Diary of a Demon Hunter 4: Doubly Dying

by Michele Bardsley

  The blow job only softened him slightly.

  “Damned demon dick!” she groused.

  “Don’t worry, Maggie. It’s enough.” He chuckled as he disengaged the strap and retrieved her ring. “I love you,” he murmured as he slid the platinum band onto the third finger of her left hand.

  “I love you, too.” She stared at the jewel in amazement. Holy fucking shit. She was engaged. She was going to get married. The very prospect of getting hitched scared the crap outta her, but at the same time, she was excited about it, too.

  Rafe tumbled her onto her backside and kissed her. She melted in his embrace, molding her lips to his, darting her tongue into his mouth. All the while, her restless hands danced along his back. She cupped his ass. He flexed his buttocks and made her laugh. Then he dropped kisses on her collarbone and devoured her with his hot mouth and talented tongue.

  She writhed beneath him.

  Rafe’s fingers danced on her bare skin, skimming the underside of her aching breasts, teasing her areolas. He suckled one of her nipples, letting go of the tender nub to blow softly on the crinkled flesh until the peak tightened even more.

  Hot desire liquefied Maggie. She stroked his ribcage, tickling his flesh until she found his nipples. She rubbed them to hardness then twisted.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, a shudder running through him.

  “Maggie,” he moaned, kissing her breasts.

  He wedged his hand between them, cupping her sex and caressing her outer lips. Then he pierced her with two fingers and crooked them to rub her G-spot. She moaned, her hips lifting in the same rhythm as his fingers.

  He lifted her leg and shifted his body until he was at the correct angle. Her restless hands flittered to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he plunged into her slick cunt.

  Her legs trembled and her heart thudded as he thrust again and again and again. She wrapped her free leg around his buttocks and clawed at his flesh, her moans and movements just as frantic as his.

  The orgasm roared through her. “Rafe! Oh, God! Yes!”

  Rafe slammed into her, her name a mantra as he reached his own completion. He stiffened, groaning as his come spurted into her weeping cunt.

  He collapsed against her, his tongue flicking the beads of moisture rolling down her neck. “So,” he murmured. “Do you want to set the date?”

  Maggie punched him.

  * * *

  “They found another pair of men’s legs,” said Sarah the next morning. She handed Maggie the front page of the newspaper.

  Maggie sat at the kitchen table and poured herself coffee. Mrs. Pottersworth made yummy, strong java. She blew on the liquid before venturing a sip. “Mmm. Mocha caramel?”

  “Hazelnut truffle,” said Sarah. “I don’t know how she does it. She would kill Starbucks if she opened her own coffee business.”

  Maggie laughed. She sipped her coffee as she scanned the story. The mysterious killer who left only the legs -- from the calves down -- of male victims had left another pair on a downtown sidewalk. The serrated wounds had been compared to animal teeth, except no animal large enough to eat a grown man in one bite still existed.

  The method of death was surely paranormal, but it didn’t fit a demon MO. It also seemed like the victims were chosen randomly -- out of convenience rather than because they fit a certain profile. Actually the only profile they fit was that they were men. The strange incidents made Maggie curious, but whether or not there was a paranormal or human explanation for the murders, it wasn’t her game.

  She had bigger demons to hunt.

  “You have a visitor,” said Rafe as he walked into the kitchen. Auren, in her black kitten form, sauntered beside him. When he sat down, she jumped into his lap and closed her eyes.

  “I think it’s weird that my sister is curled on your lap.”

  “Jealous about this little pussy?” asked Rafe, grinning.

  “Yuck.” Maggie leaned over and kissed him. “You’ll pay for that, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Who’s the visitor?” asked Sarah. She resumed feeding the infant snuggled in her arms. The bottle glowed with blue demonfire. Margie sucked contently on the bottle, which had a specially made nipple since all the rubber ones tended to melt due to her higher body temps. It would take a while for the child to find a balance between her demon and human halves.

  “Says her name is Deb.”

  Maggie found her half-empty coffee cup very interesting. “Deb, huh?”

