Demons & Dragons

by Gina Kincade

  "Like father, like son, I see. He was fond of throwing elaborate parties like this one."

  "No!" His voice boomed, making her visually jump before she turned to him. Allanah had taken one step back, though only one to her credit. If others had looked their way, he hadn't noticed, caught in the darkening color of her eyes. "My father was fond of throwing lavish parties which were show stopping hymns to bad taste. I'm not like him, not in private or in public. I thought you, at least, knew that about me. No one else matters."

  "I knew you years ago," she hissed, ignoring his last comment, though he'd watched something flash behind her eyes, the golden flecks within the darkening green more vibrant for a second as if they'd caught the light of the fire which remained at her back. "I'd heard differently since."

  "Don't believe everything you read in the papers. My father hasn't quite been dead a whole year yet," he struggled on, trying to not stare at her.

  The way the wind blew, due to the open air main floor when some walls were pushed back and windows opened like tonight, the thin material of her dress revealed the outline of a body he remembered all too well. In thirteen years she hadn't changed a bit it seemed.

  "It's going to take me a while to get out from under his shadow, especially given the fact my brothers are just like him."

  "I've heard that, too, about your brothers that is," she said, keeping her eyes on him, never backing down, holding his gaze, challenging him as she had so long ago to hang tough, be a better man, though due to family threats, fears for her safety, her future, he'd failed her in the end.

  It still stung, how they'd given into their families blackmail and intimidation to keep them apart. She'd not been good enough for him, the daughter of his father's secretary slash personal assistant. Though, as she'd pointed out, Allanah's mother had done far more than that and had been paid excessively more than her job description required because of it. And according to Allanah, her mother had been just as insistent that her daughter would not get mixed up with such a family when not within earshot of anyone in the Byrne family.

  The whole thing hadn't made a lot of sense, but with two families united in determination, him forced to stay and work for his, and her sent to another country to study fashion, strings he knew his father pulled and financed, they hadn't had a whole lot of say in the matter save running away penniless, which in the past decade had become a fantasy of his, too; to imagine how such a scenario could have gone for them. Maybe they'd have gone to the Caribbean, learned to bartend in a hut on a beach. He could have fished. She could have still made clothes, sold them. They wouldn't have needed much to survive. Only issue would have been his father hunting for him, forcing him back into the business through magical means unimaginable to the average human. Or, they could have disappeared, changed their looks. Hell, he'd give it all up, the money, the house, worked flipping hamburgers, to have been with her if he could have ensured her safety from the devil he'd called dad.

  It all boiled over in his mind, the years of drowning under the dark cloud of his family. He'd wanted so many times to leave them behind and go to her, but they'd have come for him and ruined her. These facts remained unchanged. He knew all too well. There would have been nowhere for them to hide, not with the demon his father had placed within him shortly after she'd left always ready to tell, to expose, and to ruin him at his father's whim. He'd loved her enough to protect her from their wrath, the only thing that had made him go along with his families wishes. If you disobeyed, you paid the highest price, one usually beyond even his diabolically inspired imagination.

  "It's widely known, now, that my father liked to throw gargantuan amounts of money into furthering his political agenda," he went on just to stop the train wreck of thoughts he had spiraled uncontrollably into. "He cut vital programs, stripped hard-working people of their mere middle class status, relegating them to struggling destitute. He literally funded nonsensical hysteria to further his own sick and demented desires, lining his own pocket, basically, screw his fellow man. My grandfather had been the same way, but given he'd started the company, earned his initial income in whiskey, he'd kept his downfalls hidden better. But, I have a choice now. I can continue to live that legacy or I can begin the lengthy, and often excruciating uphill battle to become my own person, whoever the hell that is."

  "I'm sorry," she said genuinely, strength still in her voice, not backing down from the fire that had spewed forth in his tone during his speech.

