Hold Me If You Can

by Stephanie Rowe

“Your fingers.” He pointed at her fingers.

  Spots now dotted along her cuticles. What had been a grayish tint before was now speckled and dark. “What is that?”

  Nigel thumbed the discoloration and swore. “It’s smut.”

  “Smut?” She wiped her free hand on her jeans, but the stain didn’t come off. “Like the fallout from using black magic spells? The backlash?”

  Nigel nodded. “Mari and Angelica use black magic for most of their experiments. Every spell they do gives off residue. If they don’t put it somewhere else, it’ll taint their auras.”

  “So?”

  He smoothed Natalie’s hair back from her face, an absent gesture that made her whole body tingle. His muscles were vibrating with tension, violence and aggression were still bubbling beneath his taut skin, and yet his touch was so gentle. A caress. “Both women,” he said softly, “have auras that are completely clean. They send the smut elsewhere.”

  She stiffened, and a cold feeling of violation came over her. “To where?” A faint thudding beat through her, the ominous approach of something unpleasant.

  “Angelica was off-loading to a guy we called the Chameleon because he was constantly shifting form to murder. He was killing dozens of people.” Nigel rubbed her fingers, as if he were also trying to get it off. “But Angelica pulled him out of the field, and it looks like he’s been replaced. I can feel the energy of Angelica and Mari in your fingers.” He met her gaze. “You’re being smutted, sweetheart. By Angelica and Mari.”

  “I am?” It sounded bad, but she tried to remain calm. How bad could smut be? It couldn’t be worse than being haunted by deedubs and being so insane that you almost orgasmed yourself to death, right? “So, what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means you’re being contaminated with demon blunt.” Nigel released her hand and stood up. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how imposing. If there was a man to have around when she was discovering she was being contaminated by demon blunt, he would be it.

  Seemed like if anyone could take down demon blunt, it would be him. “What will it do to me?” She didn’t really want to turn gray, but if that was the extent of the damage, she’d live with it for now.

  “Everyone reacts differently. Depends on your predisposition, but it’ll eventually take you over and you’ll be in bad shape—”

  “Bad shape?” She set her hands on her hips, struggling not to panic. “What does that mean? Don’t be vague, Nigel. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

  But he shook his head, his face frustrated. “I wish I could tell you, but it’s different for everyone. We just have to wait and see—”

  “Natalie?” Maggie poked her head around the corner. “I was looking at your recipe file so I could make more virility balls, and I had a couple ideas. Do you mind if I play around with the recipe? I think I can make them taste less magicky, so people who don’t want suggestions will buy them just for the flavor.”

  Natalie caught the scent of the purest cocoa, so rich and so divine it transcended any scent she had ever experienced. It was the same olfactory delight she’d been smelling when she’d woken up, only much more potent. Her body ached with need, and she inhaled again, only this time she noticed the underlay of warmth, of humanity, of life. “Maggie? Is that you?” Her head felt light, almost giddy, and her stomach rumbled.

  “Is what me?” Maggie frowned. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” Natalie inched closer. She sniffed again, and this time she was sure of it. Her newest staff member had a fragrance that was compelling beyond words. “God, you smell good.”

  Maggie backed up a step. “You’re weirding me out a little bit.”

  “Why? Because I love your delicious bouquet?” Natalie reached for her sous chef, but Nigel grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. “Hey!”

  “Quiet.” His arms folded her against his chest, pinning her to him. “Maggie,” he said calmly. “Go experiment with the recipe. Natalie would love any help you can give her to enhance her business. See what you can do.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Maggie shot them a wary look, then turned and hurried out the door.

  “Wait!” Natalie struggled to get free of Nigel, desperate to follow her employee to the front of the store. “I need to go after her—”

  Nigel spun her around, pressed her back against the wall, and pinned her there with his body. “Natalie.”

  She tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

  “No.” He wedged his knee against her inner thigh, trapping her leg against the wall. “You’re stalking her.”

