The Last Unforgiven - Freed (Demons, #5)

by Simcoe, Marina

  All ingredients had been already pre-measured by him. A series of cups and bowls lined up on the kitchen counter, with the right amounts of herbs, oils, and spices. He’d had them delivered by helicopter, along with Dee’s things from her hotel.

  She hadn’t talked to him for the past three days. He’d only got a glimpse of her at breakfast and dinner when the exchange of the food trays took place—just a couple of minutes a day to check her emotions as well.

  Despite the silent treatment from her, Raim was pleased with what he saw inside her. The volatile ocean of her emotions had been settling down. Seeing him still brought spikes of all kinds of feelings in her, but the stormy cloud of pain had been thinning out, letting so many other colours finally shine through.

  The process was fascinating to watch. Seeing her actual personality emerge as it fought through the sadness, hurt, and hostility reminded him of a seed sprouting through dirt and reaching for the sun.

  He was shocked to discover that something inside him was reaching out to her, too. Tasting her body and her desire nearly deprived him of sanity that night.

  Mixing the spices as per the recipe, Raim thought about the way his own emotions scrambled when he thought about Dee. He hadn’t got far in finding out anything about the amulet from her, but he definitely did not regret searching her out.

  She fascinated and intrigued him on many levels. The taste of her sexual energy lingered inside him, warming his blood. Even now, just thinking about her sent a shot of heat from his chest to his groin. The silk pants he wore stirred with his rising erection, and he pressed his hips to the cool side of the kitchen island, willing it to calm down, yet finding pleasure in the pressure and ache.

  Erections had not happened to him for centuries. Olyena was the only woman who managed to cause this physical reaction in him before. Normally, he would be concerned about having them again. Except that there couldn’t be any long-term consequences in him spending time with Dee now, in letting the tight rein he had on his self-control loosen a little, could there?

  For once, he had no reason to worry about getting close to a woman, allowing himself to follow his own emotions on this matter, without fighting his instincts.

  Surely, thinking about her as often as he did couldn’t be that harmful. Because really, how much harm could be done in the few weeks he still had left in this world?

  Chapter 8

  ON THE FOURTH DAY OF my confinement, I opened the doors around dinnertime, finding the master of the house in his usual place.

  Bending over, I slid the empty tray his way. A whiff of mouth-watering fragrance tickled my nostrils, bringing my attention to the food on the table.

  “What is it this time?” I couldn’t help the question, breaking the silence I had kept all this time.

  “Sicilian spiced duck with orange sauce,” he replied evenly.

  “Did your housekeeper come back?” I tried very hard not to feel anything about this possibility that he would see, definitely not the hope that I might be able to make my way to the boat that brought her, or at least to get a chance to speak with her and ask for help.

  “No.” Raim crushed my hope before it even had a chance to form. “I made it myself.”

  “You did?” I could not hide my surprise. “Do all Incubi cook?”

  “Most of us are very good at it.” He nodded slightly. “Not me, however. Handlers did all the cooking at the Base. This is the first dish I’ve ever made.”

  “Really?” I took a closer look at the plate—perfectly roasted duck breast on a bed of grilled vegetables, all drizzled in gleaming, citrusy sauce. “Most people start learning how to cook by boiling an egg or warming up a can of ravioli.”

  “You did not strike me as a dinner-from-a-can kind of woman,” he said, and I darted a glance his way, just to make sure he wasn’t mocking me. His expression remained as always—unreadable. “I hope you’ll like the duck.”

  Not bothering with bringing the tray into the room, I reached through the barrier and grabbed the heavy silver fork off the tray. Spearing a slim carrot disk on it, I shoved it in my mouth.

  “This is freaking amazing.” I couldn’t hold back my delight at the remarkable taste combination of sauce and spices. “I can’t believe this is your first dish. You must be talented,” I mumbled, flabbergasted.

  “Not me.” He remained motionless in his chair, but I believed his hard expression warmed just a tad at my enjoyment of his cooking. “People who created this recipe and the chef who perfected and recorded it are talented. I simply followed the steps.”

  “That alone is a skill, believe me.” I huffed a laugh. “God knows I had a long record of ruined dinners before I finally learned how to make a decent meal. Brad used to—” I cut myself short, nearly choking on that name, my mood crashing down once again.

  “Brad is the one who hurt you?” Raim asked. His expression remained unchanged, but he inclined his head in a manner I now knew signalled curiosity. “Your ex-husband?”

  Both of his questions sounded suspiciously like statements.

  “You know.”

  “I’ve done some research, tracking you down,” he admitted. “There was a possibility of you cancelling the trip to Zurich, considering the circumstances.”

  The cool tone with which he spoke about my ‘circumstances’ scratched something inside me. Once again, I felt open and exposed under the microscope of his detached, impassionate scrutiny.

  “What do you know about it?” I instinctively chose attack as the most suitable method of defence. “What could an unmated Incubus possibly know about a human marriage falling apart? When the one person who is supposed to have your back, for better or for worse, betrays your trust and abandons you?”

  The pain swelled inside me again. It felt bigger and more acute somehow, maybe because I had hardly felt it at all during the past couple of days.

