“I didn’t.”
“Then how did you take them out?” Stupid question. She was here, covered in blood that wasn’t hers, so only one answer fit. He glanced at her knife holster, wondering if she’d cleaned off the blade, knowing she had. That was what hunters did, what warriors did. They took care of the things that kept them alive, things they couldn’t live without. Things and people. “More than four vamps. Shit, that’s impressive.”
“I don’t want to be impressive,” she said quietly. “I want to be normal.”
“Yeah well, I want to put on some pants, but only one of us is gonna get their way.” He understood, though. Not that he’d ever felt the need for normalcy, but he’d seen into enough minds to know how badly most of them wanted to achieve something impossible. Because it didn’t exist.
“You can’t control everything, hunter. Accept it and move on.”
He thought she would leave, slam the door, or at least say something, but none of that happened. When he finished getting dressed, she was standing in exactly the same place in exactly the same position.
“I can’t accept it. I don’t want to.”
“Imagine how little what you want matters. You’re different from who you were and from other humans. Your past sucks shit. It was unfair, and you have a right to be pissed off, scream, and cry. But none of that actually does anything. Only living does, moving.”
He’d spent a hundred and fifty years laughing at human behavior and weakness, using it to do his job and get what he needed. Three tours starting out with one personality and ending with another—night and day. So he understood being different, from who he used to be and from all other beings. Always alone.
“Change happens on its own most of the time,” he said. “Little by little, while we’re not paying attention. But sometimes, something happens that flips everything around in a heartbeat. Denying it exists doesn’t do anything, wishing it wasn’t so doesn’t do anything. Accept that it’s changed you.” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to—her or himself. She’d changed him, not slowly like the last fifty years of living on earth had. Since meeting her, his life had turned on its axis, a complete one-eighty into something he’d never imagined and something that could never be.
The only thing holding him back from taking her, being with her and feeling her in all the ways he ached to, had nothing to do with Level Nine and everything to do with her. Even though it was stupid, and ridiculous, and would cause both of them an incredible amount of pain, he felt the truth crush him.
He cared about her. No, it was more than that. It was something demons weren’t capable of. He—
That’s not possible. His kind never needed that emotion, so they didn’t have it. It created nothing but weakness.
A weakness that would only end in death.
Hers.
“Hey.” She stepped forward hesitantly, confused. “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything. And he couldn’t do shit about it.
He turned away. “You need to leave. It’s getting dark.” The sooner she left, the better for everyone and the less likely the Devil was paying attention. He had great night vision.
Davyn would hire someone to watch out for the hunter while she went after Lamere. Or maybe he’d use all this pent-up frustration and anger to find the bastard himself, tie him up, tell her where he was, and then leave. She could take the vamp out and they wouldn’t be in the same place at the same time.
When she touched his shoulder, it burned. Every time she touched him outside of a punch hurt so much worse.
He shook her hand off and went to the kitchen. “Go away.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Demons aren’t supposed to be like you, are they?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. “Do you know why we fight to be free? Why we try so hard not to fuck things up once we’re topside? Because hell is ugly. There’s no light. No laughter. We fight, and we fuck. That’s it. But even those things aren’t like they are here. The only place worse is heaven because they don’t even have the fighting and the fucking.” He tried to laugh. When you can’t laugh at your own bad jokes, what can you do? You can make sure you don’t fuck up the eternities of you and somebody you care about. Even though caring about them is what got you in trouble to begin with.
He opened and closed every cupboard, eating everything he found. “However bad it gets here, it’s better than where I was. That’s what you need to realize—no matter what you have to do to keep it, this life you’re living right now is so much better than it was. So go live it.” Somewhere else.
She didn’t move. “You go back to that life, right? You feel that pain, and then it stops and you get to start all over. I don’t know how to start over because the pain never ends.”
“Go away, hunter. You’re not safe here.”
“Not safe from you?”
“Yes, from me!” The countertop cracked under his fists. “I’m a demon. You keep forgetting that. Fuck, I keep forgetting that.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Her voice was small, fragile. “It’s why you understand me better than anyone else I know. Why I can be honest and know you won’t look at me with pity or disgust. Do you know what I did to those vamps? It wasn’t…it wasn’t human. So whatever this is, this thing between us, whatever happens between you and me…I’m not afraid of it.”
“You should be.”
“After all of that”—she waved her hand dismissively, as if her past was actually behind her—“I’m not afraid of anything.”
He laughed. “Oh, puppet, you’re so terrified of yourself and whatever that bastard put into you that you punish yourself every minute of every day. So no more bullshit. Just do what you want to do, and get the hell over it.”
“I’m trying! I’m going to wipe Lamere off the face of the earth.”
“Sure, it’ll be great fun, and then what? How long are you going to stare at the pile of dust at your feet?” Even after she killed Lamere, if she killed Lamere, she would be exactly the same, exactly as angry and confused and afraid. “You’re not chained to his wall anymore, Keira. You’re free. No one’s hurting you but you. You’re breaking yourself.”
