Torment: Dark Paranormal Romance (Eclipse Warlocks Book 1)

by Ellie Cassidy

  Clasping my hands over my stomach, I tilted my head to watch Haley chalk her cue while Kenzie racked the balls. Titillating stuff.

  Lex slid in beside me on the couch.

  I turned on him with a frosty, “Take a hint, Lex.”

  “As soon as you take this.” He held out a strip of paper.

  A scowl wormed along my brow as I digested the cell number scrawled in soft pencil lead—or a sharpened stick of charcoal.

  My cool went up in flames. “Is this your way of making sure I don’t arrive on your doorstep unannounced again?” I plucked the paper from him, scrunched it into a tight ball and bopped it at his chest. “Don’t worry, I already got the message, loud and clear.”

  “That was about Gideon, not you,” he said, calmly retrieving the paper missile. “You’re welcome on my doorstep any hour of the day or night.”

  He caught my hand and pressed his number into my palm, closing my fist around it with a gentle firmness that fed into small creases around his eyes as he looked at me. “This is giving you whatever you need. Time to forgive me. Space to ignore me. When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I’ll be there, waiting breathlessly for your call.”

  He was so not playing fair.

  My outrage sagged in my chest.

  His gaze sank into me a moment more, washing away my edgy corners and undoing all the effort I’d put in as my pulse slowly stirred into a flutter.

  Thankfully he didn’t stick around to see the damage.

  He released my hand and stood and walked away. Not far. He took a seat at the bar, his back to me, and signaled one of the bartenders.

  Opening my fist, I switched my gaze to the piece of Lex resting in my palm. Did he honestly think this made it easier for me? Was he even aware how bad, how guilty, how dirty, he’d left me feeling this morning? He wanted my forgiveness, but where had he been when I’d needed his forgiveness?

  Haley and Kenzie didn’t waste time rushing over, sandwiching me between them.

  “Is this his number?” Haley asked, pinching it from my palm. “Are you supposed to call him?”

  “You could just walk on over there,” Kenzie said. “He’s obviously waiting.”

  Haley grabbed my purse from where it had somehow become wedged behind my butt.

  “Hey…” I tried to snatch it back.

  She held it out of reach, unlatching the clasp and shoving Lex’s number in. “Whatever you’re fighting about, it can’t be that awful. You haven’t known each other long enough.”

  “You have no idea!” I sat forward and rubbed my face.

  “Try me.”

  Why the hell not? I told them what had transpired this morning. How I’d met Gideon and how rude he’d been and how Lex had walked in to find me practically pinned beneath him.

  There was an incriminating silence once I’d finished.

  Finally, Kenzie said, “But it’s not like you were actually doing anything, right?”

  “It’s more about what I wasn’t doing,” I muttered and refused to elaborate when they pressed. That would mean trying to explain how panty-dropping sexy Gideon was and I was not going there.

  “I don’t get it,” Haley said. “Lex has obviously forgiven you. Or he doesn’t think it was a big deal to begin with.” She glanced across to the bar area. “So why are you not over there?”

  Lex had shifted on the stool to watch the dart game, giving us a view of his sculpted profile as he sipped on what could be apple juice but I placed my bets on his fake ID and something stronger.

  My pulse sighed like it had a voice I should listen to. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Maybe it can be,” she said. “I like Lex.”

  My gaze whipped to her. “Then maybe you should take his number.”

  Kenzie leant in to breathe down my ear, “Meeeooow.”

  I winced. “Sorry, Hales, I’m such a bitch.”

  “No you’re not,” she said. “This is just what you do when it comes to guys. You leave them before they can leave you.”

  “Oh my God, is this about Jason again?” I exclaimed. “He wanted to have sex and I wasn’t ready. Everyone knows that’s the beginning of the end. It was give in or get out.”

  “What about Ben?” she said, not put off by my very reasonable logic.

  I glowered at her. “Stop head shrinking me.”

  She shrugged and fell back on the couch. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong.” So, so wrong. This had nothing to do with a preemptive strike against Lex leaving and everything to do with what if he stayed.

