Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  Her cheeks heated, and she buried her face against Ethan’s chest again. She’d made it sound so simplistic and stupid, and couldn’t possibly encompass the entirety of what she’d been feeling when Ethan had been holding her, and Old Matthew had offered to get her out of trouble. The overwhelming sense of disbelief that two men whom she admired and loved would stand by her, though she hadn’t given them much in return—and the overwhelming gratitude that she had them.

  “Anyway,” she finished in a small voice, “that’s why it hit me harder than Jane’s phone call did. Because I was expecting some rationalization from her. I wasn’t expecting Old Matthew.” Ethan didn’t immediately respond, and she added, “Although maybe I should have. I underestimated him.”

  “Yes. And yourself.”

  Her skin flushed again. “Yes. I’m not suggesting that I don’t think I’m worth it. I do.”

  “I ain’t talking about your worth.” He caught her face, forced her to look at him. His brows were lowered, his eyes shadowed. “And I ain’t blowing sunshine up your ass. My ma was about the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. Then there’s Lilith, and Selah, and a thousand other women I could name who’ve taken their knocks, but still got back up, doing whatever it was they had to do to get on their feet. It’s like they were born strong, and that the core of them is so tough it’s impossible to break. And I admire the hell out of women like that.”

  “Me, too,” she said softly.

  “But you’re not one of them, Charlie.” His fingers tightened when she bent over against the pain that ripped through her, and white edged his lips. “I ain’t trying to put a hurt on you,” he said fiercely, quickly. “I’m trying to tell you that some women, being strong seems to come easy to them. Now, I know it probably ain’t easy, but that’s the way it seems. And then there’s you, Charlie. I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard against what was weak and needy and natural to her; never seen anyone fight so hard to be where you’re at. Never seen anyone get shoved into becoming a vampire, and immediately try to make the best of it, even though it scared you so bad to become one. And what you do fight, you ain’t stubborn or stupid about—you don’t fight just for the sake of fighting.”

  He eased back, his fingers caressing her cheeks as if to soothe, but her throat was so tight with emotion that she couldn’t speak. And his words had been coming in a rush, but now he slowed them.

  “So you ain’t one of those strong women, Charlie; you’re something else. If I looked into your head—without knowing what you’ve made of yourself—I’d have thought your chances of surviving were slim to nothing. I’d have figured you’d just give up, because with no chance, that’s what I would do, and maybe hope for a miracle. But you didn’t wait for someone to offer a miracle; you kept playing the shit hand you dealt yourself, and you pulled a good life out of it. So I’m awful glad you needed me to protect you, and it brought me over that wall—because I reckon I’m a better man just for having known a woman like you.”

  She stared at him, but still couldn’t get her throat to cooperate. Her gaze fell to his lips. What would she say? She didn’t know.

  Concern drew a line between his brows. “You all right, Charlie?”

  She pushed against his chest in frustration. No, she wasn’t all right. There was a lot wrong, a lot she couldn’t control—but she was wonderful, and she didn’t know if it could possibly get any better than this.

  He swayed back when she pushed again. Not enough; it wouldn’t be enough until he was on his back and she was showing him exactly how wonderful everything was. He caught her hand, frowning. She formed an image of a kiss.

  His smile rayed from the corners of his eyes. “Well, hell, Charlie—then why are you beating on me? I just can’t figure you—”

  She leapt at him. His mouth was firm and warm; she closed her eyes and fell into him. She couldn’t see why he had such a difficult time figuring her out.

  Loving him was the easiest thing she’d ever done.

  CHAPTER 24

  San Francisco was shining across the bay when Charlie asked, “Do you have to go to work right away?”

  Ethan banked to the south, slowed the beat of his wings. “No. I ought to check in, make sure nothing’s come up—but I’ll stay with you through sunrise.”

  She turned her face toward the city, but her hair was blowing back, allowing him to see the corner of her smile. Well, hell. If such a little thing would please her, he’d try to stay through sunrise every morning. It was a damn shame he’d had to go talk to Manny the night before; now that he’d had time to ponder the send-away Charlie had given him, he’d wager anything that she’d wanted him to stay then, too.

  At least she’d know now to ask if she wanted it; he’d told her straight-out he’d provide anything she needed.

  Hell, he wished that she’d ask him for more just so he could give it to her. But if it made her uncomfortable, threw her back to feeling like a leech, he could be content with the little she did allow him to provide.

  Content. He drew in the scent of her hair: apples and desert stone. Content was a damned pale word for how powerfully he felt toward her. More likely, it only applied to a life without Charlie, and only in the sense that he’d never be content again. Never settled again—and always aching.

  And that made her sound an awful lot like a salve, which would probably spook her right quick.

  Colin and Savi were pulling out of the lot as they swooped down; Savi’s slim arm stuck out of the window in a wave before the car sped onto the street.

  Ethan cleared his throat. “I ought to take you downtown to their club soon, let you get a feel for the community.”

  “Do you dance?” Charlie’s grin exposed her fangs, and he realized with a tug to his chest that they were slightly crooked.

  “Not much,” he said, and set her down near the entrance steps. “But I’d be willing to stand up for a few slow ones with you.”

