The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge)

by Paula Altenburg

  It was a long time before her shaking stopped and the sobs died away to become muffled sniffles and sighs. He reached for the basket, on the floor not far from their feet, and pulled it closer. From inside, he retrieved the cloth napkin and used the clean side of it to wipe her face as if she were a child.

  Up close in the pale lantern light, even with her bruised face splotched from crying and her eyes red, it was plain she was even lovelier than his first impression of her had intimated. What was equally obvious was that she had no wish to bring any attention to it.

  She did not object to him holding her, however, so he did not release her. She shifted her head so her cheek pressed against the front of his shirt. He rested his chin on her crown but otherwise allowed her the freedom to withdraw from his touch whenever she chose. There was very little he could do for her except treat her with kindness, something he was certain she rarely received.

  “You have yet to ask me Bear’s questions,” he said to her.

  When she answered, she sounded tired. Defeated. “I have nothing more to ask, other than that we sit here like this for a few minutes. That’s all.”

  The raw emotions that had bombarded him dissipated, as if she had drawn them back into herself and somehow buried them. In their place ran a thin thread of psychological steel, bent but not yet broken. Perhaps she was not as defeated as he’d thought.

  He eased them apart, worried that she would soon grow aware of the awkwardness of their too-familiar position, but she slid her arms around his waist. Instantly, desire for her shot from his groin to his chest. Her action, and his response to it, startled him in equal measure. He blamed it on the compulsion he had extended to her, and worried that this might not be the best time for him to withdraw it. But she could not continue to fear him while he held her, at her own request, when so far he had posed no threat.

  She rolled deeper into his arms before lifting her face. Their eyes connected. It seemed he was not the only one equipped with emitting compulsion. He dipped his mouth to hers. She tasted sweet and warm, and made him forget his resolve not to frighten her further. It was as if a switch had gone off in his brain, telling him that she was his and he had to have her.

  His mouth moved from hers to the soft curve of her neck. He slid his fingers into the collar of her dress, plucking at the buttons, easing them undone until her breast filled one palm. She let out soft cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching at his arms, her green eyes closed and her head thrown back. Creed carried her from the bale of hay to the stall where he’d spread his blankets. She shivered in his arms, as if suddenly uncertain, and he again sent out a waft of compulsion—not enough to sway her against her wishes, but enough to overcome any fears she might yet entertain. He wanted her, but of her own will, not his.

  Certainly not Bear’s.

  The thought of the other man made Creed too reckless. The compulsion he discharged became more intense than he’d planned. Nieve’s eyes widened, her small hands tightening on his biceps as he settled her on the blankets beneath him.

  It was darker here, and he could not read her expression, but the sudden stiffening in her body, and the heightened caution in her mood, were unmistakable.

  She pushed against his chest with both tiny hands, surprisingly strong for such a small woman, and he rolled away, not resisting.

  She sat up, drawing the front of her dress together as she scrambled to her feet, then stumbling as the blankets tangled around her. He reached out to steady her, fingers brushing the length of her skirt, but she swept it out of his reach.

  “You’re a demon,” she spat at him.

  She backed way, and he called out a warning for her to mind the lantern hanging behind her, but she either did not hear him or was too panicked to understand his words. Her head brushed the base of the lantern, rocking it on its hook. The light spun crazily around the stable, bouncing off the walls, before the lantern crashed to the dirt floor. Kerosene licked along the ground, followed in seconds by flame.

  Nieve bolted for the door.

  Creed grabbed up one of his blankets and the bucket of water he had set aside for the animals. Within a few moments he had extinguished the fire, and the stable was once again plunged into darkness. By now the moon was up, and the windows offered enough light for him to find his way to the stalls. It took him longer than he liked to calm down the animals, even though he sent out soothing compulsion as he checked on each one.

  Nieve was gone long enough to raise an alarm with Bear, but so far, the old man had not stirred from the house. Creed would have known, although he could not believe how stupid he was for misreading her.

  He did not blame her for this. He had pushed her too hard, and tried to sway her emotions too abruptly, with all the finesse of a teenage boy. He should never have tried to compel her in the first place, and could not explain to himself why he had, other than he had wanted her.

  He wanted her still. It made no sense to him. Nieve was fragile, and while not completely broken she was badly damaged, and would prove too much of a burden for any man. Particularly one in his position.

  Creed, however, could not disengage his thoughts from her. To complicate matters his demon, on edge from the moment he’d met her, refused to settle.

  Frustration coiled through his belly. He had always been a fool for women in distress. He had adored Raven’s mother, partly because she had been willing to love him as if he were her own son, but mostly because she had needed his love in return. Her mortal husband had not been kind, and Raven, half demon and bold, had not understood her timidity.

  One more thing about this evening troubled him immensely. Other than Raven’s mother, who had loved his father, no one had ever recognized Creed as being half demon before.

  Yet quiet, innocent, mouse-like Nieve had managed to do so.

