by Stacia Kane
"Megan,” Greyson said, not taking his eyes off the older man as they released hands, “may I present my boss, Templeton Black? Temp, this is Megan Chase."
Megan smiled and offered her hand. Templeton Black's skin was warm and very dry. She longed to offer him some lotion.
"Such a pleasure, Miss Chase. I've been looking forward to meet you."
"Well, now you have,” Megan said. What did one say to that, anyway?
Templeton laughed. “Grey said you were smart. Wonderful. He's told me quite a bit about you."
"Oh?” She knew he was waiting for it, so she gave him the clich?. “Don't believe a word he tells you. I don't."
"Oh, no. I've always found him to be a most truthful sort of employee. At least, he's never given me any reason to doubt his loyalty to me. Have you, Grey?"
Greyson's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Of course not. You know our goals are the same."
Templeton eyed him. For a second his features seemed to rearrange themselves into something Megan didn't find half as pleasant as he'd looked a moment ago, but it was over before she could even be certain she'd seen it. “I believe they are the same,” he said softly. “I never did before."
Megan looked at Greyson. He was still as an archer just before the bowstring is released.
Templeton clasped his hands together, ending the moment. “I take it Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud are working out for you? I wanted to send you the best, you know."
"Thank you.” So Greyson hadn't been lying when he said his boss was protecting her.
"You're welcome. Unfortunately, dinner is about to start, and I must get to my table. Perhaps Grey can bring you to my house tomorrow for a late lunch? Say, three o'clock? Wonderful. See you then."
Megan waited until he was out of earshot. “Am I crazy? Did I answer him without realizing it?"
Greyson smiled, but his lips were tight. “That's just the way he is."
"What's wrong? What was that ‘we're on the same side’ stuff about, anyway?"
"What? Nothing. I'm just thinking about what I'll say to our murderous friend over there. Wait here for me, won't you? Thanks."
Then he, too, was gone without waiting for a reply. Megan turned to Brian, standing just behind her, and said, “Is this some man thing I don't know about, just walking away like that?"
"Maybe it's a demon thing.” Megan tensed, but he continued. “Or maybe they're just busy. I don't want to fight with you anymore, Megan."
Megan bit her lip. “I'm glad."
A passing waiter produced flutes of champagne, and she and Brian sat down. Megan kept one eye on Greyson, who was now leading the blond man out of the room and down a hall towards what she guessed was the restroom.
"So you didn't kill that guy, Trooper,” Brian said. “But you don't know who did, either."
Megan took a long sip of her drink. “I was hoping maybe you'd know.” Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. “I mean, maybe you saw something I don't remember, or maybe it made more sense to you as an outsider...” Brian's face didn't change. “I guess I'll never know."
"Maybe it will come back to you one of these days. Sometimes memories work like that. Something could trigger it, and before you know it the whole story is there in your head."
"What about your story? What will you write about it?"
"I'll bury it,” he said. “A local homeless man died. You found the body. That's it. Nobody needs to know about the court or his name even. If you could give me a quote about how that was what made you want to be a counselor, that would be great, too."
"I can definitely do that. Thanks, Brian. Hey ... how are you doing, anyway? I mean, with all of this?"
"As well as I can, I guess. Not like you."
"Me?"
"Does any of this even affect you? You seem just like you did the first day we met. Like there's all this stuff going on around you, but it doesn't touch you at all. How do you do that? How do you keep yourself so locked up inside, that it seems like you don't even have feelings sometimes? You fall down, you pick yourself up, you move on, and if somebody mentions your fall you look surprised. Just like you look now."
"I-I deal with people's feelings all the time, Brian. I had to learn to shut myself off."
"Yeah, but you're shutting yourself off from your own life."
"No, I'm not."
He folded his arms and stared at her.
"I'm not. Of course I'm scared, and freaked out, and of course all of this bothers me. But I can't just curl up in a ball under the covers and hope it all goes away. I still have to live my life."
"But you seem to be enjoying this life. I mean, your boyfriend there—don't try to tell me he's not, maybe he wasn't, but he certainly is now—is a demon.” He whispered the last word. “And you let him touch you. And if you don't like it, you sure are a good actress. I don't think you understand the reality of demons here. Greyson's not just some guy who's a little different, like maybe he's a different religion or grew up in another country. He's not human."
"People might say we're not quite human.” Her glass was empty. She looked for a waiter, drumming her fingers on the tabletop until she caught one's eye and lifted her glass at him.
"It's not the same thing and you know it. And you can anesthetize yourself with drink all you want, but that doesn't change the fact."
"I do not—"
"No, you aren't an alcoholic or anything, but give yourself time."
"That's a shitty thing to say."
"Yeah, well, the truth is shitty sometimes.” He glanced over at the hallway Greyson and his victim had disappeared down.
Megan looked, too. It had only been a few minutes, but she tingled with anxiety. The air in the room hung close around her, charged with something she didn't understand.
"You're letting him have you, you know,” Brian said. “You're letting him take your soul without even a fight."
"They don't take souls.” The waiter brought her drink, but she refused to even take a sip after what Brian said. “What do you care, anyway?"
