Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series

by Holley Trent

  Maybe this kid she and Charles had made together would be good because she chose to be, just like Julia and John did. And maybe that meant Charles could choose the same. But did he want to be good?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I can hear your teeth squeaking as you grind them,” Claude said. He pushed his mirrored sunglasses up his nose and slumped lower in his Jeep’s driver seat. “Aren’t your molars flat enough as it is? You know, you’re not going to grow another set. Better take care of the ones you’ve got.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Charles didn’t care if he sounded surly. Who could blame him?

  He cracked each of his knuckles in turn, and watched as Marion followed Clarissa into the obstetrician’s office with Julia bringing up the rear. Julia seemed to be on hyper-alert, scanning the area all around them before letting the door whoosh shut behind her. At least she’d been conscientious enough to ask Charles if he minded before she’d volunteered to escort Marion to her appointment. Of course he minded. It seemed everyone could touch Marion but him, but what he could he say? No, don’t shield her? That she didn’t really need prenatal care?

  The rational part of him was glad his half-sister had the foresight to ask, but that didn’t assuage his ire any at the fact that it was her in there and not him.

  He shifted beneath his seatbelt. He and Claude had just endured their monthly visitation from Claude’s mother and he was still feeling the effects of the spirit encounter. The witch had been dead for more than a hundred years, but even from beyond the grave she dispensed tough love.

  “Your mother would say I’m a coward for not going in,” Charles said. He drummed his fingers atop the seatbelt release.

  Claude reclined his seat and crossed his arms over his chest as if he were settling in for a nap. That wasn’t unusual. Like Charles, Claude slept wherever was convenient. They didn’t have the luxury of routine.

  “No. Actually, Maman would ask if you’d walked dick-first into some bad voodoo, and then she’d laugh at you.”

  Charles cringed. “What would you do? I don’t want to cause a scene. If I walk in there, Marion will probably have the nurses throw me out.”

  “I doubt it. She’s not the type. She’d save her tantrum for the parking lot and make you regret intruding on her space later … and probably for a long time.”

  Finally, Charles stabbed the seatbelt release and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. “I’ll take my chances.” He pulled the handle at the same time Claude grabbed his sleeve.

  His brother pushed his sunglasses up with his free hand and locked his bloodshot stare on him. “Think rationally. Squash the ego. This isn’t about just you.”

  Through clenched teeth, Charles responded, “You think I don’t know that?”

  Claude shrugged. “Hard to say what you know. You want her to let down her guard, you’d best start opening up so she knows you’re more than the son of a demon. You might as well be a cardboard cutout for all she knows of you.”

  A growl rumbled in Charles’s chest, and Claude let go of his jacket sleeve, scoffing.

  “Heed my words, Charles. Your own mother would tell you the same. I wish you’d let me bring her through.”

  “Why, so she can tell me I’m just like Pop? No, thanks.” Charles pushed the door open and jumped down onto the asphalt. Leaning back into the Jeep, he said, “I’ll catch a ride with Marion and Clarissa.”

  Claude pulled the driver’s seat back up into the upright position and wrenched the key in the ignition. “I’ll call you. Gonna follow up on that lead on Ross and keep an eye on him.”

  “I know you’d rather be doing other things. So, thank you.”

  Claude shrugged and cracked the barest grin. “I’ll probably need a favor soon. Don’t thank me yet.”

  Charles slammed the door, and Claude peeled out of the strip mall. Turning toward the clinic, Charles shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and mentally rehearsed excuses for his presence.

  I was in the neighborhood and had a few minutes and saw the car. He rolled his eyes and took off at a lope.

  Maybe he’d just try the truth, since that seemed to be in such short supply in their relationship. I was worried about you, and you won’t talk to me.

  Yeah, right.

  He gave the office door a gentle tug and drew cool air into his lungs as the ten or so people in the waiting area all turned to look at him at once. Ignoring the appreciative glances from the desk clerks, he maneuvered around the coffee table and took the empty seat next to Julia and across from Marion. He folded his hands onto his lap and assessed her wide-eyed stare.

  She held her black ink pen still over the clipboard full of forms.

  He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know if I’d make it.”

  Marion set down the pen and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Clarissa pulled some knitting project out of her oversized purse and crossed her legs. “Glad you’re here. You can pay the bill.”

  “That’s fine. I can pay the bill.” He’d need to get the woman insurance. He didn’t need it for himself for obvious reasons, but she and the baby should certainly have it.

  Marion’s lips parted as if she were going to say something, but then she shook her head and cast her gaze down at the paperwork on her lap.

  Julia covered her mouth with her hand and whispered to the side, “What made you decide to come?”

  “Because I care,” he said loud enough for all to hear.

  Marion blew out a sharp breath and cast her gaze downward.

  The nurse called out her name, and she looked at Clarissa, probably for reassurance, but her grandmother seemed to be pointedly refusing her gaze.

  Sighing, Marion looked at Charles and gave him a long, quiet stare.

  “Marion Wilder?” the nurse called out. “Are you here?”

  Julia leaned forward and grabbed an issue of The Watchtower from the table beside her. “If the exam room is more than twenty feet bird’s-eye from here, let me know and I’ll come tail you. I think that’s about as far as I can push the power out.”