“He broke me. This is his fault. And when he’s nothing but a pile of dust at my feet, I can start being normal.”
“Wrong. You’ll be the woman you are right now.” The one Davyn liked. A lot more than he should. “Remind me to show you a mirror next time I’m bleeding so you can see the look on your face. Because it won’t go away, no matter how much you want it to.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Get to know who you are, learn how to live with her, how to love her. Then you won’t have anything to punish her for.”
“There’s too much of him in me. I can’t.”
“Don’t be afraid of your freedom.” He let out his breath. “Use me.” This was way too much humanness to deal with in one day. Too much to care about in one lifetime. “Use me, so neither of us has to deal with this shit anymore.” The job would be done, she’d disappear, and he’d go to hell. All the misplaced feelings would be gone. Halle-fucking-lujah, and I’m out of here.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“You think if you accept who you are and what you want, you’ll be like him, right? Psychotic, evil, inhuman. Well, I don’t buy it. So prove me wrong. Let’s see how inhuman you really are.”
“No.” She backed away from him as he came around the counter.
“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.” He nodded to the knife in her belt. “Prove it. Let’s do this.”
“What? No.” Her breath was faster, more superficial, a mixture of fear and excitement. But the look on her face was pure unadulterated need. She was so damn human, so afraid of what she wanted. So he’d do what he was created for. No tricks or manipulation, just by forcing her to be honest about who she really was. By making her face her greatest fear. Not Lamere
or any other supernatural. She didn’t have time for any of that. She was too busy being afraid of herself.
“How long have you wanted this?” He stepped into her way when it looked like she was about to bolt. “To just see it run? Do you want to touch it? Taste it? What are we talking about here, hunter? How horrible a creature are you? Are you a little inhuman or a lot inhuman?”
“Are you trying to make this into a joke?”
“Am I laughing?” He paused. “How long have you hated yourself for wanting it?”
“I don’t want this,” she cried.
“There’s a shitload I’ll never understand about humans, you in particular, but I do understand temptation and denial. The first step is to admit it—you want to see someone bleed, someone hurt. Great. Nobody gives a shit. Not in our world or any other.” He signed.
“The next step,” he continued, “is something you’d never get to do outside of the Heights and a few very kinky underground human clubs.” Not that she would have to deal with any of this shit if she wasn’t part of the Heights. “Humans get the worst of everything—weakness, guilt, and morality. But you’re not human, right? You wouldn’t be like this if you were. So prove it by taking what you want and seeing what actually happens once you get it.”
“It’s not about impure thoughts or temptation.” She was silent for a moment. “I liked it.” Three words spoken so simply, exposing the deepest sense of shame Davyn had ever seen. “I came during…” She lowered her head, aiming her whisper at the ground. “When he used me, drank from me or when he made me drink from him, I…liked it.”
“That’s—”
“How could I have liked that, Davyn? What’s wrong with me that my body could feel good even though he forced me? When I was covered in my own blood. How am I supposed to accept that?”
This would’ve been a great time for a pep talk, but Davyn couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His mind was overpopulated with horrible thoughts, though.
Like how slowly he wanted to take Lamere apart for what he’d done to her.
Like how every minute Davyn spent with her made it more dangerous for both of them.
Like how much he would give to take that look off her face, the self-loathing out of her soul.
Like how he wanted to help her more than he needed the earth under them.
Oh shit, was he in trouble.
Twenty-Five
“I liked what that psychopath did to me.” There. She’d told him. She’d told a demon something she’d never even put together for herself. Because until you admit something to yourself, or someone else, you can make it seem like an illusion, a fantasy, a misunderstanding. But once the words are all in a row and you say it out loud, you can’t pretend anymore.
Keira stood still, her feet stuck to the floor, afraid she’d fall if she moved. She’d been wearing armor for so long, she’d forgotten how weak she’d be if she ever took it off. How weak she had been, how afraid. She thought her armor kept everything painful from reaching her, but it couldn’t protect her from herself, from what was trapped inside.
Me. The one thing she would always be afraid of.
“So that’s what makes you less human?” Davyn asked. “You think you’re the only one? Every day I see what people fantasize about, want, or wish they didn’t want. It’s not all hearts and flowers. In fact, I see very few flowers.”
She felt so small and insignificant standing in front of him. Why didn’t he just toss her out the window or set her on fire, burn all her ugliness away? Why was he waiting for her answer?
“Those things are fantasies,” she said. “This isn’t. There was no safe word, no consent. And I still want it. I hate it and try to pretend it isn’t there or isn’t real, but I know it is. Whenever I stop fighting long enough to think or dream, I remember I’m just pretending.”
“This is real life. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. It’s what you got and what you have to deal with.”
“But it’s him. It’s him inside me. Making me want things, feel things.”
“That’s what vamp blood does to humans. In my opinion—which is the only one that matters right now—all it proves is that you’re pretty damn human. Don’t base your entire past, present, and future on something you can’t control.”
“Maybe originally it was the magic, but I’ve tried. With human guys, without…it’s not what I need. But when I fight, when I hurt someone, I feel good. His blood tainted me, made me like him.”