  His jaw flexed, something inside his eyes hardened. “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Let it out,” he insisted. “You will feel better when you do.”

  “And how do you know that?” I snapped.

  “I’ve seen it happen before. Pain tends to stay and fester in humans unless you let it out. Then the healing is faster. Similar to lancing an infection to drain it.”

  The insight was highly unexpected, coming from a demon.

  “When did you see that? What human was it?”

  His expression had immediately shut down, making it clear, he was not going to explain.

  “See?” I picked up the tray, stepping back into the room. “We both have something we’d rather keep in.”

  Chapter 9

  AT BREAKFAST THE FOLLOWING morning, I opened the door to find another tray, this one with scrambled eggs and bacon, as well as a stack of pancakes.

  “That’s a lot of food,” I couldn’t help the remark.

  Raim shrugged from his place in the chair. “Isn’t this what people eat in the morning?”

  “Many do. You’ve lived long enough to know, without asking me.”

  “I haven’t shared breakfast with anyone for some time now. For this,” he gestured at the tray, “I searched the Internet last night.”

  I stared at the plates piled high with food.

  What were his intentions? His plans for my future? He seemed pleased when I ate and even more so if I liked what he made. In fact, his behaviour could be compared to that of the witch in the fairy-tale, the one who fed the children in an attempt to fatten them up and eat them later.

  “Are you grooming me to be your personal Source?” I asked hollowly, still staring at the plate.

  “I’m simply feeding you,” he replied, meeting my gaze straight on when I looked up.

  “Sure, you are.” I took the tray and retreated back inside the safety of the bedroom, kicking the doors closed behind me.

  DESPITE MY SITUATION, I found it hard to fret over it, which was strange.

  Something about being here, where I had very little co
ntrol over anything, freed my mind from the hustle and worry that had followed me all of my adult life. Right now, I had nowhere to rush and no one to please. Time seemed to have been suspended, with me floating in a bubble that contained this castle and the demon lurking inside it. Even when I didn’t hear his footsteps, I always sensed Raim’s presence under the same roof.

  Thanks to my amulet, I found a true sanctuary in this bedroom, where I could be alone without really feeling lonely. Incredibly, this turned out to be what I must have really needed right now—the chance to do absolutely nothing, guilt free.

  I ate eggs and bacon for breakfast, then finished the pancakes for lunch.

  Watching the waves roll across the sea, I sat with the glass of orange juice Raim had brought with my breakfast and enjoyed the complete and utter nothingness taking over my brain—no client session analysis, no assessment plans, no assignment tactics.

  No thoughts whatsoever, actually.

  After finishing the juice, I got off the chair and did what I hadn’t done in years. Stretching on the wide silk rug in the middle of the floor, I meditated for a while. Completely clearing my mind proved to be surprisingly easy, then I did a few yoga poses from memory, enjoying the stretch and pull of my muscles.

  Sooner or later, I would have to find a way out of my prison. To make it happen, I needed to start talking with Raim again, if only to fish the boat schedule out of him.

  Apparently, instead of getting the housekeeper to come over more often, he chose to learn to cook himself. And I still had no idea when and if the boat would come again.

  Besides, being on my own had started to wear off. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I actually wanted to have a conversation with someone.

  When dinnertime came, I opened the doors, feeling ready to calmly discuss my options with the demon who’d caught me and wouldn’t let go.

  “WHAT IS IT TONIGHT?” I tore my gaze away from Raim’s bare torso and cast a glance at the fragrant meat and rice dish on the dinner plate.

  “Osso buco alla Milanese,” Raim announced from his usual place.

  Tonight, it was especially hard to keep my focus on the dish in front of me, instead of the man in that chair.

  He was wearing a pair of indigo-coloured pants, nothing else. With the glossy waves of his hair spread along his bare shoulders freely, and with the glow of sunset from the room behind me bringing out the warm tones out in his skin, he looked like a priceless, classic painting that had somehow come to life.

  I blinked, forcing my stare back to the tray.

  “Smells delicious,” I said honestly. “It looks like it might have taken you a whole day to make.”

  “Just a little more than two hours.” He moved one wide shoulder back in the shrug I’d come to think of as one of ‘Raim’s gestures’ by now.

  “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble, you know.” I went with a friendlier tone tonight, striving to keep my mood even, in hopes that he would let his guard down enough to share anything useful for me to plan my escape. “I could have made do with a ten-minute pasta and sauce from a jar.”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure.” I nodded. “It would fill me up.”

  He furrowed his forehead in thought.

  “But would you enjoy that pasta?”

  “Not as much as this,” I admitted. Then a sudden realization hit me. “Is that why you’re doing this? To feed on my enjoyment?”

  He took a moment to reply. “Sure.”

  Apparently, he did use me as his personal Source, after all.

  I suppressed a sigh, reminding myself that I needed to keep talking with him if I ever wanted to get out of here.

  Besides, his request had merit if I looked at it objectively. Had I spent two hours in the kitchen, I would most certainly expect to gain something for myself from the dish. And since Incubi didn’t eat . . .

  Seeing this as Raim getting enjoyment from his work through me made the idea of him feeding off me logical and even acceptable.