  Charles stood, and gestured toward the waiting nurse. “Go on,” he said softly. “I won’t touch you.” Yet.

  Marion drew in a breath so deep that her shoulders shook, and swiveled her honey gaze up to his face. She rocked on her heels a few beats before following the nurse through the door.

  “Is this your first one?” the nurse asked as Marion stepped onto the scale.

  Marion cast her gaze toward the ceiling, away from the digital display, and responded, “First and likely only.”

  Charles turned his back to the anger he knew was written on his face. Only, his ass. He was going to give her the family she so obviously wanted. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know such a thing was possible, but she wouldn’t believe it if he told her. Oh, he’d tell her, though. He’d just need to put some bodies between her and him first, because he suspected the first touch she’d want to bestow on him would be a bruising one.

  • • •

  Nurse Donna handed Marion a hospital gown to put on and told her to undress. When Donna had left, Charles sank onto one of the faux leather seats beneath the curtained windows and entwined his fingers, as calm as he pleased.

  How dare he?

  “You could at least do me the courtesy of not watching me undress,” she said, not bothering to smooth the burr of agitation from her voice. She heeled off her boots and nudged them beneath the spare chair, giving Charles’s leg a wide berth. For a moment, she fixated on the texture of his gray pants, wondering if she’d ever found corduroys attractive on anyone older than the age of ten before. The man could probably wear burlap and make it look couture.

  She wondered why he’d claim to want a frumpy mess like her, and then rolled her eyes at her own stupid thoughts.

  He was an incubus, and she was a warm, fertile, female body. That was all.

  He closed his eyes. “As you wish.”

  She scoffed. “J
ust that simple, huh? I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

  “And as I’ve been on top of you in recent history, I’m sure you remember precisely how heavy I am to work out those physics.” He tented his fingers and stared at her over the tips. “I doubt you’d really want to throw me off, though.”

  Heat rushed through her core and burned her cheeks.

  Damn him.

  She turned her back and angrily clawed at her shirt’s buttons. “Leave.”

  “I’m not here to pick a fight with you.”

  “Then why are you here, huh?” Somehow she managed to unfasten her shirt without actually seeing it. Her vision had gone hazy from anger, and pulse pounded so damn hard in her ears she could barely hear herself think.

  She turned and saw him sitting there looking so serene, as if he hadn’t abandoned her for weeks on end again. How dare he show up like this, as if it were his right? As if he had a say in what she did with her body?

  “Are you going to answer me or just stare dumbly?” She tossed her shirt toward the empty chair, and believe it or not, he kept his gaze above her neck. Next, she pushed her leggings down to her ankles and stepped out of them. This was the first time she’d left the house in ten weeks, and she’d hoped to savor the experience. It looked like she’d instead spend it arguing with Charles. Shit, they could do that at her grandmother’s.

  The truth was, she’d hoped he’d show up. She’d even changed the appointment twice, fretting over it because she’d been so damned afraid. She wasn’t just terrified of carrying a child who may not have technically been human, but of everything lately. She was half angry that she hadn’t left the house in almost three months, and half content with never leaving it again if it meant she could hide from all the scary things people kept warning her of that she hadn’t yet seen. It was hard to be brave, sometimes, in the face of the unknown. It wasn’t like protecting herself against assault or robbery while out on the road. This was a matter of her immortal soul. Her body meant nothing in the greater scheme of things.

  “Marion, sweetheart, I’m here because you’re pregnant with my child. You’re both important to me, and not for political reasons.”

  She opened her mouth, and closed it, balling her hands into fists at her sides. Liar was what she was going to say, but his pained expression seemed so sincere. What did she know, though? She barely knew the man. Probably eighty percent of what she knew of him she’d learned through third parties.

  She took a bolstering breath and let it out, attempting to calm the encroaching histrionics. “You have a funny way of showing it,” she said in a soft voice. “I see more of you going than coming. I—”

  Pressing her lips together, she turned her back and fidgeted with the tie of her sweatpants. She’d grown up to become used to people leaving her, so what was one more person?

  Charles didn’t owe her anything, not even pity. She could pay her own damn bill for the appointment.

  She hadn’t thrown up in a week, but suddenly a nauseated feeling settled into her.

  For the rest of her natural life, she’d be linked to this man because of the child they shared, and they couldn’t touch.

  Even if he learned to love her, he couldn’t so much as kiss her hand.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked, rousing her from her mental meanderings.

  “Huh?”

  “Your hand. You just pressed it against her chest and what I could see of your face went pale.”

  She forced a lump down her throat and drew in some air. Was it hot in there all of a sudden?

  What man would want the mother of a half-demon baby?

  No, the better question was, would she want anyone besides Charles?

  As much as she tried hating him, she just couldn’t. He’d claimed he hadn’t done any magic on her, but how could that be when she couldn’t so much as look at another man without thinking he didn’t measure up to Charles?

  “I—” She swallowed again and reached for the gown. “I’m fine.”

  That eyebrow of his fell back to its usual place, but the flat line of his lips hinted that he didn’t believe her.

