by Bonnie Vanak
* * *
Dale arrived home after seven. When he walked into the kitchen, Keira noticed the shadows beneath his gray eyes were pronounced and dark.
He flipped the light switch, flooding the room with overhead lighting. The man was thin and haggard, and looking worse each day. If he didn’t regain strength soon, he’d lose the fight to darkness. Keira glanced up from the pot of stew she stirred on the stove. He brightened as he sniffed the air.
“Smells great, but you don’t have to cook. I usually grab a sandwich at the commissary.”
“I like cooking and making new dishes.”
And you need more than sandwiches to get your health back.
He eyed the dining-room table, set with the china she’d found in the elegant cabinet. “I just eat in the kitchen.”
“This is nicer, though, don’t you think?” He had such nice things. Keira wanted to relish and experience every good thing she could while she was free.
He sighed deeply, as if something hurt him. “It’s been a long time since I sat down at a dining-room table.”
Dale looked down at his uniform. “You went to a lot of trouble. Mind if I change first?”
“The stew will keep warm. Unless you decide on a hot bubble bath.”
“I never take bubble baths alone, only with company. Saves on water.”
He gave a real smile, showing white, even teeth. The smile lit up his face and chased away all the dark shadows.
Keira stared out the kitchen window as he went upstairs. Her pulse raced. First time alone all night with the man she’d tortured, a man of honor and integrity and tremendous power. She didn’t underestimate his rough appearance. If he wanted, Dale Curtis could turn her to ashes with one flick of his hand.
A few minutes later, Dale returned to the kitchen, clad in khaki trousers and a navy blue polo shirt. Deck shoes covered his feet. He went into the dining room and returned with a sparkling crystal wineglass.
“What do you think?” he asked. He went for the built-in wine rack among the cabinets. “Red or white?”
She hadn’t drunk spirits in ages and placed the glasses on the table more as pretty decor. It was dangerous to imbibe around him, dangerous to lower her guard. But he was acting more animated and she didn’t want to spoil the mood. “Red, I think. You select it.”
Dale opened a bottle and poured a small amount. “I haven’t had wine since I got home from the hospital. Just beer, and I rarely finish the bottle.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She watched him sample the vintage and nod. “Excellent.”
“How long were you in the hospital?”
“Long enough.”
As he carried the bottle and glass into the dining room, she ladled the stew into two bowls. He turned on the crystal chandelier hanging over the table. A lump rose in Keira’s throat.
She had been forced to torture him in the dark. He never knew when she’d attack, never saw her coming, only felt the burning agony of her sharp claws.
Dale filled her glass with wine as they sat. Keira tried not to think of what she’d done to this man, but the stew tasted like cardboard as she ate.
He looked up, his brows arched. “It’s very good. I taste thyme. Did you season the stew with it?”
Keira flushed under the praise. “Thyme and other spices.”
Dale smiled, the sharp angles and plains of his face softening. “You’re a good cook. I thought New Agers ate only wheat sprouts and fruit.”
Keira thought quickly. “In all my travels, I had to adapt to various lifestyles, so I learned to enjoy their foods, as well.”
He toyed with the stem of his wineglass. “You’re a gypsy.”
“With a Harley instead of a caravan. I like to travel and see the country.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s so much to this life to see, and experience.” Keira spooned up more stew. “I want to relish every single moment I’ve been given and find the good in people, the good I know exists.”
“It doesn’t always exist. There is much evil.”
“And good.”
“That’s not my job. My job is to find the evil and eradicate it, to keep the American people safe.”
Keira’s heart pounded like an excited dog’s tail against the floor. She set down her spoon. “You’re too young to be so cynical.”
“Old enough. Seen enough.” Dale sipped his wine. “My family was insular. I chose against it.”
“Why?”
“Because they cared only about money and status. When I chose to join the navy and become a SEAL, they were not happy. But serving my country, and keeping civilians safe, meant more to me than making millions, like my father wanted me to do.”
