The Hidden Demon

by Monica La Porta

  Peter appeared at the door, still open. His tall frame dwarfing it, he leaned against the jamb, his head canted, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning, princess.”

  His eyes shadowed, she studied his stillness and looked beyond his smile for a clue he felt as unsettled as she did. “Good morning, controller.”

  He laughed. “How do you feel?”

  She swung her legs to the side and slid her feet to the uneven floor, the terracotta bricks hard and rough under her soles. “Better. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Looking for her shoes—she remembered she had carried them with her—she had her back to him, but heard how his heart sped up in the pause between words. She couldn’t help but rejoice at his reaction.

  “There, in the corner.”

  She turned and saw him pointing at her right side, where sure enough, she found her heels by the Spartan nightstand.

  “Coffee’s ready.” His cell phone rang and he moved to the kitchen.

  She picked up her sandals, but they were soiled and she tiptoed outside of the bedroom, looking for the bathroom he promptly indicated while talking on his phone. Not that she would have needed any help in finding it. From what she could see, Peter’s abode consisted of the big square room containing the kitchen and living room, the bedroom she had slept in, and the bathroom.

  She closed the door behind her and walked straight to the sink, another example of repurposed materials. What once had been a tin basin tub—the kind used to wash kids before the great wars—its cream lacquer chipped in places, was now a misshapen sink bowl sitting on a piece of polished driftwood. She deposited her shoes on the floor, turned the faucet, nothing more than a copper tube and a handle, and let the cold water splash into her cupped hands. One look at the vintage mirror and she lowered her face to the stream of water to erase the damage done by melted makeup and crying. She then grabbed the hand-woven linen towel and rubbed her face dry, her skin slightly chafed by the fabric. “You like it simple and rough, don’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, that is exactly how I like it.” His voice came from the other side of the door.

  She had mused her thought out loud but had not expected him to hear her rambling and even less for him to answer.

  “You asked, and yes, I can hear you even if you whisper.”

  “Demon.” She brought her shoes up and gently rinsed the caked mud from the heels.

  “You aren’t as pretty when you roll your eyes.”

  Ophelia laughed. “How did you know?”

  “Easy guess.”

  She took a wad of sturdy-looking paper napkins sitting in neat squares on the cabinet opposite the sink and finished cleaning her shoes. There was nothing she could do to improve the aspect of her soiled clothes, but simply stepping in her heels made her feel like a woman again. When she opened the door, she felt ready to face Peter, his smile, and his devastating hazel eyes.

  He had an espresso cup ready for her on his gloved palm. She took it from him grabbing the handle between thumb and index finger, nodded, and drank the contents in one gulp. “How did you know how I take my coffee?” The espresso had been prepared to her liking with half a spoon of sugar, not too sweet, not too bitter.

  “I’m a good observer. Do you want more?”

  Before she nodded, he had already stepped to the stove, yet another salvaged piece, this one straight from the fifties from the round shape of the furniture and the faded pastel baby blue of the paint job.

  “If it were up to me, I would spend the rest of the day here and give you time to relax and rest some more, but Barnes called again to make sure we were on our way.” He filled a second cup for her.

  “Then let’s go so we can go on with our day.”

  A few minutes later, they were on their way to Rome. During the ride, his cell phone, which he had put to charge, vibrated several times, but after a first glance, he ignored it.

  “Fending off scorned conquests?” she asked.

  He scoffed and shook his head with a laugh.

  “Their spouses?”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic.” He tilted his chin toward her as he maneuvered the rocky terrain leading out of his property. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” She looked at the side, where a rivulet of brown water ran parallel to the dirt road.

  “Besides all that sleeping around you engage in, is there anyone special?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She was used to talking about her sex life with Alexander and Samuel, and it had been a topic of conversation with Peter. But, right about now, for him to ask her that was wrong. Recent events had changed the nature of their relationship, and she didn’t want him to be that familiar with her anymore. That kind of confidence put him on the same level as her friends. Samuel had been there and now she was starting to realize what had been wrong with it from the beginning, he had seen her as a male friend, nothing more. Her wolf was displeased as well and the hair on her skin stood on end at once.

