Demon Q: New Vampire Disorder, Book 8

by Marie Johnston

  The tiny blonde grabbed his elbow and towed him out, not giving the clerk a backward glance. “You need to hide your eyes.”

  “They’re not exactly my priority. That front desk girl ignores me half the time.”

  Outside, she blinked in the sun, wishing Marcus were wearing his shades after all. “How did you find me?”

  “Unlike the human here, there was an overly helpful man at your apartment building.”

  “Digger.” The name came so instantly, she triple-checked her hold over Marcus. Curiosity was the only emotion she sensed from the man. She could do that for him, at least. Take his mind off his own troubles and let him see how much worse they could be.

  “Whatever the man’s name, he told me where you’d be.”

  “Why are you here? I’m not going back to the underworld so you can imprison me.”

  Quution stopped, his pert little face scrunched up. He was offended. “I’m not going to imprison you. Why would you think…”

  She lifted a dark brow. When hadn’t he imprisoned her?

  “Point made. I’m not going to lock you away. I know what Xera did to you.”

  For a few brief minutes, her mind had been off her sister and her grief over Xoda. But it all slammed back into her. Her eyes burned with tears and she inhaled a shaky breath. “I had no idea.”

  “We often think the best of family, even when they’re the worst.”

  She sob-snorted. “Not your most elegant insight. But you’re right. Xera is the worst.”

  He nodded. “As were our parents. They had the worst role models and an atrocious environment. It doesn’t excuse their behavior, but I hope it tells you that the fault is not yours.”

  “I’m a demon. I should’ve known better.”

  He lifted a tiny shoulder. Xan didn’t covet Brooklyn’s diminutive size, but she was shapely. And hostility no longer plagued her since Brooklyn didn’t cut it in Quution’s fantasies. “We’re half-breeds, and sometimes we forget the other half that’s not demonic. When it comes to nature versus nurture, some of us embraced our full natures better than others.”

  But none of his words made her feel better. The image of her non-niece was already fading. “She wasn’t real. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

  Quution tightened his grip and towed her toward Brooklyn’s car. “Let’s go back to your place and talk.”

  “We need to stop for food first. Marcus is hurting himself again, only he does it by being über healthy. I doubt there’s anything at his place but protein powder and chicken breasts.”

  Quution opened his pink, glossed lips, then shut them again. Xan knew him well enough by now to know that he’d been about to censure her.

  “Maybe if I get some carbs into him, he won’t feel like he’s dragging his ass through every workout. He’s so lean he’s losing muscle mass.” Xan wanted a healthy host, not an anorexic over-exerciser. But Marcus probably didn’t have a brother who had faked parenthood.

  “There is an ice cream place across the road. Do you know if Marcus has sunglasses in his car?”

  “They have a drive-through. Leave his car here.” If Quution wasn’t going to drag her back to the underworld, then she was going to hide in Marcus’s apartment and lick her wounds.

  Quution drove Brooklyn’s sedan to the shop, not saying anything as she rattled off her order and then headed for Marcus’s apartment after they got her stash. “I’d take you back to Brooklyn’s, but I think you’d make the minuscule place feel cramped.” He chattered about Brooklyn’s job hunt all the way, like he knew Xan was comforted by the everyday life and struggles of humans.

  How was she supposed to survive her own life in the underworld? There was no pleasure to be found. No thirty flavors of ice cream to choose from or bright sunshine to chase away the shadows, and no apartments she could lock herself in. In her realm, she had to be on all the time. Be at the ready or risk being killed in a horrible way that would make her wish for death.

  She’d let her guard down around the one person she’d thought she could trust and look what had happened.

  “I wish I could live here.”

  Quution swung into a parking spot. “I wish you could, too.”

  “I won’t even be able to visit.” Xan didn’t want to delve into an argument, but she couldn’t miss the opportunity to point out the obvious.

  “This isn’t a life meant for demons,” he said gently.

