by Laken Cane
I called Captain Crawford as Shane drove us toward the police department, and finally, he answered.
His voice was gruff and hoarse with exhaustion. “Where have you been, Sinclair?”
“I’ve been with my friends killing the demon responsible for the murders,” I said. “I’m in the city now with the body. Is it safe?”
“I’ll see that it is. Come to the back.”
When we arrived at the police station, Shane dragged the canvas-wrapped body from the back of the truck, then threw it over his shoulder. The captain and three of his men had walked out of the building when we arrived, and stood silently watching.
The fact that the policemen’s fingers lingered near their guns wasn’t lost on me. They circled us and herded us into the station, then led us to an interrogation room. Shane dropped the body to the table, and finally, when no one moved to unwrap it, he took out a blade and slit the tarp up the middle.
He pulled back the edges and as one, the cops—even the captain—took a quick step back.
“Holy shit,” one of them murmured. “That’s…”
“That’s a demon,” I said, when he fell into silence. “He’s the one responsible for the women’s deaths. Not the supernaturals. A demon. This demon.”
Shane pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it on top of the demon’s naked, twisted body. “The capture was recorded.”
I’d completely forgotten about the camera. And the exorcist. The first was extremely important. The second, not so much.
But Clayton.
They’d see the incubus crawling into him. Possessing him.
That would not be good for Clayton.
Shane’s eyes were blank when he met my glare. Yeah, he’d known. He believed Clayton should die, just as the exorcist would have, to kill the demon.
Maybe I believed it too, but I’d be damned if I let it happen. At least not until we had proof that the incubus was going to be trouble.
He was trapped inside Clayton’s body, and Clayton had strengths I doubt any of us were aware of. He could control the incubus. He could beat it into submission.
He could.
So I made a preemptive strike. “One of the supernaturals took the demon’s spirit inside him.”
“He ate it?” one of the cops asked, after a moment of confused silence.
I nodded. “He devoured it. The situation is handled.” I looked at Shane. “And the incubus is dead.”
The captain sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll call in the team. They’ll go over the tape, the body, and the facts. It’ll be a long road, but things will calm down. Bay Town will survive this.”
“I just hope the ones who live there will,” I said. “Captain, can I—”
“I’ll let you see him, but you can’t take him home, Trinity. He put three of my men in intensive care.”
“They attacked him,” I said. “He was defending his daughter.”
He relented, but only a little. “A doctor has been in to see him. That’s all I can do.”
“He’s a supernatural freak who nearly killed three of us,” one of the cops said. “He’s lucky we brought him in alive.”
“You’re lucky I don’t suspend you for a year for what you did to him,” the captain said, glaring. “Keep your mouth shut or leave the room.”
I put my hand to my chest. “Take me to him, Captain,” I whispered. But I wasn’t really sure I wanted to see him.
I couldn’t see a way out for Angus. Not even a claim of self-defense would get him out the hole into which he’d so brutally flung himself. Supernaturals didn’t attack humans, and they especially didn’t attack human police.
We’d lost him.
The captain really had tried to make things a bit easier on Angus. He’d put him in a private cell on the mostly unused top floor instead of the reinforced and guarded basement cells in which supernaturals were normally thrown.
Human criminals had the second floor which consisted of roomy pods instead of cells, and they were a hell of a lot more comfortable than what the supernats got in the basement.
Angus’s cell contained only a cot and a toilet. I wrapped my fingers around the cold, grimy bars as I waited for the cop to open the door.
When it clanged, I expected Angus to sit up and glare at all of us.
He didn’t move.
“Angus,” I whispered, and slipped to his side. “Oh, my God, Angus.”
“That’s fucked-up,” Shane said, glaring at the captain.
“I don’t disagree,” Crawford said. “I don’t disagree at all.”
Despite his massive injuries and his unconscious state, they’d fastened a thick cuff around his right ankle. A chain that looked like it’d be too heavy for me to lift snaked from the cuff to an iron post embedded in the floor.
Three cops milled around the bed, electroshock batons in hand, as though the thing on the cot might miraculously rise and take them all out.
Oh, if only.
If only.
I turned and sucker punched the cop closest to me. The blood from his shattered nose sprayed my face, mixing with the tears that ran from my eyes in a cold, steady stream.
He yelled as he slammed back against the brick wall, then lifted his baton and started toward me.
“You touch her,” Shane said, his voice as icy as my tears, “and I will kill you.”
The cop wiped the blood from his face and looked at his captain.
“Get out,” Crawford told him. “All of you, get out.”
The captain waited until they were gone, then gestured at Angus. “I’m sorry,” he said, simply, then followed his men from the cell. He hesitated at the doorway. “If anything will get him off for attempted murder of a human, that will.”
“Always good to look at the bright side,” Shane growled.
I sat down beside Angus, gingerly, unable to breathe past the pain in my chest. I wanted to look away, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. “We should’ve stayed to help him.”
“Then we’d be dead,” Shane said. “We’re not like him. We can’t take damage like that and live through it.”
“I’m afraid he can’t, either,” I whispered.
