by Michele Hauf
“What do you think the creature meant by his statement that you should bow down to her?” John asked in his careful but exacting manner.
“Stupid demon tricks. They’re always trying to distract my focus.”
“Sure. But it sensed something on you. In you.”
“The Other,” Savin said flatly.
John nodded. But it wasn’t a convincing movement. “You want to talk about anything, Savin?”
Like reveal he was harboring a long-lost friend who’d spent the last twenty years in the Place of All Demons? He didn’t have time for all the questions Malcolm would have about that situation.
“Gotta get home to those perfects tits,” he muttered, and handed John the empty glass. “This one was on the house. Pray the kid survives with as little damage as possible.”
“You know that I do. If I’m not exorcising, I’m praying. I owe you one, Thorne!”
“Never!” Savin called as he took the stairs upward. “Always willing to help you out.” He paused at the top of the stairs. “Keep an eye out for more assholes like that one. Certainly Jones doesn’t believe the rift is going to stay closed.”
“Yes, I sense that. Won’t be a picnic, that’s for sure.”
Savin sighed. “Nope. Not a picnic.”
* * *
After stepping out of the shower, Jett pulled on one of Savin’s soft gray T-shirts. It hung to her thighs and it smelled like him. Earthy and wild. He wouldn’t mind. She had only a few items to wear and hadn’t bought any night wear. She’d love to wander about the flat naked, but she wasn’t ready for that boldness.
Yet. The darkness within her could easily get into a nudie walk. And a flirtatious wink or a crook of her finger. But she was keeping that part of her subdued as best she could.
It was growing harder, though. Her true self wanted to rise. To be known. To have. And to claim.
Jett hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Savin since he’d left earlier to go meet the exorcist. He’d almost kissed her in the cemetery, but something had tugged him away. The demon inside him? She’d not been able to get a good read on her. The Other. Who and whatever she was, that demon had become deeply embedded inside Savin. If Jett were to touch him long enough, she’d touch the demon and know her.
It wasn’t as though the Other provided Jett any competition in catching Savin’s romantic interest. But still. The incorporeal demon felt like a rival, so Jett was going to call her that.
In the living room, she sat on the couch and picked up the envelope that contained the adoption papers and a few other items. A deed to the house. With the land cleared and construction under way, that was useless. Apparently, the lot had been claimed by the city years ago after her mother left.
There was a bank account number in her name, which Jett found curious. She’d not had a savings account when she was a kid. Had her parents set up an account for her in hopes she might someday return? Had it been a college fund?
Had they hoped for her return? It hurt her heart to consider what they must have gone through, especially after Savin had returned. They must have hated him because he’d returned to his parents alive. Poor guy. She hoped they hadn’t said anything terrible to him.
These human emotions were so...difficult. She felt as if she should perhaps cry, and then her darkness quickly wrangled that silly reaction.
Her disappearance had obviously been tough on her parents. Had the divorce been because of her absence? Possible. There had been many a night when she would lie in her bed upstairs and listen to the back-and-forth arguments in her parents’ bedroom below. Despite that, she and her mother, as well as her father, had been close. They’d been a good Catholic family who attended church on Sundays, gardened, watched shows together in the evenings and spent a lot of time doing things in Paris. She’d been happy as a child. Could never have dreamed of the horrors that waited on the other side of the lavender field.
That stupid spooky forest. If she and Savin had never dared each other to approach it that day, might they have been spared?
Setting the envelope aside, Jett pulled her legs up to her chest and the T-shirt down over them, bowing her head to her knees. She did want to cry, and she’d spent her last tear a long time ago. Tears had not proved constructive in Daemonia. And they only gave one a headache. Nobody cared if you cried or that you might be hurting, whether physically or emotionally. And those who had cared?
“Dangerous,” she whispered now as her memories threatened to make her scream.
Lifting her head and putting down her legs, Jett shook her head. And she summoned the power of denial that she had learned to own. “I won’t remember. It’s behind me now.”
But ever in you, her darkness whispered. That gave her a shiver.
The front door opened and Savin wandered in. Seeing her on the couch, he nodded and said, “Hey. I picked up some food, as promised. Sorry it’s so late. It took longer than I thought with the exorcist.”
“I don’t expect you to cater to me all the time. You have a life. I’m just lucky you’re kind enough to let me into it. So, was the exorcist unable to cast out a demon? Is that why he called you?”
“Sometimes an exorcism merely brings the demon out from the human host in corporeal form. And then it stays. The exorcist needs me to send it out of this realm. It was a beelzig. Stupid bastard.”
Jett knew that breed. They were ugly and lived in the vile, rusted earth of Daemonia. She shook her head. Not going to think about that stuff, remember? “That smells great.”
“Roast chicken and potatoes. The place down the street knows me and what I like. When I asked for a double portion, they didn’t blink an eye. I don’t know if I should be offended by that.”
“Big, strong man like you? Not at all. I’ll have a little. I’m still quite satisfied from the treats earlier.”
“I’m going to wash up first. You, uh, okay?”