  My gaze strayed to the heartthrob in question. He’d given me his number and that pretty speech and I did believe he’d meant every word. So why was he still here, loitering about in my time and space? His glass was empty and no dart game was that interesting…my eyes followed and hitched on Callie and her slinky curves and her reams of blond curls draped all over Grant.

  What the absolute fuck?

  Kenzie was on her phone. She hadn’t seen yet. I tapped Haley’s foot with mine and ticked my chin at the couple.

  “Shit,” she whispered, pulling a face that would be hilarious under different circumstances.

  I watched, wondering how on earth we were going to get Kenzie away from here without witnessing this debacle. Short of blindfolding her, I was out of bright ideas.

  Callie’s mouth roamed down the side of Grant’s throat. His eyes were on the game, he laughed at something Brendon Averly (fullback) said, he wasn’t paying much attention to Callie…he wasn’t pushing her away either.

  I squirmed, uneasy in my own skin. This wasn’t the same as me and Gideon. That’s what I told myself. My throat went dry. Some little white lies were harder to swallow than others.

  “He’s going to dump her perky ass if she keeps that up,” Kenzie commented from the side.

  My eyes rounded on her in horror.

  “What?” she said. “We all know how Grant hates clingy girls.”

  “I thought you and Grant…?” I shook my head, officially confused. “At the lake?”

  “We hooked up,” Kenzie laughed it off. “That was a once-off.”

  “And the next day.” Haley leaned over me as she spoke. “We saw you in the town square.”

  “A morning after blush.”

  “Bullshit,” Haley said. “You’ve got a short attention span, sure, but you don’t do casual sex.”

  “I’m calling it a friends with benefits thing. Come on, this is Grant. Haven’t you ever wondered?”

  “No!” Haley and I spat out together.

  “And friends with benefits is only legit when both friends are in a dry spell,” I pointed out. “This is just a cheating thing.” I heard myself and cringed. “I’m not judging, Kenzie, I’m worried.”

  “Well don’t be,” she said, her gaze dropping to her phone again. “I’m not.”

  Haley and I shared a dumbfounded look. Both Grant and Kenzie were fickle-hearted, that was their thing, but they weren’t cheaters. Mistakes happened, no one was perfect, but Kenzie wasn’t showing an ounce of remorse. Or jealousy.

  This was just plain weird.

  I felt like I’d been plunged into a live episode of The Body Snatchers.

  5

  GIDEON

  I was off my game. My first mistake was sending Lex to The Barn to make sure Sage Daniels didn’t get herself caught up in this Pottridge Field shit. Keep an eye on the girl and try not to accidently fuck her. What the hell had I been thinking? Lex was a pup with blue balls. This whole damn situation called for a bulldog with bite.

  The second mistake was Pottridge Field. The only shit here was the muck beneath my boots. And the club music blaring from the boom box.

  There were all kinds of demons that clawed their way up from the underworld, but they had one thing in common: an affinity for chaos.

  Sex, drugs and violence was the devil’s playground. Or more accurately, a demon’s banquet table. Lowered inhibitions and bloodlust was the p
erfect seasoning for a soul snack.

  This shindig had all the elements. Crates of bottled spirits for the taking—based on the sharp decline in behavior I’d witnessed, the stuff was either some toxic homebrew or spiked. Bodies snaked to brain numbing music in the glow of blue lamps dotted around the field, rubbing up against each other in a way that bordered on public indecency. One couple was getting it off on the sidelines.

  The only thing missing was the telltale shimmer of demon.

  He wasn’t here.

  I stepped back into the shadows beneath a lone tree as a vehicle with pulsing lights approached on the dirt track. The Sheriff. He’d taken his sweet time. It’d been at least an hour since the dispatch call I’d intercepted.

  He pulled up and wailed the siren to get everyone’s attention. Half the revelers scattered like sewer rats, blending into the overcast, blackened night.

  “THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY,” the Sheriff’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. He’d climbed out the car, an elbow on top the driver’s door. “WRAP IT UP.”