  Peter frowned, but his cell phone rang before he could say anything. He looked down at the phone as if it were something vile.

  “You should take that call.” Ophelia was angry and wished she could punch something, possibly his face. She was also angry at herself for feeling all over the place, but her body hummed with her nervous energy combined with the animal fury of her wolf. The cell phone had kept ringing. “Take the damn call, now.” Despite what she had just said, she took the phone, and would have hurled it out of the window if he hadn’t motioned for her to stop.

  He took the phone from her, managing not to touch her, not even with those black gloves she was starting to hate. “I apologize if I offended you.” He closed the call without answering it.

  The rest of the drive was silent. Ophelia knew she had overreacted, but she wasn’t good at making amends. Shifters were known for their volatility, and all her friends usually gave her space when she was in one of her moods.

  By the time they reached Barnes’s office, she had worked herself to a state of agitation so deep she could have run all the way back to Tarquinia to clear her mind. It didn’t help that her wolf hadn’t left her alone.

  “How are you?” Barnes stood from his desk and was at her side as she entered his office.

  “I’m fine. Whoever kidnapped me only wanted to scare me. They didn’t hurt me.” Ophelia noticed the brief glance the two men exchanged. They looked worried.

  Barnes asked them to sit, offered them coffee, and when they politely refused, he walked to his desk and opened one of its drawers. “Your purse was anonymously delivered to me an hour ago.” He offered Ophelia her bag.

  Ophelia hastily checked that her cell phone and her wallet were inside. “Nothing’s missing.”

  “Good.” Barnes took his place behind his desk, propped his elbows on the surface, and steepled his hands. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”

  He had first Ophelia, then Peter recount the events of the night before. Barnes listened without interrupting. At the end of their tales, several seconds of silence followed before he straightened up and looked at Peter. “You are done with your reading and officially out of this investigation.” He then angled his head toward Ophelia. “Consequently, you are done too.” He gave them a small smile. “I guess that’s it. You can go and enjoy your day now.”

  Without a warning, Peter stood and lowered his fisted hands on the desk. The impact made several small items scatter all around the surface, and one pen rolled to the edge of the table and fell. He seemed to count to ten before he spoke. “I don’t think so.” In contrast with his display, his voice was low and measured.

  Barnes got up too, his cold light-blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the demon. “Pardon me?”

  Ophelia looked from one to the other, dreading the male ego showdown. As a werewolf, she was well acquainted with hormonal rages—more often than not her own—but Peter’s reaction eerily resembled an al
pha’s, and she could barely keep her own wolf under control when she was barking and howling to get out to support him.

  “You heard me.” Peter pushed himself off the table and straightened to his full height. “I won’t stop until I know what happened to those two kids.” He had lowered his voice to a deep growl.

  Ophelia’s wolf pushed forth to force a shifting.

  “You can’t disobey a direct order.” Barnes enunciated the words by punching the desk.

  Peter shrugged. “Watch me.” He gave Ophelia a brief look and turned to leave.

  “Don’t!” Barnes punched the desk hard enough to rattle the window’s glass.

  “I’ll help him finish the investigation.” Ophelia surprised both men, who stared at her with different emotions playing on their faces. Peter’s expression screamed disbelief, while Barnes’s was one of worry. “You can fine me, suspend me from my job, whatever. I don’t care.”

  “Ophelia, please, don’t do anything rash. There’s a reason I’m reassigning this investigation to someone else. You were attacked, then kidnapped. I won’t put your lives in danger.”

  “It’s important to me to get to the bottom of this,” Peter said.

  “And as I just said, I’ll help him find the truth. You either give us the resources we need or we go rogue. Your decision.”

  Barnes sat back down, his hand entwined in his hair. “You don’t understand—” He opened his mouth to say something, then sighed and let himself fall against his chair, shaking his head. “Quintilius will kill me when he learns I didn’t stop you.”

