Darius grabbed her arm, stopping her. “I hope so,” he bit out. “That was the idea.”
Her gaze snapped to his livid face. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. You. In jail. For murder—not good.” She looked back at Carson in concern.
“He’s fine,” Darius growled.
She twisted her arm free. “Did you have to throw him like that?”
“Hey!” The sound of Carson’s voice caught her attention. He rose unsteadily to his feet, limping a pace away, clutching his side. “Back off, man. She said you two weren’t together—”
“We’re not!” Tresa snapped, turning her glare on Darius.
Darius cocked his head, his pewter eyes glinting sharply in the gloom. “I thought his advances were unwelcome. Should I have left you to enjoy yourself with him?”
She inhaled and flexed her hands at her sides. “It was under control. I was handling it. I don’t need you swooping in to rescue me.”
He snorted.
She stiffened, still glaring.
“You two crazy fucks deserve each other!” Carson slapped a hand in the air at them and staggered back inside the house.
Squaring her shoulders, she moved past Darius to follow Carson inside, determined to suffer the hot press of bodies again, the girls with their overpowering perfumes and hair products. She’d come here to get information. She’d gotten a little from Carson, enough to know she needed to build a list of all the girls Jason Morris had slept with.
“Where are you going?” Darius growled, falling into step beside her.
“Back inside. We came here to do a job.”
“Oh? And do you have to kiss any other college boys to get it done?”
She cut him a scathing glance. He was one to talk. “Why don’t you go find Erin? I’m sure she’s looking for you.”
His expression darkened.
She took the steps up to the door, feeling Darius behind her. He radiated displeasure. Somehow she didn’t think he would stray far from her this time, and she was relieved.
She squeezed through the bodies, pasting a smile on her face. Like it or not, she was going to have to be friendly if she wanted people to talk to her.
Suddenly Erin was there again, bouncing in front of her. “Hey! Have you seen—” Her gaze drifted beyond her shoulder. “Oh! Darius! There you are!”
She shoved past Tresa and planted herself in front of him. His hand slipped from around Tresa’s. Annoyed, Tresa plunged ahead, squeezing through bodies and sloshing cups. He could play with Erin all he liked. She had work to do.
Still, she stole a glance behind her. Erin was plastered to Darius, talking into his ear. He stared down at her, a vaguely perplexed expression on his face, as if he didn’t know quite how to disengage from this female.
“Hey there!” A guy reeking of marijuana and beer tossed an arm over her shoulder. She staggered beneath the weight. “You looking good, baby.”
“Um, hey,” she greeted him, suspecting that in his current condition, he wasn’t going to be the most useful source of information.
“Can I get you a beer?” he slurred.
She opened her mouth to accept his offer, hoping that he’d leave her to fetch that drink, and then she stopped, a hot wash of fear twisting inside her. A terror that she hadn’t felt in over a year, but knew so well.
She scanned the crowd, her veins burning cold, and a gasp escaped her when she saw the writhing black shape amid the bodies, winding toward her like a serpent.
Balthazar.
He’d found her.
FIFTEEN
She had no doubt he’d known the moment she arrived in town. Now, for whatever reason, he’d finally decided to reveal himself. She knew that by coming here she was taking a chance, but she’d hoped he’d leave her alone.
Panicked, she began pushing through the crowd, clawing with her hands, using her elbows, heedless of whom she might hurt. She didn’t look back, the old memories of all those times he’d possessed her too terrifying.
She knew it was inevitable. She couldn’t outrun him. He’d found her. He would claim her. Still, she couldn’t docilely accept it.
She choked on a sob, regretting coming. Regretting what was about to happen to her. Hopefully she could be free of this house and all these people before he possessed her. God knew what evil he’d force her to do here, with all these innocents.
Desperate little cries spilled from her lips. She tripped out the back door, landing flat on her face. Hands bleeding from the impact, she picked herself up and raced into the trees as fast as she could. Her feet pounded over the brittle, dry grass. Wind lashed at her cheeks, chilling the wetness on her skin as salty tears rolled down her face.
Leaves rustled around her, and she knew it was him. Closing in. She felt the heat of him at her back, nipping her heels. He was on her. No sense in running another step.
Sucking in a deep breath, she spun and faced him, bracing herself to fight him like every time before. And like every time before, she hoped this time would be different. That she could somehow hold him off. She prayed for a miracle.
She glimpsed his dark shape before she was swept up in the spinning storm of him, her feet coming off the ground. She dangled, airborne. Dark air circled her like a cyclone, roaring in her ears. And then she was lost. Thrust into a dark corner inside herself.
She was his.
* * *
DARIUS UNWRAPPED ERIN’S ARMS from his neck, ignoring her protests, his gaze fastened on Tresa as she fled the house, her movements as panicked and desperate as a hare pursued by hounds. Something was wrong.
Terror gleamed in her eyes and his skin tightened, snapping with awareness. He’d never seen her like this. Even when he’d shown up at her house and manhandled her, she hadn’t shown such fear.
He looked behind her, trying to identify the source of her panic. Nothing. No one pursued her. People cried out complaints as she barreled past them, shoving rudely in her escape.
She dove out the back door and he cut through the crowd after her. When he stepped outside, she was a small figure racing through the woods behind the house, well past the point where he had discovered her with Carson earlier.
He called her name, but she didn’t stop. It was like she couldn’t even hear him.
Sudden realization struck him. What was the one thing that could strike terror in her heart?
With a curse, he quickened his pace, moving at blurring speed, catching up to her easily. Only, she had stopped. Stood, with an eerie stillness, amid the trees.
He paused. Even without seeing her face he could tell there was something different. Something off. She didn’t hold herself with her usual guardedness. There was a relaxed air about her. He’d never seen her like this, all loose limbed… her guard dropped so completely.