  It wasn't the shady business deals or the funding of untoward politics, unfortunately. He'd been left a legacy of magick, too, that ran through his veins, dating back generations, misused destructively for gain as well as allegiance. It slithered through him even at this moment. His skin flushed while muscles and veins strained under his crawling skin. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he tried in a jittery desperation to clamp down the desire for chaos and violence, to take this woman in the brutish manner his demon wanted to. Yet, he wouldn't let it win. He fought this battle daily, but with her here his body trembled uncontrollably as he vowed to the beast within to rip himself to shreds before he'd let that thing control him around her.

  Allanah will never know your true darkness, he promised himself even as he warned the demon squirming inside him, delighted with the rush of turbulent emotions warring in him.

  While he had gone along as a child, even as a young man, with his father and brothers, by the time he'd become a man in his own right, his family's ways had not been so ingrained in him he couldn't change. Yet, he'd known no way around the demon failsafe his father had planted inside him. Still, over a decade later, a sickness stormed within him daily that somewhere in him a better man lurked, one worthy of Allanah. At the age of thirty-two now, nearly thirty-three, his father's friends and associates looked to him and his brothers. The politicians swarmed at his doors for money. The coven hissed about him taking his father's place in the circle. While technically he did reign, his demon controlled all the others within the men in their coven, he'd not exactly warmed to the idea. At the same time, business associates threatened him to keep the business lucrative and the scandals secret.

  As if all of this was not reason enough to keep his blood pressure high and his nights sleepless, into his world tonight had roamed the woman he'd once been forbidden to love. Allanah Adams. Just for self-torture sake, he ticked off the brief facts of their history together on fingers still clenched, impervious to the ache building. Daughter of his father's personal assistant, who had made herself a millionaire in her own right within the last decade. When he'd first taken a romantic interest in her thirteen years ago, his father had made sure he knew his place, which didn't allow for him to talk to Allanah. While her mother made more than most doctors did in a year to keep his father's dirty dealing secret, her status didn't hold any weight. He'd snuck to see Allanah, at first, fast and furiously falling in love with the spirited girl by the time they'd been caught and forced apart. By this time, his heart had been to the point of never recovering, never being able to let her go or love another. Yep, that summed up the nightmare of his time with her.

  "Well, I should go find my mother again," Allanah offered, staring at him, probably sick of waiting for him to finally speak again as he tried to regain control over his wayward thoughts, ones stuck in an infinite loop of anger and despair.

  He never had emotional outbursts like this, except when he thought of her. He never let his emotions rule, except when he thought of her. But seeing Allanah, here in the flesh, right before him, her scent washing over him, blanketing him in a severe lust, one built of love, something in him had snapped, disconnected, or reconnected, whatever the case may be. At this very moment, he feared himself out of control, reckless, and at this point the consequences of what he wanted to do, to her, with her, may be more evil than ever before. Regardless, he couldn't let her go, let her walk away from him again. He had to believe he had it in himself to protect her from what lurked within.

  He fisted the b
ack of his neck, tilted his head, and pursed his lips as he struggled to find the words that might make her stay. He moved his hand, his hot fingers rubbing his forehead as his mind raced over words and phrases while his chest tightened. His stomach fluttered only a second before the darkness within put a stop to that. In his wild mind right now, he saw the red-eyed demon, his black hand in a death clutch around a swarm of unmoving, mangled butterflies. Shaking his head to dislodge the horror, something in him laughed even as he seethed.

  "Please don't. I've waited years hoping to see you again. Please, stay with me longer." Uncontrollable words tumbled from his mouth in a whimpering growl. "We can go somewhere more private. There are lots of little spots around the house. I have one in particular I like, just down a path. It has a fireplace and roof. It should keep us dry when the storm finally gives way."

  "You've waited to see me?"

