Desire Me

by Skye Malone

  Ruby never says a word and soon I adopt silence as well. It seems better. Safer. Or maybe I don’t want to confront the fact she might not respond if I spoke to her. Amar never breaks it, though. Stepping outside occasionally, he takes his cell with him and makes calls from somewhere down the hall.

  And then more delivery people arrive.

  Clothes come. Bedding. New mattresses, new furniture, all of it as close as possible to what was destroyed. I catch Ruby staring at Amar from time to time like she can’t figure out what to make of him, though when she realizes I’ve noticed her, she instantly drops her gaze away.

  I never see her look at me once.

  By nightfall, it’s like no one ever broke in. Even the damned coffee table has been replaced, and somehow Amar’s people succeeded in finding posters exactly identical to the ones that had been ripped from our walls. I stare around the living room, struck by how it looks more like we bought a few new things for the apartment than that we all barely survived a brush with hell over the weekend.

  “Thank you,” I say to Amar after the last delivery person is gone.

  “Yeah,” Ruby agrees. I look over. She’s got her gaze on a point somewhere midway in our direction. She seems like she wants to leave.

  “Of course,” Amar replies.

  Ruby retreats into her room and shuts her door.

  An ache throbs through me. Turning away, I try to fix my attention on anything else. The tags still attached to the couch pillows, maybe. Those could be important right now.

  “You okay?” Amar asks me quietly.

  I don’t look toward him, feeling about as reluctant to meet his eyes as Ruby had appeared. “You really didn’t have to do all—”

  “I have the money. I’d prefer to use it for something good.”

  I’m not sure what to say.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of convincing you not to go tonight?” he continues.

  A grimace twists my face. The salvage yard. Ram. I’d managed to forget for five seconds.

  I shake my head.

  Amar sighs. “Didn’t think so.”

  A knock comes on the door. Without a word, he crosses the room and answers it.

  I blink at the sight of the three people standing there. I don’t recognize them, but between their eerily intent gazes and their body language, their identity is clear. Werewolves, like the ones Amar and Bianca hired to help find Ruby. Silently, the trio walks past Amar, their attention on the apartment.

  “Would you tell Ruby they’re here?” Amar asks me. “They’ll keep an eye on the place while we’re gone.”

  I falter. “O-okay.” My gaze darts around. I’m suddenly wondering if we can do anything about the shadows, while hoping the werewolves will be enough to stop any Volgert bastards who might come back.

  “I’ve put defenses around the place too. They won’t be able to get in like they did.”

  I can’t help but stare at him this time. When did he have the chance to do that?

  Amar glances to the werewolves rather than explain. “Give the girl as much space as you can, but don’t let her out of your sight.”

  One of them nods. Amar looks back to me, his brow rising in a silent question.

  I swallow hard and make myself head for Ruby’s room. Silence follows my knock on the door.

  “Ruby?” I inch the door open.

  She’s standing by her bed, running a hand over the brand new blue comforter that looks nearly identical to the one a Volgert henchman had decided to use for slicing practice.

  “Ruby? We, um… Amar and I have to go.” I can’t even tell if she’s heard me. “There are some people here. They’re going to help make sure nobody comes and…”

  My words run out. I’m not sure what to say. Kidnaps her and nearly destroys her life again?

  “What are they?”

  I can barely hear her whisper. I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder and then step farther into the room. “They’re people Amar hired. Like, bodyguards. They won’t hurt you.”

  Her head turns toward me. I know it’s not the answer she was searching for. But the truth…

  I wince. “Werewolves.”

  Air leaves her, shaky and rough. She looks back toward her bed.

  I search for something else to say, but there’s just nothing. No words to make anything make sense, no answer I can give as to why we’re standing in her new-old bedroom, having a stilted conversation about things that should be confined to fantasy books. It’s madness.

  It feels like my fault.

  “We’ll be back really soon,” I try. “I promise.”

