Rhys leaned forward. “Do you have a photo of your uncle wearing the pendant?”
Mrs. Do muttered something uncomplimentary about the police, but got up from the recliner and shuffled across to a corner table. It held photo frames and an incense burner. “Uncle Tan.”
Rhys accepted the photo and held it for Carla to see.
The pendant was clear against the old man’s robes. Uncle Tan smiled gently for the camera.
“See? The pendant was mine to sell. I was the old man’s only niece.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Do.” Rhys handed back the photo and stood. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”
Carla stared. Didn’t he want a copy of the photo, an image of the amulet?
“Let’s go,” he said to her tersely.
“Rhys?” She gave him a look, arguing the point.
He ignored her. “Thank you, Mrs. Do. Good-bye.”
Silent and reluctant, Carla followed him out. As the door slammed behind them, locks snapping into place, she swung toward him. “We should have taken a photo of the pendant photo.”
“No need. I recognized the symbol on it.” He didn’t wait for the antiquated elevator, but jogged down the grimy stairs. “It’s the Chinese character for storm.”
“You read Chinese?”
“I read and speak Cantonese. Also Spanish, German and Russian.”
She blinked.
“I’ve a gift for languages, they’re useful in my work, and study fills my after-hours. I’ve never married. It’s not easy being a cop’s partner.”
“I guess not.” It was a weak response, and she knew it.
“I guess it’s not easy being an ER doctor’s partner, either?”
“No,” she said, thoughtfully. They were both single, both lonely. Maybe that explained the energy flaring between them. They balanced, matching one another’s strengths and understanding one another’s need to serve the community. There was a bond between them, perhaps something more enduring than lust. Perhaps the beginnings of trust.
They clattered down the last steps and into the street. He walked briskly back to the crime scene and his car, apparently unnoticing of her sudden introspection. “I’ll drop you home, and I want you to stay there. Phone the hospital and say you won’t be in to work tonight. You need to stay safe, and stay warded.”
“The demon has no reason to come after me, now. It must realize I would have passed on what I knew.”
“If it’s recognized you as a ghoul, it might still have reason to eliminate you. I wouldn’t have this information, and so fast, without you. I need to know you’re safe.”
The last sentence stopped her protest. She knew his dragon sense of responsibility. Now was not the time to distract him by defying his protective instincts. He had to be free to single-mindedly pursue the demon.
“Okay.” She would hate the confinement, but she’d tolerate it for a day or two.
He touched her shoulder. “Thanks, Carla.”
Carla waited by the car while Rhys spoke with his officers. His next step would be to follow up the nature of the storm demon, its habits and weaknesses, with a demonologist. Her usefulness had ended. That she pulsed with negative energy from trailing the demon was not his problem.
He strode toward the car, and she watched his easy movements hungrily. In loving, he’d move powerfully, carefully. He could wipe the horror of the last hours from her mind, at least temporarily, and the energy churning through her body would be satisfactorily released. Stress relief of the most glorious kind.
Unfortunately, she had certain moral principles. “You can’t use a man as a sex object.”
“What did you say?” He blipped the car, unlocking its doors.
She blushed and turned away. “Nothing.”
He reached past her to open the passenger door. His body heat enveloped her. “You mentioned sex.”
His face was close. She could see the scattering of freckles and the glow in his eyes. Despite a night without sleep, he wasn’t tired either. Dragon stamina.
She slid into the car, away from the torment of wanting, but he circled the car and followed her in.
“I remember you’re not wearing a bra,” he said as he reversed the car. “I remember the feel of your breasts, and how hot and damp you were for me.” His hand rested on her thigh, searing like a brand, before he returned it to the steering wheel.
“I’m damp now,” she whispered.
He shot a stunned look at her.
She understood. Her honesty shocked her, too. “I’m wild with energy.” She studied his profile as he watched the road. “I want to ride you hot and hard and fast. I want you to walk me up to my apartment, strip off my clothes and take me where we stand.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and his arousal pressed against his uniform trousers.
She wanted to cup him, slide down the zipper, tease him free. She wanted to sit over him, take him inside, ride him. She arched at the thought, thighs parting, head tipping back.
He stopped at a red light, and groaned as he looked at her. “We don’t have time.”
“I know.” She turned to look at him. She wet her lips. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“It’s insane.”
“I know.” But it was a shared insanity. She read it in his eyes.
“No preliminaries. No love words.” He looked back at the road, pressed the accelerator.
“Just us,” she agreed, accepting the conditions. She had condoms in her purse from her voluntary work at a free clinic. Would he take her against the door? A tiny frantic moan escaped.
“Carla?”
“I’m going to climax just thinking about you.”
“Sweetheart, are you trying to kill me?” he asked hoarsely.
“No.” But all of her energy was coiling into a sexual pattern. She could feel it exciting her and reaching out to him. “I want you too much.”
The car braked hard to a stop outside her apartment building. Rhys waved an acknowledging hand to the police officer guarding the crime scene, but they didn’t pause. They took the elevator, standing without touching, waiting for the privacy of her home before they risked meltdown.
