Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  And his voice. “We’re going to land hard, Charlie, and it ain’t going to be water. Fast as you can, you get in the house and put up the spell.”

  A pistol appeared in her hand; after a week of training, it was comfortable. “Okay.”

  She didn’t know if he heard it; he was twisting again, until she was on top of him, the ground rushing up at a terrible speed. Items were spilling onto it. Pillows, blankets, clothes. The mattress from her bed. Everything soft from his cache, she realized almost hysterically.

  He met her eyes. “You hit mean and low.”

  She nodded and tried to hold his gaze but he forced her head down against his chest, turning her on her side and pulling her knees up, her gun clutched against her belly.

  She didn’t hear them land, only the tearing and breaking from deep inside him. Pain ripped through her in a sharp, blinding wave, digging into her shoulder, her hip, her right ankle. She couldn’t turn her head for an endless moment, couldn’t move, couldn’t see.

  Ethan wasn’t moving, either. She whispered his name, and was surprised that her voice worked at all.

  The urge to run filled her like the rising tumult of a fiddle.

  She must have been already crying, because the sob that tore from her was only louder than the others. He’d projected that urgency; there was too much broken within him to speak. His heartbeat was too slow, sounded too wet.

  “I’m going,” she assured him, though she wasn’t certain she could get up. But she’d promised, and now footsteps were approaching over wooden stairs, then over gravel.

  She lifted her head, looked down at Ethan, and everything inside her stilled.

  His wings had crumpled. Something was wrong with the shape of his head, and blood soaked the mattress beneath his body, as if he’d split open.

  “Charlotte,” a familiar voice said.

  Sammael. And he was close.

  Ethan couldn’t defend himself like this.

  Hit mean and low.

  She crouched over Ethan’s quiet form. Her right shoulder hurt too much; she palmed the gun in her left hand and slid the barrel under her bent right knee, hiding it between her thigh and upper calf. And she let her sobs tear free again, asking for Jane, she needed Jane, would do anything to see Jane.

  “I truly hope so, Charlotte,” Sammael said. From the corner of her vision, she saw his shoes appear on the ground beside the pile of fabric and the mattress. She turned her head and met his eyes when he sank to his heels. “Because I plan to ask a lot in return for sparing him.”

  She fired, felt the flash of heat through her pants at the same instant the small hole appeared in his black shirt. Another, and this time she heard a sizzle of the barrel against wet cotton.

  Sammael fell back, his eyes wide with shock, flaring crimson.

  Ethan’s wings vanished under her feet. She didn’t dare take her eyes from Sammael.

  “Go, Charlie.” Ethan’s command was barely audible, and he wasn’t getting up.

  She only needed another shot, just to give him time to heal. One to the head. She adjusted her aim, watched the furrow plow through Sammael’s cheek.

  He slapped his hand against the wound, his eyes narrowing.

  She leapt to the side, but her ankle didn’t hold her weight. Sammael’s wings formed and snapped around. Her leg went numb as the talons at the tips razed the length of her thigh. He’d knocked the gun from her an instant later, had his arm around her throat.

  “Charlotte,” Sammael crooned in her ear. “I’m disappointed.”

  She closed her eyes. Three bullets with hellhound venom. He’d be slower; she’d have a fighting chance.

  Apparently, he realized it at the same time. A dagger gleamed in his hand, and he buried it deep in her thigh, cutting through an artery before bringing the blade to her throat.

  She clenched her teeth against her scream. Sammael was weak, but the loss of blood was sapping her strength, too.

  “Very disappointed,” Sammael said.

  Charlie wasn’t listening. Ethan’s head looked almost normal, and his hands were fisting.

  The demon sighed. “I suppose this means a change of plan.” His voice lifted. “We’ll see you in the house, McCabe. If I hear you call other Guardians for help, I’ll take her head.”

  Sammael was still fast. He dragged her up the steps to the rear entrance, kicked open the door, and stopped in front of the security panel.

  “Tell me the code, Charlotte.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know it,” she rasped. And if it set off the alarm, it might alert someone at SI.

