by Rita Herron
He cocked his head to the side. “Stay here and keep the doors locked. I’ll search the house and perimeter.”
Nerves clawed at her as he strode toward the porch and inched his way inside.
Senses honed, Dante sniffed the acrid scent of another demon as he entered Marlena’s house. A sulfuric odor permeated the air, and an odd tingling ripped through him as if someone was watching them.
A demon? A spirit?
Papers had been tossed onto the floor in front of the oak desk, the drawers open as if someone had been searching for something.
Bracing his gun at the ready, he sized up the space. A mystical sense hovered in the corners of the old house, and the floor creaked as he walked through the downstairs, searching the rooms. With a trained eye, he quickly noted the homey furnishings that he’d barely noticed the night he’d brought Marlena home—the antique armoire holding the TV, pine kitchen table with fresh flowers in a blue vase, crisp white cabinets—then inched upstairs to the bedrooms.
First to Marlena’s room where a four-poster bed draped with a white lace canopy dominated the space. The white curtains flapped from the heat vent working to warm the old house. Heat speared him, and his cock hardened as an unbidden image of Marlena naked and sprawled on that bed flashed in his head, but he quickly banished it.
Being with Marlena could place her in danger.
Besides, she would hate him if she knew the truth about what he was.
The adjacent bathroom held blue and white towels and a shower and antique clawfoot tub. ‘But both rooms were empty and seemed undisturbed.
He paused to listen for sounds from the other room, but only the whistling wind and creak of the furnace filled the air. He stepped back into the hallway, then inched to the room on the opposite side, a guest room with floral wallpaper that must have been Marlena’s room as a child. Stuffed animals lined a white wicker bookcase, and a teddy bear with gauze wrapped around its leg sat on the bed.
Marlena must have played doctor as a child. As he descended the stairs, he noticed some of the papers on the floor were actually childhood drawings Marlena had made—drawings of the monsters she’d seen that day.
Ugly grotesque red and black creatures that spat fire and dripped blood from their jagged teeth and warped mouths. Creatures that stood over a woman and child and tore their hearts out with fierce claws, then drank their blood as if it was water.
The guilt that had haunted him for twenty years assaulted him like a fist in his gut.
Guilt he’d never expected to feel in his first years with Father Gio. Guilt he’d been taught to suppress.
The kind of guilt that made a man human, not a monster.
But he was both.
Remembering Marlena was waiting in her car, be jogged down the steps, praying those monsters hadn’t resurfaced to kill Marlena as he’d been ordered to do.
Anxious to make sure she was safe, he rushed to the car and opened the door. “It’s clear.” He swallowed again, disturbed by his reaction to her. The slow burn of arousal heated his blood. Her scent enveloped him, the scent of an animal on the prowl recognizing its mate.
He’d never expected Marlena to make him feel like this, have this instant attraction to her. This dark... lust.
This damn need...
The wind whistled shrilly, catching her shimmering hair and swirling it around her face, making her look almost ethereal. Reining in the fire in his fingertips and inwardly adjusting his body temperature, he cleared his throat. “Did you see anyone when you arrived?”
“No, but I saw a shadow in the woods.”
“Then he’s gone for now. Let’s go inside,” he said. “You can check and see if anything is missing.”
She clutched her coat around her and rushed up the drive and porch steps. He followed, stowing his gun in his holster. Not that a gun would have been effective against a demon.
His hands would, though—they were lethal weapons, always ready.
She hesitated in the doorway, her gaze falling to the scattered childhood drawings, a shuttered expression slamming down over her face.
Her jaw set tight, she scooped them up and put them on the desk.
“Nothing appears to be disturbed in any of the rooms except this one,” he said. “But you can check.”
She gave a nod. “I don’t know why anyone would search my desk.”
“Do you have important work documents here?”
She shook her head. “In my laptop but nothing in that desk. My confidential files are locked in my office. And I don’t have any valuables.”
“Maybe you forgot to lock the door,” he suggested.
“No,” Marlena said. “Someone was here. I saw a silhouette of a man in the woods before you arrived. And the wind didn’t open those drawers.”
He conceded that point, but kept his suspicions to himself. A spirit of some kind was here, watching her. Watching him.
A spirit with sinister motives.
He’d felt it, smelled the foul odor of evil, the moment he’d entered the house.
“Did you see anything distinguishing?” Dante asked.
“No, it was too dark.” She folded her arms. “Do you think it was the killer?”
Dante shrugged, but anxiety riddled him. “It’s possible. Did you review your patient files and find anyone who fits the profile of the killer?”
Hesitation lit her eyes. “Actually, one of my patients escaped the mental institution today.”
Alarm bells went off in his head. “Is he dangerous?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s possible,” she said.
Dante jammed his fists on his hips. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
“Dr. Chambers phoned your office and told your deputy. He said he’d issue an APB for him.”
Dante took her arm and forced her to look at him. “Sit down, Marlena, and tell me everything you know about this guy.”
Marlena hesitated, then sighed. “His name is Gerald Daumer. He suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder. When he came in to see me, he was extremely agitated, ranting about voices ordering him to do bad things.”
