“You don’t let up, do you?” He’d forgotten that about her.
“We have to deal with this thing.”
“I have to deal with it. You need to stay out of it.”
She clamped her mouth shut, clearly aggravated at him. When he glanced at her face, her eyes shot coal black daggers at him. It was okay if she was angry at him—especially if her anger was the price he had to pay in order to protect her. He could handle that.
He turned into his driveway, cut the engine, and took the box back from her. “I think I could eat this by myself.”
“You’d have to fight me for it.” They both hopped out of the Jeep and traipsed into the house.
Val grabbed a couple Cokes from the refrigerator and set them on the kitchen counter. Twyla popped the lid of the box and lifted a slice, sinking her teeth into the melted cheese. She slid onto a barstool. Val shook his head and grinned. “Nothing like a bit of tension to increase one’s appetite.”
“Mmm. I love pizza.”
“Some things are better now than ancient times, huh?”
She took another piece of pizza. “Uh-huh.”
“Twyla,” he said, then paused. “I…”
She tilted her head, looking at him. “What?”
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t admit that he wanted to give their relationship another try.
Not when he’d been the one to fail the last time. No, when this current problem was resolved, then he’d revisit his feelings for Twyla. Certainly, he could keep them buried until then.
He studied the granite countertop with its dark black swirl and ruby red flecks. He grabbed the pizza box with the remaining pizza and made room for it in the refrigerator.
“How do we find the demon?” asked Twyla, tipping up her Coke can.
“We don’t. Not until Mammon shows himself.” He cleared his soda can and said, “And then I need to be ready. Let’s go to the weapons room.”
He led the way past the dining room table to a short hall across from the living room. They passed a powder room and then entered through double pocket doors. Inside, the walls were lined with weapons. Glass-topped cases displayed knives and guns, both old and new. He traveled to a safe set in the wall, spun the lock mechanism, and opened the heavy, thick door.
He reached in and removed a knife from its cradle. As soon as he touched it, it began to glow with a white, iridescent light. “This is what we need for demons. A telum. An ancient, magical weapon.” It looked as if it were made of stone crystal, about a foot long. He strapped it into a special holster on his thigh.
“Luna would really appreciate that. She’s the weaponaholic in our family. Although Solis comes in a close second.” Twyla held up her hand, cupping her palms, allowing sparks of energy to dance from her fingertips. “For me, it’s the old ways of magic.”
“If it works, that’s all that counts.”
Val led the way back into the living room. He was rounding a chair when a thundering noise came from the front entry. “What the—”
Abruptly, the right side of the double door came off its hinges and hurled inward through the short hallway, flying through the air and landing on the dining room, glass table, smashing it. A thousand shards shot every direction throughout the room like a bursting crystal star.
A sharp pain exploded in his thigh, but he ignored the piercing hurt. Val’s gaze cut to Twyla. Was she injured? Thankfully, she hadn’t cleared the hallway and was protected by the wall. “Are you okay?” he asked anyway, just to make sure.
“Yes. What was that?”
It took him a moment to process what had happened. He glanced back to the table. Above it hovered a lesser demon. A large, misshapen blob of gray. It seemed to try to find a shape, a creature with horns and a beaked nose, only to change to a hideous, dog-like form seconds later. As if it couldn’t quite hold on to anything solid form.
Which it couldn’t. It wasn’t the smartest of demons, but it was mean and powerful. It was also, not Mammon. And the odor…rotten flesh. He almost gagged as he inhaled a fortifying breath, knowing what he had to do.
Glancing sideways, he saw Twyla peak around the corner. “Stay back,” he told her.
Val shot forward. Glass crunched beneath his footsteps. Brandishing the telum, he launched at the demon. “Go back from where you came.”
He swung the telum in an arch. The demon moved, but not quickly enough—the tip of the blade nicked the thing. Black ooze splattered Val’s shirt and arm.
