The Last Unforgiven - Freed (Demons, #5)

by Simcoe, Marina

  “I’m from the United States.” I took a sip of my drink, cool and refreshing, with a pleasant burn of alcohol. “Seattle.”

  “What brought you to Zurich?”

  Oh, good old small talk. It felt actually nice to do this, exchanging questions and answers, pretending we were whatever the hell we wanted to be, at least for as long as it took us to get to know each other.

  “I’m here for a conference. Family and Marriage Counselling.”

  “Marriage?” His gaze flickered to my hands, where any trace of Brad’s ring had completely disappeared—no tan line, no indentation to disprove my newly single status.

  “I’m a counsellor. I have a practice back home,” I replied evenly, pleasantly surprised by my own composure. Then I realized I had not introduced myself yet and added, “I’m Delilah, by the way.”

  “Delilah?” His smile grew wider. “It’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you.” I liked the name myself. My closest family used to call me Dee, but there was no one to do that anymore. Both of my parents had passed away years ago. My younger brother disappeared from his bedroom when he was barely a toddler, and I had not been able to discover anything about his fate.

  “I’ve been to Seattle. On a few occasions,” my evening companion chatted away. “My Firma has a subsidiary office in your city.”

  “Small world.” I smiled over the rim of my glass, before taking another sip.

  My gaze landed on Kris’s hand on the counter between us—short, blunt fingers, with neatly trimmed nails.

  Would the touch of this hand be able to help me forget the pain?

  Just for one night?

  The sudden thought heated my cheeks with a blush as my mind headed that way.

  When was the last time I had sex? None during the weeks since Brad left, of course. And before that? Also weeks? Or more like months?

  It was sad and scary that I couldn’t even recall the last time my husband and I made love. It was a sign, all on its own. One didn’t need to be a professional to spot all the signs I had missed, choosing to remain comfortable in my ignorance. I was busy working. He was out of town a lot. And I did not miss him. Not enough.

  Through the thoughts crowding my head, I realized Kris was talking again.

  “. . . it would be nice having someone to visit, next time I’m in Seattle.”

  Was it me he was planning to be visiting?

  “Not for counselling sessions, of course,” he grinned. “I’ve never been married, though wouldn’t mind doing it one day.”

  I examined his open face, light-brown hair neatly cut and styled, an easy smile that seemed to be always there.

  “How old are you, Kris?”

  “Thirty-two.” He blinked at me.

  “I’m thirty-three.”

  “Is that a problem?” He gave me a confused look.

  “No.” I shook my head. “That is not the problem.”

  The issue was that the most I felt ready to try with Kris—or with any suitable man, for that matter—was this night and this night only. There couldn’t be any talks about further visits, definitely nothing about any marriage.

  Before a wound could heal it needed to be cleansed first, otherwise it would continue to fester. Instead of sitting around, waiting for the pain to eventually dissipate, I was willing to rip out at the root any trace of Brad from my system, once and for all, to replace the pain with brief passion with someone else.

  Alcohol and self-pity hadn’t helped. Filling the void with a night of mindless sex with a complete stranger was one of the few things I hadn’t tried yet.

  Suddenly, I wanted to be held so tight it would hurt—physically hurt—enough to overpower the emotional pain inside me. I needed to be thrown into the sheets and fucked hard, until all the memories and any pain they brought were gone completely—fucked out of me. Literally.

  Not the kind of night Kris seemed to be able to give me.

  “You see, Kris.” Letting go of my glass, I spun around in my chair, pushing away from the counter to break this intimate circle that our bodies facing each other created. “Tonight, I’m looking for someone very specific . . .”

  I swept the rest of the place with my gaze, admiring the tasteful décor of dark wood, brown leather, crystal, and brushed bronze.

  “Are you . . . um, meeting someone here?” he asked, uncertainly. “Sorry, I should have asked that before.”

  His deflated tone tugged at my compassion, and I was about to turn back to him, trying to come up with something nice to say to let him off easy.

  The tall figure of a man by the far wall caught my attention. He had his back to me, as he talked to a waiter.

  Despite the distance, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t spotted him earlier. He stood out, impossible to miss.

  It wasn’t just his clothes, vibrant and striking in contrast to the business suits of every shade of grey worn by other men in this place. Dressed in an embroidered tunic of royal blue and black dress pants, with his dark hair cascading in rich, glossy waves over his wide shoulders, he carried the air of a celebrity, if not of someone of royal blood.

  “Meeting . . .” I echoed stupidly, unable to tear my stare away from the stranger. “Maybe. In a way.”

  As if sensing my ogling, the stranger turned before I managed to look away, and our gazes clashed.

  Cold prickled down my spine at the sight of his piercing blue eyes glimmering like shards of ice from under dark eyebrows. I’d seen these glacial eyes once before, on a narrow road in the Rocky Mountains. They had the same effect on me back then, too—mesmerizing yet dreadfully paralyzing.

  Raim, the former Grand Master of the Western Incubi Council.

  I blinked, attempting to break whatever it was that his gaze had trapped me in, and got the inescapable urge to flee. Everything I had been taught about the Incubi and their Grand Master told me nothing good would come from being near Raim.

