Demon Forsaken

by Jenn Stark

  No. Frustration knifed through him. If this was the kind of reaction mortals had to deal with all the time, it was no wonder so many of them went mad.

  Dana, clearly unaware of her impact on him, tossed her jacket on the table and dropped her phone on it. “Okay, my mother has confirmed breakfast. For the first time in my adult life, she apparently can’t wait to see me.” She leaned against her desk, eyeing him with interest. The soft, knowing smile on her face made Finn’s palms start to sweat. She was absolutely breathtaking.

  “Your check bounced, I’m afraid,” she said, her gaze never leaving his face. “But the real Dr. Lee Schaeffer—who was quite gracious about the donation, by the way—won’t give up anything as to how his wallet and his checkbook found its way into your hands. Mom also can’t quite explain how their raffle matron somehow managed to miss the fact that Schaeffer’s ID photo looks absolutely nothing like you, even though IDs are required with any handwritten checks. Funny, isn’t it?”

  “I blend in,” Finn said.

  Dana raised her brows, but her change of clothing had shifted her attitude. Her clothing, and doubtless the strength he’d opened her up to too. She was relaxed, inviting, her gaze softening as she searched his eyes, her brow furrowing in the smallest of frowns.

  “You want to tell me the rest of the story? What you wouldn’t tell me before?” she asked quietly. “Are you in danger?” Concern radiated from her, her aura even stronger now that he knew what he was looking at.

  She was worried about him.

  That realization punched Finn low in the stomach, his hair-trigger physical responses firing even more emphatically, urging him to go to her, to take her into his arms. She, a Dawn Child being hunted by a rogue Fallen and an army of demons, feared for his safety. She had no way of knowing the irony of that.

  He needed to tell her something. She needed to be prepared, ready. But how much was too much? He instinctively believed that there was safety in this Society of Orion that Lester had drawn around himself and Dana, but the man’s casual indifference to Dana’s injury, his willingness to drug her, to lie to her and to the people who cared for her the most, couldn’t be ignored.

  “There’s more I have to explain to you, Dana,” he said. “About Lester.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Why do I suspect last night isn’t the first time my dear uncle drugged me?”

  She folded her arms over her chest again, but her entire body fairly hummed with electricity. The channel Finn had opened up within her, allowing her to tap her own power, was reacting to him. As she grew more used to it, accepted it, worked with it, the flow of energy within her would become even stronger. She would appear more radiant to others, more beautiful. She would shine.

  A Dawn Child, Lester had called her. Even thinking the term made Finn’s head pound again. Something about that term, those people, was important to what had happened to him. What he’d done.

  How he’d sinned.

  Finn blew out a breath, remembering Lester’s urgency in showing him the complex infrastructure of Orion. Every screen, every new line of text had made his gut tighten. This was not some religious cult consulting horoscopes and stockpiling water against the coming end times. This was an organization spanning six continents and thousands of cities, so deeply embedded in society that some of its farthest flung branches probably didn’t even know there was a society. From scientists to biologists, psychologists to theologians, archaeologists to adventure travelers, Orion had tapped every resource available to keep the Children safe and to prepare.

  Dana was strong, but she was human. Fragile. Emotional. He didn’t need to destroy her world, tell her the truth about her uncle, her family. He must only keep her safe until the archangel had the list. After that…he didn’t know what would happen.

  Finn looked around her office, her sanctuary, stiffening as his gaze fell on a framed newspaper clipping detailing the death of a Cleveland police officer. Walter Griffin. Dana’s father. Perhaps not her biological father, given what Lester had told him, but the man who’d raised her from infancy and kept her safe.

  “How long ago did your father die?” he asked.

  If the question surprised Dana, she didn’t betray it. “Almost fifteen years,” she said.

  He walked over to the clipping, the words leaping out at him. Dana said something more, but her words faded as he took in the thin, typed lines, the impossible detail they included.

  Griffin was shot twice in the head and four more times in the torso before managing to apprehend the assailants… Captain Griffin died at the scene… Assailants in custody.

  Finn’s bones began to ache.

  An obituary ran alongside the newspaper account, but he paid no attention to it, his eyes riveted on the injury description, knowing that Dana had fallen silent, knowing she was watching him, her body keening with her own remembered pain. But what strength of will must it have taken for a man to move forward with six bullet holes in him? What effort must it have cost him to capture his attackers?

  And most miraculous of all, Walter Griffin hadn’t been a Dawn Child. He’d been a simple mortal, like the ones described in the news articles covering the wall above Max’s desk. Miracle Grandmothers and Children Who’d Defied the Odds, ordinary people surviving cancers and natural disasters. Griffin was “only” human, yet he’d given Dana her first and best example of true mortal heroics. And he’d loved her. Somehow, Finn couldn’t believe that the gruff-faced man staring out at him from the faded newspaper clipping was part of Lester’s secret society. And if Walter didn’t know the truth about Dana, that meant her mother had known.

  So Dana was still living a lie.

  But it was a lie that might yet keep her alive.

  He grimaced. “Lester did drug you before. At least once that I know of. Probably more.”

