Demon Marked

by Anna J. Evans

  “It’s over. Just make sure it never happens again.”

  “Never. I promise.”

  “Good.” He shoved inside her again, making her call his name. The blue light erupted a few seconds later, bursting from their straining bodies, setting the room on fire. Together, they burned. Andre drove in and out, in and out, while his fingers stayed busy at her clit, flying back and forth with perfect, gentle pressure until the tension inside her could no longer be contained by flesh and blood.

  Emma came with a sound—half sob, half cry of victory. The bliss ripped through her body, shredding her to pieces and then putting her back together again, re-forming her as a being full of beauty and pleasure. Within her, the darkness twisted and thrashed, fighting to stay wakeful, watchful, but it was no match for the drugging effects of satisfaction and love. She sensed the dark craving lessen, the way it did after a feeding. She knew the second it lay down and went to sleep, the predator banished for a time by an act of celebration rather than violence.

  Her entire body went limp with relief. It was over. It really was. The danger had passed and the rebuilding of their lives could begin. Emma floated on the tide of the aftermath of what Andre did to her, smiling and relaxed, filled with sensations of such pure well-being that even Andre’s sudden shout couldn’t faze her.

  “Shit!” Andre cursed as he reached for the faucet with his foot, shoving the lever into the “off” position. They’d forgotten about the running water, and now it overflowed, streaming down the side of the mammoth tub to pool on the already flooded floor.

  “Oops,” Emma said, laughing softly despite herself.

  So much had happened, so much horror had been packed into the past few hours. But even knowing there were still more than a dozen bodies to be cleaned up and disposed of couldn’t banish her grin. She was too happy, too grateful to have been given another chance with Andre, another chance to—

  “Shit!” She vaulted into a seated position, splashing more water out of the tub.

  “What’s wrong? Where—”

  “The book.” Emma rose to her feet, water streaming down her body, and reached for one of the towels hanging on the wall. “The spell book was empty. The pages were blank.”

  “Do you think Ginger still has it?” Andre asked, flipping open the drain before grabbing a towel of his own, his swift movement testimony to how seriously he was taking all things aura demon. “Do you think she realized Francis was up to something and gave him a book filled with blank pages on purpose?”

  “Maybe. Hopefully. But we need to get in touch with her right away.”

  “At least Mikey’s not involved in this. If she’s with him, she’s safe. At least ... safe from normal danger.”

  “Right. Normal danger. Like we’ve got any of that going on around here.” Emma frowned down at her and Andre’s clothes, which floated on the flooded floor. “We’re going to need something to wear.”

  Andre wrapped his towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. “I’ve got a few pairs of gym clothes down in the locker room. The pants will be huge on you, but—”

  “Andre! Emma! Open the fucking door!” It didn’t sound like the first time Jace had asked, but Emma couldn’t remember hearing him call out before.

  That bathroom door must have been thicker than it looked, or at least pretty damned soundproof, which was good news. The last thing she wanted was for her sister and her husband and half the stunned criminals outside to have heard her screaming Andre’s name midorgasm. Once the dust settled, she and Andre were going to find someplace completely private, where they could be with each other purely for pleasure’s sake, without supernatural intrigue.

  “We’re coming. Hold on.” Andre was at the door a second later but paused before opening it, making sure Emma was wrapped up in her own towel before flipping the locks.

  “What the fuck? Why did you lock the door, and where’s ...” Jace trailed off as his eyes landed on Emma and then just as quickly looked away. “Oh. Okay. So she’s better. Good.”

  “She’s better? Let me in.” Sam pushed around her husband, her eyes once again a deep brown. “Emma? Are you in here?”

  “I’m right here. And I’m fine.”

  Sam scanned the area slightly to Emma’s right with a smile. “I can’t see you anymore. Thank god.”

  “Don’t go thanking anyone just yet,” Andre said. “That spell book Francis wanted is still out there. The book in Emma’s purse was filled with blank pages.”

  “We think Ginger has it, but we can’t be sure,” Emma said.

  “She and Mikey are holed up together somewhere upstate.” Andre began to pace the narrow stretch of carpet between the queen-sized bed and the wall. “Near wherever the kidnappers were ordered to take Ginger.”

  “Kidnappers?” Sam asked.

  “Francis wanted to send all the people loyal to his father on a wild-goose chase. So he had a couple of his new Death Ministry allies kidnap Ginger.” Emma’s eyes met Andre’s, offering silent comfort for the death of the uncle he loved. “He was planning to use Ginger as a bargaining tool to convince me to work a demon spell.”

  “I say we call Mikey and see if he can get her to cough up the missing pages.” Andre crossed to the phone on the wall.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to call Mikey?” Jace asked. “Why is he holding Ginger there if he’s not in on this? For all we know, he could be waiting for orders from Francis to torture her until Emma cooperates.”

  “I don’t think so, but listen in and we’ll see how he sounds.” Andre punched in a few numbers and hit the speaker button, filling the room with tinny ringing. “My gut tells me Mikey’s trying to help. He said Ginger was really shaken up. He was afraid she’d have some kind of panic attack if he brought her back to the—”

  “Hello? Who is this?” The man who answered wasn’t Mikey. Even Emma, who’d spoken with Andre’s other cousin only a few times, knew that much.