  "Yes. Allanah, you have to know. Or, I guess I have to tell you, how heartbroken I was when you left. I couldn't come after you as much as I desperately wanted to, to protect you, though please don't ask me to explain that right now. Regardless, I'm not too much of a man to finally admit to a woman that no one else in my life has ever compared to her, which kept me a playboy. I've followed your career like an internet stalker, always wishing I could reach out to you. Planning to, in fact, once I got my act together, changed things here, so you would agree to see me again. Life brought you to me sooner. Please don't walk away. Give me at least a chance to show you who I really am apart from my inheritance and my horrid family legacy."

  "I..." was all she said, looking around her.

  "Please. Follow me. You can't be afraid to be alone with me," he challenged her, hoping that still was the way to best push her buttons into complying with what he wanted.

  "I'm not afraid of you," she stated in a rush of words, proving him right.

  "Then follow me."

  Chapter Two

  Her mind flew back to when they were nineteen, for just a second, as she followed behind him through the luxury kitchen.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

  She criticized herself for simply nodding and following his invitation, which led to the memories of being alone with him when they had been teenagers, burgeoning adults ripe with need, desires, and too innocent still to see the disaster that laid before them as they rolled together, literally, through the turbulent, wonderful, exciting firsts of true love. While she'd denied that fact to herself many, many times, it still proved true regardless of her self-denial.

  Of course, the vast room dedicated to entertaining guests with loads of lavish foods proved a more welcome distraction than going down that bittersweet road. She needed to keep her wits about her if she dared be alone with the man. It would take but a moment of weakness to fall into his embrace, against his rock hard body, and give in to her every desire, every fantasy she'd had of him over the last decade. She stopped a second, and he seemed to instinctively know, turning to her immediately.

  "What's wrong? Please tell me you haven't changed your mind?"

  "No. I was just observing this kitchen. I'm not much of a cook, but I can appreciate the design."

  The white walls and dark wooden cabinets trimmed in gold, fused together with marbled granite countertops, made a flawless transition from the great room of piers and water to the patio overlooking the ocean. Walls had been pushed aside, on runners, to open up to a gourmet kitchen in order to serve a large crowd. Some staff cooked while others waited hand and foot on his guests. She doubted anyone wanted for anything here. Ever. Just her.

  "Thank you. I don't mean to belittle the architecture, or sound like an impatient school boy, but are you ready to continue on outside? While I will grab an umbrella at the door, it would be best to try to beat the worst of the rain when it hits."

  She smiled, and he reached for her hand. On instinct, she pulled hers back only to watch his face tighten into a frown as his darkening eyes searched hers. He turned then, continued his walk to the patio. She followed even as the knot of guilt nauseated her stomach. The smells of food, that had a second ago been amazing, suddenly tortured.

  When he opened the glass door for her, and she stepped on to the stone patio that seemed to hang over the side of the cliff, the wind whipping hard against her body here, she gasped for a deep breath of fresh air. Yet, the sight took her breath away, just as it had before when she'd been younger. She hadn't been back to this house in well over a decade. A lot had changed, while a lot had stayed the same. No matter how much money she made herself, now, she'd never get used to grand shows of wealth like this one. They made her feel off somehow. She couldn't, or more like simply chose not to, explain the bitterness of some sort that managed to steep to the surface.

  While her own place cost her a pretty penny each month, still, she'd not done much in the way of decorating. Simply and sparsely furnished with what she liked rather than buying by name and price tag, she went against what she hoped her own customers would do. A contradiction unto herself, she'd never quite taken to her world. While she enjoyed her work immensely, she'd never owned up to or fit in with all the trappings that went along with the income it provided her.

  Poor little rich girl, she groaned in her own head. Yet that pang of true loneliness, the one that always came to haunt her in her times of self-pity, hit her, slapped her across the face even as she followed the love of her life down the side of the cliff, contemplating jumping over the edge to end the insanity driving her thoughts.