  “Don’t be a fool. Tell me.” The dagger cut into her skin.

  Sweat and blood itched a trail down the front of her throat. Ethan had written the numbers for her, but they were in her bag; she hadn’t memorized them. “I don’t know it.”

  Ethan’s voice was stronger now—hopefully closer. “Give him the code, Charlie.”

  She stared at the panel. Why couldn’t she remember it? Did Ethan really think she did? No…

  No. He wouldn’t.

  A list of numbers ran from her mouth. Ten of them seemed like a good place to stop. Sammael held her in front of him, turning her toward the door as if to use her as a shield. The tip of his wing tapped out the series of numbers on the panel.

  A whirring click sounded from the wall. Charlie’s eyes widened; Sammael’s grip loosened slightly as he turned his head.

  The landscape painting beside the security panel shifted to the side. Barbed darts shot out, trailing wires. She heard them sink into Sammael’s flesh.

  But he was holding on to her, and she was wet.

  Zapped. Sparks flew behind her eyes and from the wall. And she was bending, convulsing, the current blowing her from Sammael’s grip, burning a white-hot hole through consciousness.

  Darkness filled it.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Charlie.”

  Ethan’s voice cut through the black—and came from in front of her. But someone was sitting behind her, his arms around her, his body warm…

  Feverishly warm. And the pressure against her throat told her Sammael still had his knife. He must have reached her before Ethan returned to the house, but Ethan must have been the one to put the spell up. The silence from outside was deep.

  She drew a breath, and wished she hadn’t. The stink of singed meat hung in the air. Hopefully, that wasn’t her.

  “We burned the duck,” she rasped, and blinked her eyes open. She was sitting on the floor between Sammael’s legs. His knees were drawn up; his shoes were gone. She hadn’t thought his bare feet would look so human.

  Two yards away, Ethan crouched with his crossbow aimed at her head.

  No—just slightly to the left of her head, on Sammael’s face.

  Neither he nor Sammael spoke.

  Charlie said, “We didn’t follow his directions. Jane was the one who suggested turning up the oven. I think she completely disorganized one of his utensil drawers, too.”

  Ethan’s lips twitched a little. “That’s a shame, Charlie. They sure ain’t suited for one another, are they?”

  “No. He should really let her go, let her come back to us.” She had to swallow, bring up saliva to her mouth when Sammael’s arm tightened. “What’s going to happen now?”

  “Well,” Ethan said slowly, “we got ourselves a real interesting situation. Between the hellhound venom and the shock therapy, Sammael’s feeling awful poorly—but not so much that he can’t pull back on that knife.”

  And take off her head. Charlie stared at Ethan’s face, forced herself not to shake. He didn’t meet her gaze; it remained steady on Sammael.

  “I guess if he killed me and tried to get away, he wouldn’t get far.”

  “That’s a fact, Miss Charlie. Even if I missed—and I won’t—the security system would have alerted SI. And as Sammael insisted the spell go up as soon as I walked on in, he likely knows this. So it may be he’s waiting to heal, thinking he’d have a better
chance at full speed.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “But I figure it’s something else.”

  What else could there be? Hoping to run and take Charlie with him as a hostage? Sammael must have wanted her for something; he’d been ready to make a bargain of some sort, even offering to spare Ethan…

  “He wants you alive,” she realized. Sammael could have forced her into almost anything just by overpowering her. He wouldn’t have needed a bargain.

  “I reckon. It’s peculiar that a demon who suffered such a terrible insult in Eden would be willing to forgo the easy opportunity to kill me—particularly as he doesn’t gain anything by letting me live. Unless I have something he wants. And as he was preparing to bargain with you, Charlie, it must have been something he thought you’d be able to get him.”

  Her fingers twisted together on her lap. “Breaking through the spell?”

  “Word travels awful fast,” Ethan said softly. “But I’m wondering why he wants through it so bad—though I can figure one reason right quick.”

  A strange hope lifted through her. “Jane?”