  “On the other hand,” I said to Kris quickly, tossing a few bills on the counter to pay for our drinks despite his protests. “I think I’ll call it a night. It was very nice to meet you, Kris.”

  Jumping off the barstool, I hurried to the door. Panic rose in my chest, even as I didn’t understand exactly what I was running away from here. Danger? Temptation? Both?

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Raim swiftly move across the room, clearly intending to halt my escape.

  My pendant lit up as if caught on fire as he came closer. Clutching it in my hand, I sped up, hoping to slip out the door before he could intercept me.

  “Delilah Neri.” His deep voice descended on me like a warm, heavy blanket, slowing my movements.

  “I’m not going to talk with you, demon,” I hissed under my breath, keeping my focus on the front door, so close now.

  His large warm hand wrapped around my arm, just above the elbow, bringing me to a stop at once.

  “I insist you do.”

  My muscles tensed, I briefly considered wrenching my arm out of his grip and making a run for it. I was confident I had the strength to overpower him, with the element of surprise being on my side, since he would not expect me to be physically strong enough to do that.

  With the buzz of alcohol sloshing around in my brain, however, there was a serious risk of me tumbling head over heels in these shoes and dress.

  “Let me go.” I twisted around.

  Facing him was a mistake.

  This close, the combined effect of his features was multiplied tenfold, draining all fight out of me for a moment. The clear sky-blue of his eyes stood out in contrast to his dark complexion and even darker expression. His appearance—otherworldly and stunning—drew me in, rendering me speechless.

  “Just a few minutes of your time, Delilah.” His perfect face remained cold and elegant.

  I heaved a breath, suddenly needing more oxygen in my system. “What do you want?”

  “Simply to satisfy my curiosity.” He tilted his head, his hand sliding down to my elbow. “It won�
��t take long.”

  “What are you curious about?” It was hard to imagine this impassive, beautiful demon having any kind of emotion, even less something as frivolous as curiosity.

  “Join me for a drink,” he offered, his tone softening. Though the expression in his eyes remained as hard as ever.

  “Absolutely not.” I shifted on my feet, retrieving my arm from his possession, which made me sway in my heels slightly. “There is nothing I care to talk to you about.”

  Still I stood there, facing him, instead of turning to leave. His hold was no longer physical, but it appeared to still be there nonetheless.

  “Just one question then?” he insisted.

  A question?

  I had one for the Incubi, too, didn’t I? One that had been with me most of my life.

  “Only if I am the one asking it.” I raised my chin in challenge, struggling to hold my emotions back. I sensed that any loss of composure in the presence of a demon would make me dangerously vulnerable. “Where is my brother?” I blurted out.

  Closure. That was what I needed. Not knowing what happened to Owen, my baby brother, stayed with me through the years. The burning need to learn of his fate, whatever it might be, only intensified with time. My father died believing it was demons who took Owen. This was the first time I got the chance to ask one directly.

  “Your brother?” Raim arched a long, dark eyebrow in an elegant arch.

  “Don’t you feign ignorance,” I bit off, irritated by how perfect everything about him was. Surely, the shadow of confusion that crossed his face had been practiced for years to be executed this flawlessly—it appeared absolutely real. “Did you abduct him yourself? Of course not, you have others to do dirty jobs for you. You sent your Soldiers to kidnap him, didn’t you?”

  He took a step back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the jewel-coloured silk of his tunic stretching tight over the bulging muscles in his arms. The gaze of his penetrating eyes focused on me, making my skin crawl with unease, as if he were undressing me.

  “I guess we do have something to talk about after all.” Raim stretched the sentence, deliberately slow.

  Was he still talking about Owen? Or about what he’d just seen inside me?

  It was incredibly hard to read him. However, I knew that Incubi could clearly see human feelings and emotions, and felt like an open book to him.

  What if I could finally uncover something about my brother, though? Over the years, any search for Owen I had started led me to a dead end, with no clues where to go further. I had questioned every Priory member I met, with no results. Maybe it was time to demand answers directly from an Incubus? If there was a demon who knew anything about Owen, wouldn’t it be the most powerful one of them all?

  “One drink.” I turned to head back to the bar.

  He recaptured my elbow, steering me to the lounge area, instead. “This way.”

  His large hand was warm and steady on my arm, and I didn’t shake it off, mostly because the chance of me losing my balance was real. The alcohol I had consumed took a toll on my coordination. I was afraid it had impaired my judgement, too. Why else would I have agreed to spend even a moment in the company of a demon?

  Owen. The disappearance of my brother had ultimately destroyed my family. My mother’s fragile health deteriorated completely—both my father and I believed she died from grief when she passed shortly after. My father dealt with his emotions by burying himself in his work. He died when I was still in university. After that, Brad became my only family.

  “Please, take a seat.” Raim stopped in a secluded corner of the room, gesturing at one of the two armchairs arranged on each side of a small table with a lit candle on it.

  I lowered myself into the cushy chair, straining to do it with the grace required by this place and my outfit.