“Who is your family?”
Dale raised a brow. “In all your travels, you’ve never heard of Curtis Mark Industries? The software empire, second only to Bill Gates and Steven Jobs? That’s my father’s company.”
“You wanted to rebel against your father so you didn’t work for him?”
“I wanted to do something with my life other than remain a part of a society that cared only for being seen and flaunting their power. There’s an evil I wanted to eliminate to keep others safe. I have much power and what good is power if you don’t use it to help others?”
Keira was touched at his dedication and selflessness. The Mage could have had a very comfortable, and very safe, lifestyle. She tilted her head, studying him. Why did she have the feeling she’d met him somewhere before, around the time the demons killed her pack?
But all those memories from Nicaragua were scrambled. The demons had seen to it by infusing her with four drops of their blood when they became temporarily corporeal.
“You sacrificed a lot to keep others safe. Your parents would be proud. I would be.”
“They didn’t understand. Neither did my wife. Ex-wife. Kathy was cut from the same bolt of social-excess cloth.” He seemed to catch himself and stared at his meal. “Damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean to go there.”
“Let me guess. She didn’t like being the wife of a military officer.”
He nodded. “We’ve been divorced a long time now. No children. Enough of me. What about you? Where’s your family?”
The familiar lump rose in her throat. Keira struggled to swallow a mouthful of stew. She set down her spoon. “They were killed in a demon invasion while we were living in another country. I was able to escape.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged to hide the tears welling in her throat. “It happened a long, long time ago. My pac—parents liked to rove around the globe, see the world and experience new cultures. Guess that’s one reason I’m a gypsy. I don’t have a real home.”
Goodness, she’d almost revealed she once had a pack.
Dale ate with zest. “This is terrific. I haven’t had a hot meal in weeks. Never bother cooking. No time, too much trouble.”
She studied his lean frame. He’d lost weight since she’d last seen him. If he kept this up, Dale Curtis would resemble a walking skeleton, his powers useless, his body prime for takeover by other demons.
“You need more protein, real meals, not grabbing sandwiches. Now that I’m here, I’ll cook dinner for you every night.” Keira smiled, trying to lighten her mood. “I promise if I find another imp, I won’t throw him in the stew pot. Besides, those little buggers can take the heat.”
“How do you normally kill them?”
“Not with guns, though yours did the trick.”
Dale smiled, looking less severe.
“Usually it’s best to blast them with white light. They’re so small, it’s easier than trying to kill a demon with white light. With demons, you need the big guns.”
Those startlingly gray eyes met hers. Beneath the mild look was an exacting scrutiny. Uncomfortable, she realized he was sizing her up, digging beneath the surface to find out what her deal was. Not a good idea.
“How do you know so much about imps and
demons?” he asked.
“I studied them.”
“Most women wouldn’t want to get near a demon, even an imp, if they lost loved ones to dark forces. Yet you knew exactly what was in my office, and where it would be hiding.”
Guilt surged through her. “I studied demons and their minions. Wanted to know what my enemies were capable of doing.”
“I do the same, only I’m trained in combat and weaponry.”
“Did you know imps love to invade kitchens, food supplies, even liquor? Once I found a dozen of them in a liquor cabinet. They’d managed to break open a bottle of brandy. Have you ever seen a drunk imp? Not a pretty sight.”
She set down her spoon. “And I’m rambling. If you want, I can eat in the kitchen, leave you in peace to digest your meal.”
“Stay,” he said quietly. “It’s nice to share a meal with someone. I get tired of eating alone.”
“Me, too.” The words slipped out before she could catch herself.
Warmth shone in his eyes. For a moment, she indulged in the fantasy that this was her real home, and she could cook here every night. A real home, with someone to belong to.
The lump returned to her throat. Keira gripped her spoon. If she allowed melancholy to consume her, she’d dim her white light. Think positive. “Tell me about the piano. Do you play?”