  But the voice was still familiar, comforting.

  “Who’s this?” Andre asked, on the defensive. “Where’s Michael Conti?”

  The man on the other end of the line took a breath and cleared his throat. Even before he spoke again, the sounds were enough for Emma to make a positive ID. “Mr. Conti gave me his phone and asked me to answer calls from New York City. My name is Father Paul Whitaker. I’m a friend of Emma Quinn’s. I was told she was—”

  “Father Paul. I’m here. It’s me. Emma,” she said, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. It was so good to hear his voice, so strange, but somehow not as surprising as it should have been. After all, how many times today had she wished she could talk to him—four or five at the very least? Father Paul had told her once that wishes were like prayers, which was why it was so important to be careful what you wished for.

  “Emma, I had a feeling we’d speak soon. You’ve been in my prayers. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She wanted to say she was sorry, but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Not here, not now. She wanted them to be alone; she wanted to look into his eyes and know that he understood just how much she regretted going against his advice.

  “It’s good to hear your voice, but sadly . . . there’s been some trouble.” Father Paul cleared his throat again, and Emma would have sworn she could feel the pain in that small sound. “There’s a woman here. Ginger Spatz?”

  “Yes, she’s my roommate,” Emma said, shocked to hear Ginger’s name. How had Ginger and Mikey ended up at Father Paul’s?

  “She said she was a friend of yours. ...”

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Emma clutched at the towel wrapped around her chest.

  “I think she may have read one of the grimoire’s spells aloud,” he said, his fear clear in his voice. “There’s no other explanation for how she came to be here. She’s nearly insensible, but Michael says she insisted on breaking through the gate and driving onto our private property. She said she was going to the place where it begi
ns. I think she meant the caves.”

  “Caves?” Andre asked. “Sorry, but I—”

  “The caves where our parents first summoned the aura demons aren’t far from where Emma grew up. Her caretaker bought the land to keep demon worshippers away,” Sam said. “But why would Ginger want to go to the caves, Father?”

  “If she read the grimoire aloud . . . she could have invited a demonic possession.” Father Paul’s grim words sent a shiver through the room. “She could be acting under the aura demons’ compulsion. I’ve given her a sedative, and she’s resting in the guest room now. Michael is watching her sleep, but I—”

  “We’ll have people up there to help as soon as we can,” Jace said.

  “Thank you,” Father Paul said. “I’ll be waiting, and Emma ... I . . . I should have destroyed the book the day I found it.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have stolen it. I’m sorry.” Emma forced back the tears in her eyes.

  “See you soon.” Father Paul hung up, and the wall phone shut off with a loud beep that echoed through the silent room.

  Jace was the first to break the silence. “Much as I hate to say it, I think I’m the smart choice to stay here and clean up the mess. I have a few freelance hunter friends I can call.” He turned to Andre. “If you’re feeling up to it, you—”

  “I’m up to it. I’ll drive Sam and Emma upstate.” Andre squeezed her hand. “Just let us run downstairs and grab some clothes.”

  “I’ll meet you in the garage in ten minutes,” Sam said. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll get Ginger and help her through this, and everything will be fine.”

  Emma held on to Sam’s comforting words as she and Andre hurried out into the hall, stepping over half a dozen bodies to get to the elevator.

  “Your sister’s an amazing shot. Especially for someone who can’t see.”

  “She probably could see those guys,” Emma said as they stepped into the elevator and pushed the first-floor button. “I’m imagining they’re getting ready to transition to a pretty miserable time in their lives. Will Jace and his friends let them live?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t really care.” Andre pulled her close. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

  “Then whose fault is it?” The door dinged open, and she moved out into the deserted hall, bound for the gymnasium. Andre stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She turned, giving in to the urge to lean into him, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek on his bare chest. He felt so good, even now, even knowing another mess was waiting for them in the New York countryside.

  “It’s just . . . what happened. And we’ll deal with it. Me and you.”

  “So we’re me and you?” she asked, knowing they were wasting time but unable to help herself. “Officially?”

  “As official as we can get until I get a ring on your finger.”

  Emma tilted her head back, searching his face. “A ring? Like a wedding ring? You aren’t serious.”

  “I am. I’m old.” He shrugged and grinned that dimple-popping grin that made him look about fifteen. “Old guys like to get married. Especially old guys who have finally kicked a decade of addiction.”

  “You think ... you really think—”

  “I don’t think. I know.” The grin faded, replaced by a look that made Emma’s breath catch. “I don’t want anyone but you. If you don’t like that, then you should have fallen in love with someone younger.”

  Emma smiled, her heart beating so fast it felt like the Hamma had hold of her again. But it wasn’t drugs. It was just Andre . . . and the amazing way he made her feel. “Yeah. I guess I should have. Too late now.”

  “Guess so,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the hall.

  “But we’re not having babies until I’m at least thirty.”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t use a condom a couple of times. . . .”

  “The timing’s off. No way it could have happened.”

  “Good.” Andre winked over his shoulder. “I want to do everything with you, but kids are going to have to wait. I need at least half a dozen years of fucking you without worrying about little eyes and ears.”

