The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  There are all sorts of monsters in this world, Jen. His words reeled through her thoughts. For an instant, she’d been so certain that Daemon was talking about himself. But had he known about the dead woman?

  “You hate tomatoes, Jen Cassaday. What’re you buying them for?” Mrs Hambly demanded, peering into Jen’s cart.

  “They’re . . .” She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “They’re for the handyman. He mentioned he has a fondness for tomatoes on his turkey sandwich.”

  “Why doesn’t your handyman bring his own lunch?” Mrs Hambly questioned at the same time that Gail asked, “You have a handyman working for you? Is it wise to have a stranger in the house with . . . well, with a woman dead and all?”

  Jen shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “He works hard. And he seems to understand old houses.”

  “But you hired a stranger! You don’t know anything about him,” Gail exclaimed.

  “He had references,” Jen replied softly. For what that was worth. They dated back two weeks, which was about how long Daemon Alexander had been working for her, the same amount of time that the Sheriff was guessing the dead body had been in the woods. What was she supposed to make of that?

  The two women pegged her with identical “Are you crazy?” looks. But Jen knew she wasn’t. She’d had this built-in radar detector for trouble all her life. It would uncoil and flare hard and bright if ever she was in danger. It had never failed her, and she was counting on that now, because the only vibe she got off Daemon Alexander was a sizzle of hotter-than-hell chemistry.

  And that was a whole other kind of dangerous.

  Daemon moved through the dense woods, silent, quick. A little moonlight filtered through the heavy canopy of branches and leaves. That was fine. He didn’t need light.

  He stopped beside the rotting trunk of a fallen oak. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and set the trinity free, sent the shadows out into the darkness. The three misty shapes rose from his skin, snaked around his limbs and through them, blending, adapting, taking form then dissipating.

  “Hunt,” he said, sending them to their task. They darted away into the night, unseen, unheard. But there. A silent menace.

  His resources no longer twined with theirs, he summoned his stores of magic, a surge of bright power. He could see in the dark. He could run for miles. He could hear the breath of the smallest creatures in their burrows.

  And he could sense dark magic. It made the continuum writhe and twist at the insult.

  Something other than him laid claim to these woods. And it had killed. Recently. He could smell human blood and brimstone, feel the surge of demon power in the air.

  Following instinct, he ran, skirting trees and vaulting logs, his blood pumping through him, the wind clean and cold in his face.

  He hunted. And he found them.

  Hybrids. Brutish creatures that had been human once, but when faced with death, had chosen to allow demon will to overtake their souls. They were human no longer, serving only their own hungers and a monstrous master.

  There were only two of them. A scouting party. Their hands were bloody which meant they had fed earlier. Daemon suppressed a shudder. Hybrids preferred their prey live, human and bloody.

  The trinity sped to him, black shadows in the night.

  “No,” he said, wanting this fight to be his, needing to know he was the one keeping her safe. Jen. He would keep her safe.

  They came at him, one from each side, claws raking his flesh. He welcomed the pain, welcomed the burn of cold fury that burst from deep inside. With a snarl, he lunged, speed and power. Sweat dripped from him, and blood. His - red, theirs -black.

  In the end, he stood, breathing heavily as their remains bubbled and hissed and disintegrated into sludge.

  At his call, the trinity came to him - sinuous smoke, dark shadow - and for a moment, the night flared bright with cold blue flame.

  Three

  The following morning, Jen sat in the kitchen with Sheriff Hale, answering a whole mess of questions. Actually, it was more like he asked and she sat silent and frustrated because she didn’t have a shred of information to help him find that poor woman’s killer. What was she supposed to say? That two weeks ago she’d looked out at the woods and had the ugly sensation that something watched her with inhuman eyes? Yeah, that’d be a good move. Hale would think she’d lost her mind, and it wouldn’t bring him a step closer to the killer.

  “So tell me about this handyman you have working for you,” Hale prodded.

  “His name’s Daemon Alexander.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  Jen opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no idea.

