Nieve heard only one thing in his reply because the possibility that Creed might have a family had not occurred to her. “You have a sister?”
“A half-sister.”
“Is she like you?” Nieve caught her breath, appalled by her daring to ask such a question, but at the same time curious as to the answer.
“You mean, is she unusually large and exceedingly handsome?” Creed’s tone held amusement, but no trace of insult. “Not at all. She’s rather small, with red-streaked, curly black hair. Her husband finds her attractive enough I suppose. But we shared a father, yes. Raven’s mother turned her back on him when she became pregnant, even though the connection she had with him was very deep—and from what I gathered, mutual. My own mother, on the other hand, had no connection with him at all.” He shrugged. “Or if she did I was never made aware of it.”
Nieve rolled that information around in her mind. When she’d begun to suspect she was pregnant with Asher, the demon’s summons had become easier for her to resist. After Asher was born, she hadn’t felt it at all.
Now she did. Except it came from a different demon this time, and while she would not be tricked and manipulated again, she no longer believed it was Creed’s deliberate intention to do so. He could not seem to help spreading the good nature that leached from him.
Nieve allowed it to lull her. She had never been talkative, but the urge to confide in him grew stronger. She wondered if he, too, would judge her for things beyond her control.
“He said I was his, but I never wanted to be.” She tried not to shudder at the memories, but instead, forced herself to be honest about them. Physically, she had enjoyed the demon’s attentions. He hadn’t been cruel. Not to her. It was only after each encounter, when she was alone, that she’d burn with shame and fury for being unable to resist him, as if she’d betrayed someone she had no wish to hurt. “It wasn’t difficult for me to choose my son over him. I knew what would happen if he found out I was pregnant.”
Creed would know, too. Demons had not allowed spawn to live. While Nieve had been afraid of giving birth to a monster that would tear her to pieces, she’d been terrified for the baby’s life and determined to protect it. Ash had been worth everything she’d endured.
Now, he was gone.
Creed’s face gave little away as she watched him through the crackling play of the firelight. He stared up at the sky. The night was soft and still, and infinite. “A demon doesn’t decide who belongs to him. The woman who’s meant for him does her own choosing. So who do you think holds the real power in the relationship? What doesn’t a demon want the woman he’s chosen to know?”
“Are you saying I could have resisted a demon if I’d really wanted?” Nieve asked. That was what her father and Bear had both told her. Her stomach twisted. She’d somehow thought Creed’s opinion would be different. She had not expected it to matter so much to her.
Creed leaned forward. His gaze, as it held hers, remained steady and gentle. Again, an almost incapacitating surge of raw desire for him crawled from inside her.
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m saying you could if you had a strong enough reason to, and it seems you found one. I’m also saying that you don’t belong to any demon. If there’s a connection between you, then the demon belongs to you, not the opposite. Even immortals have laws they must abide by.”
The jagged-edged lump in her throat made it painful to speak, but Nieve managed to utter two quiet words around it. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For all of the things you’ve done for me. For the little kindnesses you’ve shown me.” Two tears tracked down either side of her nose, dampening her upper lip. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “For trying to find my son for me when we both know it’s most likely impossible. The trail is too cold.”
Creed had stretched his long legs out in front of him beneath the white moon and stars, and the black backdrop of the sky. He shifted his gaze to stare at the tips of his boots. She had stated her worst fear out loud, and he was not able to correct her.
She was so very tired. Even her soul ached with a weariness that settled right to her bones. Her heart felt as if it were dead. But more than anything else, she was tired of her helplessness.
The shadows broadened and spread as the flames in the campfire lowered.
Creed got to his feet. “I’ll get more brush.” He paused, turning to her as if he’d forgotten something or had something important to say, before coming around the fire to where she sat. He crouched in front of her—a giant of a man—and cupped her face between his palms as carefully as if he were handling delicate, hand-blown crystal. He brushed one thumb through the dampness on her cheek.
“Nothing’s ever impossible,” he said. “Don’t forget that half demon children tend to be remarkably resilient. We may have to set the search aside now and then, but I promise, we aren’t going to stop looking.”
Chapter Nine
Willow and the children had been trailing behind the assassin and the woman with him for the better part of a week.
Traveling mostly at night, it was now early morning, and Willow had made camp several miles from the main road they traveled The sun was still a few hours from rising, although the children, she knew, would sleep until noon.
They were good travelers and she had been able to cover considerable ground with them. Hardier than their fully mortal counterparts, the worst of the daytime heat did not trouble them. They could also walk through the darkest hours of the night.
Willow rolled over in her bedding, seeking a more comfortable position as she pondered her next move. The ground was hard, and she was becoming old enough for her body to mind it.
It was as Stone had said—the assassin was looking for the woman’s son. He was not hunting for Willow at all. Or if he was, it was a half-hearted search at best.