The demon retreated to the curved staircase behind it. Val stayed his course, stepping on top of the fallen door.
Twyla strode to the entry table to his right. In her bare hands, balls of flame danced, and electric energy sparked. She hurled one then another at the demon. The first, it dodged by flying upward. The second hit its side.
Lowering, the demon gurgled out almost unintelligible syllables, “Kill. Must kill.”
The lesser demon sprang forward, throwing its massive form at Val. Yep, not too smart. Val drove the telum deep into the middle of the demon’s chest. The gray form twitched and howled. It shrunk like a deflating balloon, emitting a slurping sound like sucking through a straw for the last drops of an empty drink.
Fizzling down to a half-dollar-size inky spot, it vanished with a cracking pop.
Twyla placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. “Are you okay?” she asked, her breaths coming in hard exhales.
“Yes,” he said in a thick voice. He wanted to throttle her and kiss her at the same time. She had not remained hidden as he’d instructed. On the other hand, he was proud of how she’d handled herself bravely and focused.
He hobbled off the fallen door and sat on a barstool. A glass shard as long as his hand protruded from his thigh.
Seeing his injury, she ran to him. “You’re hurt.” She reached over the countertop near the sink and plucked a dry dishcloth, folding it for thickness. She met Val’s eyes. “Do you want to do it, or should I?”
“I will.” He took the cloth from her, wrapped it around the shard, and tugged upward, growling with a clenched jaw.
After he dropped the glass on the counter, she ripped the opening in his jeans to better look at the injury. Blood gushed out of the wound, making it difficult to judge how bad it was. She took the dishcloth from him and pressed down firmly on the wound.
“It will heal. Give it a few minutes.”
But that wasn’t good enough for Twyla. “So much blood,” she whispered. She placed a glowing hand over the gash and shut her eyes as if cauterizing the wound and willing it to close.
He watched her, intrigued.
When she pulled her hand away, only a sealed line remained. “You will heal even faster now.”
She stood next to him, leaning slightly forward. His eyes met hers and held. The aftermath of violence transformed to passion in the moment and swirled around, seeming to bind them together. She tipped into him, roughly closing her mouth over his in a hot, searing, frantic kiss. He met the thrust of her tongue with his and answered her anxious probing. When she pulled back on a heavy sigh, he said, “We’re okay. The lesser is gone.”
With her forehead pressed against his, she nodded. “Right.”
Slowly, she stepped back.
Val watched her for signs of weakness. There were none. She squared her shoulders. “That wasn’t Mammon.”
“No.” He shook his head. “A lesser demon is nothing but a minion.”
“So it seems Mammon has allowed more than himself through the pentagram.”
“Evidently. And we have no way of knowing how many or what sort of beasts came through with Payton’s deal.”
“I’m sorry about your table," she said. She glanced around the dining room at the bare metal frame.
He swept the last of the glass into a dust pan and dumped it in the trash. “I can have another one made.”
She sensed anger in him, yet she didn’t understand it. He seemed upset with…her. She’d done what she would have do
ne in any similar situation—helped fight off the beast. She wasn’t as good as her sister, Luna, when it came to fighting—she was fierce and a natural—but really, what had he wanted her to do, sit there like a damsel in distress and wait? That wasn’t the way of a McGuire. She’d been raised to carry her own weight…even in battle.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We need to inform the entire council of the latest developments. I wouldn’t be surprised if it required a unified effort to drive the demons back into hell where they belong.”
“I’ll help in any way I can.”
“You’re not a council member. You should stay out of it.”
“I’m already in it. That happened when Ethan abducted me and marked my door.”
“Even so, you’re—”
“Not a council member. I know. But my mother is. No excuses. Find a way to take me to Vulcan Council.”
“It’s not that easy. There are rules to abide.”
“Screw the rules.”
“Your mother shouldn’t have let you know.”
“It’s difficult to keep secrets in our family.”