  “Quintilius knows me well enough. He won’t hold you accountable for my stubbornness.” Ophelia knew for sure Quintilius would be beside himself with worry when he heard, but her wolf was driving her crazy.

  “So, we’re cool.” Peter saluted Barnes and walked out the door without waiting for Ophelia.

  Barnes swore under his breath, then nodded at Ophelia. “Please take care and call me if you find yourselves in need of help. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Ophelia exited the room and heard Barnes muttering, “I’m so tired of all of this.”

  Chapter Six

  “You don’t have to stick around.” Peter was in an exceptionally bad mood. First the spat with Ophelia in the car, then Barnes’s orders had taken a toll on his patience. He was happy and relieved she had followed him, but there were too many thoughts crowding his mind. Nobody could understand what it meant to him to let go of the dead, and on top of that, Arariel had been pestering him with phone calls and texts since the night before. If the Immortal Council wanted Peter out of the case, the archangel had commanded him to leave the case altogether. Nothing made sense. He looked ahead at the Promenade’s entrance and hurried his steps, wanting to reach the garage and his Jeep and be out of there. But Ophelia stood behind him and when he reluctantly stopped and turned around to see what the problem was, he was met by her stormiest expression yet.

  “It’s not that I have a choice.” She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a hard stare. “Believe me when I say that I don’t need this right now.” She freed one hand and pointed her index finger at him in a large circular motion.

  He closed his eyes and let out a suffered breath. “I didn’t mean to be—”

  “A jerk?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

  Peter couldn’t help but smile and feel much better for it. “I was going to say rude, but jerk works fine.” He brought his palms together and lowered his head. “Thank you for your support.”

  “And I guess I should apologize for snapping at you earlier.” As usual, she kept her eyes on him, chin up, and back straight. Even when Ophelia asked for forgiveness, she looked like she would bite your head off next.

  Peter liked that of the werewolf. He waved his hand. “I was out of line anyway.”

  “Well, I’m always out of line.” She almost lowered her eyes. Almost.

  He took that as the most repentant she would ever be and felt as if he was witnessing something rare. Like an aurora borealis against an erupting volcano backdrop. But nothing like when she had exposed her throat to him. That had left him breathless. He would have further explored the significance of that gesture, but the look of hurt and shame on her face had been impossible to ignore, and he had decided to let the moment pass. “The difference between you and me it is that you are a lady and entitled to be out of line, but if I do that, I’ll come off as crude or just plain rude. Either way, I’m sorry if I offended you.” He bowed to her. “Now, would you care for—?”

  They were hit without warning. He should have heard their attackers approaching, instead he found himself face down, right cheek pressed against the cobblestone floor before he could react. From that angle he couldn’t see what was happening to Ophelia but heard her curses followed by the harsh sound of something hitting flesh and her screams. He attempted to turn the situation to his favor by jerking away from whatever was keeping him down—his guess was a reinforced boot— but didn’t succeed. Someone stomped on his back with enough strength to cause him pain.

  “Be a good demon and stay down, will you?” A disembodied voice came directly from above him.

  “No thanks.” Peter redoubled his efforts, and this time he managed to dislodge his assailant long enough for him to turn on his back and grab an ankle, which he promptly pulled sideways.

  A man of herculean physique fell to the side as Peter sprang up and kicked him in the face. The man, a shifter, hissed in pain, revealing a set of sharp teeth he sunk into Peter’s leg. Peter kicked him harder and sent him flying away.

  “Stop or I’ll kill her.”

  Peter turned to face the owner of the voice. A second shifter, bigger than the one Peter had just fought against, held Ophelia against him, one hand grabbing her hair, the other caressing her throat with a sharp knife. “Release her at once.”