  Nothing happens. Hurt wells up and I want to beg her to look at me, but I know I won’t like what I’ll see. Swallowing hard, I struggle to get my expression and my emotions back under control while I retreat to the living room.

  Amar doesn’t say anything, only nods toward the hallway. I follow him, leaving the mercenaries to find places on the new sofa and chairs.

  The hall is dark around us; the landlord still hasn’t repaired the wall lamp midway down the corridor. Deep pools of shadow cluster everywhere, though a square of light stretches from the window at the end of the hallway.

  Amar stops at the edge of the light. I do the same, and when he extends a hand, I wrap my fingers around his warm palm without a word.

  “Give her time,” he says softly.

  My gaze twitches up, meeting his, and I find only sympathy there.

  It helps.

  I take a shuddering breath, nodding at the repetition of the words he’d spoken last night. I can do that. Give her time.

  I just hope that’ll be enough.

  My feet land on gravel and the dark confines of the hallway are replaced by much more space. Blinking, I look around fast, taking in mountains of metal formed by everything from cars to washing machines to old school desks. Behind us, a security lamp blazes, its glow hitting one of the piles and creating a fine line of shadow and light on the ground behind our shoes.

  And there are a thousand places for people to hide. A thousand places from which they might be watching us.

  Amar drops his hand from mine. I glance to him quickly. He’s scanning the area, a sharp look in his dark eyes, but he’s back to radiating calm in that way he has—like despite our location he’s totally in control of the situation.

  I envy him.

  A rustle makes me jump and my attention snaps toward the sound. From beyond one of the piles, Ram steps into view.

  He’s not alone.

  Five other people emerge from the darkness around us, leaving their hiding places behind the mounds of junk, and I don’t know whether they’re trolls or werewolves or something else entirely. Tall and muscular, they all simply seem like they could tear us apart with their bare hands.

  At the sight of Amar, the one nearest Ram growls. Leaning over, he mutters something to Ram, who raises a hand in a calming motion.

  I try not to show my trepidation, but there it is again. That way people keep reacting to Amar. What the hell is—

  “Hey there,” Ram says to me. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.” His attention flicks to Amar and he runs his gaze over him with a considering expression that grows more wry and resistant by the second.

  And I can just read it. They’re going to insist Amar leave.

  “He’s with me,” I say into the tense silence. “He goes, I go.”

  Ram turns the wry look on me, but after a moment, he shrugs. “This way.” He nods toward the shadowed path through the junkyard at his back.

  The other guy growls again. Ram gives him an expectant glance. “Katsuro wants her here.”

  My brow twitches down warily.

  Glowering, the guy relents. Keeping one eye to us, he moves toward the path and Ram follows. The others step nearer to us, waiting.

  Sticking close to Amar, I trail after Ram. The light of the security lamp falls behind us, leaving us in shadows that never seem to end. Crumpled cars are stacked one atop the
other, forming blind corners that could be hiding anything. Our shoes crunching on the gravel is the only sound. My gaze skirts to the people around us; they’re still watching me and Amar.

  I wish I knew why the hell everyone reacts to Amar this way. I know I trust him. Even if I don’t know everything about him, I’ve nevertheless come to trust him nearly as much as Ruby.

  But still.

  We round something that might have once been a school bus and an open spread of gravel comes into view. At the heart of it, a warehouse stands. Tarps flap over what look like holes in the metal roof and sheets of the siding hang askew. I can’t see any light coming from inside.

  Ram pauses by the massive metal slab of a door and glances toward the others. Without a word, the five of them head around the sides of the warehouse, scanning the scrapyard as they go.

  Despite its decrepit appearance, the door doesn’t make a sound while Ram pulls it aside. Darkness envelops us when we walk into the warehouse.

  And somehow, I know we’re not alone. I can’t see jack, but I’d swear there are others in here with us. Anxious shivers make the hairs on my arms stand on end. Tingles run beneath my skin, like whatever I have inside wants to break out and blast everything near me into the walls.