The automatic lock snapped closed as she pushed him against the door and rubbed herself against the thrust of his arousal. He peeled off her sweater, tossed it away, and slid down the door to undo her jeans while he sucked a swollen, pouting breast.
A rippling contraction of pleasure startled her. His hard, hungry sucking was the rhythm she wanted to ride her whole body.
He pushed down her jeans and panties, and she stepped out of them. Later she might know shame, but not now. Not when his hands were greedily learning her, claiming her. She dropped the foil packet she held, and bit his shoulder as she climaxed.
He kicked off his shoes and discarded his trousers before swinging her round to press her against the door.
“Are you sure?”
She gazed into his fierce gold eyes and had never been surer.
“Yes.” She fitted the condom he’d retrieved. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him, gasping his name as he entered her.
“Too much?”
“More.” And she kissed him. She wanted everything he had.
He withdrew and thrust again, deeper. He groaned as she tightened internal muscles to hold him and shifted urgently.
She rode the storm, diving into his stunning power, surrendering and taking till they shattered, then gentled into one another.
“Carla.” He nuzzled the curve of her throat. “Sweetheart.”
“Mmm.” She had no words.
He eased her from the door, supporting her to find her feet, his hands skimming her body in a lingering caress. He kissed the pleasured smile curving her mouth and looked into her eyes. His own were fierce, awed and possessive. “I have to go.”
She nodded. “Come back.”
The golden eyes blazed and his hands tightened a moment. “Yes.”
Chapter Four
Every time she stared at her front door, Carla shook her head. Had she really seduced Rhys into taking her there?
Absolutely.
Her body hummed with satisfaction and the desire for a rematch. There had hardly been time for foreplay. She wanted to explore his body, to tantalize her own with his nearness, to indulge in an orgy of sensual experiences till neither could move from her bed.
Her hands trembled and she pressed them against her thighs. An orgy would have to wait. Work and responsibility came first.
She phoned the hospital to tell them she wouldn’t be in, tonight. It felt wrong to leave her colleagues to cope without her, but she’d promised Rhys she’d stay home, and she understood his reasons for extracting the promise. Still, the phone call destroyed something of her physical exhilaration, and left her with the problem of what to do with her time and brimming energy.
If Rhys was here, she had a solution. But he was hunting a storm demon. She shivered. “God, keep him safe.”
She watered her plants, heated and ate a Thai chicken soup, and started a load of laundry. The familiar tasks provided no cure for her edginess. She got out the hoover and undertook a serious cleaning of the apartment. At the end, she was still fidgety.
“Now, what?” She flung herself onto the couch and opened her laptop. She’d do what she’d tried to resist: look up demons.
Once you got past the conspiracy theorists and New Age rubbish, the information was daunting. Rhys needed an exorcist, a Buddhist one by preference, since the demon had already been weakened by that style of binding.
The other option was to defeat it in battle and send it hurtling to Hell.
“No,” she whispered. The thought chilled her to the bone. Rhys was a dragon. If he felt he couldn’t wait to find a Buddhist exorcist, he’d tackle the demon himself. But dragons weren’t natural demon fighters. They were too straightforward, their power too reckless. “I can’t let him tackle a demon.”
Tracking the demon had filled her with unwanted but powerful energy. Rhys’s confrontation would be entirely different. The demon’s miasma of evil would distract, even weaken him. Instincts and logic told her demons could use dragons’ power against them.
The pinch hit player couldn’t be Rhys: it had to be her.
But getting in contact with Rhys wasn’t easy. She didn’t have his direct number, and the police department’s receptionists weren’t inclined to put through an unknown woman to the captain while he was busy. And Rhys was obviously busy.
“Can you give him a message or would that break the rules, too?” The bit of sarcasm slipped out from her frustration. She didn’t want to break her promise to Rhys and leave the apartment without telling him, nor did she want to disrupt his search for the demon by starting her own. Nonetheless, if she didn’t hear from him in the next hour, she’d do both. She took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry to sound rude, but it’s urgent. Can you tell Captain Draig that if I don’t hear from him in the next hour, I’m leaving my apartment to tackle the matter myself?”
The receptionist sniffed. “If the captain said for you to stay somewhere—”
“He’ll want this message,” Carla cut in, completing the warning in a manner the receptionist definitely hadn’t meant. The woman wanted Carla to stay put and stop irritating people who were just doing their job.
Carla reminded herself that she often felt the same with ER patients’ friends and family. “Thank you.” She hung up and prowled the circuit of her room once before stopping, stretching all her muscles, and curling up on the couch with her laptop. What were the Vietnamese and Chinese methods for binding a demon? And the start of the ritual had better not be a celibate monk, because she failed on both counts.
“Carla!” The impatient knock at her door was Rhys.
Automatically, she glanced at her watch. He’d arrived five minutes before her one hour deadline expired.
She smoothed her hands over the flame red silk dress she wore. She hadn’t been able to find a reliable account of demon binding on the internet, but a couple of things recurred in the sensationalist accounts: the demon binder was cleanly bathed, wore only unworn clothes, and those clothes were silk.