She wondered why the assassin was so interested in finding this woman’s boy when it was possible the child was also half demon. If so, the assassin’s purpose in helping to find him would no doubt not be good for the child.
She tossed, waiting for sleep to return. If she followed the assassin much farther, his path would take her too far from her own. It was time to take the woman from him. In order to do that, she would have to make certain the assassin was dead. It was also time to put Stone’s talents to the test.
Once they got to the Borderlands, she would call in the favor the demon owed her. She wanted her father’s murder avenged, to prove to the world that she was the Demon Lord’s true daughter and heir. She wanted what was hers, and would someday pass on to her children.
A soft, scuffing footfall alerted her to a small presence, and she looked up to see which of the children did not sleep.
Thistle approached, her golden curls tousled and partially covering her face, looking as if she’d been startled and was not yet completely awake. “Someone’s watching us.”
Willow flipped to her back and propped herself on her elbows, looking upward. “The man we’ve been following?”
“No.” Thistle pushed the hair off her face. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she concentrated on something only she could see. “There are five of them. Three girls and two boys. They look to be Stone’s age, or maybe a little older. Except for one of the boys. He’s a lot younger than the others.”
“Do you know what they want?” Willow asked.
“No. But I think they’re hiding from us.”
Willow was leery of having anyone she did not know, particularly those with unknown abilities, so close to her and the children.
She rose from her blankets and trudged through the scrub and the trees in the direction Thistle indicated so she could confront them. She had no idea of their talents so she did not try to get close, but stopped a short distance from where Thistle said they were hiding.
“I know you’re there,” Willow called out. She kept her voice friendly but firm. She didn’t want them to feel threatened. Not without reason.
“Come out where I can see you. I want to know why you’re spying on us.”
With only a slight hesitation, a girl pushed her way free of the brambles of the bush where she’d been hiding.
Willow had no difficulty in summing up her appearance; dawn was not far off. Long, greedy fingers of light clawed at the shadows.
She looked to be about eighteen, undernourished, with dirty blond hair tied back in a sparse braid coiled and pinned at the nape of her neck in a manner that young married women often wore. Her clothing consisted of patches that covered more area than the original plaid fabric. She was also several months pregnant—something Thistle, little more than a child herself, might not have realized.
“I also know how many of you there are,” Willow said. “I want the others out here where I can see them, too.”
Although underfed and pregnant, and half Willow’s age, the girl was no weakling. Her chin held steady and her eyes raked over the older woman, missing nothing in her scrutiny, either.
Her eyes returned to Willow’s. “Not until I know that we have nothing to fear from you. We were here first.”
They were not. Thistle would have known of their presence. The newcomers were following them, and Willow intended to know why before she offered them any assistance.
“I would think I’d have more to fear from you. You’re the ones who are half demon.” Willow tossed it out there, to see how the girl would respond.
“So are you, and the children with you.” Pride filled the girl’s face, but also indecision, and finally, desperation. “My companions and I have only just met up with each other in the past few weeks. The little one is my brother. All any of us want is a place to call home, where we aren’t looked on as freaks.”
Willow considered her again, but from a different perspective this time. These children, too, had been turned from their homes, and in recent months. Something about them had frightened their families and friends. She wondered what talents they had, and how strong they had grown.
“Tell me about yourself,” Willow said.
“My name is Larch.”
She was two years older than Stone and a great deal more clever. She was young, hungry, and undoubtedly sincere. She also had a pregnancy to consider. Although still in the early stages, the next few months would become increasingly difficult for her.
It turned out that the baby’s father had been mortal, and when he discovered Larch was half demon, he’d turned her out. She had taken her younger brother with her when she fled. She defended her husband, however, and told Willow he had not known she was pregnant, as if that somehow excused his prejudice and cruelty.
Larch called out to the others. One by one they emerged from hiding, wary but willing to trust the girl who led them.
With the five newcomers, Willow’s entourage would number thirteen. Fourteen, if she included herself. Despite the added burden of more mouths to feed, she saw the potential in having these newcomers join her. They could help care for the younger children. Stone was useless with them.
The future she’d envisioned brightened with the glow of the rising sun, and the promise that she might not need to rely so completely on the help of a demon, or Stone.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Willow said to the girl. “But each of you will be expected to earn your keep.” War was coming. Even the littlest children, with the proper guidance, would be of use against mortals who had no natural defenses.
…
The day turned out to be a hot one.
They had left the Old World ruins behind them three days before. Tomorrow they would enter the desert, headed for Freetown, where they’d face the worst of the fast-approaching summer heat. Creed did not mind it, as high temperatures did not unduly affect him, but out of consideration for Nieve, they would do most of their traveling at night.