  Damn him, it was true. Either Marcus would figure out a way to boost her out of him, or he’d eventually pass away. She couldn’t find another host on her own.

  She got out and led Quution inside. Fumbling with the keys, she unlocked the door and held it for him. His arms were laden with her solace for the next few hours.

  Once inside Marcus’s apartment, she dropped the keys and went straight for the kitchen. She located the spoons, grabbed two, and plopped on the couch.

  Quution stood on the welcome mat, athletic shoes toed off and lined up neatly at the edge.

  She ran her tongue along Marcus’s even teeth. “If you’re going to stand there and watch, hand over the tub of tin roof. And the jar of hot fudge.”

  Quution glanced toward the kitchen, probably wondering why she hadn’t gotten a bowl or two, then at his armload. He tossed her the bin of tin roof sundae and went to the kitchen.

  Whatever, she didn’t need hot fudge anyway. Popping the lid, she dug in. The microwave whirred in the kitchen, followed by a ding. Quution reemerged with the jar.

  She’d made enough of a dent for him to pour some of the jar inside the ice cream tub.

  “Sweet,” she said, and tackled that section.

  He selected the other spoon and joined her. They ate in silence. Was his stomach feeling a little queasy like hers? Marcus hadn’t been ready for several hundred calories of fat and sugar and his gut was complaining.

  “Uh,” she said, pushing up. “I need some water. You?”

  “Please.” Quution put his spoon down. He’d just been eating with her so she wasn’t alone.

  Hot tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back as she filled her glass. Chugging it, she took a moment to center herself.

  Much better.

  But Quution was behind her, stuffing the ice cream in the freezer.

  “What the hell?” She glared at where he’d tossed the utensils into the sink. “I wasn’t done.”

  “You’re not eating until you make yourself sick.”

  “Fine. I’ll have it for breakfast.”

  Quution’s soft sigh was obnoxiously loud in the quiet apartment. “Xan. Talk to me.”

  She slammed a hand on her hip. “About what? How shitty I feel? How I’m grieving for a kid who never existed? How mad I am at myself for not seeing through my sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “Neither will hiding in Marcus.”

  Xan rubbed her suddenly pounding temples. Now she was angry at Quution for being right about eating until Marcus was on the floor and heaving. “I’m going to take a nap.”

  It was midday. She just wanted oblivion.

  She crawled into Marcus’s king-sized bed. A tug at her feet made her look up. Quution was taking her shoes off. Since she’d flopped on top of the bedding, he grabbed a neatly folded quilt and draped it over her.

  She blinked, staring at the far wall, ignoring Quution and his attempts to make her more comfortable. Her mouth tasted sour, her stomach was as heavy as the kettlebell Marcus had used earlier, and she was tired. So damn tired.

  The bed dipped under the diminutive weight of Brooklyn’s body. Quution snuggled behind her. His host was small but solid against her back.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks until her blinks grew longer and she finally succumbed to sleep.

  Quution had never felt so powerless in his life. Xan was understandably depressed, but she wasn’t crawling out of it. She’d been in Marcus for two days and he sensed the human had withdrawn so far that Xan could ta
ke over his body for another decade.

  He missed Xan’s lively chats, her zest for learning, and the way she used to vex him so—on purpose.

  This Xan was despondent. She wouldn’t even eat any more ice cream. When was the last time she’d moved off the couch? She watched true crime documentaries. Horrible, depressing stories that fit better in his realm than the human one.

  Quution had showered, but all he’d had were Brooklyn’s yoga pants and oversize T-shirt. The bra had had to go. It was folded neatly on top of Brooklyn’s shoes. Her constant worry over applying for jobs ate at him until he’d booted up Marcus’s computer and applied for her. There was nothing else to do, so he kept up the job search. His host had mellowed, oddly at peace with his interference.

  Fabric rustled and the couch creaked. Quution glanced up, hopeful she was finally rising to take a piss, or get a drink, but no. She had flopped onto her back, a large foot hanging off one armrest. Unlike him, she hadn’t showered. Stains from the first day’s melted ice cream dotted her black shirt. When he’d mentioned an outfit change at the very least, she’d told him he was free to leave.

