The Hidden Demon

by Monica La Porta

  “Why isn’t he recovering faster?” Ophelia asked the doctor exiting Peter’s room after he had checked on him.

  “He was poisoned with curare,” the doctor explained. “They wanted to paralyze him, but he’s such a big guy they would have needed a stronger dose to stop him. It was enough to slow him down though. The panels will help him in no time. Don’t worry.”

  She bit her lower lip and sat on the floor, waiting for Peter to give any sign he was on the mend. She was used to immortals’ and shifters’ fast recovery time and wondered how much poison had entered his system.

  When Barnes arrived, followed by Quintilius, she couldn’t help but growl at the nurse who let them in the waiting room. Her reaction earned her a raised brow from Barnes and a long stare from Quintilius who added in a low whisper, “We’ll talk later.”

  Under the two men’s insistence, and only when they promised they would inform her if anything changed regarding Peter, she allowed herself to be treated for her wounds in an adjacent room. As soon as they patched her up, she was back in the waiting room, her nose to the window. Meanwhile, Barnes’s cell phone kept buzzing non-stop, driving her crazy. Several hours passed before the heliotherapy panels were shut off and they were admitted in Peter’s room.

  “There’s something you must know.” Barnes looked at Peter, then turned briefly toward Ophelia as if he were afraid to talk before her.

  “What?” Her question came out like a snarl and she immediately regretted it. She breathed in and out, then slid to the floor and sat with her back to the wall. “I’ll calm down.”

  “Okay.” Barnes didn’t look reassured, but he took a glass and filled it with some water from the tap. “Have some.”

  She accepted the glass and drank the whole contents in a few gulps, realizing she was dehydrated. Quintilius crouched by her and took her hand in his.

  Barnes finally looked back at Peter and sighed. “Your house was burned to the ground.”

  Peter tried to rise, but fell to the pillow. “When?”

  Ophelia reacted immediately, standing quickly, but Quintilius gently applied pressure on her arm to lead her toward a chair where he made her sit.

  “Around the same time you were attacked.” Quintilius stroked her hand while he answered Peter.

  “This picture was sent to me around forty-five minutes ago.” Barnes leaned over Peter and brought forth his cell phone for him to look at the image on the screen.

  Ophelia jumped out of the chair and stopped between Barnes and the bed to look for herself. Peter’s cottage was engulfed in flames, one of the walls already crumbling. She hoped the image was fake.

  As if reading her thoughts, Barnes shook his head and lowered his voice to say to Peter, “We sent agents to check on the property and they confirmed the house was burning. They managed to put out the fire, but it was too late.”

  Ophelia swiped the tears she hadn’t been able to stop and looked down at Peter. Still and silent, his face was an unreadable mask, but he must have been devastated. Even for the little she knew of him, it was clear he had spent time and energy to build his house. Every single piece of furniture spoke of him in a way that purchased objects could never do. She wanted to send Quintilius and Barnes away and cradle him against her chest. Her wolf cried.

  “Let’s leave him for a moment.” Quintilius’s warm hand was around her elbow.

  She didn’t budge. “Later.”

  Quintilius’s hold tightened. “Now.”

  Ophelia knew he would never raise his voice to her, but recognized a command when she heard one loud and clear like the one the head of her clan had just issued.

  Peter looked up from her to the werewolf, then gave her a small nod. “I’m afraid I need some privacy.”

  She followed Quintilius outside, but kept her eyes on the demon until she was out of the room.

  “What’s happening, Lia?” Quintilius steered her farther along into the hallway and toward one of the windows opening to the Tiber.

  “Isn’t it clear enough?” Her wolf’s temper was getting the better of her, but she was tired and in need of that run at the Reserve she kept postponing.

  Quintilius gave her the look he only used with the clan’s rebellious youth. “It’s crystal clear, thank you very much, but I still want to hear your version of the story.”

  Ophelia’s body shook as she flung herself in his arms. “I don’t understand why this is happening to me.” She was scared. “I never heard of a wolf settling for a non-wolf.”

  Quintilius patted her back, and when he spoke his voice was softer. “Me neither, but that doesn’t mean isn’t possible.”

  Ophelia sobbed, then unable to stop herself, she let the terrible truth out. “She made me show my throat to him.”

  Quintilius stiffened around her, his chest frozen in mid-breath. She regretted the confession and chastised herself for not having waited to talk to Malina.

  Only one other time in her life had she felt so humiliated. “I never wanted this to happen—” Shame burning her face, she disentangled herself from his embrace, her eyes to the floor.

  “Forgive me, Lia. I didn’t mean to react like that, but you’re still my baby girl and talking with you about something so intimate is still taboo to me.”

  Ophelia dared raise her eyes to him and saw he was smiling at her. “I am two thousand years old…”

  He ruffled her hair. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still my little princess, and thinking of that demon looking at you with less-than-pure thoughts makes me want to go back inside that room and beat the daylights out of him.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh as her wolf snarled. “She has been this way for a while now.” Quintilius’s wolf snarled back and hers finally calmed down, leaving her thoughts alone. “Thank you. I feel like I can breathe again.”

