by Shona Husk
“Yeah. One green eye. It didn’t come for me, though. It looked at me and then looked away, as though I didn’t exist.”
“It wanted to return the knife I stuck in it.” The demon had been acting like a glorified fetch—a construct that many witches used to carry out basic tasks like tracking or watching someone—with no free thought of its own. Perhaps Cory had wanted the pain gone and the demon had responded the only way it had known how. The fetch banishing spell had worked, which meant the demon was under Cory’s control and still bound to him. Noah’s mind refused to make any logical connections while his blood dripped onto the floor.
He had to deal with the knife now and Cory and the demon later.
And he had to deal with the knife himself since going to the hospital would complicate things too much. He thought for a moment about how best to tackle the problem. There were no great options and no time to wait for another witch to help, so he was on his own. He glanced at Rachel. Well, not totally alone. “Into the bathroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I said.” He shouldn’t have snapped at her, but he couldn’t help it.
She didn’t say anything, just moved. In the bathroom, she flipped down the toilet lid and offered it to him. Noah shook his head and sat on the floor with his back against the door.
“I’m going to try and hide us while I remove the knife, but you have to stay still or it doesn’t work, so get comfy.” He gave her a moment, then carefully created a circle around them and dropped camouflage over the top. It was a neat little trick that Oskar had invented that worked as long as they didn’t move and no one walked through the circle.
Like all spells, it was effective when used correctly. It would not have worked in a busy shop or on a busy street. The camouflage circle was about the limit of his personal invisibility spells, and it had taken him a while to get right. Even now it wobbled as he split his focus between the circle and the knife that was slowly tearing his flesh and draining his energy. He’d have to amend the spell around the knife so it couldn’t be used on him, if that was at all possible. He pushed the thought aside for later.
He took a couple more breaths that were more painful and not as deep as he would’ve liked, then let himself move toward the light and onto a baseball pitch that existed only in his mind. Once he’d come here to practice in his mind, to get ready to play, and it was where the Morrigu had first appeared to him.
Flood lights lit it up, casting multiple weird shadows. Usually it was daylight here, but maybe night was better. He glanced down and saw his knife sticking out of his shoulder.
While he couldn’t heal himself the way Rachel thought he could, he could remove the knife and fix his non-corporeal body. His physical body would heal the way it usually did once the cause of the problem was removed.
He heard battle standards flapping in the breeze, and smelled spilled iron mixing with the earth a moment before She arrived. This was the battle ground he’d once dedicated to Her. A game instead of bloodshed. Now he was spilling blood for Her.
A woman appeared next to him. Her black feathers fluttered in the breeze, the scent of leather and steel was on Her pale skin. She looked almost fragile, like a wounded angel needing his help, but he knew that was only what She wanted him to think. He was the one in need of Her help and always had been.
She looked at him. Touched his cheek and then trailed Her hand down to his shoulder. “You need to be more careful with your weapons, Noah.”
“Yeah. I’d had that thought already. Next time I won’t leave it in the demon.” Next time he’d use a bigger blade and take the bastard’s head off.
“It’s not the size of the weapons, but how you use it.” She pulled the knife out of his shoulder before he could stop Her, then She ran her tongue over the blade.
He covered the wound with his hand. Blood oozed between his fingers, and something else. Something almost sticky, like old oil. Demon essence. Ugh. He ignored the blood that was just in his mind, reminding him he had an energy leak, and focused on the sticky thread, pulling until it was all out. Two feet of black, shadowy, sticky string. Getting that caught in his body would have been unpleasant.
The Morrigu looked at it with obvious disgust.
“Any ideas?” He dangled the thread at Her.
“Demons are not the realm of gods.” Somehow She managed both disdain and a grin that was pure cunning. It was no wonder his ancestors had thrown their youngest sons at Her feet. It wasn’t as though he’d hesitated.
“I know that. No tips on how I can complete my vow?” He forced a smile, but he was sure it was more of a grimace. Pain still echoed around him. The grass of his diamond wilted as the illusion started to suffer.
“A warrior always has a reason to fight, Noah”
What was his reason? “I made you a promise.”
She shook Her head and took the demon string off him and looped it round his wrist several times before tying it off with some fancy knots. “It will warn you when the demon is close.”
“How do I save Rachel?”
“You should worry about saving yourself first.” She touched his shoulder and the rupture healed. “Find your spark, or you will find yourself in my army sooner than you’d expected.”
“How do I find my spark?”
“Find your reason to fight.”
“I promised you.” The field began to darken, the lights flickering and failing. “I can’t keep my vow, I don’t know how.” That, and Mason wanted this to be the last one.
“Then give up, bleed out for me here and end your suffering.” She offered him the knife. “Commit to me forever.”
Noah stared at the blade. There was a difference between giving up and dying and pressing on knowing that death would follow. “I don’t want to die.” But he couldn’t continue the way he had been, either.
“Not good enough. Why do you want to live?”
To solve the demon riddle? That was all he had at the moment.
She shook Her head, knowing his thoughts as soon as he had them. “Even Rachel has her list. What do you have?”