  He’d stayed.

  A knock pounded on the door.

  He tensed, coiling a lash of energy to be at the ready. Xan did nothing but cock a brow at him and return to her show. This one was about a woman killing her sister because she’d been having an affair with her brother-in-law and wanted him for herself. Quution had better survival skills than to suggest she find a new channel.

  Should he answer the door?

  “Q, it’s me.” Stryke.

  Quution didn’t move for the door. Would Stryke’s presence help or hurt Xan’s recovery? Regardless, he was grateful Stryke had given him some time with Xan before tracking him down.

  If she reacted to Stryke’s announcement, she didn’t show it, her dull gaze on the TV.

  “Just a minute,” Quution called just so Stryke wouldn’t pound on the door again. Or maybe he should take his time and see if the ruckus roused Xan. He had a feeling it wouldn’t.

  Flipping the deadbolt, he opened to Stryke. As always, a quick shot of jealousy speared him. Stryke was mated to Zoey and could roam the realm in his own form. He had a ball cap pulled down over his horns with sunglasses resting on the brim to hide his unique eye color when needed.

  Stryke didn’t bat an eye at his host. He wasn’t interested in the woman and he was accustomed to a new host each time they met up. But when he stepped in and spotted Xan on the couch, a brow crept up. Quution closed and relocked the door.

  “Hey,” was all Xan said.

  To prevent talking about Xan like she wasn’t there, Quution suggested, “Perhaps we should step into the office.”

  “I can take whatever you have to say.” Xan curled onto her side. Her shirt rode up, exposing a dark swath of skin and toned abs. “I don’t care anyway.”

  “So that’s how it is.” Stryke didn’t bother to take his shoes off. He retrieved a chair from the kitchen table and straddled it so he could rest his arms across the back. “Because Xera and Spaeth aren’t wasting time. Melody said they know you’re both gone and they’ve been telling the rest of the Circle that you’re working together to take over the realm or whatever. Treason. It doesn’t take much to rile up a bunch of mindless beasts.”

  Quution grunted. “As if the rest of them aren’t planning their own takeover.”

  Xan spoke up, her voice hard. “Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re staying down there.”

  An outcome he’d once anticipated, but now the thought of leaving for eternity wasn’t so welcome. He switched his attention to Stryke’s news. “It’s only been a couple of days. It’ll take months to sway the other ten members of the Circle against us.” Melody would never fall for it.

  Stryke shook his head. “Not with Xera’s help. I swear she put the literal fear of God into them. Creed has all but begged Melody to stop going down there at all. Both he and I are accompanying her.”

  Sweet brimstone. Why hadn’t he considered that Xera had partnered with Spaeth earlier? Xan would’ve stopped her if she’d known. Instead, Xera and Spaeth had maneuvered Xan into a position where they could use her and destroy her.

  “Damn, I haven’t been able to collect all the items I need.” He’d been too distracted by a sexy purple demon to gather a part of her. And Spaeth was nearing impossible. It could still be done, but he’d have to sneak around to avoid assassination attempts. He didn’t savor asking Xan at the moment. It would be too much like booting her when she was down.

  “You can leave at any time, Q.” Xan sat up, her clothing rumpled and askew. She didn’t bother to straighten it. “You can both go. Go, save the underworld.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  Stryke didn’t have as much compassion as he did. “And you’re fine ignoring Xera? Is there no inclination to seek justice or to save future innocents from her hate?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Stryke shoved to his feet and stalked toward her.

  This could get ugly if Quution didn’t step in. “Stryke, enough.”

  She glared at his brother. “I’m sorry, I should pick up your mission why? I don’t recall you ever giving a shit about me or Xera until we interfered with your plans. I don’t recall your brother pausing for one moment when I told him how much having access to this realm meant to me. I fail to see why I should waste one more moment in the underworld.” She settled back on the sofa, her arms draped over the back, her feet kicked out between Stryke’s. “That is, until you suck us back there without a chance to leave.”