  “Okay . . . um, why don’t you move closer then?” I found myself offering. Bringing my own chair from the window to the door, I grabbed the table with the food tray and moved it into the bedroom, just over the threshold. “We might as well have this dinner together.”

  He stared at me for a while, not saying a word.

  I shifted under his penetrating gaze, the feeling of being stripped bare of all defences and pretences came again. “The way you look at me,” I said. “It makes me uncomfortable. I feel naked.”

  “I’m trying to see much deeper than barely under the layer of your clothing.”

  “I know.” That was the most unnerving part. “Why are you doing it?”

  “I have been interacting with humans throughout my life, but I still find it nearly impossible to understand them from their words alone. Even their body language can be misleading, as humans lie with such ease. I need to see what you feel when you speak, to fully comprehend the meaning of your words.”

  “Are you implying I’m lying?”

  “Not in an offensive way, please believe me. But you do use words and facial expressions as a shield to hide behind, and I want to see what it is that you’re concealing.”

  His words only made me feel more vulnerable.

  “Why?” I asked. “To gain the upper hand by learning all my weaknesses?”

  His dark eyebrows moved closer together as he seemed to consider my question.

  “I’m not entirely sure why myself yet,” he replied, slowly. “I have not experienced such an intense interest in a human for a very long time. You intrigue me.”

  He rose from his seat, then sauntered to the door, placing his chair only a couple feet away from where the invisible barrier must be.

  “If you still want to share your dinner with me, I accept,” he announced, as if gracing me with a royal honour.

  I was no longer entirely sure if feeding my emotions to him was a good idea or if that would be an invitation for him to further intrude on my inner word. If he could already see what I felt, though, was it relevant whether or not he fed on it, too?

  “Be my guest.” I gestured at his chair, and he sat down. “And, um, thanks for making this.” I took a bite. The braised veal melted in my mouth, and I couldn’t hold back either the small noise of pleasure in my throat or the praise, “It is excellent, Raim.”

  Blue sparks twinkled in his eyes as he skimmed my enjoyment of his food.

  “How does it feel?” I asked, taking another bite. “Can you sense how much I like the dish?”

  “Yes. The more you do, the more enjoyable your emotions are to me.”

  This turned out to be more than simply sharing a meal. Apparently, while he fed off me, we both experienced the exact same emotions. I found myself eating deliberately slow, savouring every variation of flavour.

  His close attention stopped being unnerving. I still sensed his gaze on me and knew he was watching every bite I took, but I knew he was interested in my emotions, not in the way I ate. That made me pay more attention to my feelings too. From the physical—the taste and texture of the food in my mouth, to the satisfying weight of it in my stomach. To the deeper ones—the contentment from a good meal, peace, and the surprising comfort while being in his company.

  “People’s enjoyment of food almost equals sexual pleasure,” Raim remarked, seemingly out of the blue. Then I realized that for him, both of those feelings were on the same palette of tastes. It would be like if I compared two flavours of cheese—a very appropriate topic for a dinner conversation.

  Clearing the very last morsel of the delicious meat and risotto off my plate, I took a sip of wine from the glass on the tray then leaned back in my chair.

  “A good meal is more than just a way to sustain themselves for people. Food has always been a social thing.”

  “Just like feeding could never be as simple as obtaining nourishment for Incubi.”

  His statement made me snap my gaze to his. I searche
d his face for the true meaning of his words.

  “I wish I could see what you feel too,” I finally admitted, with a frustrated sigh.

  “You can simply ask me.” He arched an eyebrow, as if amused I hadn’t considered a simple thing like that myself. “There is a high chance I would tell the truth.”

  “Alright.” I took another sip of my wine. “What is feeding for an Incubus?”

  He leaned back, his body posture seemed much more relaxed now.

  “I have spent centuries forcing it to be just that—an emotionless process of obtaining energy. All this time, I was striving to keep Sources away from their Handlers, building barriers between them. Then I watched how all my work crumbled and fell apart in just a matter of months. It took less than two years for every single Incubus to find his own Source. Just one Source, though.” He lifted up a finger. “If feeding was simply a matter of obtaining energy, wouldn’t it be simpler and faster to get it from as many women as possible instead of relying on the sexual energy of one individual?”

  “Probably,” I agreed.

  “When granted free access into human society, the Incubi did not cause the carnage that some from The Priory had feared. None of them rushed to indulge in orgies. Instead, they all chose one person, be it a man or a woman. Just one. That was supposed to be our salvation all along, they say. Our Forgiveness lies in gaining the trust and love of just one human.”

  A small shake of his head when he said that told me he was still struggling to fully accept this fact himself. I kept quiet, afraid to interrupt this glimpse into the Incubi world and, in a way, into Raim’s inner world as well.

  “Feeding means more for an Incubus than simply re-charging energy. Taking in humans’ emotions could never leave us completely blind or unfeeling to them. That was our main curse—we feel, which makes everything that much more complicated.”

  “How?” I prompted when he went quiet, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a few moments. I wondered if he was talking about all of this for the first time ever, still tasting the idea as he said it out loud.