  Emma followed him into the men’s locker room, too full to know what to say. She knew only that she loved this man, that the thought of sharing her life with him made her happy even in the midst of tragedy, hopeful in times of crisis. He was everything she’d never dared hope for and more.

  He stopped in front of a locker and spun the combination, pulling out clothes and shoes. She took the sweatpants and T-shirt he offered, standing on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” His hand brushed her cheek, touching her like she was something to be treasured, someone worthy of love and goodness. For the first time in her life, Emma believed he might be right, and she was going to prove it by cleaning up the rest of the mess she’d made. With Andre’s help.

  “You ready?” Andre asked a few minutes later, once they were both dressed.

  “I am.” And she was. Ready for anything, so long as she had this man by her side.

  EPILOGUE

  Two weeks later

  It was a beautiful night, cool and fresh and filled with fireflies and magic. There was nothing better than evening in upstate New York in the summertime. Sitting in the porch rocker, sipping a bottle of Finger Lakes Chardonnay with the man she loved by her side, watching Sam and Jace walk hand in hand through the fields in front of Father Paul’s house in the setting sun—it was almost possible for Emma to forget this had ever been a place of sadness for her.

  It helped, of course, that her demon mark was under control, fed by love instead of violence, and as dormant as it had ever been. It was also nice that the few kids presently in Father Paul’s care—twelve-year-old twin girls and a five-year-old boy—weren’t particularly depressing cases. The girls suffered pain associated with their demon marks, but only when they were apart for too long, and the boy—an energy vampire much like herself—had, amazingly, learned to feed on plants. His hunger resulted in dead trees sprinkled throughout the forest behind the house, but the group home needed wood for the stove anyway.

  Andre and Jace had already felled some of the trees for the aging Father Paul, putting up enough firewood to last the coming winter and beyond. And Father Paul . . . he’d been as amazing as ever. He’d welcomed her back without any anger or resentment, bringing home that “Prodigal Son” Bible lesson he was so fond of in a decidedly personal way. Once Sam and Jace had joined them there—Jace deciding it would be wise for the remaining, loyal Conti bounty members to lie low until the police finished their investigation of the arson at the Conti offices and the “disappearances” of half the Conti staff—the time upstate had felt almost like a vacation.

  Suddenly, the front door slammed open and an angry Ginger in a borrowed blue dress stormed out the door and down the porch steps. A second later, Michael Conti slammed after her. “Ginger, wait. I’m ... I’m sorry!”

  Almost like a vacation, if that vacation involved purging one of your best friends of a minor aura demon possession with disgusting things like saltwater cleanses, mud baths, and a strict vegetarian diet that had Emma jonesing for a big hunk of meat.

  “Just leave me alone. I want to go for a walk. By myself!” Ginger called over her shoulder, freezing when she saw Emma and Andre on the porch. “Oh . . . sorry, guys. I . . .” Her blue eyes glazed for a moment before sharpening once more. “I just need to take a walk. Will you tell Big Brother over there that it’s okay if I take a walk?”

  “It’s okay if she takes a walk, Mikey,” Emma said.

  “But it’ll be dark soon, and she always gets lost in the woods,” he said, driving a frustrated hand through his dark curls. His hair was even wavier than Andre’s. “I’m only trying to—”

  “Then I’ll walk in the field! Just give me some room.” Ginger was much stronger and saner than she’d been when they arrived, but Michael was still extremely protect
ive.

  “Fine! But if you pass out, don’t expect me to come carry you back to the house.”

  “Fine!” Ginger yelled.

  “Fine!” Mikey yelled back before spinning on his heel and storming back into the house. Ginger stared after him for a second, regret in her big blue eyes, before she turned back to Emma. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Save me a glass of that, will you?”

  “Sure.” Emma watched Ginger turn and head into the gently waving grass. Beside her, Andre laughed beneath his breath. “What’s so funny?” Emma asked, turning back to him, marveling again at how handsome he looked in jeans and a slightly wrinkled white button-up with rolled-up sleeves.

  He was beautiful, perfect, and he was hers. Tonight he’d sleep in her bed, make love to her until she was sure she’d never come down from the high of being with him. And then they’d fall asleep tangled up in each other. They’d wake up just as tangled, and the first thing he’d do was smile, a grin so bright and full of hope that she knew he felt the same way she did: that his life had become a beautiful dream and he didn’t ever, ever want to wake up.

  “I think they’ve got a thing for each other,” Andre said, nodding toward Ginger. “Her and Mikey.”

  Emma cocked her head, skeptical. “Really? They seem . . . mutually annoyed.”

  “First sign of infatuation.”

  “Really?” Emma smiled around the edge of her glass as she took another sip of liquid deliciousness. Andre was right; wine was way better than beer.

  “Pretty soon he’ll be telling her that her nails are filthy,” he said, nearly making Emma snort her drink through her nose. “And she’ll be telling him he’s a vain asshole with an eyebrow-waxing obsession. Next thing you know ... they’ll be engaged.”

  “Is that how it works?” she asked, laughing as he brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to each of her not-quite-as-filthy nails.