  “Halloween,” Dana muttered. Her gaze was fixed on a series of X-rays hung on the wall—none of them showing a shattered bone. Finn knew they were what she’d been shown of her own wounded leg, all part of the lies she’d been told about her own injuries. “I knew it. Why?”

  “According to him, you were, ah, a little more hurt than he let anyone admit to you.” At Dana’s curse, he continued. “He wanted to see how fast you would heal, how quickly you would bounce back. How strong you were. If he’d told you the true nature of your injuries…”

  “He was afraid I’d lock up.” To his surprise, there was no outrage in Dana’s voice. When he looked up, she shrugged. “He’s not necessarily wrong. There were times when the only thing that got me through PT was my complete and total fury that I was feeling that much pain over a relatively minor gunshot wound. I’m not sure I would have pushed myself so hard…” She shook her head, glaring at the X-rays again. “Bastard.”

  Finn tightened his lips. If Lester was to be believed, far too many of Dana’s ancestors had been hunted down, killed—or worse. It might not be an ideal situation, but the enormous machine that had fostered Dana was dedicated solely to keeping her alive, keeping her safe.

  Perhaps her safety was enough.

  “Your uncle believes your abilities go beyond simple strength,” Finn said carefully. “He also thinks you’re psychic.”

  Whatever Dana had expected him to say, that wasn’t it. “Psychic,” she snorted. “Lester—the same Lester who’s currently trashing company data based on a dream—told you he thinks I have psychic powers?”

  “Your leg is better, isn’t it?” he said, and she stiffened slightly. A warm surge of affection curled through Finn at Dana’s blatant skepticism. “That wasn’t all me. Your belief helped you long before I showed up.”

  “No thanks to my family,” she said bitterly. “You’d think if I had psychic powers, I would have been able to predict everyone turning into an asshole.” She waved at the X-rays. “So these are all bullshit, I take it? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Your uncle wanted to keep you strong,�
�� Finn said. He did too, if he was honest. He wanted to surround her with safety…but he would be leaving in less than fifteen hours. Possibly never to return, unless the archangel deemed it wise.

  And if Michael had any idea what Finn was feeling right now, he wouldn’t let him get close to Dana again. Ever.

  Which meant that Finn could only arm Dana. Show her the strength she possessed. That knowledge would help her regardless of whether or not she knew about Orion. About Lester. About her own parents.

  “Those X-rays were…yeah. They were bullshit,” Finn said, pointing to the prints. “They were someone else’s X-rays entirely.”

  “Someone else’s,” Dana repeated softly, but she didn’t move, her gaze locked on the images.

  “The bullet that struck you split your tibia, probably shattered it. It was impossible for me to tell merely by touching you. But your leg was definitely broken several times.” He glanced at Dana, saw a half-formed denial dying on her lips. “Lester had you taken to a ward he had set up specially for you, treated you with private doctors and nurses, the security ironclad. No one on the outside knew the truth. Not Max, not your mother. No one.”

  “That’s not possible,” Dana said. “Maybe fifty years ago, but not anymore. That kind of thing doesn’t happen these days.”

  Finn shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. If you have another X-ray done, you’ll see that your bone is held together with a metal plate.” He looked away again. “I’d suggest not letting your uncle know about the new scan.”

  That caught her attention. “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t yet know the full extent of your abilities,” Finn said, turning. “And he doesn’t want you to know he lied. He saw you fight, and he saw you heal—but he knows the truth will alarm you, and he’s not all that keen on you being alarmed.”

  Dana pursed her lips, her eyes dark and haunted as she stared at him. “What happened to me that night, Finn?” she asked. “I’m only remembering in bits and pieces.”

  Finn closed his eyes. He’d finally gotten the whole story after pushing the man, hard, and the images still chilled him. “Lester was attacked. You protected him. There was a shooter who thought he’d taken you out, but that wasn’t the end of it. There were attackers on foot as well. Even with your damaged leg, you killed three of the assailants with your bare hands, in a blind rage, before Lester could fully register what was happening. By the time his backup security responded, it was all over.”

  “All over,” Dana said quietly, nodding, though her eyes remained troubled. “There was, um, a lot of goopy black blood. I remember that now.” She shuddered, her voice trailing away.

  “Your uncle wants to protect you. To keep you safe.” He deliberately stood apart from her, though he ached to take her in his arms. Forbidden, he reminded himself, but the voice was weaker, less sure. It was good that he’d be getting the list from Lester within a few short hours. He didn’t think he’d be able to be around Dana much longer. “You have to believe that.”

  Dana shook herself, her laughter false and jarring. “Well, it’s been a day of crazy things I’m supposed to believe, I guess,” she said, picking up her jacket and holding it close to her, the movement too much like an embrace. Every nerve ending in his body screamed that she wanted to be held, to be protected, and the primal urge to be that protector rose up within Finn, a hurricane force.

  He started forward just as Dana turned away, and stopped short as she threw her jacket over her shoulders, stuffing her arms into the heavy leather sleeves.

  “I’ve gotta get going,” she said, and millennia’s worth of training and belief waged war with Finn’s immediate need to take her in his arms.

  No. There was nothing he could offer her that would last longer than one night.