He nodded. “Not for a long time, though.”
“Classical or contemporary?”
“Only the classics. I once wanted to be a concert pianist, but wanted to fight our nation’s enemies more.” He gave a crooked smile. “You can’t kill the bad guys with music.”
“You’ve never heard me play.”
Dale gave his deep, husky chuckle. “And you’ve never heard me sing.”
They were deep into a discussion of classical music versus rock when a clear thud sounded downstairs.
“Something’s in the basement.” The spoon rattled against the table as she set it down.
Dale wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. He stood, his expression shuttered. “Or someone. I have quarters down there for my men when they run into trouble. But they always ring the front doorbell.”
“I don’t like your basement. It’s a bit spooky,” she admitted.
His gaze turned troubled. “I haven’t been down there...in a while.”
Keira didn’t want to go down those stairs. Not now, as shadows draped the house and the darkness pushed away the sunlight. Her pulse raced. And then she looked at Dale and thought about how he must feel about basements.
He dragged in a deep breath and went into the hallway. When he returned, he carried the same pistol he’d used to shoot the imp. Dale slid the chamber back, the racking sound echoing in the room.
“Stay here.”
Something vulnerable flashed in his gaze. Keira’s heart kicked. As much as she loathed and feared what lay below, she couldn’t let him go there alone.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Bullets won’t stop a demon.”
“My powers can.”
“You’ll need extra help. White light can aid and enhance your powers.” She fished her white quartz crystal from her jeans pocket.
Dale narrowed his eyes. “Fine. But you stay behind me at least five steps, and if I order you to run back upstairs, run.”
She followed him. He opened the door to the basement as she squeezed the crystal tight.
Keira swallowed hard, seeing the steep, gray steps swallowed by inky blackness. Anything could be down there. She’d failed to cleanse the room with white light. Her breathing ragged, she prepared to descend with him into the darkness.
Chapter 5
Dale hadn’t been in his own basement since before the incident. Cupping his gun, he crept down the stairs. Sweat trickled down his temples. This was his home, damn it, and he’d tolerate no intruders. But his pulse rate tripled and he struggled to swallow past the panic rising in his throat.
Memories assaulted him. The terrified little boy held in a demon’s cruel grip. “His life for yours,” the demon had cackled.
And then Dale had willingly become the Centurion’s captive, as they tied him down and tortured him until his voice grew hoarse from the screams....
A soft whimper sounded behind him. Keira was just as terrified. Dale straightened and motioned for her to stay back. Damn it, he was a navy SEAL, not some wimpy ass scared of entering his own damn basement.
He flipped on the light switch. Soft white light illuminated the downstairs. When he reached the bottom step he heard singing.
“I don’t think demons sing,” Keira whispered.
He lowered the gun, relief making his knees weak. “That’s no demon, but an imp from hell. What his mother calls him, anyway.”
Dale rounded the corner to the section he’d built as quarters to house his men when the Phoenix Force needed to discuss ops in private. He flipped the safety on his weapon and shoved it into the waistband of his shorts.
Grant “Sully” Sullivan lay on the carpet, singing a bawdy song. Dale inhaled and recoiled.
“Jesus, Sully, what the hell?”
The ensign struggled to sit up, and fell back, the odor of whiskey clinging to him like cheap perfume. “Sorry, Curt. I’m a little...little drunk.”
“And you came here to sleep it off? Or escape from a lover?” Dale squatted down beside the young SEAL.
Keira entered the room and looked at Sully. Dale sighed. “Keira, meet Ensign Sullivan, one of my men. Sully, this is Keira, my new housekeeper.”
Sully opened one eye and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Her mouth quirked. “It’s a pleasure since you’re not a demon.” Her gaze whipped to Dale. “Although I’ve heard you’re an imp.”
“That’s what Mom says. Of all her eight kids, I was the worse. Worst.”