Yeah, he was that bad. That beaten, burned, and broken.
He was that bad, and the humans were that angry. That afraid.
“What will Bay Town do without Angus?” Shane asked.
I swallowed my thick tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know what any of us will do without him.”
“Maybe Miriam can—”
“No.” I wiped my eyes. “You don’t bring back the ones you love. And he’s not dying. Don’t say that again.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Who are you calling?”
“Their doctor.”
I nodded. “Put him on speaker.”
And then I looked, really looked, at Angus Stark. Or what was left of him.
They’d beaten him so badly he resembled a huge cut of raw, bloody meat. I was pretty sure that after they’d brought him in, most of the cops had taken turns abusing him some more.
It was ugly. So very ugly.
I’d never seen someone so brutalized.
The doctor finally came on the line.
“Dr. Zahn,” he said.
Shane cleared his throat. “This is Shane Copas. Trinity Sinclair and I are—”
“With Angus,” Zahn said. “Yes. It’s bad. I did the best I could, but he won’t survive the attack. The only reason he’s still alive is because he’s Angus Stark.”
“You can’t let him die,” I blurted, angry.
“I’d have put him out of his misery if they’d have allowed it. As it is, I did everything I could,” he said. “Absolutely everything.”
I stared down at Angus, my tears rolling off my nose and falling onto his face. “You didn’t do enough. You have to come back, Dr. Zahn.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’ll likely end up behind bars as well, if I try. It’s a dang
erous time for supernaturals, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Doctor, please. You have to help him. He needs to be in a hospital.”
“He’s not human. He doesn’t need a hospital.” There was no anger or outrage or pain in his voice. Dr. Zahn had seen everything. He’d seen a dozen Angus Starks. “Say your goodbyes, Ms. Sinclair.” He hesitated. “If he lives, he’ll spend the rest of his life in a prison worse than anything you can imagine, my dear. He’d rather be dead. I swear that to you.”
And on that note, he ended the call.
Shane and I looked at each other, realizing at the same moment exactly what was going on.
“Angus was prepared for this eventuality,” Shane said.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “The doctor won’t try to save him because Angus doesn’t want to be saved. He doesn’t want to go to prison.”
“Better to rest in peace than to live in hell.” Shane nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Well I can’t. Get another doctor in here. The supernaturals have more than one doctor.”
“I don’t—”
“Get one,” I shouted. “Get one, Shane!”
“Fuck,” he muttered, under his breath, then turned and strode from the jail cell.
One of the guards stuck his head into the cell. “Ms. Sinclair?”
“Get away from me,” I told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And because I couldn’t possibly hurt Angus more than he’d already been hurt, I stretched out half on top of him and rested my head on his raw chest. They’d shocked him so many times he was covered with burns. There were splinters embedded in his wounds, and bloody gaps in his flesh so wide and deep that I could have slipped half my hand into them.
The doctor might have set his broken bones. He might have halfheartedly cleaned his wounds. He might have shot him full of drugs. I could see evidence of little else. He’d only stitched up a couple of the cuts on Angus’s head, leaving the ones on his body to seep and drain.
Angus’s breath was labored and wet. Likely some shards of broken rib had punctured his lungs.
He should have been home. He needed his family. But if his family had walked into the police station, they’d all be sharing cells alongside him.
I dug my phone out of my pocket, brought up the camera, and took a nice long video of the brokenness that was Angus Stark.
And I made him a promise as I digitally catalogued his wounds.
“You’ll live,” I told him. “And you will come home.” Someday.
I couldn’t bear for Angus to pay for what the humans had done.
He was coming home. I just had to figure out how to make it happen.
Then the realization hurtled through the air and it hit me like a train, leaving me breathless with hope. I knew how to save him.
I leaned over and kissed his battered lips. “I’m going to fix this. Hang on, Angus. Hang on for your kids. Hang on for me.”
And then I raced down the hallway to find the one person who could save our shifter, even if that saving might make Angus hate me forever after.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I met him back in the woods, because that’s where he was when I called him. When I entered the doorless cabin where the sick incubus had been sleeping, he straightened, then slipped something into his jacket pocket.
“Clayton,” I murmured. Then cleared my throat and walked to him, unflinching and brave in my desperation.
His face, set in lines of habitual hardness, softened. “Trinity.” His voice was a caress. He’d been unleashed, and he’d been filled with an incubus. Lust came off him in clouds, touching me everywhere. Touching everything.
I closed my eyes for a second and tried to gather myself. Tried to ignore the heaviness between my legs, the quivering of my muscles, the dryness of my mouth. My heart pounded and goosebumps covered every inch of my skin.
“How does it feel?” I reached up to touch his face. “To be free?”
His flinch was as much a habit as his blankness. “It’s…” He shook his head. “It’s indescribable. I’d forgotten.” He swallowed, gathering himself, and there was the emotion, coloring his eyes and changing his face. “It’s everything.”
And I was going to take that away from him.
I tried to draw a deep breath, but my chest was too tight to allow it. “Why did you come back here?”