  Carefully, she hoisted herself up onto the exam table and crossed her legs at the ankles. Pulling on the gown, she stared ahead at the canisters of cotton swabs and tongue depressors. “They’re probably going to ask about your medical history,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Got lies prepared? What if they ask how old you are and for your Social Security number or something?”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Yes.” No. He couldn’t leave. That’s all he ever did.

  “Tough,” he said. “Sweetheart, I’m an incubus. When people ask me questions I don’t want to answer, I can easily make them forget they asked.”

  “Men, too?”

  “Men are easier than women.”

  She tapped her heels against the table’s side, staring at him. His expression was utterly blank.

  “You’re going to have to learn to trust me, Marion. I’ll take care of you.”

  She wished she could. She wanted to. “I’m sure the spider said the same thing to the fly while inviting it to relax in its web.”

  “I’m not trying to trap you.”

  “But I am trapped, Charles. This is the first time I’ve been out since November and even if I got an inkling to run, I couldn’t get far.”

  “It’s for the best. For your safety and the—”

  She put up her hands. “Right, right. For the baby’s.” Where the hell was the doctor? The conversation was wearying, and she yearned for the safe haven that was her truck. She’d get in, lock the doors, and just drive until things made sense.

  “I’m trying to fix things for you.”

  “Don’t you mean for us? You just showed your hand, I guess. You’re planning to cut and run as soon as convenient. Unbelievable. You can go sow your oats, and I’ll be stuck in a tiny house with a squalling baby who’ll probably look just like you and your supernatural kin.”

  The door creaked open, but she wasn’t done speaking her mind.

  “You’re not welcome at my appointments anymore. I don’t need that stress.”

  Dr. Ames stepped in and looked from Charles, who gave the doctor a frosty warning stare, to Marion.

  Dr. Ames cleared his throat and patted the nearby wall blindly for a pair of nitrile gloves. “First-time parents, huh? Mrs. Wilder? Don’t fret about it. The hormones will let up a bit in the second trimester.”

  Charles popped his knuckles and a shudder rolled through Marion. “Her name’s not Wilder.”

  “Wilder’s been my name for twenty-five years.”

  “Change it.”

  “What to?”

  “I can think of some things.”

  “Should I come back in a moment?” Dr. Ames asked, pushing his gray bottle-brush eyebrows up higher.

  “No, no. You should get used to it,” Marion said in a sunny voice. “This is our normal. I’m just preparing myself for him leaving me. He’s always running off and leaving me. What’s one more time? One day, I’m sure it’ll be for good. It’s probably in his genetic coding.”

  Maybe it was all in her head, but she could almost feel the moment when something in Charles broke. His expression was neutral, but his warning from weeks ago slammed into her again. He’d said not to mess with psychics. The sour churning in her belly suggested he wasn’t laying psychic guilt on her, though. Her gut said, Words hurt.

  She sighed and waved Dr. Ames in.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know who she was apologizing to, but expelled the words for whoever needed them most.

  Perhaps herself.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Charles grabbed his werewolf brother-in-law by the collar, and with John’s help, pulled Calvin more upright. He wasn’t drunk, but something in his lycanthrope biology screwed his spatial awareness to kingdom come following a teleport.

>   “Hey, y’all? Fuck that shit. Ain’t doing that again,” he drawled drowsily. “Next time we need to go extract some of your pseudo-demon kinfolk from sketchy situations, we’ll drive like normal people.” He cringed. “Normal enough people, anyway. Spring training’s about to start, and y’all are going to scramble my brains harder than my momma does her eggs.”

  Julia freed her arm from crook of Claude’s and placed a hand on either side of her husband’s face, smiling at him. “You’re so sweet to tolerate my screwball family.”

  Calvin shrugged. “You put up with mine, and they’re furry part-time.” He staggered toward the kitchen of the high-end mountain cabin with Julia on his heels. She called back to her brothers, “You need some help teleporting them back to Clarissa’s, John?”

  “Nope,” John said. “I can take them both, but it’ll probably be the last thing I do today.” He crooked his elbows and looked at both Claude and Charles. “I think Clarissa’s making lasagna tonight, and I’d like to eat it. I haven’t been at home enough in the past few days, and I miss my woman. Hopefully, Marion won’t take offense to my insistence on sleeping in my own bed for a night.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that before we head that way.”

  Claude started moving toward the door, patting his back pocket for the cigarettes that usually lived there, but Charles pulled him back.

  “You, too. You both need to know this. Let’s do it on the move, though. I need to get some shit out of my apartment.”

  Claude tapped the toe of one of his Converse sneakers against the gleaming hardwoods to provide a soundtrack to his impatience. Smoking was really the only vice the guy had, and he tried to avoid it because Clarissa wouldn’t let him into the house if she smelled it on him. “What is it you want us to know? And you’re really inviting us into your lair?” He scoffed. “In the hundred years I’ve known you, I’ve never once seen where you live.”

  That was because Charles hadn’t been doing much living.

  “We’ll talk about it. John?” Charles held out his elbow to his brother, who clasped it. He turned his gaze to Claude again. “Please.”