He nodded. “I’ll do what I can. We should get some rest.”
“Yes. Fighting demons can wear you out.” She stretched, allowing each vertebra to elongate, throwing her head back and then her chest out. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She traveled to the curved staircase, leisurely fluttering up the stairs, pausing to look over her shoulder at him as he watched her assent. His eyes touched her with longing, as if he didn’t want to let her go.
At the top, she could no longer see him. She walked around the banister and entered her suite. The room was elegant. A luxurious queen bed of cherry occupied most of the space. It was so high she required the bed stool to get in. Two cherry bed stands and an upright dresser completed the furnishing, all quite different than her wrought iron bed with gauze canopy and twinkling lights. And there wasn’t a plant in sight.
She walked through the double pocket doors and stared at the Jacuzzi tub in the center of the room with longing. Off to the left was a walk-in shower complete with power jets. She bit her lip in indecision. Bath or shower?
With a heavy sigh, she turned on the tub faucets and lit a tower candle that sat on the frame next to a bowl of bath bombs. It was the same basil and mint scent Val had used in his chambers. She inhaled the familiar fragrance and dropped in a bomb of the same bouquet.
Slipping off her clothes and securing her hair, she climbed in, turning on the jets. Her body immediately went limp, soaking up the water’s warmth.
Her muscles relaxed, and she closed her eyes. Soon, the bubbles and air flitting over her skin brought to mind the tenderness of Val’s hands. The way he used to skim his fingers over her, teasing just the fine hairs, making her tingle and want so much more.
He was a big man, but he was a very gentle and attentive lover. A moan escaped her lips as she thought of the times they’d spent together.
Abruptly, she sat up and scrubbed her skin, trying to wash away her overgrown and blossoming memories. Like the wisteria climbing her garden gate, they needed to be pruned and cut back with manageable care, or else they would choke out everything else.
And reseed that fertile ground in her heart that still loved Val.
* * *
Twyla tossed in the bed, throwing back the covers. A monarch butterfly fluttered over a camellia bush. It landed on a bright pink flower, then moved to the next, then the next. It flapped through the air, higher, among some oak branches, finally settling on a fence post.
The sky was the deep blue of late afternoon. The air hung moist and thick. It was summer. Not a breeze to be had. A giant shadow fell over the ground.
An ugly black shape of a beast. A demon.
Realizing the danger, the butterfly beat its wings frantically, trying to fly away.
The shadow formed limbs and a head with a hooked beak. It swung one arm in an arc, snatching the butterfly in midair, then crushing it in its fist.
With a gasp, Twyla sprang into a sitting position, her heart thudding in her chest and ears. The mattress gave beneath her; the sheets felt warm where she’d rested. But the bed and sleep no longer seemed inviting. All she could see behind her eyelids was a demon, chasing her, catching her, and killing her.
She slid from the mattress—forgetting about the long drop to the floor. She stumbled forward and caught her balance. A bottled water sat on the nightstand. She took a long drink.
Her pulse calmed. It was just a dream. She closed her eyes, testing that it was gone.
But the vile demon lurked still.
Pacing, she glanced at the alarm clock. She’d only been sleeping for forty-five minutes. Not long enough to rise. For a little while, she sat in the chair, sipping water.
An hour passed, and still, she was so tense and uneasy she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Perhaps a snack would help. She padded downstairs and searched the refrigerator. Val didn’t stock much food. Don’t dragons have to eat, too? She grabbed an apple and closed the door.
As she ate, her gaze fell on the smashed table. Val had been strong and fearless fighting that demon. She’d seen glimpses of his dragon. It must have been frustrating not to be able to change due to the confines of his home.
Before she realized, only the core remained. She tossed it in the garbage.
With her foot on the first step of the staircase, she hesitated, a tightness in her stomach worked on the apple she’d eaten. She shifted her gaze to Val’s bedroom door. He represented calm and comfort and security, and perhaps freedom from her nightmare.