  Stryke gave her a flat look. “You’re sinking into a well of self-pity just because your sister did what demons do best?”

  Quution repressed his groan. “Stryke, you’re not helping.”

  Stryke didn’t budge. “Neither is coddling her during her funk party.” His glare hardened. “It’s the underworld. None of us had idyllic family lives. All of us have been betrayed by those who should love us. You like this realm so damn much, then save it from the underworld.”

  From the mutinous look on Xan’s face, the tough-love approach wasn’t working.

  “Get. Out.” If she had fangs, they’d be bared.

  Quution laid a hand on Stryke’s shoulder. “Stryke, wait for me outside.”

  Stryke’s lips were flat. With one last measuring glare at Xan, he nodded and stormed out the door.

  Quution sank to his knees in from of Xan. She was still reclined, staring dully at the TV.

  “Xan, our realm could really use your help.”

  She laughed. “Since when.”

  Since she realized how terrorizing it could be. He sighed. “I can’t force you, I can only ask you to help me. I don’t think I can fight your sister and Spaeth and every other demon who’d love to kill me by myself.”

  “You have Stryke.”

  Quution winced at the bitterness in her voice. “I don’t know how much longer I will have him without your help. If he gets killed, I…don’t know what I’ll do.”

  She briefly squeezed her eyes shut and her expression softened.

  Perhaps he’d been wrong about how to help her. She needed to nurse her broken heart and deal with the betrayal. Stryke thought she should see how normal the occurrence was for the underworld. But perhaps she had to be shown that there were still supportive, functional relationships in that realm.

  “I know it’s hard to see,” he began, “but there are parents in our realm that love their children and try to protect them. There are siblings who truly have each other’s backs, and there are couples who are dedicated to each other.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?” she challenged.

  Quution paused. He racked his brain for examples and came up woefully short. “You know my story. And Stryke’s, somewhat. Remember Fyra?”

  “The fire demon who used to serve Rancor?”

  “She was very close with her mother. And then there’s Mantis and Jester.”

 
Xan gave him a sidelong look.

  “Hear me out. They are dedicated to each other. They have despicable habits and force people into their orgies, but they are loyal to each other.”

  It was a shitty example, but he didn’t get out and socialize in his realm.

  “It only makes sense that there are others like us. They need our help.” Her sister’s abilities were terrifying.

  Credits rolled on the show she’d been watching. A quick announcement about a missing couple filled the screen. Locals, middle-aged. Their family feared something bad had happened to them with the way they’d up and disappeared. Before the couple’s image had faded, another episode started almost immediately, a grim narrator accounting the tale of a serial killer who stalked women before stabbing them to death. “A man who thrived on women’s fears,” the narrator said.

  Would Xan see the correlation? This realm wasn’t perfect, but she could do good in her own realm.

  Xan stood and stretched. Marcus was a good foot taller than his host and twice as wide, packed with solid muscle. Quution wasn’t used to being towered over.

  Xan dropped her arms, looked him in the eye, and said, “You’d better get going then.” She strode to the bathroom, not even slamming the door behind her.

  Quution dropped his head. He’d lost her. And if he got the wards back in place, she’d get sucked back into the underworld. And down there, as a shell of herself, she wouldn’t last long.

  Chapter 21

  By the time Xan had finished in the bathroom, Quution was gone. He’d probably driven his host back to her place, got her nice and comfortable, then transported back to the underworld. Such a responsible demon.

  The thread of disappointment was stronger than she’d expected. Looking inside her, she started. Marcus wasn’t as dormant as he’d appeared, and he didn’t like that Brooklyn had left.

  Figured. Her host had the hots for Quution’s host. It wasn’t just attraction that was making Marcus stir. He’d missed a few days of work thanks to her and it was bothering him. Xan checked his phone. Five missed calls and an inbox full of boring insurance questions.