He patted his pocket. “The Foam of Aphrodite. He had a stash hidden. I'll destroy it.”
But really, I didn’t care. “Clayton,” I whispered.
He studied me, silent, sober, and with a little of the hopelessness I was so familiar with. He sighed, finally, softly.
“He’s dying.” I released a weak sob and clenched my fists, not only because Angus was dying, but because I was about to shatter Clayton.
He lifted his hand, hesitated, then rubbed his thumb through my tears, closing his eyes as he concentrated on that one touch.
I shuddered, because he was Clayton, and because he was the incubus, and they both were full of sex and promise. Clayton had been restrained for so very long, and the incubus…he was an incubus. He was sex.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “God, I’m sorry.”
His eyes darkened, but the spark didn’t leave them. Not then.
“The demon can save him,” he realized.
I nodded.
“Can you imagine Angus with a sex demon inside him?” He laughed, sort of, but there was something close to a sob wrapped up in that laugh.
I put my palms on his chest. “He’s dying.” I could only whisper, because I was too full of pain and the words couldn’t push past the lump in my throat.
“Would you do it?” he asked. “If you were me, and you were this.” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Would you?”
I nodded. Then, “I don’t know.” And I dropped my gaze.
He was silent for so long I was afraid he’d deny Angus his life. I was terrified. I was horrified. I was a terrible fucking bitch to even ask but…
“Save him, Clayton. You’re the only one who can.”
“Give me today.” His voice was hoarse, but it was strong. “One day.”
“I would give you anything,” I said, fiercely.
But when Miriam held his reins once again, would I be able to keep my promise?
Would it even matter?
“I’ll find a way,” I swore. “I’ll find a way to release you from her.”
“This was my way.” Then he shrugged off the inevitability of his circumstances, and his stare went from despairing to predatory and very, very hot. And not just hot, but dominating. He’d been forced to submit to Miriam’s power, but right then, he was Clayton. He was the Clayton he’d been before Miriam had fucked him up. Before she’d turned him into a slave. Before she’d forced him into submission.
I took a shaky breath and tried to calm my galloping heart. “How long has it been for you?” I asked. “Did Miriam and you ever—”
His laugh was surprised and completely genuine. It was also low and masculine and pleased, because he saw in my parted lips, my breathlessness, and my nervousness one fact I could not hide from him.
He made me hot.
He always had, but now, I couldn’t hide it. And I didn’t want to.
“No. No one could touch me. She wasn’t lying. I couldn’t even touch myself.”
I shivered at the thought of him touching himself, and quite inadvertently, I dropped my stare to the front of his pants. From the size of the bulge, I was not the only one turned on. Of course, I’d already known that.
His lust was so intense it swirled around him, an almost visible thing.
I cleared my throat and averted my gaze. “The incubus. Can you feel him?”
I knew he could, though, because I could see the incubus. He peered out Clayton’s eyes, interested and quiet. Watchful.
“Yes.” With an unexpected suddenness, Clayton grinned. I’d never seen that grin on him, and it took my breath. He wa
s gorgeous in his freedom.
“It’s a struggle to control him,” he continued, “and I won’t envy Angus his battle with this thing.”
Maybe he was just trying to make me feel better.
“Can he…” I hesitated, afraid I’d give the demon ideas. But I wasn’t going to put anything into his head that wasn’t already there. “Does he still want to suck the life from me, do you think?”
Clayton frowned. “All I feel is his interest in your body.” He ran his stare over my face and down my body, and that stare was like a physical touch. “Or maybe that’s just my interest.”
“I should go,” I murmured, even as desire shot through me. “And let you enjoy your day.” It didn’t occur to me to doubt that he would save Angus, once he’d had his day of freedom.
He lifted one corner of his lips in a sort of smile. “You’re the way I’m going to enjoy my day, Trinity.” He didn’t touch me. He stood with his hands at his sides, his face calmly blank, but his eyes blazing with passion. Need. Desire.
It wasn’t just Clayton with his years of forced submission and bondage but the demon inside him. Of course, in Clayton’s case, the incubus would not be the only demon in there.
I took a tiny step back.
“Despite Miriam’s hold,” he said, smoothly, darkly, “I have lain awake at night, wrapped in my phantom chains, and imagined touching you.”
I released a shaky breath, then I took my need and went to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my pelvis against his.
He cried out, and it was more a sound of agony than pleasure. He rested his forehead against mine, shuddering. He didn’t lift his hands to hold me there, and I knew he was torn. He wanted me as much—even more—than I wanted him, but something was holding him back.
Then he told me what that something was.
“Sex with me won’t be gentle and kind. The incubus is…” He swallowed and closed his eyes, but only for a second. “He is depraved. Vicious. And the only thing he wants is sex. He knows he can no longer use you to gain his freedom, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to fuck.” Again, he shuddered, then wiped sweat from his forehead and regained control.
Sort of.
“I won’t be the only one inside you, Trinity. And I won’t be any less of a freak than Seth Damon.” He shook with the effort of controlling not only himself but the demon inside him. “I’ve been deprived for too long.”