  “I’m from Oregon, originally.”

  She caught the look of surprise on Hale’s face as they both turned. Daemon stood by the side door, leaning one shoulder against it. She hadn’t heard him come in and, from Hale’s sour expression, she gathered that neither had he.

  “What about you, Sheriff Hale?” Daemon asked, his tone lazy and smooth. He shrugged out of his scuffed leather jacket and hung it on a peg behind the door. “Where’re you from?”

  Hale’s face darkened to a dull red. “Right here. Born and bred.”

  “How fortunate for you.” There was a wealth of the unspoken behind those words, an implication that strangers were a convenient scapegoat.

  Jen watched Daemon cross the kitchen to the coffee pot and pour himself a cup. She frowned at the tattoo on his forearm. She could swear that it had been on his biceps last night.

  “Jenny, you mind giving us a few minutes, man to man?” the sheriff asked.

  For some inexplicable reason, she did mind, but had no reason to say so. Instead, she rose and collected her crutches. Daemon met her gaze and offered a tight smile. She realized that he wanted this, wanted to talk with Hale alone. She supposed he wanted to lay any suspicions to rest.

  Seeing no option, she left them alone.

  The sheriff’s voice drifted to her. “So where were you last night, Mr Alexander?”

  “Last night?” Daemon’s tone was laced with perverse humour. “Why, I was right here, Sheriff. With Jen.”

  She froze. He didn’t exactly lie. He had been here with her as night fell. But after that? Where had Daemon been then? And why did he only offer a partial truth?

  “Why do you ask, Sheriff? Was there some problem last night?”

  “Mrs Peteri says she saw someone lurking in the woods. Someone with a flashlight that has a blue bulb. A very powerful flashlight. That wouldn’t have been you, would it, Mr Alexander?”

  Daemon laughed. “Come outside and search my car if you feel compelled, Sheriff Hale.”

  “I just might do that,” the sheriff said. “Might like to look at where you live, too. You rent a room at Maybelle Tewksbury’s, don’t you?”

  “I do. You’re welcome to look there, as well.” Daemon paused. “I don’t own a flashlight. Blue bulb or otherwise.”

  But he did. If not a flashlight, then some other type of light. Jen had seen it leaking through the door of the room Daemon had been working in last night.

  Not bothering with stealth, because her crutches made that hopeless, she headed up the stairs to the room under the eaves. Heart racing, she pushed open the door. The walls that had been covered with her grandmother’s floral paper were now a soft cappuccino colour. She hobbled into the room. Paint tins were neatly placed on a folded drop cloth, roller trays washed and stacked. And there was a high-power light in the corner, switched to “Off, but still plugged into the outlet. Plugged in. Which meant it needed electricity to work. This couldn’t be the blue light Lina Peteri had seen in the woods.

  With a sigh of relief, Jen turned back towards the bedroom door. Her heart twitched and stopped.

  The wall was still covered in her grandmother’s paper, but it looked fresh and new. No dirt, smears or tears. Somehow Daemon had cleaned and restored it. Moving closer, she placed her hand on the wall, feeling her world tip a
nd tilt. What sort of man did something like this? Something so selflessly kind?

  From outside came the slam of a car door, the roar of an engine, and a moment later Daemon was there, framed in the doorway, his dark hair falling across his brow. His lips curved in a small smile.

  “Sheriff Hale left?” Jen asked, feeling inexplicably awkward.

  “Yeah.” Daemon closed the space between them. “Do you like it? The paper?”

  “I love it.” I could love you, if I let myself. Oh God, where had that thought come from? This man was not for her. He could never be for her. She had known for her whole life that she was different, that no man could be her future. And for the first time, that reality made her unbearably sad.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save it all, but I managed to strip away enough bits from the three most damaged walls and use them to patch the fourth. Then I restored it with an eraser and a little brush—” he gestured at a couple of small paint tins “—after I matched the colour of the flowers.”