  She flicked a glance at Sarah. Her friend smiled. “The coordinator, hon. Remember?”

  “She doesn’t look old enough to be a wedding planner,” said Rafe, snaking the paper from Maggie’s hands. “Are we interviewing her for the job or did you dig her up last night?”

  “Dig her up?”

  Rafe looked up, obviously hearing the strain in Maggie’s voice. His eyebrows dipped into a frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Did he know that she’d tried to call her father’s ghost? Was he trying to get her to confess? Or was her own guilty conscience causing her to overreact to his words?

  “Where is she? Did you talk to her?” asked Maggie as she rose from the table.

  “She’s in the mansion. Mrs. P is with her in the living room we keep furnished for entertaining guests.” Rafe gulped his coffee and picked up Auren, who meowed sleepily.

  “Where are you going?”

  “With you.” Rafe stroked the top of the kitten’s head. “I figured since it’s our wedding, I should have some input.”

  Sarah laughed. Rafe and Maggie turned to look at her. She put down the bottle and lifted Margie to her shoulder. As she lightly patted the infant’s back, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s just… weddings are for the women. Honeymoons are for the men.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Eltar as he wandered into the kitchen. He was in his human guise, wearing one of Sarah’s terry cloth robes and a very satisfied expression.

  “Why would you keep it in mind?” asked Sarah. Her cheeks suffused with color and she suddenly found the tabletop vastly interesting.

  “Because I wish to marry you, of course.”

  “Who’s to say I want to marry you?”

  “I love you, Sarah.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth, ignoring her astonished expression.

  Eltar’s gaze fell to Maggie’s left hand. He whistled. “Demon sapphire. Must’ve taken you a while to craft that, old boy.”

  “Something like that,” admitted Rafe. “So, you want to talk to the wedding planner alone?”

  Goddamn it. He sounded hurt. If Deb were a real wedding planner, she wouldn’t have any problem with Rafe coming with her. In fact, she would happily let him make all the decisions about every nauseating detail. But Deb wasn’t here about a wedding.

  So what was she here about?

  “You never said how you found this Deb.”

  Great. Now Rafe sounded suspicious.

  “You really are thick-headed,” said Sarah. Margie punctuated her mother’s statement with a loud burp. Flames shot out from her pert mouth then she gurgled, ramming a tiny fist into her mouth.

  “May I?” asked Eltar. Apparently, the two of them had worked out a number of issues during their night together. Sarah handed over the baby and Eltar held his daughter with great tenderness.

  “Why am I thick-headed?” asked Rafe.

  Maggie noticed the way her husband-to-be kept his gaze on Eltar and Margie. Oh, Goddess in Heaven! Was he thinking about children, too? Next, they’d be picking out a cottage with a white-picket fence. And demon-proof siding.

  “Obviously Maggie is trying to plan a surprise for you.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows rose. He turned to look at Maggie. “So, Deb isn’t a wedding planner?”

  “Yes,” said Maggie.

  “No,” said Sarah.

  Margie gurgled.

  “Look, you stay here,” Maggie said to Rafe. “Sarah, come with me.” She leaned down and cupped Raf
e’s face. “I swear that once we begin the actual planning of our wedding day, you will be there every step of the way.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” he said with only a hint of sarcasm. “Allowing me to plan my own nuptials.”

  “Hey, I’m a generous person.”

  “You’re going to pay for that,” he said, chuckling.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “I know.”

  * * *

  “You should tell him the truth,” said Sarah on the elevator ride up to the manse.

  “No, I shouldn’t. I won’t risk his life.”

  “But you’ll risk yours?” Sarah crossed her arms and glared at Maggie. “You haven’t exactly revealed what happened in the graveyard. You’re going to do something stupid and brave, aren’t you? The lone heroine taking on the world… seriously, that is so overdone.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You’re very cranky today.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Cranky didn’t begin to cover her emotional state. The elevator dinged and opened, allowing them to enter the foyer. Across the large space were the double doors to the living room. She’d left the decoration to Sarah and Mrs. P. Decorating wasn’t her thing.