  That got a few more staggering to their parked cars. The rest didn’t give a crap. They swayed and slugged at bottles of neat spirits. The couple enjoying themselves some open air sex was still at it.

  One guy caught my interest as he crossed paths with a glow lamp. Tall. Broad shouldered. Crew cut. Clean shaven. Jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. No shimmer. He had a bottle in his hand, but he held himself apart from the party, observing the crowd like they were the main attraction.

  The Sheriff was on the move, coming up left of the field. Rolling Stones switched from people-watching to Sheriff-watching with a sidelong stare.

  A girl with long blond hair danced out to cut in front of the Sheriff, curling around him like a starved sex kitten. Whatever zone she was in, it was no longer earthbound. He untangled her with a spit of dignity and continued on his way. He was going for the boom box.

  Rolling Stones was still clocking him with that sidelong look. There was something about the guy’s absolute focus that twitched my trouble radar. It wasn’t long before he tossed the bottle occupying his hand and started edging up the opposite side of the field.

  Maybe I wasn’t as far off my game as I’d thought.

  Time to join this party.

  Stepping out of the shadows, I put enough length in my casual stride to head the Sheriff off before he got himself into another tangle—this time with someone far less kittenish.

  The plan changed when I caught the glint of metal as Rolling Stones passed a glow lamp. He was carrying a blade.

  I adjusted my pace to fall in behind the Sheriff, keeping a line of sight on Rolling Stones. My gut told me he meant business with that blade and the Sheriff was his target. But psychos high on drugs or bloodlust could be unpredictable and there were plenty of easier, drunkenly oblivious bodies within his reach if he got the sudden urge to slash out.

  The Sheriff finally became aware of Rolling Stone’s approach and the potential for danger. Tension shifted into his posture and stiffened his gait as his hand inched up to rest on the holster at his hip.

  He called out.

  With his back to me, the words were lost to the techno beat pumping from the boom box, and they didn’t put a dent in Rolling Stones’ single-minded focus. The guy kept coming. The blade stayed pressed to his thigh. Did he think the Sheriff hadn’t seen it?

  Had the Sheriff seen?

  This had played out as long as I would allow it.

  Side-stepping out from behind the Sheriff, I flexed my wrist and brought my palm up, directing a nudge at Rolling Stones. No fireworks. No murmured incantations. My magic was an invisible, silent force harnessed from my blood and will. I could see the partially transparent, glowing blue waves of my magic, but mundane humans couldn’t.

  Rolling Stones stumbled forward over his own two feet. He lashed out with an arm to block his fall and quickly scrambled up from his knees, blade raised, looking around wildly to see who’d knocked him.

  I didn’t give him a chance to retaliate against the party-goers skirting too close to him for comfort. I sent a glowing blue vine of magic around his ankles, whipping both legs out from under him. He went down, the blade skittering from his grasp as he face planted the muddy ground.

  The Sheriff was on him before he could regather his wits, twisting his arms behind his back and cuffing him. He scanned the immediate area as he yanked Rolling Stones to his feet, searching out the perp’s invisible attacker. We locked eyes for the count of two seconds before he dismissed me.

  The scuffle had drawn some attention, not enough to stop the party.

  Folding my arms, I watched the Sheriff drag Rolling Stones down the field and shove him into the back of the patrol car.

  My gaze stayed on the shadowy head in the rear. I didn’t like to get involved in run-of-the-mill crime, more so if the law already had it under control. But my gut hadn’t settled yet. And I lived by my gut. Something about Rolling Stones, about this pop-up party, still reeked—especially with a demon in town.

  The Sheriff was on his radio when I reached him, one foot stepped inside the open door. He was a rock solid man, uniform neatly pressed, square jaw sagging on the wrong end of middle age, hair clippered and iron-gray.

  I kicked my chin toward the back seat. “Is he the local nut job?”

  “Unknown to us.” He jammed the radio in its cradle and hung an arm over the top of the door, assessing me with a hardened look. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “Gideon Crest,” I offered. “I’m staying at The Stables.”