Davyn came to her, lifted her knife from its holster. She didn’t try to stop him. Part of her hoped he would stab her, replace this pain with another. At least it would end. Her heart pounded in her chest with the unknown, with the admission she’d just made. He was the only one who knew, so it seemed fitting he be the one to punish her. He held the knife up near her chest, taking her hand and placing it on the handle, curling her fingers around the wood before putting his own on top of hers. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare. Instead, she stared at his hand on hers, the glare of steel.
“I’m a demon—the one being you can torture for eternity and it won’t matter, won’t be anything I haven’t felt before. So use me. Let’s see if you’re right. Do it so you can get over all this bullshit that’s ruining you.” He didn’t turn the knife on her—he slowly guided her blade to his chest. When the tip made contact with his skin, she saw the blood well, hypnotizing her, pulling her in. He slowly dragged downward, making a line of red across his chest, marring its perfection. Turning it into another kind of perfection. She shuddered, hating herself for her quick breath, the warmth radiating from her core. Lamere’s ‘gift’ poisoning her mind and her body, making something horrible look beautiful.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said, looking up into Davyn’s eyes.
“The thing about temptation is that it only holds the power you give it.” He lifted the knife away from his chest, only to replace it against his skin an inch away from the first strike, dragging it down again.
“I have this theory that needs testing,” he said. “And that test starts with you experiencing what you think you want. Then I get to show you what I think you need.”
She couldn’t look at it, afraid to, watching a brief grimace touch his face when a new slice began. Deeper than the first. The third was deeper still, cutting through muscle, unleashing more blood. Four. Five.
“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I want it. Because it’s going to prove something to you. You’re not inhuman or sick—you’re just wrong. You got fucked over and haven’t dealt with all the leftovers that asshole put on you. So…” When Davyn brought the blade up again, he let go of her hand, giving her time to decide what to do and if she could do it. “I can’t have you the way I want to, but I can give you this. I can help you stop being so afraid of who you are. If you let me.”
Lowering her blade, she stared at him, his belief, his concern. He was a demon. He shouldn’t care, but he was offering her an experience she lived in terror of, to be there with her so she wouldn’t be alone.
“Leave it to the demon to offer me everything in exchange for nothing,” she said, her laughter sparse, forced. “After making such a shitty deal, you might not be able to call yourself a demon anymore.”
“Shut up. I’m going to convince you that hurting or being hurt were never the reasons you came. It was the orgasmic-rich blood of a magical being that did it. And to test my theory, we need a baseline. So, scale of 32 to 212”—he took her hand and wiped it through the blood on his chest, the wounds already beginning to heal—“how turned on are you right now?”
“Very.”
“I don’t know where ‘very’ belongs on a thermometer.”
“‘Very’ is how turned on I was on the airplane or during that gross and awkward kiss we had or—”
He leaned down so their mouths were an inch apart, but as he spoke, he brushed his lips along her jaw to her neck. “Then I’d say ‘very’ is pretty damn close to boiling, w
ouldn’t you? ’Cause that’s just about where I am. Go all the way, hunter. I promise I can take it.”
She had no doubt that he could, but he wouldn’t. Because of some stupid rule that protected humans, not someone like her.
When she finally spoke, it was with that in mind. “Take off your pants.”
He flinched back a step. “Um… I heal pretty quickly, but I feel everything, and I’d like to keep all my parts. So I kind of thought we could keep everything above the belt.”
“I won’t castrate you, don’t worry;” she said, her laugh hiccuping, almost as if she was crying. “If you want to do this for me, then I should give you something in return.”
“Like what?”
“Pleasure. Maybe I…” Say it. “I want you inside me.”
“Not nearly as much as I want to be there.” Hurt filled his expression, more than she’d seen the steel cause. A struggle between what he wanted and what would happen if he got it. “But we can’t.”
“Neither one of us follows the rules, so why start now?”
“You’re human.” He shook his head while his body pressed forward, his hands out to the sides as if he was afraid to touch her, burn her. “Demons can’t mix with humans. It’s not meant to be.”
“We’re not like everyone else. What do you think this is, why we’re so drawn to each other? Because we are meant to be.” She put her blade back in its holster and grabbed him by his waistband.
“That’s not—” The muscle in his jaw twitched. “That’s not part of this. I’m trying to prove something to you. That you don’t need what you think you do”—he stepped back, prying her hands off him—“including me.” She followed, taking two steps for every one he did, smearing the blood on his chest as she reached out for him.
“You would let me hurt you but not pleasure you?” she asked. “In what world does that make sense?”
“In ours. If we were in any other, I’d have had you under me, on top of me, and on your hands and knees weeks ago. Believe me, there’s no greater torture than being around you and not being able to take you the way I want to. I mean, do you have any idea how good you smell? Since I met you, I’ve turned into a damn mouth-breather so your scent doesn’t fuck with my mind constantly. Not that the rest of you doesn’t anyway. But even more than how much I want to be with you, to feel every inch of you, I don’t want to ruin you more.”
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