"I just don't like to see the bad guys win. That's why I became a reporter."
"And who's the bad guy here? The guy trying to save my life, who is right now saving another woman's life, or the one who can't look beyond what he is, and see who he is?"
"They're the same,” Brian said. “A demon's a demon."
"Who told you that?"
"Father McElory. My priest."
"You told a—you have a priest?"
Brian nodded. “I've been going to Saint Michael's since I was a kid. Altar boy, the whole works. I'm trying to keep an open mind, but it goes against everything I believe, everything I've been taught. So I have to ask myself, who's right here, a girl I've known for a few days or two thousand years of teachings? Demons seduce, Megan. They convince. They'll do anything to win. How do you know this isn't all a set-up, just to get you to their side?"
Megan shook her head, tears blurring her eyes. “I have to go with what I feel. And what I believe. Fact is, nobody's ever tried to save me until now. Set-up or not, and I don't believe it is, I'm making my own choices based on what I know."
Greyson chose that moment to appear. He looked like a man who'd just won the lottery. Megan's brows knitted. She'd been sitting out here panicking and defending her personality and choices to Brian, and he was trotting jauntily over to the table? He could have at least looked like he'd been exerting himself in some way.
"Done,” he said, sitting down next to her and scooting his chair close enough to place one hand on her chiffon-covered thigh, just over the lace of her stockings. He straightened his bowtie with the other. “Did I miss the food?"
"Yes."
Brian cleared his throat. “How did it go?"
"Oh, fine. Just fine. He's going to get a divorce then get out of town, no harm to the lady. He was a bit resistant at first, but we reached an understanding."
His fingers swirled in lazy circles on the top of Megan's thigh.
Her mouth watered. How was it possible to be both furious and liquid with desire at once?
"That's it, then,” Brian said. “You found the guy, you took care of it, and the rest of us just get to sit around and congratulate you?"
"Sorry there isn't even a story in it for you."
Megan looked from one of them to the other. Did Greyson know why Brian was hostile? Did he care? Did she care? It was hard to think about anything when Greyson's fingers were now moving so close to where she ached for him that she had to fight to keep her legs together.
She bit her lip and tried to act normal, while Greyson caressed her thigh and Brian scowled.
"There's lots of stories out there,” he said. It took Megan a second to recall why he was saying it. “Don't worry about me, Dante. I'm sure I'll find something."
Megan wondered exactly what Brian was threatening Greyson with, but Greyson didn't seem concerned at all. “Good luck with that,” he said, and finished Megan's drink.
* * * *
"We already danced."
"That wasn't dancing. It was investigating. Come."
He didn't wait for her reply this time, pulling her to the crowded floor and sweeping her into his arms. “There.” His voice was low in her ear, mixing with the strains of ‘That Old Black Magic'. How appropriate. She giggled.
"Don't laugh. How am I supposed to seduce you properly if you're snickering at me?"
"Is that what you're trying to do?"
"You know damn well it is.” His hand left her waist to touch her head, encouraging her to rest it against him. “You're not very good at this, are you?"
"Insults aren't very seductive."
"It isn't an insult, it's a question. You kiss like you know what you're doing, but all the trappings seem completely lost on you. I wonder why."
"Most men don't bother with seduction anymore,” she said. “They just buy you a few drinks and leap on you."
His laughter came out in soft puffs of air stirring her hair. “I can do that, if you prefer."
"No, thanks."
"Good. It's not my style."
The music switched, something slower, softer, that Megan wasn't familiar with. She sighed and closed her eyes as Greyson slowed their movements around the floor, aware that she was sinking into him like melting ice cream into cake and not caring at all.
"When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind, But sigh'st my soul away,” he said, startling her.
"What?"
"For godsake hold thy tongue, and let me love."
"Is this part of your seduction?"
"Yes. Be quiet. ‘She is neither white nor brown, but as the heavens fair; There is none hath her form divine In the earth or in the air.’”
"Who wrote that one?"
"Sir Walter Raleigh. I haven't gotten to the good stuff yet, this is just a warm-up."
"Does this usually work?"
"Yes. Don't you like it?"
"I didn't say that.” In fact, she did. No one had ever quoted poetry to her before. “I just wonder where you picked those lines up."
"I went to college. I have a degree in English literature. Did you picture me at home, poring over anthologies in order to lure women into my bed?"
"Actually, yes."
"How little you think of me. I enjoy the poems. I don't need them."
"Oh?"
"No.” Before she knew what he was doing, he'd stopped and taken her face in his hands. “If you prefer a more direct route, I'm happy to oblige."
Even expecting it as she did, the kiss still made her legs weak. She fell forward, into him, clinging to his shoulder like the only steady thing in a world that swayed and tilted and rapidly became nothing more than a vague, unimportant buzz in her ears.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Now come on."
She liked that he didn't wait for her reply. She liked that he led her off the floor with his warm hand enveloping hers. It made her feel, for the first time in a long time ... safe. Wanted.
She knew he could be thinking the same things most of the other men she'd taken to her bed had been thinking. “I hope she goes down.” “I hope she doesn't want to spend the night."