Jett stood and tugged at the shirt, which hung to the top of her thighs. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just wanted to make sure you’re adjusting well enough.” He gestured down the hallway, then wandered toward the bathroom.
And Jett couldn’t help thinking that had been a suspicious question. What did he think about her? Should she be worried?
She opened the food bag and pulled out the boxes. The man shouldn’t spend too much time wondering if she was okay. Instead, the only thoughts he should have about her should mirror her own about him. He needed to see her as a woman, and not the child he had once known. She wanted him to want her.
Perhaps seduction would be on the menu tonight.
Chapter 10
It was late after they’d eaten, but Jett wasn’t tired. Nor, it seemed, was Savin interested in sleep. He poured them both whiskey and sat on the couch, so she sat next to him and clasped his hand. After studying their hands together a few seconds, he gave her a look that said so many things. A little surprised, maybe pleased, unsure and perhaps excited. She could hope. But he seemed to struggle with their attraction, so she’d play him slowly.
“Tell me about all these guitars.” She tilted her head back and settled against the comfortable leather cushions, catching her bare feet on the edge. “Do you play them all?”
“Most.” He tilted his head back, too, resting the whiskey glass on his thigh. The man’s intense heat warmed Jett and she alternated taking in the sharp tang of the whiskey and the alluring temptation of his scent. “That one there. The one that looks like someone went after it with a chain saw and then rubbed tar into the cuts?”
“It does look tattered.”
“Used to belong to Steve Vai. One of the rock-and-roll guitar gods. I’ve never played it. The pickups are damaged. It survived a mosh pit and rain and mud. I salvaged it. The one next to it is Jessica.”
“The guitar has a name?” Jett eyed the violet
electric guitar that had a sparkly gloss to it.
“Most do. Jess is my sweetie. Her tones are so pure and the harmonics—whew! She treats me right.”
“How does a guitar treat a person right?” Jett turned on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder. His hair tickled her cheek.
“She seems to have a lot of patience, that violet vixen. I don’t have the longest or most delicate fingers, so some riffs are difficult to master.”
“Interesting. And what’s that one with just the single string? Does she have a name, too?”
“No name, and I don’t think that one is a she. That’s a diddley bow. Made it myself. It’s an American instrument that came out of the blues scene. I spent some time in the southern United States a few years ago and fell in love with the sound and the use of the glass slide. It’s what I use to practice musicomancy.”
A shiver traced Jett’s arms at mention of that magic. She knew nothing about it, but instinctually something warned her away from it.
“Musicomancy is all about using the slide to sing the single string,” Savin said. “A way of drawing out a demonic song and then controlling the demon so I can ultimately perform a reckoning. It’s a challenge for my big, rough hands.”
He opened his hand against hers. It was so wide Jett felt delicate next to him. Not something she’d felt. Ever. She curled her fingers about his and stroked the side of his hand. “Your fingers are calloused. Is that from playing so much?”
“That, and from the metal and woodworking I do. But that’s a good thing. A guitarist needs to build up that protection when strumming steel strings.”
Drawing her finger along the side of his hand, she traced over the half moth tattoo that, should he hold his hands together prayer-style before him, would form a complete moth. The black lines were so fine; she marveled over the intricate artistry. “What is the significance of the moth? Is this a hex?”
“I don’t wear hexes. Those are witch things. Me, I’m all about protections and wards. But the moth is special. The ink witch that pricked it into my skin attached it to my soul. It’s sort of a get-out-of-death-free card. If I’m lucky. And if it should come to something like that. One use only. And I think it would change me.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “The ink witch wasn’t specific, but anytime someone cheats death? Well.”
Yes, she’d seen the results of that in Daemonia. Far too often. But she’d never seen it happen with a human. It couldn’t be pretty.
“Do you often encounter situations that make you fear for your life?”
“Honestly? No. Demons don’t scare me. Nor can they threaten me overmuch with all the protection wards I wear. But I’m not impervious. I am merely human.”
That word was not something that should ever be employed against Savin Thorne. “I don’t think you’re merely anything, Savin.”
She let her hand drift from his and onto his chest, where she slid it across the hard plane beneath his T-shirt. The man was solid and hot, and she couldn’t resist digging her fingernails in. Just a bit. He felt so good.
Savin hissed behind a sip of whiskey. “Jett...”
“Yes?” She lifted her head, but inches from his face, and studied his intent gaze. While she saw the darkness that inhabited his life every time she looked into those blue irises, now she also saw want.
Oh, yes, sweet, sexy man. The darkness inside her wanted, as well.
Jett moved up, clutching his muscled pectorals as she slid higher. Inhaling him. She smiled wickedly. Time to get what she desired.
She kissed his mouth, tasting the bite of whiskey that lingered on his tongue. He wrapped a hand across her back and lured her onto his lap to straddle him. Both his hands cupped her derriere and she settled against the firm hold. He squeezed at her with a wanton groan.
Bracketing his face with her palms, she dove deep into his kiss, wanting to fall as she had done that fateful day when she was a child. But this fall would not be dangerous; it could only grant her a delicious thrill. She wasn’t afraid to seek Savin’s darkness, because she could match it with her own. Together they could play in the dark.
