Minutes later, I was coasting home with the window down and Bob Dylan playing gently on my dark thoughts.
I’d planned to drag Rolling Stones into the trees and incinerate him. Spontaneous combustion at the flick of a finger. No evidence. No hassle. Instead I’d had a bloody epiphany on the walk to my car and now he was in the trunk, bound and gagged and blindfolded with duct tape.
This wasn’t the best timing for one of my diabolic plans.
I didn’t have the juice. The power of my magic waned and waxed with the lunar phases and tonight, somewhere up there above the storm clouds, hung the barest slither of a new moon.
A dry laugh escaped my lips. Cocky and confident—until it all goes up in fire and ash. I let my head fall back against the headrest, my fingers drumming on the door to the beat of country music as I kept a light foot on the gas.
The tree-lined road opened onto fields of scrub and grass. Probably mine. The Stables came with fifty acres but I hadn’t paid close attention to the boundaries. I’d certainly paid the price for it, well over and above the market value. Guilt money for persuading the daughter to sell out her family home.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, sequestering Lex off the beaten track yet in close proximity to town and the girl.
Hindsight was a bitch.
The next bend revealed the sprawling silhouette of the main house. I pulled up in the forecourt and climbed out. No thumping or muffled noises from Rolling Stones. He must have come around by now. Surely?
I walked around and popped the trunk. He lay there, squirming like a trussed up, blind chicken. Not putting any real effort into raising hell at his treatment. Interesting. But then, that was the beauty of the Claimed. Between the planted thoughts and their own tortured minds, their behavior was an unpredictable mess.
Closing the trunk on his pathetic writhing, I stepped away from the car and got to work.
Our magic was primarily action based. Weaponized energy. It required little effort—the flick of a hand, a willful thought—to wield.
Casting spells, on the other hand, was a headache. And the one I needed to cloak The Stables was a massive power drain.
On a new moon.
I sighed and set off to tramp the perimeter I wished to protect. The main house. The forecourt. The adjacent outbuildings where Lex had set up his studio.
Centering myself with a deep breath, I spread my palms upward to the moon and chanted the magical lyrics in ancient Latin as I walked with long, measured steps. I didn’t speak Latin and I’d only ever bothered to learn a handful of spells. Wherever possible, I preferred a more direct approach.
Halfway in, I felt the pull on my power core. By the time I completed the perimeter, I was skirting close to empty. I could feel it in the cold hollow centered just below my ribcage. Casting the spell drained the most power, but it would still require a constant stream of juice to maintain the Cloak until I was ready to bring it down. I’d slowly recharge, more so as the moon waxed, but if a demon came at me right now, I was toast.
I fucking hated spell casting.
Getting Rolling Stones into the house without magical assistance helped my irritation somewhat. I didn’t want to risk depleting my core and bringing down the Cloak. That was my excuse. Using the miniature Swiss Army Knife toolkit on my key fob to slice through the duct tape at his ankles, I hauled him out the trunk and onto his feet.
He immediately tried to run for it, giving the term ‘blind idiot’ a whole new meaning.
I rounded on him easily and clocked his jaw with my fist, knocking him to the ground with a satisfying crunch. For good measure, I yanked him up and knocked him down again. “Are you done?”
“Mmm hmm muhhh,” he mumbled from his gagged mouth.
I rubbed my bruised fist. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Pulling him up by one of his bound arms, I dragged him back to the car with me so I could collect the roll of duct tape, then I dragged him inside and threw him on the floor in the den. While he struggled to his feet, I brought in a sturdy, oak hardback chair from the dining room.
When Lex returned a short while later, he found me lazing in the armchair with a glass of Scotland’s finest and our guest securely taped to the chair.
His expression was priceless. “What the fuck, Gideon!”
I smiled. “What do you know about Claiming?”
He glared at me, swung that glare back to Rolling Stones as he stomped over to the wet bar to pour a drink. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He leant a hip against the bar, hands cradling the crystal tumbler, eyes on Rolling Stones. “I’ve read the Scripts. Anything else you think I should know?”
I sipped on my whiskey, contemplating Lex’s question.
Demons could only exist this side of the veil by possessing a human—body, mind and soul. They weren’t just hitching a ride. Possession was all-consuming and irreversible. Even if we could vanquish a demon without killing the host body, what remained of the human would be nothing more than an empty husk. They didn’t jump bodies often, but they didn’t need to possess a human in order to destruct their life or feast on their soul.
Most demons were basic creatures. Once they had a foot in the door, they stamped their victim’s soul with avarice, power, desire, anarchy, depending on their mood. The descent into corruption was an aperitif, wetting their appetite until the marked soul was ready to be devoured.
Then there were the more sophisticated demons who liked to play with their food.
They claimed a human, forged a bond with their mind. Planted seeds of destruction and perversely leaving the soul untouched.
Sometimes it was just for fun. Other times the human was a useful minion to do their bidding.
The Claimed were aware of every deed done by their own hands, unable to comprehend what had driven them down that path, haunted by their transgressions by the time the demon was done with them.