  He clenched his hands into fists, ashamed to realize that even having a single night with Dana Griffin—a few short hours—was beginning to seem worth it. “Yes,” he said flatly. “You should go.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Renaissance Cleveland Hotel

  Grand Lobby

  Cleveland, Ohio

  11:03 a.m., Dec. 24

  Stay focused. Get through this meet, get back to the office, and then you can deal with all the insanity waiting for you there.

  Some of it anyway. Dana didn’t think she’d finish unwrapping this year’s Christmas gifts of crazy anytime before Easter. There was simply too much to process, coming at her too fast, all of it connected to a man…angel…whatever the hell he was, who short-circuited her brain every time he came within five feet of her. And the touch of his hands on her skin…

  Dana rolled her eyes. Of course, that was what she’d be focusing on. Not the list of men and women targeted for extinction. Not the fact that she apparently was either psychic or superpowered or, at a bare minimum, an excellent candidate for American Gladiator. No, all she wanted to think about was the way Finn looked at her, as if he could imprint her on his brain to remember her for all eternity…as if he’d never see her again after today.

  An entire night garden of sadness bloomed deep inside Dana at those thoughts, and she quickly pushed them away.

  “Stupid,” she muttered. Straightening her shoulders, she drew in a deep breath, the canned air of the indoor mall redolent of candy canes, hot chocolate, and roasted chestnuts. After she cut through the Ritz’s lobby to gain access to Tower City Center Mall, she weaved her way through last-minute Christmas shoppers toward the Renaissance Hotel, one of Cleveland’s grandes dames of old-world luxury.

  A few minutes later, she walked into the Renaissance’s opulent lobby, unable to school her features away from the wistfulness she always felt in this majestic space. Of all the hotels downtown, she loved the Renaissance the most—its quiet, nostalgic elegance a beautiful counterpart to the clanking, cranking, nonstop action of the industrial city. She especially loved the hotel’s lobby, with its enormous chandelier and stunning blue-and-gold trim, its gleaming grand piano and majestic marble fountain. Clevelanders and travelers alike gathered here at all hours, and it was no surprise that her mother had chosen it for their meeting. Being seen here at brunch was a critical component of any society matron’s publicity schedule.

  But coming to the Renaissance never reminded Dana of her mother as much as her father. Probably because he’d brought Dana here every Christmas when she was a little girl to show her the beautiful tree on Public Square and dazzle her with stories about what good things came to children who believed in Christmas. Later, when she’d thought herself too grown up for Santa Claus, he’d brought her here just to let her watch the little children who still did believe, to relive her own sweet memories in the light of their eyes.

  The place gleamed with that sort of memory, she realized, her slightly skewed vision taking in the atmosphere of the lobby. It shone with a rarified light, the whisper of expectation shimmering at every turn. She’d have to come back here later…if only to catch sight of the hope in the children’s eyes.

  It certainly would be good to find something worth believing in again. After Finn’s latest revelation—a revelation she knew had to be true—she didn’t know who she could trust anymore. Everything about the man was a contradiction. She’d felt the connection between them—the spark of interest, the physical magnetism. She couldn’t have imagined that. And yet, he hadn’t made a second move toward her. He continued to play the role of the mysterious emissary, shadowy protector of her uncle and herself—even as he flat-out accused her uncle of lying to Dana, drugging her, and manipulating her for months…probably longer, if Dana was honest with herself. But that wasn’t as important to Finn as the precious document he’d come for.

  It made no sense. She knew he wanted to protect her. Yet he’d insisted she remain with Lester—and then shared with her information that proved her uncle was a liar. Why?

  Yet more crazy for her to work out after she had brunch with Mother of the Year.

  Dana glanced ar
ound the restaurant, finding her mark immediately. As usual, her mother’s table was positioned at a strategic advantage to see and be seen by everyone in the room.

  Claire Griffin’s perfectly coiffed golden hair and slender, erect figure easily made her one of the most striking women in the restaurant, and Dana couldn’t help feeling a twinge of remorse that she hadn’t inherited any of her mother’s willowy blonde elegance. It might have made things easier if they at least looked as if they belonged together. Worse, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her mother would have no interest in dining with her this morning…except to get the gossip on Finn’s tour de force last night. Nothing moved the woman so much as the idea of being in the know.

  Still, Dana couldn’t stay mad at her mother—she’d suffered too much loss herself. She’d never remarried after the death of Dana’s father, and that had been fifteen long years ago. At first, Dana had thought her parents had simply had a love match, but her mother never spoke of her father—ever—at least not to Dana. So why she’d stayed single all these years remained a mystery.

  “Hey, Mom,” Dana said as she walked up to her. In her leather jacket and trousers, she felt decidedly underdressed compared to her mother’s crimson silk dress and matching pumps, the ensemble perfectly setting off the heirloom pearls that were merely one highlight of her mother’s exquisite collection of jewelry. She was definitely the belle of the ball, today, but then she’d been lovely last night as well—even though Dana had only seen her across the room. Claire had come from money before marrying Walter Griffin, and she’d spent that money lavishly to create the perfect image of the elegant matron…and doting mother.