  The door closes. Before I can turn, a light flares to life.

  I wasn’t wrong.

  Three people wait in the cavernous space up ahead. The one farthest to the right holds a green plastic camping lantern. The blue-white LED light of the lantern casts strange shadows from the hulking metal tractors on either side of us. The guy on the left has a shotgun resting against his shoulder like he’s just waiting for the command to swing the weapon down and fire. And the one in the middle has nothing. His hands are clasped in front of the long, dark coat draping him and his black hair brushes cheekbones that appear chiseled from rock. He looks Asian, maybe Japanese, and somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties.

  But then we walk closer and I see his eyes. They watch me, unblinking, and they send alarms ringing through me of wrong, wrong, wrong. They make him seem old. Ancient, even, like I’m looking into the eyes of someone who has seen more years go by than they could hope to count.

  And I know without a doubt that he’s the one in charge here and absolutely the most dangerous of the three.

  The tingling in my skin gets worse. I make myself keep breathing while I silently beg the energy to stay under control.

  “Cait,” Ram says, gesturing to me and then glancing to the Asian guy.

  The man steps forward, extending a hand. “Welcome.” His voice is smooth. Polished even. It reminds me of a river stone. “My name is Hisakawa Katsuro. A pleasure to meet you.”

  Nervously, I take his hand.

  It’s inhumanly cool. My breath catches.

  His smile returns, stronger this time. “Apologies. You haven’t shaken hands with a vampire before, I take it.”

  My heart starts pounding harder. “No.”

  His brow shrugs equitably at the response. “It can be alarming. I should have warned you.” He glances to Amar. “And hello to you as well, Mister Okoro.”

  Amar gives him a slight nod in response, and his eyes track the man when Katsuro steps back from me again. “You wanted Cait here,” Amar says. “She’s here. Now what is this about?”

  Ram’s lip twitches. He looks to the other man.

  “We would like Cait’s help,” Katsuro replies.

  I tense, the words so close to what Kyle had said after he took Ruby.

  “With what?” Amar presses.

  Katsuro glances to me. “You would be safer having this conversation if this gentleman was not present, you know.”

  I shiver. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but right now, I don’t care. I’ll ask Amar later.

  Assuming we make it out of here.

  I shove the thought aside. “Amar stays. Answer the question.”

  Amusement flickers over Katsuro’s face. “Very well. How much do you know about what Linden and Volgert are currently fighting over?”

  My brow flickers down warily. “Not… not a lot.”

  He nods like he expected the response. “And how much do you know about the Touched?”

  For a heartbeat I don’t react, and then my shivering grows stronger. Colder, like it’s commencing an assault on my core.

  God, don’t let this have anything to do with Ruby…

  “Some,” I manage.

  He nods a second time, though he glances over briefly like he’s taking note of whatever he sees on Amar’s face. My gaze twitches Amar’s way. Stone again. He has that non-expression down to a science.

  I can’t tell what Katsuro thinks of it, though. “The insanity,” he says to me. “Like what I assume happened to your friend, considering her location last night?”

  I’m not sure what to say. What other part is there? “Yeah…”

  He looks to Amar again. “Have you heard of the rest of it?”

  I follow his gaze. He isn’t taking his eyes from Amar this time, like Katsuro is judging his reaction to the words.

  “What ‘rest of it’?” I ask.

  A heartbeat passes before Katsuro returns his attention to me. “You are not like the others, are you? The succubi and incubi. You care about humans and innocents. People other than yourself.”

  Confusion hits me. This isn’t an answer to my question. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I guess—”

  “And if you could do something to assist the Touched… would you?”

  My confusion grows. “Of course.”

  His smile returns. It sends shivers down my spine.

  “What is this about?” Amar demands.