Dale wiped his clammy palms on his shorts to hide them from Sully. Even drunk, the man was sharp. Of course. He’d trained the SEAL himself. “Why did you teleport here?”
“My sis. Cassandra’s worried about you. Made me promise to warn you in person, Curt.”
“Who’s Curt?” Keira asked.
“It’s my team nickname.” Dale glanced at the kitchen. “Could you get him a glass of water?”
As Keira headed for the sink, Dale sat beside Sully and lowered his voice. “I told you, I’m fine.”
The last thing he needed was Sully’s well-meaning but nosy older sister fretting about him. Did the whole world have to fuss over him?
“Cassandra saw a vision in her crystal ball.”
Keira handed the glass to Sully, who gulped down the water. “Your sister has a crystal ball?”
“Just for fun. Doesn’t need it.” Sully set the glass down and looked slightly more alert. “She sees her visions in her mind. She came to my place and yelled at me for drinking too much. Jeez, I hate when she yells at me. Like I’m eight again and she’s my bossy older sister nagging me. Well, I was a mess, but damn, I didn’t expect company, sorry for swearing, ma’am....”
Trying to follow a line of conversation with Sully when he was soused was like trying to read Latin backward. Dale pointed two fingers at his eyes. “Focus, Sully. Why was your sister at your apartment?”
“Cassandra was worried about you. Came to tell me. Saw a vision in her crystal ball of you dancing with a demon. Not your ex-wife, either.”
Dale’s mouth quirked. He glanced at Keira to see if she absorbed the joke, and saw blood drain from her face.
He wondered what it meant. Then she smiled, but it seemed strained.
“What kind of demon?”
Sully frowned. “She started bitching... Sorry, ma’am, I mean, complaining, about how messy my place was and how I drank all the whiskey.”
“The demon?” Dale asked.
“My sis.”
“Why did you drink so much?” he asked gently, already knowing the reason.
“Ever since Miranda broke up with me,
my life’s been a wreck. I loved her and no one will ever be as sweet.” He sighed. “’Cept maybe Paulina. She was amazing....”
Keira gave him a questioning look. “How did you break in?”
“Teleported. Never break in.”
She gave Dale a questioning look. “He teleported over. Sully’s a Light Mystic.”
“Which is Curt’s polite way of saying I’m the bastard son of a Mystic Witch and a psychic human. Unlike Cassandra, who’s a pure-blood Mystic.” Sully rubbed at his face.
She tensed visibly. “Mystic Witches have visions of the future.”
“Cassandra’s are usually spot-on, which is why I need to know more about this one.” Dale turned back to Sully. “What did your sister see?”
“Oh, Dale, let the poor man sober up. He looks hungry.” She smiled at Sully. “Have you eaten?”
Sully ran a hand through his thick hair. “No, ma’am. Was gonna grab leftovers or something out of a can.”
“I made stew. There’s plenty. Would you like dinner?”
Dale shot her an incredulous look, but she ignored him and focused on Sully, who brightened, his boyish face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Gee, thanks. I love real home cooking.”
He didn’t like the idea of Sully dining with them. Dale ruminated over this. It wasn’t the thought of Sully treating him with kid gloves or asking him again and again how he was healing.
Dale disliked the idea of sharing Keira’s company with another man.
Interesting. He rubbed a spot on his chest, his scars itching suddenly. Or was the itch much deeper, the burning wish to enjoy a quiet conversation with a woman who didn’t look at him with either fear or desire in her eyes?
Sully scrambled to his feet, swayed a moment and then caught himself. Dale stood as well, wondering about Cassandra Sullivan’s cryptic message. Her visions in the past had proved correct. But no way in hell would he ever dance with demons.
Dale headed for his study and locked his weapon in the safe. When he returned to the dining room and retook his seat, Keira had set a bowl of stew on the table before Sully.
The SEAL began to eat. “Wow, this is terrific,” he said around a mouthful of stew. “Maybe if Curt fires you, you can cook for me.”