  Again, her world tilted. The amount of work he’d done. For her. He’d done this for her.

  “Thank you. You have no idea—”

  “But I do. That’s why I did it.”

  His blue eyes were bright and clear against the fringe of dark lashes. They were beautiful, deep, and glittering with something she was afraid to acknowledge. She felt the heat of him as he stepped closer. Catching her wrist, he drew her hand to his face, turning to rest his jaw against her palm. He drew a shallow breath and held very still, careful, cautious, as though it had been a long while since anyone had touched him this way.

  The contact scorched her, made her ache and yearn.

  Her crutches limited her movements and she cursed them silently. She wanted to rise up on her toes, press her mouth to his.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. It was both an order and a plea.

  He slid his fingers to the base of her skull, threading them through the strands of her hair. Her eyes flew open, then fluttered closed as he kissed her, lips hard on hers. He wanted her and he let her know that, his kiss spinning through her, touching every part of her like a live wire. With a moan, she arched into him, her crutches clattering to the floor, her weight held in his arms.

  Heat and need spiralled through her. She wanted him, needed him, here, now. She opened beneath his kiss, tongues twining, teeth scraping. With one hand, he slammed the bedroom door shut, then pressed her back against it, his mouth hungry on hers. He bulged against his jeans as she fumbled with the zipper, freeing him, closing her hand around his hot skin. Desire scoured her, leaving her panting.

  One hand slid under her buttocks, his other hand curving under the splint that guarded her injured knee. With a moan, she let her head fall back against the door, and she gave herself over to him, to the promise that his tightly corded muscles could hold her there.

  He kissed her, open-mouthed, deep. Sensation spiked, her hips rocking in time with his, her moans and cries swallowed by his kiss. He made a raw sound: hard-edged pleasure and animal lust. She unravelled, her body clenched tight around him. Ecstasy rode her senses, blurring her thoughts, her awareness.

  Finally, panting, he dropped his head, nuzzling the curve of her neck, still holding her up against the door. She felt weightless, boneless. Wonderfully alive. Then he shifted her so she was cradled in his arms and he carried her to her bed. There, he stripped off her clothes and kissed her - her neck, her belly, her breasts - taking his time, teasing her. He took her again, driving them both over the edge.

  “Sleep,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. “Sleep, love.”

  And she did, her lids drifting shut, her body replete.

  When she woke, he was gone.

  Daemon was sanding the patch he’d put on the wall in the dining room when he heard Jen behind him. Schooling his features, he sent her a welcoming smile and felt a shimmer of the continuum, a hint of magic. Not sorcerer, not demon, but maybe she was a blighted seed, a human who had a magical progenitor somewhere in her past. Such mortals usually tapped their limited power to become psychics or healers or energy workers. But Jen was none of those. He was certain she had no clue that magic, both light and dark, existed at the edges of her world, no idea that there really were monsters in the closet. She was an accountant.

  An incredibly beautiful, sexy accountant that he was willing to break all his self-imposed rules for.

  “Hey,” she said, sending him a glorious smile. No reservations. No regrets. Not his Jen. “Break time. I’ll make lunch.”

  His Jen. What the hell was he thinking? That they’d set up house here in Freetown? Tend the garden? Walk in the park? And when he never got sick, never aged? When the trinity got restless and demanded release? What then? He knew how quickly love could shrivel in the face of the truth.

  “Turkey sandwiches?” he asked, forcing a light tone.

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him, a faint frown marking her brow, and he knew she sensed his tension. She saw too much, read him too well. It was like they’d known each other forever, rather than a few short weeks.

  “Turkey it is. With tomatoes. And no sprouts,” she said. “Give me five minutes.”

  He headed to his car and retrieved a package from the trunk. He left it in the front hallway and met her in the kitchen. “I, uh, bought you something.”

  She shot him a look of surprise. “What you did with my grandmother’s wallpaper was more than enough. I don’t want you to ... that is ... I just . . .”