  Ethan’s left elbow lay easily on his thigh, and his hand had been relaxed and open beside his knee. A gun appeared in his grip, and he added its threat to the crossbow’s.

  Oh, Lord. If Ethan was only now using it, had he not been able to before? How badly was he still injured?

  However badly, he didn’t show any sign of it. His voice was low and speculative, with no suggestion of pain. “I reckon so, Charlie. Jane’s locked herself away from him—or maybe one of his demons or vampires double-crossed him. Either way, he needs us to get to her. Which puts us in a mighty fine position.”

  She felt a slight movement behind her. The pressure at her throat increased, forcing her to tilt her head back against Sammael’s shoulder. The skin around Ethan’s mouth paled.

  The demon’s breath was hot against her neck. “My life for hers, Guardian. If I won’t live to see Jane, then it hardly matters to me if Charlotte lives to free her.”

  Charlie closed her eyes, her heart pounding sickeningly in her chest. Sammael was going to force him into a bargain.

  Ethan was silent for a long moment. “Your life for hers ain’t good enough,” he finally said. “You’d best sweeten the deal, demon.”

  “Not good enough?” Sammael stiffened, and disbelief added a sharp note to his reply. Then his laughter, hard and contemptuous. “No, perhaps her life isn’t worth much. What else do you have in mind, McCabe?”

  That couldn’t have been what Ethan meant, but her nerves were stretching thin. Air whistled from her throat; Charlie made herself stop breathing, concentrated on the non-rise of her chest.

  “That it ain’t enough for you not to kill her now. I reckon that ought to be permanent.”

  Sammael didn’t hesitate. “As long as it is equal: I will never kill her, if you never do the same to me.”

  “That’s acceptable,” Ethan said, and Charlie squeezed her eyes more tightly together. He’d agreed so easily, but it must be tearing at him to give up any chance to avenge his brother. “But it still ain’t enough. You demons are right sneaky bastards, and your promise not to kill her wouldn’t prevent you from asking any of your subordinates to carry out the same. So what we need here is a promise that, for as long as you live, you’ll protect Charlie from all harm, and that you’ll do everything within your power to prevent any hurt from coming to her. And, should an occasion arise where she needs something from you, you’ll provide it to her.”

  “And you’ll do the same for me?” Sammael’s voice still held laughter, but triumph threaded through the tones now. “You’ll protect me from other Guardians?”

  “No,” Ethan said flatly. “You ain’t just asking for your life; this bargain is assuming we’ll retrieve Jane. And what you’re hoping to get is a lifetime of living with Jane, protecting and providing for her. So if we give you that, then it’s equal that you’re giving Charlie the same.”

  Charlie swallowed. “What if Jane dumps him?” she rasped.

  Sammael hissed in her ear; the sting of his blade was followed by the cool slide of blood down the front of her throat. She stopped breathing again.

  “Bargain or not, that’s the last hurting you’ll ever get in on her.” Ethan’s statement was delivered softly, but with an edge as sharp and dangerous as the blade. Gooseflesh rose over her skin. “And if Jane leaves you, that’ll be of her free will—but you’ll always be bound to protect Charlie from any threat, except for those threats that are from humans. In that way, human free will is honored on both sides of the bargain, and you won’t be required to break the Rules.”

  Sammael’s hand lay still and burning against her neck for what seemed an endless time. Charlie opened her eyes, stared up at the beams striping the ceiling. The silence was filled by the quick pounding of Sammael’s heart, and she wondered if it was anger or fear or hope that sent it racing. What did a demon feel at such a time?

  But there was no evidence of emotion in Sammael’s reply. “It is done, then.”

  Charlie lowered her chin, met Ethan’s gaze. His response was rough, his eyes glowing amber. “It is done.”

  No, she wanted to say. But it couldn’t be undone. Ethan had bound himself to this demon…for her.

  But goddamn if she wouldn’t give just a little back to him. Sammael’s hand fell away from her throat. Charlie braced her feet, snapped her head back. She heard the crunch, then added an elbow to his stomach before flipping upright.