  Raim reclined in the other chair with an air of confidence and ease, as if he owned this place and the city it stood in.

  “I am very sorry, Delilah, but I do not have any information on the fate of your brother.” Once again, the sincerity in his voice seemed genuine. Nothing was real when it came to Incubi, though. The only thing I could be certain about was that whether or not he knew, Raim was not going to tell me. “Your father shared The Priory’s general mistrust and hostility against my kind. I assure you he was mistaken in his accusations against us.”

  So, he knew not only about my father, but also about his attitude towards the Incubi and his deep-rooted belief that they took his son.

  “Was my father wrong?” I crossed my legs, propping an elbow against my knee.

  “Incubi did not take your brother,” he said firmly.

  “Then tell me, who did?” I leaned forward. Forgetting all about keeping my emotions in check, I let my mistrust and frustration out. “Who else could have snuck into our house, bypassing all the security measures my father had put in place? All the doors and windows remained locked. No trace of a break-in, no alarms were set off. Even the dogs didn’t bark . . .” I rubbed my forehead, exasperated from asking the same questions over and over again, without getting any answers from anyone. “Whoever took him wasn’t stopped by locks, just as Incubi wouldn’t be.”

  “To get in,” Raim agreed with a slow nod. “Locks would not stop us from getting in, but they would prevent us from taking a human out.”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked in confusion.

  “An Incubus can’t carry a person through a locked door. It would need to be open.”

  “Is that really so?”

  I had known of Incubi nearly my entire life. However, I had to admit my lack of practical knowledge about them. What I knew came either from my father, who was reluctant to speak about demons in our house, or from the work I did for The Priory. While helping to return released women back to their lives, I heard some of their stories and had kept in touch with a few of them too. Kitty Jones still called me to chat, from time to time.

  Despite my long-time knowledge about Incubi, this was my first time talking to one of them face to face for any length. My work for The Priory did not require any contact with them, and I had certainty never sought it, either.

  “Why would I believe you?” I asked Raim.

  “Because it’s the truth.” He shrugged, visibly unconcerned whether or not I believed him. “Part of the training for the Retrieval Teams we had was to learn about the various door locks humans kept inventing, and to practice opening them.”

  My frustration must have reflected in my expression since he said earnestly, “Delilah, there has never been a reason for Incubi to take your brother. Even if you assume that we would forgo ethics and basic decency to kidnap a toddler, we cannot feed off the emotions of children. They are useless to us. Why would an Incubus go through the trouble of snatching one from the fortified house you say yours was?”

  Concerns about ethics and decency never seemed to hold the Incubi back from snatching innocent women before, but I focused on the topic at hand. “Why? To pressure my father, who held a prominent position with The Priory.”

  “Was he ever pressured?” He tilted his head, regarding me closely. “After all, what is the point of kidnapping with the purpose of blackmail if the blackmail never happens?”

  The fact that he was talking sense, again, felt mildly infuriating.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “He didn’t talk much about Priory business at home.”

  “Did he act as if he had made any concessions he didn’t want to make? Did he ever complain?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Raim dipped his chin—a polite gesture that read like ‘See? I told you so’ to me, irking me even more.

  A waiter brought two drinks and silently set them on the table between us. A glass of red wine for Raim and another martini for me.

  “Then what could have happened to my brother, Raim?” I asked, no longer expecting an answer that would give me the closure I sought. “If it wasn’t the Incubi? Then who?”

  He li
fted his glass, giving the ruby-red liquid inside it a swirl before taking a drink.

  “I do not know that.”

  “Somebody does . . .” I said hollowly, staring at my own drink on the table.

  Martini in a frosted glass with an olive, identical to the two I’d had tonight.

  How did he know what to order for me, though?

  A sudden suspicion rose in me.

  ‘Never trust a demon,’ my father often said.

  I would not put it past Raim to spy on me from the moment I got to this place.

  “How long have you been watching me?” I asked, staring straight at him.

  “For three days.” He didn’t flinch.

  “What?” I gasped in shock. “Why?”

  This was more than spying. It felt more like stalking.

  “I said I had a question, and I searched for an appropriate moment to ask it. It proved to be more challenging than I thought—you stayed mostly in your room, and only left the hotel to attend public events in the company of others.”

  “What question?” I had no obligation to explain my behaviour to him.

  He gestured at my chest. “Where did you get that amulet?”

  “My necklace?” I fingered the familiar smooth surface of the polished stone tear. Always warm from my body heat, it glowed nearly as bright as the candle on the small table between us. “My parents gave it to me when I was little. It used to be my mother’s. Why is it of any interest to you?”

  Since seeing it glow that night in the mountains, I had done some research about the material the pendant was made of. Mostly by asking some of The Priory members and from talking with Kitty who had a heart-shaped pendant herself, a gift from Ivarr, I learned that it was made from soros stone, which lit up in the presence of demons. It provided an added protection to the one who wore it by preventing demons from entering the room the wearer of the pendant was in.

  Raim must have come to the club before me then.

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I followed your taxi,” he replied casually, as if stalking was a perfectly normal thing to do.