  Quintilius hugged her, then leaned away to look at her. “Does he know?”

  “He might have sensed there’s something wrong with me—”

  He shook her by her arms. “Listen to me, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

  “But, I’ve always known there was something strange about me. I could never settle for any wolf and all the partners I’ve had along the years—”

  Quintilius’s eyes widened as he freed her arms to cover his ears. “No, no, no. I’m not ready to hear that.”

  She shook her head, but couldn’t help but laugh. “By now, any other she-wolf would be raising cubs. It’s just the nature of things with our race.”

  He waved a hand to dismiss her. “You’ve always been an alpha.”

  “Yes, and with you as an example, the bar is so high that it makes it difficult for me to find a mate.” She watched as he reddened and scoffed at her compliment. “But, there are plenty of alphas in this world.”

  He kissed her forehead, then smiled at her. “The fact you pine after the angel doesn’t help, does it?”

  It was Ophelia’s turn to gasp. “You know.”

  “Of course I know. You passed him information behind my back about clan business. I figured he must’ve been quite special to you.”

  Ophelia felt a pang of regret cleaving her heart. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you or—”

  He raised one hand to stop her. “No need to explain. The heart wants what the heart wants. I know that. But usually we and our wolves are on the same page when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “I’m screwed.” Ophelia felt it was better not to say anything about the fact that she wasn’t sure about her body’s desires. Who was commanding her pulse to race when Peter was close enough to brush her? Ophelia? Or Ophelia’s wolf? And who was the one disappointed when the brush didn’t happen? “What am I going to do about all of this?”

  “I don’t know, Lia. But I’ll be at your side whatever happens. We’ll fix this.”

  “Oh, Quintilius.” She burrowed in his embrace, and inhaled his scent that felt like home to her. The home she went back to whenever she was in trouble and needed a b
reak from her life.

  “Don’t worry ’bout a thing.” He shushed her while caressing her back.

  Electricity crackled in the air, and when she turned, she knew Peter was looking at her. He was standing by the door of his room, one hand on the jamb. His eyes, black and bottomless like the darkest of nights, trained on them, Quintilius and her. “You’re up.” Before she could stop herself, she left the comfort and warmth of Quintilius’s arms for the arctic cold emanating from the demon, and stopped a few steps from him.

  “I’m fine.” His chest rose and fell in a strained rhythm, making him look anything but fine. The pallor on his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes also betrayed him. “I’m going home.”

  “You should rest.” Ophelia didn’t want to argue with him, but his mood was affecting her wolf, again.

  “I need to go home.” His eyes focused on Quintilius approaching from behind, and his expression became darker.

  “I’ll drive you,” she said. Quintilius was now directly behind her, but she didn’t turn.

  He raised his chin. “I don’t need help.”

  She sighed, feeling Quintilius’s wolf protectiveness reacting to her wolf and adding to the general discontent. “I know you don’t need my help.” She was tired of the bickering already and they hadn’t even started. “Please, let me drive you.”

  ****

  When Peter saw Ophelia’s head lightly bow, warmth spread inside of him and made him feel the worst of cads. At the same time, Quintilius stepped closer to her, took her arm and growled at him, ruining the sweetness of the moment.

  “You won’t talk to her like that.” The werewolf pulled Ophelia behind him.

  “It’s okay—” She peeked from behind the massive body of her rescuer.

  “No, it’s not okay for anyone to disrespect you, Lia. I won’t tolerate it.”

  Peter felt something feral demanding to come out and show the man he wasn’t anyone he wanted to trifle with, especially when he was keeping Ophelia away from him. Then he had a glance of the worried expression marring her beautiful face and he calmed down. “I’m—” He couldn’t say to Quintilius he was sorry, but saw the hope in her eyes and cursed under his breath. “I apologize, Ophelia. Would you accompany me to Tarquinia?”

  She nodded, but Quintilius showed his dislike with a low growl that reverberated in the hallway and Peter felt in his guts. Again, one look at her, and he decided to be the better man. “We’ll be back by dinner.” He wanted to snatch Ophelia away, and wished he could grab her wrist.

  “It’ll be okay.” She clutched Quintilius’s shirtsleeve and made him turn to face her, then before stepping away, she hugged the man and kissed him on both cheeks.

  Peter’s anger flared up at that intimacy. Even knowing the werewolf was a father figure to her didn’t lessen the sting.

  Barnes walked through the door and past him, then stopped in the middle of the hallway where he could look at everyone at once, but spoke to Peter first. “I checked you out. Of course I disagree with you leaving.” He waited for a nurse to walk through, then raised an eyebrow for Ophelia’s sake. “You, I don’t even want to start, but if your alpha hasn’t managed to inculcate common sense in that pretty head of yours, I won’t waste my time trying.” Finally, he walked to Quintilius and stretched an arm to the side. “We have many things to talk about.”