Without contemplating the consequences, she changed course. She came to his bedroom entrance, the door propped fully open. Peering in, she could make out his shape occupying the right side of the king-size bed. She tiptoed to the left, slipped beneath the covers, and snuggled onto her side away from him. She closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.
Val was a light sleeper. When the bed dipped, he tensed and opened his eyes. Twyla’s fragrance drifted into his nostrils. His body reacted with a swift erection. He gnashed his teeth.
Judging from the way she hugged the opposite edge of the bed, she didn’t have in mind what he hungered for. He let out a long, slow, silent breath.
Suddenly, a torturing night seemed to linger before him. But knowing Twyla as he did, the demon incident had finally caught up with her and she couldn’t sleep.
He listened to the sounds of her even breathing. That wasn’t the case any longer.
He slipped his hands into his hair, cradling his head as he stared at the black ceiling. Go back to sleep, he urged his dragon.
Concentrating on the sounds outside: the wind, the whipping of a tree scraping against the house—he would need to trim those branches—the patter of an animal scurrying across leaves, the distant whir of an airplane crossing over… He shut his eyes and pretended Twyla wasn’t sleeping in his bed.
When that didn’t work, he resorted to the opposite tactic, recounting all the times they’d slept together. And somehow—he wasn’t sure why—he drifted off.
Hours later, he woke to her shaking his arm. “Val. Wake up.”
He jumped, then seeing who she was, he stretched. “You’re in my bed,” he stated.
“I had a bad dream,” she said, as if that explained everything. “It’s ten o’clock. We need to get started.”
“Get started on what?” he asked groggily, pushing to his elbows, meeting her eye to eye.
“With the council. You need to call a meeting.”
“Oh. That.” He dropped back onto the pillow.
“Time’s a wasting.”
“Most paranormals aren’t even awake yet.”
She sat all the way up, tucking her legs beneath her, her long, ink black hair spilling over her shoulders. She wore a strappy coral tank top that said good vibes only with a butterfly and flower print and little shorts that showed every inch of her lovely legs. “Do you have a plan?”
He remembered now the way Twyla was much too perky in the morning. She always had hit the ground running, gliding around with her coffee in one hand and a whistling tune on her lips.
“No,” he groaned. “I have to wake up first.”
Twirling around and swinging her feet to the floor, she stood. “Okay. Then get up, and let’s go. I’ll put coffee on.” She strolled out the door.
Val rolled onto his side and couldn’t help but grin. He’d missed having her around. After donning a shirt and pants, he came up behind her in the kitchen. She’d poured two cups of coffee and was doctoring hers with cream and sugar. Her hair had been split into two segments, each pulled to the front, draping her shoulders like a shawl. The monarch butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck was left exposed. He hadn’t seen it in a very long time.
He bent to kiss the butterfly. He felt her shiver, then pressed his lips higher on her neck, then her ear. He whispered, his voice heavy with sleep, “Thank you for making the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned, handing him his mug. He eased back to give her some room. He sipped his coffee, gazing over the rim at her as she looked back at him. Coffee had never tasted so good.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked.
He snickered. Um, yes. Her. “Bacon and eggs. But I’ll fix it.” He set his mug on the counter and got the necessary things from the frig. “I’m thinking you didn’t sleep well.”
“Not at first.”
He nodded. “Can I cook you something?”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Good. Lox and caviar it is.”
“What?” she screeched. Then her eyes met his. She smiled. “Oh. You’re teasing.”
“That happens every once in a while.”
She gazed at the supplies he held. “How about an omelet?” he asked.
“That sounds delicious.”
“You sit and I’ll fix it.”
She went around to the bar side of the counter and took a seat. He was sorry he’d suggested that because of how much farther away she was now. It took him about twenty minutes to prepare the meal, and they chatted about her garden. She told him she’d bring him some vegetables.
Forever At Risk: Terror, MN Page 5