  Natalie inhaled, trying to catch another whiff of that fading scent. It was vanishing, twisting out of her reach in tormenting fashion. “Of course I’m not stalking her. That’s ridiculous—”

  “Hey.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “You were compelled by her scent. Admit it.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Was she? Her head began to clear, and she noticed the tension in her body, how hard she had been struggling against Nigel to get away. To follow Maggie and her delicious smell? “Um…”

  Nigel’s grip relaxed slightly. “Nat?”

  She leaned her head back against the wall, becoming aware of how many body parts Nigel had pressed into her to immobilize her. His finger was caressing her throat, and his thumb was resting lightly on the swell of her breast. How had she not noticed all the physical contact, especially his knee wedged against her inner thigh? She hadn’t noticed because she’d been caught up in Maggie’s scent. “I guess I was obsessing over her a little bit.”

  “Yeah, you were.” Nigel’s voice was thoughtful even as he continued to caress her throat. It was as if he hadn’t really noticed he was touching her, but was simply deriving comfort from their connection while he processed the events.

  “What happened?” She should push his hand away, she knew she should. But she couldn’t make herself do it. It was too tantalizing, his unconscious caress. It made little fires leap through her body, just small ones, not enough to scare her, but enough to feel good. “Did the smut make me aggressive or something?” Oh, man, she hoped not. She’d had one traumatizing experience with being compelled to places she didn’t want to go. She was so not up for another one. “Didn’t you say her last smut monster was a murderer? I don’t want to be a murderer!”

  To her dismay, Nigel didn’t offer her reassurance, and his expression was grim. There was no repudiation coming from him dismissing such a ridiculous notion.

  A dark dread pulsed through her soul, as if her deepest consciousness knew a terrifying truth that her mind hadn’t grasped yet. “Nigel?”

  He laid his hand on her cheek, as if trying to lessen his words with a gesture of comfort. “The smut from black magic is demon smut.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” Macabre foreboding began to percuss, like rain thundering in the distance, getting closer and closer with each moment.

  “Exactly how the demon smut affects a person will depend on their predilections.”

  “So? What does that mean?”

  Nigel’s voice became quiet and soothing, as if he was trying to talk down the horror he was about to deliver. His face flashed with sympathy as he stroked her hair. “Every smut receptacle succumbs to the demonic influence in their most vulnerable spot. You carried deedub poison for twenty-five years, and it’s probably still in your soul.” He met her gaze. “You were stalking Maggie. A Sweet.”

  “Stop!” She tried to pull away. She didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. “I’m not becoming a deedub! That’s insane—”

  He gripped her shoulders. “It’s actually very possible—”

  “No!” Natalie began to shake uncontrollably, and she was suddenly back in that moment when she was seven, eating dinner, laughing with her sisters, teasing her mom, when there was that knock at the door. Her mom had walked over to it, laughing over a joke, and the doorknob turned, so slowly. The door opening, the claw, the g
rowl, the way he’d leapt at her mother, his teeth bared, ripping through her skin, throwing her aside. The way he’d come after her sisters, one by one. How she’d raced so desperately for the trap door. That crushing weight as he’d tackled her to the floor. His crazed, hungry howl of raw pleasure, of sheer delight, of utter mercilessness as he saw her face, and then plunged his teeth into her throat—

  “Natalie!” Nigel gently shook her, calling her back to the present.

  She stared at him in horror. “There’s no way—”

  “Listen to me.” He cupped her face in both hands and leaned close. “We need to know. I can handle it, but I have to know what I’m dealing with.”

  She shook her head, panicking. “No, God no. I can’t become that monster. I can’t—”

  “Natalie.” He stroked her cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  Her insides were churning, her skin was clammy, and she wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

  “I can keep you safe,” he said. “I’ve battled demon magic my whole life, and it’s never taken me down.” He winked. “Hasn’t even left a scar on my magnificent body, right?”

  She stared blankly at him. Unable to process. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen your body.”