  …

  Nieve closed the door as quietly as possible behind her despite the unrelenting terror that clawed at her throat. The house was still, and she thanked the goddesses for that. She did not want to attract Bear’s attention. He had expected her to be gone for the entire night and would not be pleased to see her back so soon. Despite the early hour, he must be asleep already. He was no longer a young man and would be tired from riding on the back of a sand swift all day.

  With a bit of luck she would not have to answer his questions until morning. At least she had found something he could use against the assassin.

  Creed.

  The name had to be someone’s idea of a joke. Demons did not live by creeds. They killed men and used women, luring them against their will even while inside their heads they were screaming.

  Leaning against the wall for support, she bent at the waist and tried not to be sick to her stomach. Memories, unwanted, washed into her thoughts, images she had tried to suppress for too long. She loved her son more than her own life. She wanted him back. He was hers, and had nothing to do with his demon father.

  But her fear of Asher’s father could not be restrained, and as the flood gates opened, her whole body shuddered at her recollection of every intimate detail of his touch on her flesh. She had never wanted him. She had known the things he did to her were wrong, and had not wanted to receive pleasure from them, but had been helpless against his allure. No matter how hard she had tried, Ash’s demon father had been impossible for her to resist. Not until she became pregnant.

  Tonight, she had let another demon touch her. Had in fact welcomed it. And she loathed herself for that.

  She despised Creed for it as well. His methods might have been different, but the result, very nearly the same. He had feigned gentleness and kindness at first, and then he had tried to lure her. But she was older now, and wiser. Possibly less attractive to a demon, too—because she had been able to resist Creed, which made her suspect he had not tried as hard as he might have if truly interested.

  She thanked the goddesses for that as well.

  She scrubbed the heel of a trembling hand across her mouth where his lips had be
en on hers, but the lingering warmth of him, and the spellbinding taste, would not be erased.

  The front of her dress remained undone. She fumbled with the buttons, the tips of her fingers numb and next to useless. In spite of everything, she could not forget his considerate words to her, and the offer of help. Tell me what Bear sent you to find out from me so I can help you provide him with satisfactory answers.

  How pitiful she was that she could be swayed from her purpose, even for a moment, by such a small gesture that was undoubtedly empty.

  She crept through the great room and into the hall leading to the bedrooms, making her way by memory and the moonlight dappling the floors. She stepped around the loose board in front of Bear’s door that had a tendency to creak. The long, low, familiar rumble of his snores followed by the heaving of bedsprings told her he slept soundly.

  She reached her own door and slipped inside.

  The room was plain, with its chipped furnishings that had seen better days, but clean and private. Next to the tall window a low commode held a neat runner, a wash basin and pitcher, a warped mirror, and her hairbrush. Along the back ran a rack for her drying cloth. Inside the commode’s cupboard was a chamber pot. Three drawers housed her intimates—undergarments, clean washcloths, and other personal items. A wardrobe held three dresses, a plain, raw-cotton blouse, and a pair of trousers. On a stand beside her narrow bed was a stub of a candle. Her night gown hung over the back of a hand-strung chair.

  All traces of Ash had been removed, and she could not say when or how.

  She curled her feet under her skirt as she sat on the floor beneath her window, her arms on the ledge, her chin on her arms, and stared at the stable. She had to be stronger than this. She had no tears left in her anyway.

  As her terror and self-loathing eased, she pulled her thoughts into order. The demon posing as a Godseeker assassin had said something else that was of importance to her. I know nothing of your son or what may have happened to him.

  If he was to be believed, that meant she had no one to turn to but Bear. She stared pensively into the night. Whether or not she believed him, she would not get any answers from him. Demons took. They did not give.

  She wanted her son back. But how was she to tell Bear what she had discovered and be certain he would fulfill his promise to her? Would he tell her the truth about Ash if she gave him the information about Creed that he wanted?

  Would he really let her go so she could find her son?

  She went to bed, although she did not sleep well.

  …

  The next morning brought her no closer to answers. Dawn stole over the mountains to settle in the foothills and around the ranch.

  She lifted her head from her pillow, blinking awake with eyes scratchy from poor sleep and spent tears. She swung her feet to the floor and gripped the edge of her bed. She had not taken the time to undress, which was just as well. Bear would be up early and expecting his breakfast on the table.

  No allowances would be made for the whoring he had also expected of her.

  She smoothed her clothing as best she could. She had no urge to face Creed again. If she was lucky, he would be long gone. She could then tell Bear that yes, she had discovered something about the assassin he could use, and force him to tell her about Ash before revealing anything to him. Let him try to beat it from her again. He had not succeeded in doing so last night.

  Bracing herself, she reached for the door. She had also resisted the lure of a demon, and should take pride in that, too. She was not as weak as she had thought.

  Bear was seated at the table when she entered the kitchen.

  Instinctive, ingrained fear leaped in her chest despite her determination to contain it, leaving her dizzy, but then she saw he did not seem bothered by her late appearance. She moved to the stove.

  “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a few moments,” she said.

  “Leave it.” He splayed a giant, work-worn palm on the table. As his fingers flexed a splash of sunlight caught the fine, graying hairs on his knuckles, transfixing her attention so that she could not seem to look away. “What did you learn?”

