika began to itch with the desire to set up a colorcoded system. It wouldn’t take long, and if he remembered to follow her instructions, it would make McCabe’s life much easier.

She laughed. Her human family teased her about her need for order, but her family in Orcus understood. All demons had an obsessive streak, and it generally manifested itself with one quirk. For her gran it was perfect fingernails, and her mom had a shoe collection that filled the house, though she preferred to be barefoot. Mika’s happened to be a compulsive desire for organization. It was honestly funny given her general disposition, but idiosyncrasies seemed to work that way.