  “Well, I’ll show you later.” He grinned, his easy smile penetrating her panic. If he was so relaxed, it couldn’t be that bad, right? “We’re going to find out now.” He didn’t wait for her agreement. “Maggie,” he called out. “Come in here.”

  Natalie leaned her head back against the wall. “No, don’t.”

  “I make things okay. It’s what I do.” He thumbed her jaw. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead.

  Sparks rippled through her as he pulled back. His eyes had darkened, and his gaze went to her mouth. Her heart began to thud, and his hands tightened on her face. He moved closer. Lowered his head—

  Maggie poked her head around. “Yes?”

  Nigel pulled back, and a sense of loss rippled through Natalie. Loss that was quickly followed by relief. She couldn’t afford to get involved with Nigel, not when she found him so compelling.

  “Give me your hand,” Nigel said to Maggie, not taking his gaze off Natalie.

  Unlike Natalie, Maggie didn’t hesitate to trust him. She beamed at Nigel and stuck out her hand without question.

  Nigel took her gently by the wrist and pressed her arm up against Natalie’s nose. “Smell her.”

  She turned her head. “No, I can’t—”

  He positioned his forearm across her chest, pinning her against the wall. He leaned his weight into her, allowing her to feel the power in his body. “I’m stronger than you are,” he said. “I won’t let you do anything to Maggie. We need to know.”

  “I already know,” Natalie protested, even as fear hammered in her belly. “I’m not turning into a deedub—”

  “What?” Maggie jerked her arm back. “You’re a deedub?”

  “No, I’m not—”

  “Calm down.” Nigel took Maggie’s arm again. “Show me, Nat. Prove to yourself that you’re not.”

  “Fine. You’ll see that it’s ridiculous.” Natalie swallowed, then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of the most magnificent chocolate tingled through her, and her toes curled with delight at the amazing smell.

  But that’s all it was. Just appreciation for the scent of blue-blooded chocolate. Because she was a Sweet, and Sweets could appreciate chocolate in a way that no one else could. The fact she was a little smutted didn’t mean she was turning into a psychotic creature who would attack darling innocents like Maggie. Seriously. Maybe she used to have demonic leprechaun poison sifting through her body, but that didn’t mean—

  “Natalie.” Nigel’s voice was a soft command, forcing its way into her thoughts. “Let her go, little one.”

  Let her go? She suddenly became aware of Nigel resting his forehead against hers, of his breath against the side of her face… and of the fact that she was sucking on Maggie’s arm.

  Chapter 10

  The minute Nigel saw Natalie’s shock and horror that she was French kissing her sous chef’s arm, rage exploded inside him. It was that ancient, deep-souled fury, the dangerous emotion he’d managed to suppress for almost two hundred years, by manipulating his emotional state with his art.

  But it was no longer dormant. It erupted inside him with the same force it had that fateful day so long ago. Outrage that he’d failed to protect her. Her. This wasn’t some halfway suicidal newbie warrior in the Den.

  This was Natalie. The woman he’d been ready to sacrifice to the tropics so she would live. He’d been willing to forego the calling of his very soul for her in order to protect her from himself and from the deedubs. And he’d failed her? He’d failed to foresee a threat that had snuck right past him?

  He was a warrior. And he’d failed.

  Son of a bitch. His muscles burned, and liquid metal scorched his cells with a fierceness that made his soul shudder.

  “Nigel?” Natalie’s green eyes were wide, burning with concern and worry for him.

  For him? For the monster? God, the purity of her soul to be worried for him! The fury deepened, the self-hate that he could have failed this woman—

  “No,” he growled to himself. He would not let himself lose control again. Not with Natalie so close by, so vulnerable. The anger would not win. His sanity would prevail, no matter what the cost.

  Art. The only answer was art. He jammed his hand into his front pocket… and it was empty. No pen. Oh, shit.

  He shoved himself away from Natalie, stumbling as the madness intensified within him, as he fought to own his sanity. Jesus. It hadn’t been like this in a hundred and fifty years. Because he hadn’t let anyone matter to him that much since then. “I need a pen,” he muttered. “Get me a pen!”