Nothing. He had nothing. The last light went out and the field went dark.
He blinked and took a moment to re-orientate himself in the bathroom. His ass was numb and his shoulder burned—although he could breathe now without the air catching in his lungs and tearing. Rachel was watching, and she looked as though she hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Can I move now?”
He glanced at his left wrist where he knew the demon string was tied; he could feel it even though he couldn’t see it. Who said the goddess didn’t give useful gifts—just not the kind you wanted to find in your Christmas stocking. The demon string wasn’t doing anything right now. Obviously the demon and Cory weren’t that close. How close did they need to be to set off the warning—and what would the warning be? He should have asked.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking my demon tracker.” He smiled. “Now I need to see how bad the cut is.” He stood and shook out the pins and needles, then tried to pull the t-shirt over his head. He couldn’t quite do it.
Rachel stood. “Let me help.”
“You just want to cross it off your list.” Her reason to survive.
She shrugged. “You need my help. You’ve saved me a couple of times already today.”
“Keeping count?”
“Making sure I get my money’s worth.” She lifted the edges of his t-shirt and gently peeled it off where it stuck to the wound with his blood. Then she dropped it in the bath. “How did an invisible knife do this?”
“It stabbed my invisible body. I fixed that and stopped the wound from getting worse.” He pressed around the damaged skin. It wasn’t that deep, but it could probably do with a few stitches. That wasn’t going to happen.
“I thought you couldn’t heal yourself.”
“I can’t fix my physical body with magic, but I can heal the non-physical part—there is more to a person than flesh
and soul.” Another scar for his collection. “In my bag there is a small first aid kit. Do you want to grab it?”
She left the bathroom and he ran some water and started washing off the blood. He knew he’d gotten lucky that time. Today had all been luck. He had to lift his game or he wouldn’t survive.
“Did you want a drink?” Rachel held up a little hotel bottle of scotch.
“No. You have it.” She needed it more than him. He watched her in the mirror as she set the first aid kit down, unscrewed the cap and then drank the alcohol in a couple of swallows.
“Okay. I think I’m ready to help.”
Noah turned around and faced her. “You know first aid?”
“Yes, but aside from sticking Band-Aids on scraped knees I’ve never used it.” Her gaze lowered to the two-inch-long gash. Fresh blood oozed out, but not fast enough to worry him. “Should you go to the hospital for that?”
“It’s not that deep. Disinfectant and superglue will be fine.”
Right. Rachel gave a slow nod. He was going to glue himself back together like a broken action figure. “Okay.” She flipped open the box and pulled out wipes and the glue. At least it was proper surgical super glue, not supermarket stuff.
He placed his hand over hers. His skin was cool against hers. “I can do it.”
He probably could, but it would be awkward. Besides, he’d just taken a knife out of his shoulder, the least she could do was patch him up. “It’s fine. Just stand still and don’t cry when I put the antiseptic on.”
“Do most of your patients cry?”
“Most of my patients are under ten, they’re allowed to cry.” She ripped open the packet. She probably shouldn’t have chugged the scotch, but instead of feeling cold and scared she was now warm and glowy. Being close to a shirtless Noah could be helping that feeling, though.
“I got attacked by your husband’s demon and stabbed with my own knife.” He hissed as she pressed the antiseptic wipe to the wound, but didn’t cry.
“This is not the worst wound you’ve had. Tell me about the gunshot wounds.” She brushed her finger over a small round scar.
“They aren’t from bullets. They’re punctures from claws.”
She lifted her gaze from the wound to his face. “Demon claws?”
He nodded and she didn’t press. Not after last time. She gave it a final wipe, but let her fingers linger on his skin for a moment. It had been a long time since she’d touched a man. “At least it didn’t wreck your raven ink.”
“The tattoo probably stopped the knife from going into my heart.”
“It’s magical?” She let her fingers drift down to touch the black-and-red design. Geometric without being abstract.
“Not as such, but it has significance.” He kept his gaze on her face and didn’t grab her hand and try to stop her exploration.
She was tempted to slide her hand lower just to feel the ridges of his six pack, instead she grabbed the superglue and broke the seal. “Lucky you had this.”
“I always have a first aid kit when running from demons.” He smiled, his blue eyes bright and unclouded with pain. He really wasn’t hurt that bad.
“Do you want to hold the edges of your skin together or shall I?” While she’d like another excuse to touch him, it might be easier if he did it. Plus it was going to be him stuck with the scar that remained.
He gave the edges a test close, wincing a little but without making a sound. “Too many hands might get in the way.”
Which was also a valid point, but that didn’t stop her hands from suddenly getting a case of the shakes. “I’ve never done this.”
“Ran from demons or glued a wound?”
She glanced up. He was trying to keep the moment light to stop her freaking out.
“Glued a wound. I’ve been running from a demon for the last week. I’m practically an expert.” She forced a grin, then wiped the blood away from the cut and held the edges together as best she could with one hand while running a line of medical-grade superglue along the edge, hoping she didn’t glue herself to him. She kept the edges together and placed the tube down on the bathroom counter. “So how long until this sets?”