  Sammael scooted away from the kick that would have liquefied whatever a demon carried between his legs. He stood, his eyes crimson, and moved like a shadow to the French doors.

  Ethan vanished his gun, but kept the crossbow leveled on Sammael, and his grin was wide. “Ain’t it just fine that you’ll be having to watch yourself around Charlie?”

  Sammael’s lips curled mockingly, but he didn’t insult her as she’d expected. “As you will with me, Guardian, once Jane is free.” He looked out the window. “How many of them are outside?”

  “I reckon three or four,” Ethan said.

  Sammael’s eyes narrowed. “We won’t go for Jane tonight. She’s not in danger, and I’ve no intention of endangering myself, either. So I’ll come to you when you do not have so many others around who might kill me as soon as I’ve given you the location.”

  Ethan nodded once. “You do that.” His finger flexed; an instant later, the bolt embedded in the door frame near Sammael’s head, the feathers quivering.

  Noise rushed in from outside; the arrow had destroyed one of the symbols.

  Ethan raised his voice, called out, “The demon’s fleeing—you all just let him fly.” His touch was light against Charlie’s waist. “You stay here while I walk him out.”

  She did, trembling as she watched Ethan follow Sammael onto the deck. Behind the demon’s back, he signed something with his free hand, and a psychic wave of dismay sounded faintly from the Guardians outside.

  He must have told them of the bargain.

  Ethan remained on the deck, talking silently with the other Guardians until Sammael was nothing but a speck against the ink-dark sky.

  His face was taut and unreadable when he returned, scratching new symbols beside the door, and her stomach rolled as she searched for anything to say. Thank you and I’m sorry and I love you were all about what she was feeling, and whatever came from her should be only for him.

  She clasped her hands together in front of her breastbone, so tight the ache in her fingers matched the one in her chest and throat. Quiet descended around the house. He turned to her, his crossbow hanging from his hand by his thigh.

  “Ethan.” She wished she had something better than “Are you all right?”

  His eyes closed, and his knuckles whitened before he abruptly flung the crossbow across the room. Charlie flinched, and was left hunched in anticipation of the crash that never came.

  He’d vanished the weapon. Angry enough that it showed, but too controlled to let it damage
anything.

  And she’d seen him in many moods now, but never like this. What would he need from her? He’d been wound up even before they’d been attacked. Would he want her to talk to or touch him? To leave him alone?

  Her legs felt soft with her uncertainty, but her step was firm. Until Ethan told her to go, she’d stay.

  She didn’t stop until her palms met the solid wall of his chest. It rose and fell heavily beneath her hands, and she searched his downturned face for any sign of rejection or withdrawal.

  Lifting her fingers, she traced his jaw, so like iron. Her breath caught when he opened his eyes, caught her hand.

  His voice was low, with a gravelly undertone as if his throat had been scraped raw. “Don’t tiptoe, Charlie.”

  So she’d already fucked this up. She dug within herself for a smile, but knew it came out weak. “I just didn’t want to do anything wrong, or make this worse for you.” Her tone was supposed to be light, but seemed frightened to her ears. She sought to modulate it as she said, “After all, if you wanted to, you could get rid of me now—and forcing Sammael to provide me with blood would be one hell of a punishment for him.”

  The scar over his lip paled, and she told herself to stop talking, nothing was coming out as she meant it to. That hadn’t been amusing, but instead sounded so needy, practically asking for confirmation that he wouldn’t use the terms of the bargain as a way out of his promise.

  Ethan would never do that; she’d have wagered her own soul on it.

  His fingers slid into her hair and clenched. “Don’t look away from me, Charlie,” he said quietly, and that dangerous edge was there again.

  She steadily held his gaze. “I won’t.”

  “All right.” His face and his grip didn’t soften. “Now suppose you tell me what the hell is going on in your head, and what you are meaning to say to me.”

  Her hands fell to his chest again, and she felt the thud of his heart beneath her palm. Racing, though his voice was flat, and she couldn’t read the emotion at the source of it any more than she had Sammael’s.

  Her throat thickened. “I’m just trying to figure out what you need right now.”