  Natalie ran toward the front of the room. “I think there’s one up here.”

  Please don’t let me snap. He threw boxes off the shelves, desperate for something he could draw with. It was building inside him, that shit that he’d kept contained for so long with his art. He’d felt it stirring over the last few hours, and yet he’d been so arrogant he’d thought sheer willpower could keep it curbed without his art. He’d been an asinine fool. He needed to draw. Now. He’d have to control the drawing. Keep the image innocuous. He could do that. He had to do it. He couldn’t beat this without his art.

  He saw shiny dots on his arm and knew they were metal blades fighting to emerge from his skin. “Jesus,” he whispered. Not again. Not again.

  “Natalie! Stop it!” Maggie shouted.

  Nigel jerked his head up and saw Maggie scrambling backwards, away from Natalie, who was clutching the metal shelving to keep herself from attacking Maggie. Her skin was white, her face sickened with self-revulsion and horror. Her beautiful face, that soul so filled with love and outrage, decimated.

  And that’s when the tenuous cord of control he’d been fortifying so carefully his whole life… well, the damn thing just snapped.

  His vision went black, and he could see nothing. But he could feel it. This wrath, this violence, this uncontainable detonation blasting through his defenses, ripping at his body, at his self-control—

  “Nigel!”

  Natalie’s scream of sheer terror cleaved though the raging onslaught eviscerating his mind, and he opened his eyes to see thousands of microscopic blades careening through the air. They were spewing from him. Not just out of his hands, but out of every pore of his body. Maggie was running for the door, and Natalie was hunched over, shielding her face with her hands. Metal blades clanged against walls all around her, barely missing her.

  Mother of God. How long could he control them enough to keep from hitting her? Then, as he watched, he saw one hurtle through the air, right at her. “No!” He swore and willed it to the right, to force it to shift trajectory. Don’t touch her, he ordered it. At the last second, he managed to divert to t
he left, but it was so close to her shoulder that it tore a hole in the sleeve of her shirt. Shit. He was losing it!

  He had to get out. “Stay here,” he ordered her as he charged for the door to the alley. Blades were erupting in all directions, hot metal incinerating his skin, embers sloughing off his shoulders, his face, his legs, his feet. His clothes were on fire. Knives everywhere—

  He leapt into the air and slammed his shoulder into the steel door. Agony cleaved his body as the stainless steel burned him. Then the door exploded off its hinges and flew into a parked truck in the alley. He dove after the door and yanked it down over him as the blades continued to pour forth into the makeshift shield. The deafening ping of metal ricocheting into the door, into the asphalt. The thud of it hitting bricks. The tinkle of windows breaking. He had no control. Couldn’t stop it.

  “Mother of hell!” He was going to kill everyone. His body was creating weapons faster than it ever had before, as if it were trying to make up for a lifetime of being crushed and hog-tied. And he had no control over it. It was as if he were a five-year-old boy again, not a grown man. What the hell was going on?

  And how was Natalie? He had to get back in there and check. If a blade had hit her, he could heal her, but first he had to arrest the cacophony of metal.

  Then he saw his chance. A white cup with pink and orange letters. Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Upended on the alley. A wooden coffee stirrer floating in the spilled coffee. A chance for art.

  He lunged for the stick, dipped the end into the coffee, then traced a line across the asphalt. Two inches before the coffee ran out.

  Dipped it again.

  Another line.

  Dip.

  Line.

  Dip.

  Line.

  An eye took shape. He knew that eye. His teammate Blaine. Not Christian.

  Relief rushed through him. He could control his art! His hand flew across his urban canvas, the portrait taking shape faster than he’d ever drawn before. The destructive energy, the fury, the passion, all of it fueling the outpouring of blades. He seized that negative energy and channeled it all into his drawing, until the coffee image was nearly vibrating with life on the dirty alley floor.