His interest was piqued. “Go on.”
She stood, then paced by the fireplace, rubbing her hand up and down her shoulder bag.
“Marlena, what happened?”
“He kept talking about blood being on his hands, on the floor and walls,” she said in a shaky voice. “I was concerned, but I couldn’t be sure if he was delusional or if he was talking about something that had actually happened. When I pressed him for details, and asked him if he’d carried out the violent acts, he became even more agitated. Even incoherent.”
She pushed her tangled hair from her face. “I had to sedate him. Then I ordered tests, a CAT scan, complete neurological workup, and bloodwork to determine if the problem was physical, a chemical imbalance, or psychological. I’d planned to question him further once he’d calmed down and I had the test results back, so I left for the lab.”
Marlena shifted restlessly.
Dante had the insane urge to comfort her. But he clenched his hands into fists instead. “Then what happened?”
“At the lab, I received a call about his escape. When I reached the hospital, my coworker found sketches Mr. Daumer had made.” She reached inside her bag and removed a sketchpad. “The drawings are.. . disturbing.”
He frowned, then pulled on gloves and reached for the pad.
His anger mounted as he flipped through the pages. The crude drawings depicted a female tied to a bed, blood splattering the sheets, the floor, and the walls.
The Satanic S the man had drawn was similar to the S formed by the burning bark.
Dammit, he had to find Gerald Daumer. He might be the killer.
The Seer bowed before Zion’s throne, the fire blazing and heating her back. She had been assigned to track Dante and detect any obstacles that might stand in Zion’s way.
Zion waved his massive hands. He was ready for the anarchy to begin.
He’d already commissioned his minions to spread the evil and escalate the attack on humanity. Soon he would join them on Earth to aid in the wars.
“You have seen my third son?”
The Seer lifted her head, her black eyes glinting with a streak of purple. “Yes?’
“Have his brothers found him?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. I will find a way to pit them against one another.”
The Seer nodded, but her reluctance to share what she’d learned about his third son raised Zion’s suspicions. “Tell me about Dante,” he commanded.
“Master, I’m afraid he is not the man you thought. He has made it his life’s work to protect the town.”
“No!” Zion roared. “Dante is my hope. He is a fire-starter as I am. He has great powers.”
“I’m sorry, Master, but he went rogue at his initiation years ago and refused to kill the girl he was assigned to hunt.” Venom laced her voice “He has a weakness for women and children, and to this day enforces that code.”
“Tell me about this girl—this woman,” Zion said, seething.
“She is some kind of doctor and is obsessed with research into violent and aberrant behavior. Worse, Zion... she is Dante’s soul mate, the one who has the power to restore his humanity.”
Fury rolled off Zion in waves of shooting flames, crackling against the black walls of the cave. “Has my son mated with the woman yet?”
“Not yet,” the Seer replied. “But, Master, if they copulate on the night of the Hunters moon, they will produce a child.”
The Hunters Moon—that was only days away.
“This child cannot be created,” Zion roared. “Not now. Not ever.”
Chapter Eight
Guilt plagued Marlena. “The police are looking for Gerald. I hope they can bring him in without hurting him.”
Anger flashed in Dante’s eyes. “How can you be concerned about him after the brutal way he killed Jordie McEnroe?”
Marlena sucked in a sharp breath at the animosity in his tone. With that scar running down his neck into his shirt he looked dangerous.
“We don’t know for certain that he killed Jordie. I need to question him further.”
Dante slapped one hand on top of the sketches. “This looks pretty damning to me.”
“Fantasizing about doing something and actually committing a crime are two different things,” Marlena said.
A muscle ticked in Dante’s jaw. “True. But if this maniac hasn’t killed, then he’s going to.”
“Not necessarily,” Marlena argued. “There have been cases where people who witnessed a crime were so traumatized that they drew pictures of the crime scene, and other cases where they even confessed as if they had committed the act themselves.”
“Which means Daumer might know who the killer is,”
Dante said in a harsh voice. “All the more reason to hunt him down and bring him in.”
Marlena stiffened. “You say hunt as if he’s an animal.”
“Whoever killed Jordie is an animal,” he said bluntly. “After what happened to your family, I’d think you of all people would want to see him punished, Marlena.”
Marlena frowned. “If he’s guilty, I do. But I just want him brought in alive so I can talk to him. I need to run tests on him as well, make a diagnosis so I can treat him.”
“You want to use him as part of your research?” He shifted and made a sound of disgust. “You really think you can find a way to stop deviant behavior by altering blood and using genetics?”
Marlena arched a brow. “How did you know about my project?”
“I read the paper,” Dante said icily.
Marlena swept a strand of hair from her cheek. “I do believe genetics plays a part in some people’s tendency toward violent and aberrant behavior. Other behavior is learned. But yes, I think there may be genetic markers or chemical imbalances that cause some people to be more aggressive or to commit criminal acts.”
A predatory look tinged his eyes, his thick brows set in a permanent frown. Yet she sensed he was shutting down.