  Her voice trailed away, and he almost laughed, realizing that she was worried about him spending his money on her. If she only knew. Finances were not an issue for him. Looking down at her upturned face, at the sweet spray of freckles and her sparkling eyes, he had the crazy urge to tell all, to share with her the knowledge of what he was. Yeah, like that was a plan. She was a mortal woman. She would live and die. He had no business dreaming about a life with her, buying her gifts. He hadn’t bought a gift for a woman in almost 200 years.

  He led her into the hallway and gestured at the box.

  She inhaled sharply and held her breath. “You bought me a motion-detector home alarm system?”

  “With infra-red sensors.”

  “Why?”

  Because the hybrids he’d taken down were only scouts. Something more powerful was out there. A killer. He needed to do everything he could to ensure Jen was safe, that the killer stalking the shadows could not harm her.

  Not her. Not Jen. His Jen.

  Four

  Jen woke to afternoon sunlight peeking through the crack between her curtains. After lunch, Daemon had made love to her for hours, sweet and slow, taking his time, exploring every inch of her. But she was alone now and pain was tearing her in two. She breathed through the agony that swelled and ebbed. Bright shards spun through her, twisting her into a tight knot, doubling her over.

  She had no idea how long she lay there, but when she came to herself, it was dark. Night had come. All around her, the air shimmered. Sparking filaments of light danced off her skin. Inside her, power uncoiled, stretched and laughed in delight. Her time had come. The sorcerer magic that should have blossomed at puberty had burgeoned at last.

  Reaching down, she freed the Velcro straps of her splint and pulled it from her leg. The pain in her knee was gone. She rolled from the bed and half skipped to the bathroom for a quick shower, then dressed and crossed to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she noticed that Daemon’s car was gone. A flicker of disappointment touched her. She made her way downstairs and found a note in the kitchen.

  Went to town to pick up dinner. Didn’t want to disturb you. Back soon.

  -D.

  Smiling, she set the note back on the table, then froze, her head jerking up, her every sense on high alert. Tension coiled through her. There was something out there. Something dark. She could feel the power, the oily slide of demon magic tainting the air, making the continuum shiver and twitch.

  She knew then who had
killed the woman and left her remains in the woods. Not human. No. The killer was far more dangerous than any human could be. Calling her newly awakened power, she eased out of the back door into the night. Not that she meant to confront it. Her magic was too new to her. She didn’t dare take on such a creature alone. No, she meant only to protect her property, to set wards and spells. To protect Daemon and keep him safe from the monsters in the night.

  Daemon knew she was gone before he finished searching the house. The trinity twisted and writhed, feeling his fear, feeding on it and straining to tear free. Jen was out there somewhere. Alone. Unprotected. And the continuum writhed and twisted with dark magic, the aura of a powerful demon.

  “Go,” he snarled, and the trinity tore free, rising into the moonless night, wraiths in the shadows, leading him to the one he sought. Jen. He ran flat out for the woods, knowing she was there. In the woods. With a demon.

  He needed to get to her, protect her. He couldn’t lose her, not Jen. He couldn’t be too late.

  The air felt wrong. Tasted wrong. There was a demon out there, and something else. A sorcerer? Perhaps.

  Trees flew past in a blur. Daemon tore full tilt towards the thick miasma of dark magic that oozed through the forest, foreign and vile. Then he saw Jen, backed up against a tree, her face pale, her eyes wide. He took in every part of her at a glance. She appeared unharmed, but her splint was off and her crutches nowhere to be seen.

  Not ten feet from her was a demon - grey, cracked hide stretched over its meaty frame, blackened lips peeled back from row upon row of jagged yellow teeth.

  Everything inside Daemon rebelled. He would lose her. Either way, he would lose her. She would die at the hands of this monstrous, foul beast, or Daemon would summon the trinity and save her and she would see him then for exactly what he was.

  I despise you. A condemnation from centuries past. He couldn’t bear to hear those words from Jen’s lips. But the alternative was worse. She would die.