  “Then I’ll definitely be interested in going.” She paused. “Not that I’m not interested otherwise, because I’m curious about other vampires. But big crowds and lots of strangers…” She trailed off and shook her head; her hands patted her pockets.

  “I never took you for shy, Miss Charlie. You talk real easy with strangers,” he said.

  “Yeah, but clubs, there’s lots of shouting and no real conversation, because you can’t hear anything.” She glanced up at him, then stuck out her bottom lip and blew her hair out of her face. “In New York, we’d hit the clubs…but my favorite part was going for fresh air and a cigarette. Because all of the other smokers were out there, and you got a chance to talk to someone. You ask for a light, and then you end up finding out half their life story.”

  He’d wager it wasn’t as simple as someone spilling their story; never had he known Easterners to be that friendly. More likely, she’d put them at ease by giving them her full attention and listening well. It was as comfortable talking to her as it had always been to Caleb.

  Hell, maybe more so.

  “And even now, when I see someone smoking outside a restaurant or on their break, I want to stop and chat. I think I miss that instant connection more than I do the cigarettes.” She stopped digging in her pockets and sighed. “I’ve lost my ID card.”

  “I reckon it’s still in the communications room, since we left in such an all-fired rush,” he said in his slowest drawl, mostly so he could see her crooked fangs again. “I’ve got mine, but it’ll be more entertaining to piss off Jeeves.”

  He saw her brace herself when he used his Gift, and remembering the nervous comment she’d made after rolling off of him, he gave the locks another push before he asked, “That’s different than when you’re feeding from me, then?”

  She nodded as they moved into the corridor. “Like standing next to a speaker with the bass pounding. No noise, but that thump through your chest. With the blood, though, it sounded like you. Only cold, like the…” She glanced at Jeeves, and her cheeks flushed. “Like the metal.”
>
  Ethan suppressed his grin. Like the handcuffs.

  She said under her breath, “And it wasn’t hot. You know.”

  Ethan frowned into the retinal scanner. If she meant what he was thinking she did, and it hadn’t felt sexual, that was downright peculiar. He’d been damn near crazy with wanting her.

  “Hold on a minute, Jeeves,” he said when Charlie finished her scans. She looked up at him, her brows lifting. “You fed real well, Charlie, so I figure this won’t trigger your bloodlust—and I’m curious to see how opening this door feels to you. It’s an electromagnetic lock, not metal.”

  She blinked several times. “You mean you want me to…” Her gaze settled on his neck. “Here?”

  He pushed up his left jacket sleeve, exposing his wrist. “I was thinking more like hereabouts.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I meant here, in front of—”

  “I know it, Charlie,” he said softly. “I’ll hold on to you; I wouldn’t ask you if I thought it meant you’d be embarrassing yourself.”

  She darted a glance at Jeeves, but the novice had the sense to be staring straight ahead with one hell of a poker face on. “All right.”

  He drew her in, turned her around so they were both facing the door, and wrapped his right arm around her waist. Anticipation tingled over his skin as she brought his wrist to her mouth, but he pushed the pleasure away, concentrated on the lock.

  “Now, you get a good sip, Charlie, and as soon as you’re in, I’ll slide it on open.”

  “Okay.” Her response was a puff of cold air against his wrist; a sting followed it, then the soft euphoria of a sated vampire drinking hummed into his veins.

  Ethan closed his eyes before they rolled back in his head. Sweet Jesus. Maybe he’d just ask her to do this all the time.

  When they weren’t out in the corridor.

  He felt the locks with his Gift, taking his time. Charlie stiffened up at the first touch, then relaxed back against him.

  She released him as soon as the door opened, tilting her head to the side and looking up to meet his eyes. “It was different. Still you underscoring it all, but more like…Have you ever touched a nine-volt battery to your tongue?”

  Ethan shook his head. “If we got one lying around, I will.”

  “No, no.” A laugh tripped from her. “It hurts, but it was like that without hurting. But it makes your tongue—” She demonstrated with her hand, straightening her fingers then bowing them, holding them so tight they shook. “Just, zapped.”

  “The electric current running through your cells.”

  “I guess. Only, with your Gift, make the current a sound that goes through all of you, and not contracting anything—but just feeling like it.”

  He couldn’t quite figure that, so he asked, “And…hot?”

  “No. Not after you used your Gift.”

  “Well, damn.” He reckoned his grin was about a mile wide. “Don’t move out in front of me just yet, Charlie, because I want to try a few more of these. But first we’ll dance on out of here.”

  She let her face fall forward, out of his line of sight. Laughter choked her reply. “Okay.”

  He twirled her through the security door; the hall was empty, so he pushed her up against the wall and kissed the hell out of her. When she was flushed and panting, he stepped back, took her hand. “All right then. Now we’re both addle-brained, and there’s a deadbolt on a closet not far from here.”

  A moment later, she announced, “It’s like the cuffs. Just cold.” Her voice was considering, and her gaze held his. “You’re working up to something.”

  “That I am. Because what you’re telling me, Charlie, is that the sound you’re hearing is an awful lot like the lock itself. Metal, electromagnetic.”