Right now, Creed was splitting kindling with the small hatchet he carried in his packs. He’d taken off his shirt while he worked beneath the increasing heat of the midafternoon sun, and sweat streamed down his bare back, only to evaporate beneath the scorching rays.
He swung the hatchet in rhythmic motions, his mind not on his task, but on Nieve. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She sat on the ground with her legs folded so that her skirt could be used as a workspace. A pile of clean clothing, which she’d washed in a stream that flowed nearby, sat next to her. She’d said she was going to do some mending, and she held one of his shirts, but her hands remained still.
His tattoo itched. That was how he knew she watched him, even without turning to look, and what she was thinking of. He bit back a smile of male satisfaction.
He lost the urge to smile, however, whenever he recalled the promise he had made to her.
We aren’t going to stop looking.
He’d had no right to say such a thing, even if he had qualified it to state that their search for her son might have to wait. He was an assassin, in service to the Godseekers. While he could easily be convinced to walk away from them on Nieve’s behalf, such a move would put her life in more danger, not less. The Godseekers would not forget his defection, any more than they had forgotten Blade’s.
The difference was that Blade had never truly been one of the Godseekers’ assassins while Creed had accepted his position—and their trust—willingly.
He had done so because he’d thought he could do more good by working with them. He still did. There were more innocent lives at stake here than Nieve’s and her son’s.
The Godseekers and their assassins would only tolerate the presence of half demons in the world if they knew they had an equal strength on their own side, and that such lines were being drawn—us against them—Creed was well aware.
He had no right to be making Nieve promises.
For that matter, and despite the tentative connection she was forging between them, he had no right to her. The life he’d chosen was not meant to include women or children. A woman like Nieve should settle down with a man who would make her the center of his entire world, and treat her as a goddess. She should be given more children to love and attend to, because it was obvious that she was meant to be a mother. Creed could no longer think of her as an innocent mouse. When it came to her son, she was as fierce as any brood kyson.
She also needed to be as fierce about every other part of her life. It was time she rejoined the land of the living. And Creed did not know how to help her do that.
He swung the hatchet with more force, splitting the chunk of wood into long, thick splinters that sprayed across the ground.
Nieve set aside the shirt she’d been holding. “Is all that firewood necessary, since we’re planning to move on tomorrow?”
He looked at the pile of wood and the scattered chippings. She was right. They had enough wood. The tear she repaired in his shirtsleeve was of no matter. And the world around them was filled with wonderful things that she should feel free to explore, rather than focus on tasks he could as easily do himself.
Nearby was a ridge of sandstone, eroded by countless centuries. In its face, a number of crude holes had been carved. He’d wanted to examine those holes, but hadn’t intended to take the time to do so.
He tossed the hatchet aside and beckoned for Nieve to follow him. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
They trudged side by side through flowering yellow brittlebush, the blossoms catching at the hem of Nieve’s plain dress and bobbing as they passed. When they reached the ridge, Creed paused to search along the base, cautiously nudging aside scrub and patches of long grass, mindful of snakes and other small hazards.
“What are those holes?” Nieve asked, tipping her head back and shading her eyes so she could look up at the darkened holes.
“They’re called cliff dwellings.” Creed found the path he was looking for. It was actually a series of upward steps, worn but still passable. “These are a different type of ruin that predates the Old World by centuries. We’ll climb as far as the first level, but I doubt if we�
��ll be able to get any higher. The upper dwellings would have been accessed by ladders, and those are long gone.”
The pathway of steps was uneven, and strewn with broken rock and hard clumps of sand where the softer stone face of the ridge above it had crumbled and caved in over time.
Creed reached back to help Nieve navigate over the worst of the debris. Without hesitation, she slid her slim palm into his. He found her willingness to accept his touch both disquieting and pleasing. She no longer feared him, at least not as much, which was both good and bad. While her trust made him happy, it might be best for her if she did not place too much faith in him. He wanted her.
The tension between them, that they both had been trying so steadfastly to ignore for the past three days, flared back to life. His heart rate picked up as his slumbering demon awakened. She could form other connections with men if she chose to. Once she accepted her connection with Creed, however, he could not. His demon would never permit it.
He would be hers forever, while she would be free to find someone else once she no longer needed him. And he had to ask himself why that should matter. He was an assassin. He’d never expected to belong to any woman anyway.
They continued to climb upward. The hot wind chased across Creed’s bare shoulders, drying the sweat from his skin almost before it could form. Rather than withdraw her hand once they reached the first level, Nieve clutched his fingers and gazed around her in rapt fascination.
The small plateau where they stood had been carved from a natural fissure in the rocks, and held the remains of several round houses as well as hollowed-out cave dwellings. Even though the plateau was not all that high, the view of the sprawling desert below them was breathtaking.
The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) Page 14