  The doors were open. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace. On a very large Persian rug, two divans faced each other. Between them was an antique table. Centered on it was a very large red candle on a diamond-shaped mirror. Its flame was thin and wavering and the smell of cinnamon wafted in the room. Red hues in the pillows and stripes on the wallpaper made the room, filled with tans and creams and bronzes, feel more cozy.

  Two wingbacks were positioned so that they could be moved to face either the couches or the fireplace. They were big, dressed in brown leather, and studded with bronze. Bookshelves lined one wall and they were filled with books Maggie had never seen before.

  “Hello, dearies,” said Mrs. P cheerfully from the divan. Deb sat next to her, looking pale and tired.

  “I assume you have a good reason for showing up at my house, Deb.”

  Maggie watched Sarah sit on the opposite couch and pour herself a cup of tea from the silver teapot. She fiddled with sugar cubes and creamer. When the hell had they gotten so civilized? Tea in the drawing room, Miss Mortis? Blech!

  “Phillip is gone.”

  “Your dead boyfriend?” Maggie flung herself onto the couch next to Sarah and sighed. “I don’t do missing persons. Dead or alive.”

  “Maybe he went back to the grave,” suggested Sarah.

  “I checked. He’s not there. He’s just… gone.”

  “He’s basically a walking corpse, right? I mean, somebody will find him and… well, I’m not exactly sure what they’ll do.” Maggie smiled weakly, knowing she wasn’t exactly aces at making other people feel better.

  “Duh. They would freak out,” offered Sarah.

  Maggie bit back a chuckle, especially since the teacup Deb held quaked in her trembling hands.

  “I think he was called by another necromancer.” Deb tried to sip her tea, but before she managed to bring it to her lips, she spilled it. She started to cry.

  “There, there,” soothed Mrs. P. “It’ll be all right.” She took the cup from Deb and set it on the coffee table.

  “I know he’s a zombie now,” said Deb, sniffling. Mrs. P produced a white handkerchief, which Deb gratefully accepted. “But I loved him once. I’m responsible for him.”

  Foreboding tickled Maggie’s gut. She sat up and stared at Deb. “It’s bigger than that, isn’t it? Phil was attached to you. It would take something really powerful to pull him away.”

  Deb nodded. “I sense something evil. Really evil. Once I return to a steady emotional center, I can do some psychic delving.”

  Steady emotional center? Maggie rarely had time to think about her emotions, much less how she might iron out the kinks in her own psyche. “Deb, is there anything you can tell us right now? We might not have time for psychic delving.”

  “Well,” said Deb, her voice edged with sarcasm, “I bet it has something to do with the demon dude hiding in Heaven. Maybe you should ask him.”

  “Demon dude…” said Sarah, her gaze turned to Maggie.

  “In Heaven?” finished Mrs. Pottersworth, her stare also taking in Maggie. “Are we talking about Abatu, dear?”

  “That was a secret,” Maggie hissed, avoiding everyone’s looks of censure. “Isn’t there some sort of confidentiality code for necromancers?”

  Deb’s smile was edged with malicious pleasure. “Nope.”

  “Abatu is hiding in Heaven,” murmured Mrs. P. “He has those hideous vials that can kill immortal creatures.”

  “If Abatu had laid a hand on anyone in the golden realm, we would know.” At least Maggie hoped she would know. With Meelena dead and her secret revealed, Maggie wasn’t the only one after Abatu or the child still bound within the crystal. The child would remain hidden -- at least until Abatu was dead.

  “You weren’t going to tell us,” accused Sarah. “Just like I thought! Go off and save the day like you’re the only one who can.”

  “I am the only one who can.”

  “Now, dear, we all have our strengths.”

  Deb peered at her strangely. “I haven’t been able to figure out your aura.”

  “I’m an Elf, darling.”

  “I’ve met Elves,” said Deb in an offended voice. “You’re more like a --”

  “Time enough for that later,” said Mrs. P, rising from the couch. “We must go talk to Raphael and Eltar and make a plan.”