The scrap of silk underwear she wore, and the dress itself, had been bought for a hospital fundraiser, then never worn as she’d had doubts about the dress’s respectability. The halter neck gathered the silk in soft folds that dipped and clung to her breasts and left her back bare. The skirt flirted mid-thigh, flaring and shifting with her every step. It was a dress to salsa in, or seduce.
It robbed Rhys of all words.
Not so the man who stood behind him, eyes alert in an impassive face. “Silk. Unworn?”
“Yes.” Carla cast a wary look at Rhys, but addressed her unexpected visitor. “Hello, Paul. Come in.”
The ER nursing supervisor, Paul Li, nodded by way of greeting, and walked in. “Captain Draig required an expert on ancient demon practices. Someone suggested my knowledge of chants might help. I used to be a monk.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, weakly.
Rhys rumbled into speech, his words charged with anger and suspicion. “Why are you dressed like that?”
She wet her lips, naked of all cosmetics. “I’m going demon hunting.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I thought you would,” Paul said. “Once Captain Draig told me you’d sensed the demon’s presence. Your ghoul nature will survive its hate.”
“No,” Rhys said explosively.
“I thought of that myself,” Carla addressed Paul. “I thought being freshly bathed and wearing new silk clothes wouldn’t hurt.”
“Sometimes these old superstitions have truth in them,” he agreed gravely.
“You are not hunting the demon.” Rhys gripped her arm and swung her round. “I am.”
“Carla has a better chance of succeeding, and surviving.”
Rhys’s hands tightened.
It seemed safer to ignore him till he had his rage under control. “How long have you known I’m a ghoul, Paul?”
“I guessed after a couple of weeks watching you work. It was more than admirable fitness. You excel in truly difficult circumstances. That will help you, tonight.”
“She is not facing the demon,” Rhys snarled.
“I’m a better choice than you.” She met his angry gaze. “The demon can’t destroy me with its hate, nor use my energy. It would feast on a dragon’s power. So unless you have an exorcist waiting in the wings, I’m it.”
“I won’t let you.”
“It’s not your choice. Unless you have an exorcist? No, I didn’t think so.” Gently, she disengaged. “Paul, is there a chant I should use, a procedure for binding the demon?”
Paul reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is the translation of the binding chant for a storm demon.” But he didn’t pass it across to her. “It reiterates the nature of the binding, the manner and purpose for which the priest desires to bind the demon.” He exhaled unhappily. “It’s not what you want.”
“What?” Carla and Rhys exclaimed simultaneously.
“You have no amulet prepared in which to bind the demon. More importantly, you don’t actually want to control it, you want to banish it.”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I want it gone so it can never feast again.” She thought of the body of the little girl in the squalid apartment. It strengthened her determination. “I will banish it.”
“I hope so,” Paul said solemnly. “The demon would have originally been bound to the amulet so a priest-warrior could summon its power in battle. It is an evil thing to send demons against humans.” He took a deep breath. “To challenge the storm demon and send it to Hell, you’ll need to focus on its weaknesses. Your awareness of them will protect you. This section of the chant is the part you want.”
Now he handed the paper to her. It was folded to show the required section. “It repeats the demon’s weaknesses, helping y
our mind to focus on them, to win by giving you discipline. The demon will want to tear you away from them, to distract you.”
“But how do I actually banish it?”
For the first time, Paul hesitated.
“He doesn’t know,” Rhys said. “No exorcist has been able to explain the process. They say, one moment they are battling the demon, the next it is gone, returned to damnation. At least, that’s what the successful ones say. The others are dead.”
“Thanks for that,” Carla muttered.
“What did you expect me to say? I don’t want you doing this,” Rhys responded furiously.
Waves of fear for her and anger at his helplessness battered her. It wasn’t simply the impersonal protectiveness of his work and dragon nature. He was truly concerned for her.
Just as she was for him. It was why she was determined to face the demon.
She took his hand and raised it to her lips. “I’ll be careful.”
“You bet you will,” he said harshly, but he turned his hand and touched her face gently. “I’ll be with you.”
“Both of us?” She’d thought of protecting him, not joining him.
“Where you go, I go,” he confirmed.
Despite her fear, joy exploded in her heart. The vow resonated with more than the commitment of a temporary alliance. It felt like a promise of forever.
“Yes,” she said simply.
His eyes glowed golden at her acceptance. “Then the question is, where do we find the demon?”
“We don’t.” Carla had considered the question while she showered. Now, she forced herself to elaborate. “I’m not going to hunt the demon. I’m going to call it.”
“Ah.” Paul inhaled softly. “Can you?”
“I think so. I think it’ll come to the terror I collect around me.”
“To your energy as a ghoul?”
“No. She means calling the demon while in ghoul form.” Rhys was grimly disapproving. “Have you ever changed before?”
Her eyes fell. She hadn’t. She’d hated her ghoul nature for too long to have spent time exploring it. But she knew what the change meant. Instead of gathering in the negative emotions around her, she would tap all the horrors she’d seen, experienced and absorbed, and turn them outward, broadcasting terror.
Embracing the Ghoul Page 3