She’d studied human behavior and body language, and Dante had secrets.
His offensive stance screamed of intimidation and power, and his guarded expression warned her not to probe too deeply. -
That she wouldn’t like the truth beneath his mask.
For a brief second, she flashed back to the day her family was murdered, to the way Dante had run so fast. To the fire that had erupted in the woods. She’d thought that the monsters had started the fire.
Dante had said he’d been camping in the woods that day, but he had come from the same area as the attackers.
He couldn’t have been with them, could he?
No, that was ridiculous. . . he had saved her. He was the sheriff, not a killer.
She gathered the extra papers on the floor and glanced through them—odd, but they were scribbled notes about various research projects. Nothing specific or confidential, just a smattering of her suppositions and theories.
Why would the killer have been interested in them?
The need to protect Marlena warred with Dante’s need to keep his distance. Marlena stacked the papers on her desk. Tension lined her beautiful face, but her defense of Gerald Daumer had irritated the hell out of him. If Daumer had killed Jordie, he deserved to suffer, not be pampered in some damn mental hospital.
Still, he sensed a demon had been in Marlena’s house, and that the killer might come back for her.
He couldn’t live with himself if she died at the hands of a demon, especially if this latest attack was from Father Gio or his band of brothers.
“I need to know where Daumer lives, where he worked, everything about him.”
She nodded. “I’ll get his file and send it over.”
“No, I want to check his house tonight in case he went back there.”
Marlena nodded. “I assumed your deputy already did that. Dr. Chambers gave him Gerald’s address.”
“I’ll call Hobbs.” Dante stepped aside to make the call.
“I haven’t had time to go by the house,” Hobbs said. “But I did issue an APB for him.”
“Give me the address and I’ll check out the house.” Hobbs recited the address and Dante quickly memorized the street name.
As soon as he ended the call, he phoned Judge Brannigan for a warrant. If he found evidence, he didn’t want it to be thrown out in court.
If he allowed Daumer to live long enough to go to trial...
“Will you be all right here?” Dante asked.
Concern shadowed Marlena’s eyes. “I’m going with you. If Gerald is home, I might be able to persuade him to turn himself in without anyone getting hurt.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then finally conceded her point. “But you follow my lead. If we’re right, he may be very dangerous.”
Marlena lapsed into silence as they walked outside to his SUV. Dante’s instincts rose and he scanned the property.
The scent of blood seeped from the woods, along with the acrid odor of charred wood and flesh, but he sniffed and recognized it as animal blood, so dismissed it.
A tense silence stretched between them as he drove down the mountain toward town. Her sweet, sultry scent filled the car, taunting him with her essence, and his primal needs erupted.
He wanted to soothe the worry from her brow. Protect her in case she was in danger.
He wanted to strip her and feel her bare skin against his, hear her sigh of pleasure as he stroked her body with his lips and tongue.
Hear her cry of orgasm as he claimed her.
A curse rolled through his head. He had to banish those thoughts. Marlena was the last woman in the world he could be with.
They stopped by the lab to drop off the sketchpad for analysis, then the judge’s house for the warrant.
Judge Brannigan was in his late fifties, his hair thick and black, a cigar in his hand. His eyes were slanted, his chin bu
lbous, an icy coldness radiating from his scowling face. “You think you’ve got this guy?” he asked.
Dante avoided the man as much as possible. His job was his cover, and he had to be careful not to blow it. “We’ll know more once I search his house.”
Brannigan guffawed. “Put away this maniac, and you’ll be the town hero.”
Dante bit back a chuckle. Him a hero? Hardly. “Thanks for signing the warrant,” he muttered.
Rain began to fall in heavy sheets, thunder booming, the wind beating at his SUV as he drove toward Daumer’s. Dante flipped on the radio to listen to the weather report.
“Heavy storms are threatening the area with rains that could flood Stone Creek and Devil’s Canyon and make conditions dangerous. Radar also indicates that the temperature is dropping and the rain might turn to sleet.”
Dante slowed as water spewed from his tires and traffic crawled as he passed the new subdivision in town, turned onto a side road, drove by the mountain lodge the hunters used, then passed a series of cabins. Finally they arrived at the tiny clapboard house where Gerald lived.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered Marlena as they climbed out and slogged through the rain to the front door. The house was run-down and old, the wood rotting, paint peeling off like dead, brittle skin.
Bracing his gun at the ready, he pushed Marlena behind him and pounded on the door. “Daumer, it’s the sheriff. I have a warrant. Open up.” -
He ground his teeth while he waited, then pounded the door again, but no one responded. Raising his foot, he kicked at the frail wood until it splintered and snapped and the door burst open.
He held his hand up and gestured for Marlena to wait outside while he slowly inched inside and searched the premises.
Five minutes later, he returned, his expression grim as he signaled for her to follow him inside.
Instinct quickly kicked in as he assessed the house for details that would reveal more about Daumer. Signs of his obsessive-compulsive disorder showed in the neatly hung towels, the magazines lined on the table, the meticulously organized canned goods stacked in alphabetical order in the pantry.