Pulling her against him, he clung to her with greedy clutches. His kiss sought and teased and tasted her. He was at once playful yet also demanding. Jett willingly gave up her control to him. She had never allowed anyone or anything in Daemonia to kiss her. Not on the mouth. It was the most intimate and personal touch. Denying that contact had been her protection. And now she surrendered that carefully constructed wall of defense with pleasure.
“I want you,” she gasped against his mouth, kissing him again and lashing her tongue against his teeth. “I need you, Savin.”
She wouldn’t dare to say it was because she wanted to know a real man. He would have too many questions. And really, the want was basic and feral. She simply needed right now.
He lifted her shirt and she raised her arms to allow him to slip it off. She wore no bra. That wasn’t an article of clothing she’d ever worn or learned about. Her breasts were heavy and full and she pressed them against his chest. Savin groaned and cupped them both. When his thumbs brushed her nipples, she hissed a sharp, pleasurable gasp. Oh, yes, that was how a man must touch a woman.
Jett arched her back, which buoyed her breasts, and Savin’s hot tongue seared about her nipple in the sweetest way. This was too much. And she wanted more, more and more!
She dug her fingers into his hair. Biting the corner of her lower lip, she closed her eyes and fell into the wicked, delicious sensations of him suckling at her breast. Her skin heated. Her system shivered. Her pussy grew wet. She pressed her hips to his torso, grinding, seeking the sweet spot that demanded attention, touch and oblivious surrender. Another place on her she had only discovered on her own; never had she allowed another to touch her there.
“Jett,” he whispered as he switched to her other breast. “Oh, Jett.”
Tugging at his shirt, she lifted it and he paused only a few moments to help her get it off. The man returned kisses and attention to her breasts as she dragged her fingernails down his hard, defined pectoral. For all her softness, he was her opposite in steely hardness.
With a nudge of her knee between his legs, she felt his erection. So hard, as if a shaft of steel confined within his jeans. Savin moaned as she pressed her knee harder against him. She wanted to unzip him, reach inside and wrap her fingers about his molten heat. Never had she so desired having a man naked beneath her. She needed to see him, to admire him.
To feel powerful here in this mortal realm.
Savin suddenly squeezed her upper arm. She looked up. Blew the hair from her face. He winced. Then he quickly kissed her on the mouth. But again, the squeeze about her biceps warned her against moving too fast. He pushed away from her.
Jett leaned in to kiss his jaw, along the line of his beard and up to lash her tongue at his ear. “Don’t stop, Savin. Touch me. Everywhere.”
“Want to.” He groaned as he shifted his hips and she hugged her bared breasts against his chest. “Woman, that feels so good.”
The hand he hooked at her hip held her firmly, and yet it almost seemed as if he were holding her back. Jett tested the hold by pushing forward and he increased pressure to stay her.
She tugged the flap of his jeans and released the button, but as she touched the zipper, the man slapped a hand over her wrist. “Wait.”
“What? No. I want to see you, Savin. To hold you in my hand.”
“I... Yes... Damn it!”
He pushed her roughly to the side and she slid off his lap. Standing, he gripped a thick clutch of his hair as he paced before her. His pecs pulsed and that six-pack rolled as if angry.
“What is it? It’s her, isn’t it?” Jett lunged for him, pressing her palms flat against his chest and closing her eyes. If she could make a soul connection with the man...
“The Other is screaming inside me,” he said. “I can feel it more than hear it. Shit, I’m sorry. She’s never done this before when I’ve been with a woman. It’s like she wants out. Oh—damn! That hurts! I don’t understand. Jett, I—”
She pulled her hands away from him and stepped away, setting back her shoulders and lifting her chin. “She won’t defeat me. She has no right. I am her—”
She stopped from saying too much. But now darkness filled her. Suffused her being with her entitled power. She was in her element. What she had become. What she might always be.
What she wanted to run away from.
Or did she?
Savin exhaled heavily and gestured to the couch. “Put your shirt on. Please? I just... I can’t do this with you. Not right now.”
Jett picked up her shirt but didn’t put it on. Instead, she stomped past him toward the bedroom.
“Sorry!” Savin called.
She muttered the word mockingly. But she wasn’t angry with Savin. Instead, it was that incorporeal demon. Bitch.
* * *
Savin punched the thick wooden supporting beam in the center of the living room. His knuckles were calloused from previous punches. It was a reflex now. He no longer bled for his own anger.
He’d been cruel to Jett, shoving her away like that. He hadn’t wanted to. Hell, he’d wanted to push down his pants and hers and get into it. The woman was incredible and her breasts in his hands had made his cock grow steel hard.
But that bitch. The Other. Why did she object to Jett? He’d had relationships and sex with other women and the demon inside him hadn’t lifted a protesting finger. In fact, he sometimes got a creepy sense that she enjoyed the sexual experience as much as he did. Was it because Jett had so recently come from Daemonia? Had she remnants of that place on her that the Other couldn’t stand to be near?
“You’d better get used to it,” he muttered. Because he could not keep his hands off Jett any longer. He wanted her. He needed her.