There was nothing tastier than a tormented soul.
“There have been some unverified accounts of powerful demons being able to see and listen through the eyes and ears of a Claimed,” I told Lex. “I’m not convinced.”
“Then why is he blindfolded?”
I shrugged. “I don’t like his eyes on me.”
“Demons can track their Claimed.”
“I’ve Cloaked the house and outbuildings.”
“Cloaked?” Lex looked at me, impressed. “Sun? Moon? Demon?”
“The Cloaking spell blocks everything,” I confirmed, making it that much easier for him to make the wrong choice. That’s what put the diabolic in my plan. He wouldn’t learn a damn thing if the right choice was the easy choice. “The Stables is currently a supernatural black hole.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“What are you going to do with him?” I countered.
It took Lex a moment, then he breathed out noisily and slammed down his drink in one gulp. “You’re just full of gifts lately.”
“I can’t help myself.”
Lex shook his head. “I’m not qualified for this shit.”
“That’s the point,” I said firmly.
“You’re serious?”
He had no idea just how serious. He knew the Scripts, and I’d taken him with me on a couple of field trips, but it was time for him to get dirty in the muddied waters of morals and ethics and the greater good.
“This is about Sage, isn’t it?” he growled. “A lesson in what it takes to Reap her.”
My answer was a hard smirk.
In real life, there was black and white and a thousand shades of gray in between. In real life, there was a young, innocent girl called Sage Daniels who hadn’t asked to be born an Eclipse. That didn’t mean she should be spared. Right and wrong was a perception and it invariably changed when you looked from a different angle.
“What has he done?” Lex finally asked.
“Pulled a knife on the Sheriff out at Pottridge Field.”
&n
bsp; “The Sheriff?”
“Sheriff Ashton is fine.” I stretched my legs out, watching Rolling Stones, wondering if the guy knew what his fate held. His head was down, chin resting on his chest. He’d long since given up trying to wriggle his wrists and ankles loose from the chair. “We can’t know what else he’s gotten up to before tonight.”
“We could ask him.”
“You think he’d confess all his sins to the stranger who abducted him?”
Lex raised a brow on me.
“He can’t be compelled,” I said. “You should know this.”
“Sorry,” he muttered caustically, turning from me to refill his glass. “I forgot I was in class.”
I ignored the jab. “It’s not just what he’s done, Lex. It’s what he will do.”
“What he might do.” Lex brought his drink over to a couch and slouched low onto the leather. “Once you’ve vanquished the demon, he’ll be released.”
“But not redeemed.”
“You don’t know that,” Lex said. “We don’t judge an innocent on probabilities.”
Oh, dear Gods. “That’s the definition of what we do all the bloody time, Lex.”
“So you’re just going to kill him?” he demanded. “Scorch him here in the den?”
Not today. I didn’t have the juice. I’d have to put Rolling Stones out of his misery the old fashioned way and deal with the body later.
“You tell me.” I let my gaze bore into Lex. “Am I?”
He stared at me, sipping on his drink, thinking. “He can’t be tracked here. The house is Cloaked.”
“It’s a new moon.”
He understood exactly what I was saying. “Can you hold the spell until you’re recharged?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Can you?” he pressed.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Mine to make, apparently,” he said flippantly.
“I can hold it, but Lex…these things are best dealt with swiftly, otherwise they will come back to bite. A Claimed is an extension of the demon and trust me, you don’t keep a demon in your basement.”
“You gave this to me,” he said. “If you don’t like my decision, take it back.”
Not going to happen. I’d already made my decision and I wouldn’t regret it, no matter how badly this ended. Lex had a lesson to learn, the harder the better, and preferably before he made a rose-tinted judgment call about Sage Daniels that ruined his life.
6
SAGE
Haley had called it.
I was avoiding.
But damn, I was so good at it…until Gideon Crest walked into the Shadow Grill. He sauntered right in and seated himself at the table next to the one I was taking an order from. Of course he’d deliberately chosen my station. He had some kind of axe to grind, God alone knew why—I certainly didn’t.
Shifting so my back was to him, I finished taking the order from my table of six and went to place it at the serving hatch.
Haley was there in a flash, ogling Gideon and practically salivating. “What did you do to deserve that?”
She said it like it was a good thing.
“That is Gideon Crest,” I said tartly.
“You know him?”
“Gideon.” I scowled at her. Not that she noticed. “As in Lex’s friend?”
Her brow lifted on me as she finally managed to unpluck her eyeballs from him. “Compromising positions Gideon?”
“Don’t make me regret ever telling you that.”
“Oh, come on,” she whined dramatically. “It’s too good to put back in the closet. It’s like a Jane Austen title. Pride and Prejudice and Compromising Positions.”
“Haley!”
“Fine,” she sighed, sneaking another look his way. “You have the best problems, you know that?”
“Haley!”
“Wow, you seriously do have an issue with this guy.” She cut out the theatrics and said, “Do you want me to take his table?”