“Not long.”
Her gaze drifted from the now-sealed cut to his other tattoos. She knew what the L with wings was for. Louise. She didn’t want to ask about her, not right now anyway, not when they’d just started talking again. She touched the three symbols on his bicep, her fingers tracing the ink. They looked a little like letters. “Are these magical?”
He shook his head. “Just symbolic, like the raven.”
“What do they mean?”
“Victory, protection and prosperity. They’re runes.”
She’d heard of runes. “Any other tats in interesting places?”
“No. Shall we see if the glue holds?”
Oh god, she was still touching him. She pulled her hands back as if his skin burned.
He gave his shoulder a roll, watching the wound to see what would happen. “It’ll do.” He looked back to her. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay.” She busied herself closing up the kit and dropping the used wipes in the bin. There was still blood on the floor. They really had to clean up before they left, and they still needed a new hotel for the night. She was kind of glad the demon had attacked here and not on the street, or at the new hotel. She didn’t want to be moving every few hours. She’d run out of hotels. She was running out of time.
Noah covered her hands with his. “Take a breath. We’re alive.”
True, but for how much longer? Not weeks, maybe days at best. She didn’t say that, though. Noah was doing his best to keep her alive. He cupped her cheek. His fingers cool against her skin. She was not going to cry; he was the one who’d been injured. He stepped closer and drew her into an embrace, one arm around her waist. He smelled of antiseptic and glue, his body firm against hers. Her eyes prickled with tears, a dumb reaction to stress. He placed his lips on hers. Soft and undemanding. Then he tilted her chin and kissed her more deeply, his tongue sweeping over her lips as if inviting her to open her mouth. She hesitated even though she wanted to.
There were reasons why this was a bad idea. And yet she couldn’t pin one down, not as she felt him hardening against her stomach. Not as her mouth opened and his fingers threaded into her hair. Not as her fingers glided over his skin. All she wanted to do was exist and stop thinking and running.
She wanted Noah.
The need trembled in her body as longing and lust awoke. She’d forgotten what it was like to hold a man and to be held. Her fingers swept up his spine, drawing him closer so she was pressed hard against him. Her tongue danced with his and sparks caught in her blood and warmed her belly. She closed her eyes, wanting to sink into the feeling.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured against her lips.
“I don’t want you to stop. I want to feel alive.”
Chapter 12
He unbuttoned her shirt slowly to give her a chance to change her mind. Not that he wanted her to change her mind. He wanted her, even though he knew he was going to get burned. Right now he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel something other than emptiness.
His knuckles grazed the pale skin of her stomach, then he slid his hand under her shirt and undid her bra. Sensible and plain. He didn’t really care what she was wearing under clothes as long as she got out of them. Usually when he rolled out of bed after a hook up he hated himself. That wouldn’t be the case this time. He already knew he’d want more. He wanted to make every moment count before the demon caught up with them.
She’d get everything on her list done and more. He could at least give her that, even if he couldn’t guarantee her a future. He kissed down her throat and eased her shirt from her shoulders, then her bra straps down her arms. Then she was as undressed as him. Her nipples tightened in the cool air, inviting his touch, but he didn’t touch her straight away. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts and they lifted with ea
ch breath as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Then she leaned forward, kissing him, her hands on his skin, skating over his belly to his belt. She worked open the buckle and then the button of his fly, leaving no doubt about what she wanted. Her fingers dipped inside his briefs for just a moment, brushing the head of his shaft. His gut tightened, his blood running hot even though the adrenaline from the fight was long gone. She shoved down his jeans, his zipper having no choice but to peel open. Her fingers traced his length. When she glanced up, a pink heat crept across her cheeks as if she realized what she’d done.
“Don’t stop there.” He popped open the button on her jeans, then lowered his head to draw one tight, pink nipple into his mouth.
Rachel sucked in a breath, pressing her breast closer. He raked his teeth over the sensitive skin as his fingers got busy on her jeans. Unlike her, he didn’t yank them straight down. He slid his fingers in around her hips, cupped her butt and eased the rough denim down a little further, teasing. He turned his attention to her other breast. Then her fingers connected with his bare cock.
She’d pushed his briefs down and taken him in her hand while he’d been busy. This was racing ahead, the way he usually liked it—getting it done fast; not thinking too hard about it; wouldn’t remember in the morning—that wasn’t what he wanted with her. He wanted to remember—so he could torture himself with failure on a whole other level.
He drew back and spun her around so her hands were on the bathroom counter, then he pulled down her jeans and panties—something bright and colorful. He slid his hands over her bare ass and dipped lower to her cleft. She was wet, and she was watching him in the bathroom mirror. Her grey eyes dark with need, her lips parted.
It had been a long time since he’d tasted a woman or let one taste him. He swallowed and cut off the thought, but she’d noticed the pause and she pushed back, his fingers almost sliding into her. He removed his hand and pressed against her, his fingers moving over her hip and belly, through her soft, dark curls and to her clit. His cock pressed against the curve of her ass. He didn’t look away from the mirror as he touched her.