  The opponent he thought he had defeated was back on his feet and barreled toward him. Peter moved to the right and hit the man with his elbow. The man barely felt the blow on his ribs and attacked back, sending Peter to the rough wall. He blindly kicked and punched the man until the man relented and he drove one last punch to his chest, stunning him. Holding the shifter by his collar, Peter addressed the other. “I told you to release her.”

  The man laughed, jerked Ophelia closer to his body, and lowered the knife to her shirt, inserting the tip of the blade between the buttons as he opened it, revealing her flesh. “Look familiar?”

  Ophelia dropped down and hit the man’s groin with the back of her head. As he howled in pain, two more shifters appeared on either side of Ophelia.

  Peter screamed a warning to her, but they took her arms in a tight grip before she could react. “Let her go.” He made to move toward them, but the one Ophelia had sent to the ground, was back up, his eyes full of hatred.

  “I have a better idea.” The man pulled hard at Ophelia’s hair and pushed the blade against her throat until he drew blood.

  She didn’t make a sound, but her eyes watered.

  Peter took a step forward. “Do. Not. Touch. Her.”

  “Someone is going to get hurt today. You decide if you want to watch me play with her or if you want to volunteer for the gauntlet.” The man’s hand slid down the opening on Ophelia’s shirt, and pressed the sharp edge against her breast.

  She still didn’t give the man the pleasure of a whimper. Instead, a low growl escaped her mouth, the chocolate in her eyes changing into a lighter amber.

  Peter slowly raised his hands in the air.

  “On your knees, demon.” The man gave Ophelia another jerk. Blood seeped through her shirt.

  Yet Ophelia didn’t react. She kept looking at Peter, her head slightly shaking.

  Peter obeyed the man’s command and fell to the ground. The two shifters flanking Ophelia left her side and reached him in a few steps. The one he had stunned had recovered and grabbed Ophelia’s elbow. She tried to escape the two men’s hold by thrashing and kicking both of them. Peter took
advantage of the diversion and brought down one of his opponents.

  “Stop or I’ll sever her head.” Ophelia’s original assailant reached for a strap on his shoulder and retrieved a long machete from his back. He swung down the weapon over her neck and only halted the trajectory a millimeter from its target. Then his mouth curved up in a sick smile, and he pressed down the blade in a macabre repetition of what he had done to her breast. He cut deeper though, because she finally cried out.

  Peter froze on the spot. “I’m all yours.”

  Half an hour later, he was bleeding from several wounds and had a concussion. The shifters had taken turns hitting him and cutting him with short blades while Ophelia was forced to watch, the machete cutting deeper every time she attempted to move, until she lay still, her big eyes filled with tears.

  “One word of advice. Leave the dead alone.” The shifters left after reciting the warning.

  The moment Ophelia was free, she ran to Peter.

  “It looks worse than it is, princess.” He was in pain and barely able to think, but didn’t want her to be scared.

  ****

  “Oh, Peter…” She reached out for his shoulder, then hesitated. She could see he was about to faint, yet he attempted to smile for her. “I’ll call for help.” She didn’t want to leave him, but she had to reach Castel Sant’ Angelo. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Her heart beating wildly against her ribs, she ran back to the fortress. She powered through the entry and entered the archives—the whole history of the paranormal world was guarded in those offices—where she paused only long enough to scream with all the air she had left in her lungs.

  She didn’t stop until she was sure help was being sent Peter’s way, then she ran back to him and found him unconscious. Her wolf roared in anguish and she paced around his body until the paramedic arrived. She refused to leave his side when he was transported to the Tiberina Island Hospital, and gave hell to anyone who attempted to remove her from the room where he was being treated. Eventually, the nurses called a doctor and he explained to Ophelia that she had to wait outside because they had to crank up the heliotherapy panels to the maximum, and it wasn’t safe for her. She resigned herself to look at him from behind the big window. He was bathed by bright light and the whole room glowed as if the Caribbean sun had been bottled up and passed through gigantic mirrors. Whenever he came out of the deep slumber caused by the painkillers, he looked for her from the bed and tried to smile at her. She smiled back and waved, but felt like crying.