  A group effort. Argh! Maggie’s insides started to churn. If only she went -- if only her life was at risk -- then she wouldn’t be worried about her friends. Sarah had found love again with Eltar and they had a baby. Mrs. P was like the grandmother she’d never known. And Rafe -- he was her one, truest love. She would die for him.

  “Abatu is my problem.”

  “You are so stubborn!” yelled Sarah.

  “She’s scared,” countered Deb. “She feels responsible for you all. What you call stubborn is really just… love.”

  “Oh, gawd,” moaned Maggie as she slapped her forehead. “Necromancers really don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

  Chapter 4

  From the diary of Maggie Mortis…

  Trying to be sneaky around people who also know how to be sneaky really sucks. Being around friends who think they know what’s best for me doesn’t inspire the warm fuzzies. I’m not on solid ground anymore. Fear and love erupt together, warring with each other, and shake me to the core.

  Deb talks about an emotional center. I don’t have one. I’m too scared to look inside and find it. I already know I’m fucked up.

  But unlike most people’s, my demons are real.

  * * *

  Everyone, including Deb, hung out in the kitchen while Mrs. P made tea and served blueberry scones and chocolate-chip cookies. Eltar and Sarah left to put Margie to bed, so everyone retired to the library and tucked in for a planning session. Everyone… except Rafe.

  Maggie sat down at the kitchen table in the chair next to his. “I have a confession.”

  “You chose a red wedding gown?”

  “No,” she said. “But that’s a great idea.”

  She leaned forward and took his hands. “Deb isn’t a wedding planner. She’s a necromancer. I hired her to contact my father.”

  “You asked him to help you destroy Abatu.”

  “No. My mother showed up instead. She said Abatu sucked my father’s soul into a prism and is holding him prisoner. She said… she said Abatu is hiding in Heaven.”

  Rafe looked thoughtful. At least he didn’t look pissed off. Relief cascaded through her. See, she told her guilty conscience, he’s handling this just fine.

  “You don’t trust me.”

  The accusation was low, soft, and deadly.

  She flinched and pulled away her hands. “I love you.”

  “I know.” Rafe didn’t try to hold her hand again, but his gaze never
left hers. “We’re a team, Maggie. We should trust each other.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ve already lost you once. I’ve already lost everybody.” She couldn’t stop the tears. She brushed them away, furious with her lack of control.

  “I understand, Maggie. You’re scared. You’ve lived with fear and loneliness and pain for so long, you don’t know what to do with emotions like love and joy. You don’t know how to let someone else in -- how to rely on someone else.”

  “It’s too fucking hard.”

  “Is it?”

  She nodded. She wanted him to understand. She wanted him to forgive her. He offered no penance. He simply stood up and, disappointment and hurt lurking in his gaze, delivered the final blow. “You’re selfish, Maggie. And you’re a coward.”

  His words stabbed at her. The tears started again and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Let him see her pain, her weakness. He didn’t give a shit about her feelings.

  “How can you say that to me? After all I’ve done for you and for us?”

  “I love you, Maggie. I loved you before you even knew my name. I know that you would die for me. I think that would be the easier thing for you to do, if you were given a choice between dying for me or trusting me.”

  “Isn’t it all the same?” she asked. “What more can I give you?”

  “If you can’t find the courage to give me yourself, heart and soul, mind and body… then what do we have but empty promises and dreams with no chance of coming true?”

  “I’m not a dream, damn it! I’m real. All this talk about hearts and souls and minds… it’s all bullshit! God, Rafe, you’re hurting me.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. All or nothing, Maggie.” He looked at her and she saw the determination in his eyes. He really meant it. Either she gave him everything -- including her trust -- or they were finished.

  He kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the kitchen. Maggie took a few moments to get herself together. Holy fuck, he was a sanctimonious bastard. Anger and fear and pain twisted up her insides. She wanted to scream and to cry and to beat the hell outta something.

  After a few moments of deep breathing, she got her roiling emotions under control. She pushed every single recrimination and guilt-filled thought deeper and deeper until she didn’t feel their stings. She willed herself to feel numb. To feel nothing.