  “Yes.” She drew it out, slow.

  “I want to know what the shielding spell’s made out of. It’s the one lock I can feel, but can’t get around—I just don’t know what its components are or how to fiddle with them. But maybe you can give me an inkling of that, a place to start, and I can go from there.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Okay.”

  A bit of fear was projecting from her psychic scent; Ethan had to admit he was a mite jumpy, too. And, hell, it’d be foolish to lock themselves in a room and then try to mess with magic. If Charlie gave him something to work with, and it didn’t go right, they could be trapped.

  “All right,” he said. “We’d best get Jake, then.”

  Charlie thought Jake didn’t look too certain when Ethan told him to stand in the center of the communications room. A second later, Ethan had pricked his thumb, set the spell and joined her outside in the hall. He didn’t bother to close the door.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded, and his Gift hit her almost at the same instant she bit him. It sang through her, stronger than before…but it was just Ethan.

  He sighed when she shook her head, and she reluctantly lifted her mouth from his wrist. “It wasn’t cold, though,” she said. “I don’t know if that helps, but it was just you—I couldn’t feel anything else beneath it. And you must have been pushing harder?”

  “That I was.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Well, shit. I was hoping for something.”

  The low thrum of his heart seemed to echo his disappointment, then it disappeared when he strode into the room. She could hear its beat again when he wiped his blood from the symbols.

  His blood. “Ethan,” she said, then hesitated. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought of his blood had caught at her memory. He approached her, his brows raised in question, but she shook her head, looked at her hands, tried to make the connection. She’d only felt him when he’d used his Gift, and it tasted like his blood did.

  “What are you thinking, Charlie?”

  “Nothing, maybe. Just that—your blood cast the spell, and you’re the only one who can go in and out.” That was nothing new, and she could see him trying to follow her, but of course he couldn’t. It was nothing but a vague concept in her own head. She spread her hands. “Like you’re a key. So you already match.”

  That made him frown and turn to look at the symbols. “You’re thinking you don’t pick up anything but me because it was my blood? My flavor was already there, so you wouldn’t detect more of the same.”

  She nodded, feeling it come together as the memory congealed. “Right. Like how I couldn’t taste my own when I bit myself.”

  “That’s a right interesting notion.” His speculative look deepened. “But we’re talking two different things, Charlie: the way I feel it, and the way you do. And I pushed at the spell around Sammael’s SUV until my head about exploded, but I didn’t sense any difference between the lock in his shield and the one we just had here.”

  “But we’re also talking blood, Drifter,” Jake said. He was leaning against the wall, a wooden toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

  Ethan glanced at him and nodded. “And she’s a vampire. We sure don’t taste it the same way they do. So I reckon it’s worth another shot, at any rate.”

  “With my blood this time?” Charlie asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “If there was nothing, we might have the same questions, wondering if you just didn’t feel it because it’s your own. Jake?”

  “Mine,” Jake agreed.

  “All right, Charlie,” Ethan said as soon as the spell was up again. “You let me know.”

  She leaned back against the solid warmth of him, and almost choked the instant his Gift thrummed into her. She pulled her mouth away.

  “It’s different,” she gasped. “You’re there, but it’s not just you.”

  She thought shock held him motionless for a second before he dropped his head low to look at her. “What is it, then?”

  “It must be Jake, right? It’s…it’s…all over the place. The force of it is solid and steady, like yours, but the register much wider. But also broken, like it has missing notes.”

  Ethan’s brows lowered, and h
e shook his head. “I can’t…I have no idea what you’re hearing, Charlie. I’m not getting anything like that. Can you try to project it?”

  She automatically took a huge breath, expanding her lungs and tightening her diaphragm before she realized what she was doing. She couldn’t have sung something like this, anyway—she couldn’t have hit most of the notes.

  She filled her head with the sound instead, and thought it as hard as she could.

  Ethan blinked. “Well, damn. That feels like Jake—though a hell of a lot less juvenile than he usually lets on. But I ain’t getting a noise, Charlie.” He met her eyes, and she could almost see him puzzling it out before he said slowly, “Maybe it’s psychic then. You get that as sound; I get it as scent or touch.”

  “Can you use that with your Gift? Project it somehow?”

  He looked away from her, toward the open door. “Let’s see.”

  The percussion wave hit her, and she gripped his hand to steady herself. A discordant, jagged noise accompanied it; Ethan, projecting—though she could barely hear him beneath the sharp sound.

  He lifted her and walked them forward, reached out. His fingers stopped on a plane even with the line of the door, curling as they hit the shield. He shook his head, and the noise faded.

  “It wasn’t the same as Jake’s,” Charlie said. “It was too forced, and had too much interference.”

  Ethan’s chest heaved with his sigh, and he turned to lean his shoulder against the invisible shield, as if trying to stare down the symbols scratched into the door frame. Finally, she felt the press of his lips against the top of her hair. “All right then,” he said. “I can’t sing, but you can, so we’ll try that. Only project it as hard as you can directly into my blood, Charlie, so I don’t interfere with it so much.”