  Katsuro eyes him briefly. “Approximately twenty-five years ago, the Houses made a discovery. The subtle magical energy that flows through our world—the magic demons instinctively draw upon and direct so freely in numerous aspects of our lives—is changing. Now, the details behind this are complex and many of the potential ramifications are as well, but one result is now undeniable.” He gives a humorless smile. “Humans have been affected. They have been changed by magic, but they have no idea that it has happened and—barring a few catalyzing factors brought about by incubi or succubi—they show no sign of that change at all.”

  “That’s impossible,” Amar states.

  “Oh, I’m aware of the common knowledge. We all are.” Katsuro skims his gaze over the others around him. “Demons have existed easily as long as humanity, and quite possibly longer. If humanity was going to experience any effects from their proximity to magical energy, surely we would have seen evidence of that fact prior to now. But that assumes a static system, which magic most certainly is not. A massive system, yes, but not static. And consider this: even on the smaller scale of our own influence, things have hardly stayed the same. Until a few centuries ago, the majority of demonkind stayed away from humans. We fed on them, yes, but otherwise we lived in forests. On mountains. This is how there came to be stories of monsters in woodlands and caves. But then the world got smaller. Remote places stopped being so remote and there weren’t many—if any—places to hide from human notice any longer.”

  He shrugs. “It’s a product of the Industrial Age. The Technology Age. We had no choice but to join the human race and blend as best we could. For some like you and I, who naturally look like them, it is easier. For others such as trolls, not as much. But the point is that for the first time in history, demons were not merely visiting human spaces and exposing them to our abilities for short periods of time. Our use of magic has now permeated all parts of the world in a way never before seen. Magical beings can be living in the apartment across the hall. Be sitting in the next office cubicle. Ringing up your groceries at the store. There is no delineation of human and demonic areas any longer. Add that to the overall shifts in the magical energy of this world and you have a situation which was bound to have consequences.”

  “But what does that have to do with incubi and succubi?” Amar repl
ies.

  “Plenty. Throughout history, there have been copious examples to support the idea that when certain kinds of demons direct their magic at humans, they alter them. A vampire, for instance, can feed their blood to a human and make more of our kind. Succubi and incubi can drive a human mad, creating the Touched. But recently, the Houses discovered something new. Certain humans, rare humans, were being transformed in different ways. And when your kind turned them into Touched…” Katsuro’s brow rises and falls illustratively. “These hidden ones became something else entirely.”

  I stare at him. “Like what?”

  “Touched… with special abilities. Not the same as your kind—not exactly. They only manifest talents like you, not the innate skills that make you what you are.”

  His words don’t make any sense to me. Hell, none of this does.

  Katsuro seems to see my confusion. He glances to Amar like he’s checking something, and whatever he sees brings that dark amusement back into his gaze. “I take it your friend hasn’t mentioned that.”

  Amar is silent, but it feels like the temperature in the room plummets.

  Katsuro doesn’t seem to care. “Succubi and incubi are among the most magically versatile of all demons,” he explains to me. “Perhaps it’s a product of evolution: you deal in seduction, not direct violence, and thus your prey requires more finesse to hunt than, say, a vampire or werewolf might need. And certainly, there are several other species who’ve come close to you in this regard, maybe even one or two members among the remaining species who will manifest special skills in the way many of you do… but no other demonic type does it as consistently.”

  “I—” My gaze twitches to Amar. “I don’t understand.”

  “Think of it like this,” Katsuro says. “Humans have talents, correct? Inherent abilities that exceed their fellow humans in certain ways, occasionally to an almost unbelievable degree. And some demons—your kind especially—have similar. But unlike an ordinary human, your talents are magical. Supernatural. Extraordinary. And when the specific humans who have been affected by the shift in the magical energy of this world are turned into Touched, they too manifest these supernatural skills.” His expression turns pointed. “But the problem, of course, is that those humans are still insane. They are still rabid and desperate and crave being fed like any of the Touched. And yet they have these talents, turning them effectively into you, but without the pesky inconvenience of free will to make any choices of their own.”