  She'd never felt that way in his arms, though. Back then, reckless, and thinking herself in love, he'd made her feel whole. He'd only encouraged her independence, her ability to stand on her own two feet without needing anyone else. He'd loved the drive that had made her who she was. He'd welcomed her knowledge. He'd supported her strength and stoked her desires. Damn, he had stoked her desires to a red hot inferno, all consuming, then, and just to think on it now. No one had ever done the same for her again. Maybe she compared them all to him, too, though she'd denied such a thing for years, so why own up to it now? An ill tempered laugh threatened to escape her throat, but she swallowed it down, continued on her way, fighting the wind. It felt good to fight something, why not the threatening storm that mirrored her mood, coming and going, ever changing, the brief moments of stillness rudely interrupted by the swipes of nature's fury?

  For a short time, though, he'd been the center of her world. She'd at least own up to that fact. It had been easy enough, since he'd have never asked her to give up anything. Proving that point, when his father had arranged for an opportunity for her to go study fashion in England, footing the bill as well, Ciaran had not stood in her way. He'd let her go. It had bothered her to this day, this moment more so. He'd not fought for her. Of course, she had no idea what his dear old dad had paid for to make it so, what threats the nasty dictator of the family had held over Ciaran's head.

  She had a good idea, though, of how dark his father's intimidations, bullying, ultimatums, whatever one wanted to call the man's diabolical means were, from what her mother had said, so she couldn't blame him. Regardless of her knowledge of how impossible his father had made it on him to follow her, to fight for their love, her heart never excused him from the pain he'd caused hers. Simply put, all rational facts and thoughts aside, the long and short of it remained that he hadn't torn down Heaven and Earth to be with her. Of course, neither had she to be with him, but it had been to protect her mother, at the time, from the threats of his father.

  This is getting you nowhere, as usual. Stay strong, Allanah, she yelled at herself, noticing even the voices in her head had grown flustered with her nonsense, stuttered over her thoughts. He's just a man. But, she knew that not to be true. She made a conscious effort to relax her shoulders, and untuck her elbows from her sides as she followed him down a paved trail of sorts, carved carefully into the side of the cliff.

  Steps had been built where the incline became too steep, but there was always a handrail to hold on to, as
cold as it was currently. The sight of the threatening to storm sky, the dark blue ocean, and jagged rock tamed by man were breathtaking, but none so much as the way his ass filled out his jeans. She flashed back to him getting out of bed, buck naked, thirteen years ago. The memory of his chiseled body as fresh as if she'd seen it yesterday. She didn't know what she was thinking following him down here, spending any more time with him than was absolutely necessary at the party. Though, truth be told, for all of her protests and fights, she'd felt a sense of excitement to see him again when, in brief moments, she'd finally relented to her own wayward emotions.

  She knew he'd kept himself fit. The newspapers liked to follow money, especially when the carrier of said wealth looked ready to shoot a cover of GQ or Men's Fitness. He had the hair, so dark brown it looked black in certain lighting, tossed wild about his head while always managing to look done, tamed. His scruffy styled beard, while heart-pumping, toe-curling amazing when he wore simple jeans and a shirt, like tonight, he could also pull off in a suit. The show stoppers, however, were his ice blue eyes to complete the package. However, no woman with eyes or a libido could look past his smooth skin that showed the lengths he went to care for himself as his clothing pulled taut over bulging muscles. She'd kissed each ridge and valley one once upon a time. His smell, hitting her on the wind, always a mix of musk and whiskey even when he'd been young and working in the factory, made her mouth water to taste him again. She tightened up every muscle against the warm, humid air, to hold back from doing any such damage to her psyche, no matter how much her physical body yearned to be against his.

  "Watch your step," he said, taking her hand when the steps curved around.

  She pulled hers back like he'd burned her this time, her skin tingling, hot as if he actually had. Her stomach clenched up over the butterflies flying about in it as she muttered an apology that got caught in the air, which on a sudden unexplained upheaval of the atmosphere had pushed furiously past them as if caught up in this moment, too.