Her offer was tempting. But he’d know I’d switched and was arrogant enough to assume he was the reason. “No, it’s okay.”
We were easing out of the lunch hour rush, but I figured that was no reason to not keep Gideon waiting twenty minutes before I wandered on over with my notepad out and pen poised. He’d spent most of those twenty minutes looking out the window, fascinated by the comings and goings of our quaint town.
He pulled his star crusted gaze from the window to me. “Sage,” he drawled in a silken gravel voice designed to melt any girl’s bones, “how are you?”
Lex’s name flew to the tip of my tongue. I’d gone a night and morning determinedly not thinking about him, and now he was all I could think about—while looking on the chiseled beauty of Gideon’s arrogant face.
Does Lex know you’re here?
Did Lex send you?
Have you come to stir up more trouble between me and Lex?
I bit down on every question, frustrated at Gideon for bringing them with him. Frustrated at the heat pooling low in my stomach and the warmth spreading down my spine as my body reacted without permission.
Savage desire.
I’d never experienced this kind of carnal, mindless, heartless attraction to any guy before and I hoped I never did again.
It was brutal and sickening.
It was the opposite of everything I’d ever wanted.
I went to war on it, reclaimed my traitorous body with a slow, steadying breath and a force of will that unstamped his damn pheromones.
I shut him down.
Shut him out.
Caged Gideon Crest in a glass box where I could look but he couldn’t touch.
I was nothing if not committed to a good cause.
Acknowledging him with a shallow nod, I asked, “Are you ready to order?”
His eyes settled on me, settled into me, lingering in a way that ricocheted along my veins like tiny bullets of desire that couldn’t stick. He was darkly, disturbingly sexy and clearly I wasn’t totally immune even from this side of the glass box, but I wasn’t a masochist either.
I preferred my relationships with a touch of warmth and a chance at love.
I had this under control.
“If you’re not ready…?” I said. “Should I come back?”
“I’ll have whiskey, straight up.” A smile ghosted his mouth. “Bourbon if you have.”
“You’ll have to sit at the bar for that,” I informed him. “We only serve wine and beer at the tables.”
He smirked. “I’ll take a bottle of red then.”
I jabbed my pen at the menu still slotted neatly into the condiment block. “We have a couple of reds. Which one would you like?”
“Does it really matter?” His tone added…in an establishment like this?
“I guess not.” I jotted down his order.
White wine, semi-sweet. Since it didn’t really matter.
“And to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to order food with your drinks at the tables.”
He looked at me a long moment. “You have a lot of rules.”
I smiled.
He sighed. “Steak. Fillet. Medium rare, and a side order of salad.”
Sirloin, well done, + skins.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I smiled (look at me, all polite and professional) and spun on my heels to go place his wonky order. I wasn’t just being childish, I was sending a message. He’d messed with me first.
To his credit, he took it in his stride. When I returned with his white wine, he merely thanked me and asked if he could get a bottle of water as well.
“Still or sparkling?” I asked.
He gave me another one of those long, lasting looks and chuckled. “Why don’t you decide?”
So he did possess one redeeming quality—a sense of humor. A flame sparked and caught in the hollow of my stomach, warming my cheeks until I remembered to snuff it out.
> One redeeming quality didn’t equal forgiveness.
And I was still suspicious as to what had brought him to the Shadow Grill. He’d said he wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t seem to care when I delivered the well done sirloin and potato skins to his table. The bottle of white wine remained untouched, but he didn’t send it back or quibble when I took him the check—much to Haley’s delight. I’d told her about the botched order and she found his reaction fascinating.
She found everything about Gideon Crest fascinating. “I know we’re supposed to hate him, but…”
“But nothing,” I snorted.
She leant back against the service counter with a sigh, staring at him from beneath her fluttering lashes. “He’s been sitting there for hours. Do you think he’s here for you?”
I seriously worried he was here for exactly that. Me. A small part of me may be flattered at the idea of Gideon’s undivided attention—not that I had it, his attention had been thoroughly divided between me, his phone and the world passing by outside. For the most part, however, I felt like a rabbit in his crosshairs.
Lex would know what this was about.
I could call him.
I had his number.
Scuffing my feet uncomfortably, I changed the subject. “Have you spoken to Kenzie?”
Haley shook her head. “Not yet. Have you spoken to Grant?”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever,” she shot back at me, at herself, maybe at us.
She may be right. Last night we’d divvied up the responsibility of addressing the whole ‘friends with benefits’ fiasco. She got Kenzie. I got Grant. We were both chicken shit.
@hawk
Lex’s cell number is burning a hole in my purse.
I don’t want to see him.
I can’t see him until I know what to say.
He hurt me so deeply and he doesn’t know why and I’m not really avoiding like Haley thinks I am. I’m not running. I just can’t stay like this and he won’t know unless I tell him and making my shit his isn’t fair.
I’m not going to tell him.
There.
It’s decided.
Gideon was back the next day.
He’d brought his sense of humor, but I’d lost mine.
Torment: Dark Paranormal Romance (Eclipse Warlocks Book 1) Page 7