  Now that the moment of her rebellion had arrived, Nieve discovered she was not as brave as she’d thought. Then Ash’s small face flashed into her thoughts and strengthened her courage.

  She forced herself to lift her eyes to Bear’s.

  “First, where is my son?” The tremble in her voice felt very faint to her, hopefully leaving it undetectable to him.

  The fingers on the table curled. “Don’t play games with me.”

  She was too terrified for games. “You made me a promise.”

  Thick gray brows formed a single, ominous line above the bridge of his nose. His expression turned ugly. He hooked an elbow over the back of his chair and stared at her with cold eyes, and she tried not to shudder.

  “I don’t have to make promises to you, or to keep them,” he said. “I could kill you and no one would care. You have no one but me to look after you, and if I don’t want to keep you here any longer, what do you suppose will happen to you then?”

  A sick sense of dread edged out her fear. Bear did not like to be opposed and he’d had all night to think about how best to deal with it.

  She had lost everything. He had no intention of telling her where her son was. Once she told him what she had learned about Creed, he planned to kill her. No one would care if he did. It would matter to no one.

  Except to Ash.

  She had one card left she could play.

  “What do you suppose a demon might do to the mortal man who harms a woman it’s claimed?” she asked.

  He laughed, ugly and mean. “Demons are gone.”

  “No,” she said. “They’re not.”

  Chapter Four

  Creed awoke to a feeling of pressure crushing his chest that caused him difficulty in drawing breath. A sense of impending disaster had him on his feet in an instant, his gun in his hand.

  His demon, normally so easily contained, had come unleashed while he slept. That could only mean trouble.

  As he cast a glance around the stable’s gloomy interior, struggling to inhale, all appeared to be in order. He peered between the wide doors into the yard outside, and listened for long moments, but saw and heard nothing.

  And yet he knew there was trouble close by. His demon refused to be calmed. He slid the pistol into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back so that it was within easy reach but left his hands unencumbered. The threat of doom had not faded although he could breathe again. Someone’s life was in danger, and if not his, then whose?

  Nieve.

  He had been dreaming of her, and her name came to him with such certainty that he could not ignore it. If he did not act now, she would be dead.

  He squeezed through the stable doors, not wanting to open them enough to allow the sand swift access to the restless hross inside, then loped across the yard and around the ranch house to the kitchen.

  The door, when he tried it, was locked.

  Through the long, narrow side window, he saw Bear. The man’s back was to him. Facing Bear was Nieve. Creed tasted her terror, burning like acid on the back of his tongue.

  There were other emotions bleeding from her, but as Bear drew back a fist, Creed did not take the time to identify them. This was why he had awoken, unable to breathe. The demon inside him was struggling for freedom in response to her distress.

  Always, in the past, Creed had been able to restrain it without effort. Now, the flesh across his shoulders crackled and split, and strained against the seams of his clothing before he managed to subdue it. He capitalized on the physical strength it unleashed in him to smash through the kitchen door with his shoulder, blasting it back on its hinges. It struck the interior wall with a solid crash.

  Bear half-spun to face him, fist still cocked. “This is your demon?” he demanded of Nieve. “A Godseeker assassin? Are you certain of it?”

  Nieve nodded, even as s
he took a step behind him so that he formed a barrier between her and Creed.

  A shard of incredulous outrage slid into Creed’s thoughts, still partially possessed by his demon, that she had turned to a man who beat her and intended to kill her for protection from him.

  He set aside a stinging sense of betrayal. It hardly mattered that in her fear, she had revealed a secret about him to an enemy. What did matter was that she had nothing to fear from him—even if she did not yet understand that.

  Creed said nothing as he waited to see what either one would do next. He had already decided he could not leave Nieve here with this man.

  But Creed was the one in the wrong in this particular situation. No laws protected Nieve. The old man owned her and could do with her as he pleased. If Creed tried to take Nieve away, Bear had every right to appeal to the Godseekers for restitution.

  To protect her, Creed had no choice but to kill him. That was the one action an assassin would have no need to explain.

  His demon rumbled agreement.

  An unpleasant smile curled Bear’s thick, sun-cracked lips. “No. Not a full-blooded demon,” he said, staring hard at Creed’s face. “But no doubt a demon’s spawn. Do the Godseekers know what you are, Assassin?”

  They both knew they did not. Godseekers had spent countless years as faithful servants to the goddesses. They had little love for half demons. They would never trust one in a position such as Creed’s.

  With a speed born of long hours of training, Creed reached for his pistol, then shot the man twice in the chest, careful with his aim so that Nieve, behind Bear, would not be hit.

  Both bullets passed through Bear’s body. One struck the cast iron stove and ricocheted into the wall. The other buried itself in the frame of the door leading to the rest of the house.

  Shock edged out the old man’s self-satisfied expression. His hands clutched at his chest. Blood seeped past his fingers to spread across the front of his thick plaid work shirt. It dripped from beneath his palms. He folded at the knees, then crumpled forward and was still.