  He processed that. “You related to Lexan Delacotte?”

  I gave a slow nod. Lex had filled me in on the suicide in the woods. “I consider him family. Listen, any chance I can have a chat with your guy?”

  “I’m taking him down to the station as soon as my deputy gets here,” the Sheriff grunted. “No one talks to him before I do.”

  “I thought you might say that.” I shrugged, smiled, and harnessed magic into my voice as I commanded, “Sheriff, give me two minutes alone with your guy.”

  “I’ll take a walk.” He pulled his foot out the car and slammed the door. “You have two minutes.”

  “Thank you.” I rounded the car and climbed into the back with Rolling Stones.

  He was slouched in the seat, hands cuffed behind his back, chin tucked in with his eyes cast down.

  Without his name to command, I needed the visual connection. “Look at me.”

  No reaction.

  No problem. I grabbed his chin roughly, forcing his eyes to me in the dim interior. “Did you organize this party?”

  “Fuck off,” he spat out.

  With my free hand, I flicked on the interior light and trapped his sullen stare, my fingers digging into his chin. “Why did you go after the Sheriff?”

  His mouth flattened in contempt, stubbornly silent.

  My blood started to hum at his resistance.

  Not demon.

  Not Moon or Sun.

  There was only one other possibility.

  I shifted closer, throwing his chin away so I had both hands to flatten my palms to his temples.

  “What the fuck, man!”

  He strained within my grasp, squirmed, but my grip was ironclad and I only needed a couple of seconds to get what I needed.

  Nothing.

  Which told me everything.

  I couldn’t access his mind because someone—something—had already claimed it. I’d invoked at the age of sixteen and in the eight years since, I’d only come across a Claimed once, but there wasn’t a shred of doubt in me. I was cocky that way. Cocky and confident. In my line of work, that’s how you saved lives.

  A knuckle rap at the window told me my two minutes were up.

  I climbed out the car to face off with the Sheriff. “You don’t really have anything on this guy that will stick. Cut him loose and save yourself the paperwork.”

  The Sheriff scrubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing in
contemplation as he peered inside the car.

  As if he had a choice.

  I left him to it, striding off into the shadows to wait.

  Two deputies arrived. There was a conversation. Then the deputies went off to wrap up the party while the Sheriff yanked Rolling Stones out the car and removed the cuffs. Before letting him go, he grabbed Rolling Stones by the scruff of his neck and breathed down his ear. I couldn’t hear what was said, but whatever it was certainly didn’t put the fear of God into anyone.

  Rolling Stones leant back against the patrol car, arms folded, watching as the Sheriff stalked up field to help his deputies.

  I extended my arms, palms upward, and scooped Rolling Stones toward me like gathering a gust of wind. He didn’t know what the hell hit him. His body was pressing off the car, his feet stumbling over themselves as his legs wobbled in my direction.

  He was a puppet on strings and I was the puppet master.

  “What the fuck!” He looked around desperately, searching for his attacker, or maybe for the Sheriff. All he found was me, an inky outline orchestrating his movements like a phantom symphony. “Hey! Someone help me!”

  His shouts didn’t have much clout. It was the hoarse whimper of a man who feared he was losing his mind. I leashed his throat anyway with an invisible rope, strangling any further words and breath.

  I chuckled, a low rumble in my chest, as I brought him closer and closer to my end of the shadows. I know. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. But damn, he did look funny. If I was a sick fuck, I’d have him perform a little dance to go with the wobbly walk. I didn’t.

  He passed out from lack of oxygen before he reached me.

  Someone pulled the plug on the power source. The music cut out and the glow lamps went dark. The only light was the blue strobes pulsing from the patrol cars and three flashlights bobbing as the Sheriff and his deputies performed their civic duty.

  Rolling Stones didn’t have a lot of bulk, but dead weight was dead weight. Using my magic to lighten the burden, I hoisted him over my shoulder and carried him to where I’d parked fifty yards down the dirt track. My Sportback was blacker than the night, a fitting accessory to my vigilante lifestyle.