  Peter had to still his nerves as Quintilius had a quiet conversation with Ophelia which ended with more hugging and cheek kissing. What was with those people and all that public display of affection? When she was finally free of the werewolf, who squeezed a menacing look for Peter as he walked away, he stepped closer to her. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She tentatively smiled and looked… so-not Ophelia. The self-assured warrior was gone.

  He locked eyes with hers. “I’ll drive.”

  She immediately cocked her head and pushed her chest out. “No, you won’t.”

  “And just like that my wolf’s back.” He smiled, but she paled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She was too fast in answering and left Peter wondering, but she had left him behind and was strolling toward the end of the hallway and the stairs.

  He followed and immediately realized he wasn’t as strong as he thought he would be by now after hours of sunbathing. Despite the heliotherapy treatment having taken care of his internal injuries, and the external wounds were already mending, he still felt as if a tank had flattened him to the ground over and over again. Curare had that effect on people, he had been told. “Ophelia?”

  “Yes?” She didn’t pause her stride.

  “I need help.”

  That made her stop mid-step. She slowly turned on her heels and her eyes met his. His heart thumped against the ribcage. He reached out his hand, keys dangling from his hooked finger. “You better drive after all.” The expression that passed through her face told him how much his surrender meant to her.

  She walked back toward him and took the keys from him. “Okay.”

  The drive was silent for the most part. He didn’t tell her that no one had ever touched his Jeep’s wheel but him, but found himself looking at her driving his car and a sense of belonging swarmed through him. He even dozed off for a spell. She stopped in Tarquinia to buy something to eat at a grocery store and came back with rosemary focaccia bread and two bottles of sparkling water. They walked to the closest public park and ate on a wrought iron bench.

  “I was starving.” She had pulverized two pieces of focaccia in no time.

  “We can buy more.”

  On their way back to the Jeep, she bought an entire pan of focaccia and a lemon Bundt cake.

  Despite his policy against eating in the car, he couldn’t wait to reach his property and didn’t say anything when she divided the food among them. When they neared the entry to his park, he saw her twitching her nose as her brows furrowed. “Can you smell the fire?”

  She nodded. A few miles in, he sensed the acrid odor of burnt wood, metal, and plastic.

  “I can turn around.” Ophelia slowed the car to a halt.

  “Now or tomorrow won’t make a difference. I must see it.” He looked ahead at the gray cloud now rising over the canopy of Mediterranean pine trees.

  She kept driving along the dirt road. When they reached the clearing where his cottage had been only a few hours ago, his eyes watered. Unable to process the sight, he remained in the car, staring at the smoking rubble and at the one wall that hadn’t fallen yet and kept a part of the roof up. His home lay mangled and cut like a carcass, what was left of its interiors exposed.

  After several minutes, his legs stopped shaking and he opened the door. Once his boots hit the charred ground, he leaned to grab a handful of charcoal. He wondered what he was looking at. Judging from the angle, a piece of his bedroom. Maybe the bedframe he had put together with the wood of a tree that had fallen close to the cottage after a violent summer storm. The tree had missed the roof by mere centimeters. He had thought it was the best of omens. “This is personal.”

  Ophelia walked around the car, her face to the gutted ruin that was his cottage.

  “I’m sorry you got entangled in this mess.” He opened his hand and let the dust fall. A piece of the wall that was still standing crumpled. “Let’s go.” He turned and climbed into the Jeep by the driver’s side.

  Ophelia took the passenger’s seat without comment. Peter drove outside of his property, then instead of taking the route back to Rome, he headed toward the Etruscan necropolis. Again, Ophelia didn’t comment on his decision.

  Only when he stopped the car by the ruins’ entrance did she angle her body to look at him. “I wish I could touch you to ease your pain.” She didn’t move though.

  And, as many times before when in her presence, he felt that tug pulling him deeper and deeper toward her, as if she was slowly unraveling the rope coiled around his heart. If you only knew, princess. He couldn’t help but lean closer to her, waiting for something that coul
dn’t happen. The consequences of letting his guard down would be devastating. He wanted her to want him. Not his demon’s touch. Just Peter. But he was one with his curse, and would never know what love meant.

  “Do you mind a turn through the necropolis?”

  She blinked, as if coming out from deep thoughts. “If that’s what you need now.”

  “That’s what I can afford to want.” He didn’t know why he had voiced his thought out loud, but she nodded.

  The archeological ruins were closed to the public, but with minimal effort, he jumped over the short fence, walked to the janitor’s office by the entry, and looked under the doormat. Once he found the keys, he unlocked the gate for Ophelia. He knew the janitor and had asked him to leave the keys for him when he wanted to take a stroll through the site at night.

  One hand on the gate, he made a slow, sweeping gesture with the other for her. “Please.”

  “You’re feeling better.” Ophelia waited for him to step aside, then entered.

  He had noticed his muscles had responded well when he had jumped. “It seems so.” He showed her the way and ambled through the ancient paths, relaxing as he left the modern world behind.

  “I’m glad. I was worried.” She walked by his side, but never close enough for an accidental brush.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” As his tension faded, he could tell hers was building. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  She scoffed and stopped in the middle of a worn cobblestone road. “You and I don’t decide if I get worried or not over you.”