There was every chance in the world that Greyson was thinking those things. But this time, she didn't know about it. She didn't feel his rejection in her mind before it had even happened. For the first time she could remember, she felt hope. Nervous excitement. The feelings she imagined every other woman in the world felt when a man took them home to bed.
Brian was deep in conversation with an attractive brunette and barely noticed when she told him Greyson was giving her a ride. Her boss Richard had already left.
Dante led her over to where Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud chatted over a table full of empty glasses. “Take the rest of the night off,” he said. “Miss Chase will be with me."
Chapter Twenty-One
Greyson ushered her into his apartment and followed, closing the door behind him. Megan caught only a glimpse of light through tall windows on the wall opposite before he grabbed her and pulled her to him, his lips hot and hard on hers.
His hands slid up her waist, under the wrap draped over her shoulders, pushing the fabric off onto the floor as they tumbled sideways into the wall. The wrap lay in a puddle under Megan's feet. She didn't care. Didn't care about anything but the hands now skimming her collarbones, her shoulders, and down her arms. She reached into his open coat, intending to remove it, but she got lost in feeling his chest through his shirt. Under her palms he felt so broad, solid. Like she could rest herself against him and never, ever fall.
He yanked his coat off, leaving her skin cold without the touch of his hands. She reached for his tie, her fingers fumbling until he swatted them away and undid the tie in one quick, smooth movement. Her fingers were drugged, clumsy, while the rest of her body felt lithe and weightless, an electric wire humming with power. His power. Her power. It didn't matter.
Together they struggled with his buttons hidden under a panel on his tuxedo shirt, their fingers twining together and getting in the way, until Greyson finally growled and ripped the shirt open. He seemed to be moving on air, so lightly, as he scooped her up and carried her into the darkness with his shirt sleeves still around his arms, his mouth still devouring hers.
His power slid into her, feeding the energy. The room outside her closed eyelids lightened and when she opened them she discovered tiny flames dancing in the air, like fairy lights under the high ceiling of his bedroom. They cast smudged shadows into the corners and made her think of cathedrals, of silent places that no longer existed in the hard, bright modern world.
Their wavering light emphasized the sharp bones of Greyson's face. He looked outlined in gold as he set her down, her feet sinking into soft carpet. His eyes were opaque, black, save for the reddish glow from the reflected flames.
Or was that reflection? She peered at him, only to have him blink and lower his face. “My eyes ... demon's eyes ... they go red sometimes,” he said. More than the intense throbbing of her entire body, more than the burning desire to see him naked, that insecurity in a voice that had only ever been confident made her melt.
She raised her hand to his jaw and pulled him back to her, answering his unspoken question.
He made a sound low in his throat and found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down, sliding his hands across her bare back as the dress fell to her ankles.
"...the liquefaction of her clothes,” he murmured. Megan smiled. She knew that line. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but his fingers stroked along the top of her strapless bra cups, raising goose bumps on her skin and stealing her breath.
He kissed a line down her throat from her ear to her collarbone while he opened the row of hooks down the back of the bra and let it fall. Another gasp escaped her lips when her hard nipples pressed against his chest, when he ran his hands firmly down the bare skin of her back to cup her bottom and press her closer to him. His insistent hardness beneath the slightly rou
gh fabric of his trousers made her moan.
"Garters,” he said, his voice muffled by her skin. “I suppose the trappings aren't lost on you, after all.” His nimble fingers slid under the back of her panties and unfastened the belt. “Let's take these off."
He eased her back onto the bed. Her own skin glowed before her eyes, soft and smooth in the flickering light. She'd never seen herself like this before, as if through the heat and desire he felt. Approval and desire were plain on his face as he untwisted his cufflinks, dropping them, removing his shirt all the way.
Her panties disappeared in one quick, smooth movement. The garter belt followed, the stockings leaving her legs with a whisper of silk. Megan had thought he would want her to leave them on. His preference for her bare skin made her flush with pleasure.
"Re ngarla,” he whispered, running his hands up her thighs, his thumbs stopping just short of the soft curls covering her mound. He loomed over her, eyes glowing, before slipping his hands up to her waist and bending his head, taking first her right nipple, then her left, into the heat of his mouth.
She arched her back, air hissing through her teeth. His bare chest pressed against her stomach, his hands held her fast. The scent of his shampoo, the smoky smell of his skin, filled her nostrils. She lost herself in it, in him. There was nothing in the world but Greyson's bed, no person in the world but Greyson as he suckled her so slowly and softly she almost sobbed with the need to have him. She burned, she ached, her body twisting beneath the solid heat of his chest.
She couldn't watch as he moved lower, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh over her ribs, over her hipbones. Occasionally his tongue darted out, tasting her skin. Nothing of his thoughts came through to her. Only the ragged hoarseness of his breathing told her what he felt, what he was thinking. His hands slid over her bare skin to her thighs, lifting them, and nothing but heat and desire transmitted itself. It was like hovering on the edge of a void, a place of darkness and silence and a deeper peace than she'd ever felt. When his lips brushed against the wet, tingling flesh between her legs she threw herself into the void with a soft cry.