“Tre?” The name slipped out, felt natural. Especially in this moment when he was concerned about her. He walked around her, scanning her from head to toe.
She didn’t appear injured. She was hardly even out of breath from her sprint through the woods. She was as still as a statue but her gaze fastened on him with the avidness of a hawk. She looked different… and yet the same. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different, but everything about her was wrong.
“Tre?” he whispered.
“She’s not here.” The voice belonged to Tresa but it wasn’t her. Not at all.
It was the final confirmation of the sick premonition churning inside him. This wasn’t her. It was Balthazar.
Then he saw her eyes. The lovely whiskey brown was gone, replaced with a tar black that gleamed like spilled oil.
Her nostrils flared like those of a beast scenting the air. “What have we here? A lycan? How… singular.”
“Balthazar?” he demanded.
“Ah. You know my name. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, then, because I don’t know yours. Come now. Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself.”
“Darius.”
“Darius.” The demon-possessed Tresa b
egan to circle him slowly, assessing him. “A lycan not like any other lycan I’ve ever seen. You don’t stink of death.” She lifted her face up and sniffed the air. “You don’t feed. How unique.” She stopped and propped a hand on her hip. “How is it that you’ve come to be in the company of my sweet Tresa? She is sweet, isn’t she… my little minx? Even if she isn’t cooperative.” She smiled, her lips stretching widely. “I am fond of the girl even if she has been a thorn in my side for so many years. What can I say?” She shrugged. “We love our children no matter what.”
He felt a growl rumble up from his throat and resisted the urge to bite out that Tresa didn’t belong to this demon. Especially since she in fact did. The proof of that was before him now in those tar black eyes and cruelly smiling lips.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
Tresa’s arms spread wide. “Here, of course. Look no further.” Her face, with its curling lips and devious expression, made her look like an entirely different female. She looked evil. This was what he’d expected when he went looking for her.
“Did you wish to say something to her? Go ahead… she can hear you. Well, probably. She’s being very difficult right now, trying to reject me. She’s such a naughty one. Always going against me.” Despite her jovial tone, a hardness glittered in those eyes. Balthazar wasn’t pleased with her.
“Let her go. You have another more willing medium these days.”
“That I do, that I do. A most accommodating host. She doesn’t fight me. I don’t even have to guide her. Leaving her to her own devices has been—” Tresa suddenly looked like she was savoring the finest chocolate. “Gratifying. She’s most creative. I’ve enjoyed giving her free rein. I can’t wait to see what she does next.” Tresa motioned at herself in disgust. “Unlike Tresa. She’s useless to me.”
Darius gestured back toward the house. “Is she here? Your new witch? Who is she?”
Tresa’s mouth curled wickedly and she crossed her arms over her chest in gratification. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Suddenly Tresa cringed and bent over, clutching her middle.
Darius moved in her direction, his instinct to help. Until he recalled that this wasn’t Tresa. Not anymore. He stopped and forced his hands to his sides.
She flipped her head back up, tossing her dark hair and glaring at him. Soulless eyes gleamed out like death at him. “She’s especially fierce tonight. Might that have something to do with you, dog?”
“Let her go,” he commanded. “Come out and fight me yourself.”
A laugh rippled from her lips, alien and sinister. “You think you can defeat me? You can’t even see me. I’m only a shadow to your eyes.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Hmm. You could just kill her.” She made a slicing motion to her throat. “Cut off Tresa’s head and I’ll be free… and I’ll form right before your eyes. We could have it out in true style. You could kill me then.”
Darius’s hands grew damp, his stomach knotting at the thought. He couldn’t do such a thing. Even if it was the only way he could see Balthazar.
Even if Darius could see him, he’d be hard to kill. Every demon possessed an Achilles’ heel, his mark of the fall. This mark could be anywhere on the demon’s body. He’d have to find it first and then strike there, only there. Not an easy task when the demon was a mere shadow.
Tresa’s demon continued talking. Even in Tresa’s voice, it didn’t sound like her. It sounded evil. Strange that he had thought her that very thing. But she wasn’t evil. This thing in front of him was.
“You don’t actually care about her, do you? This witch that started your curse?” Black eyes looked him over, considering him, seeing him. “Clearly you don’t wish to be what you are. I can see that. How can you care about her life?” With a tsking sound, Balthazar nodded. “She deserves to be punished… her life ended. You know it’s true.”
Rage swelled up inside Darius. A week ago he would have agreed without hesitation. Rather than explain his change of heart to this demon, he taunted him with a beckoning wave of his hand. “Shadow or no, let’s have a go-round.”
Tresa suddenly released a hissing breath, bending at the waist as though in pain. The black of her eyes shuddered, the whites appearing for a second before vanishing, plunging to black again.
“Tre?” he called, knowing instantly she was in there, fighting to return.
“Bitch,” Balthazar growled in a contorted, garbled voice, “can you never just stay put and do what you’re commanded to do?”
With an unnatural howl, a great gust of wind surged free from her body, the air murky with the demon’s vague shape.
The inky shadow whirled around Darius, taunting him. Leaves and dirt blew, nearly blinding him. He lurched forward and caught Tresa up in his arms just as she collapsed. Her arms loosely circled his shoulders.
“Sorry,” she said hoarsely in his ear. “So… sorry…”
He squinted at the cloudy shape circling them both, trying to discern the demon within.
A voice came from the clouded figure, scratching the air like sandpaper on his flesh. “You can’t destroy me, lycan!”
And then he was gone, a dark plume winding back toward the house.
“She’s in there.” Tresa struggled to stand on her own, pointing toward the distant house. “He’s returning to her.” Her words rushed with urgency. “We have to go find her. Now! It’s our chance.”
She took a stumbling step toward the house. She didn’t make it a second step before her knees buckled. He gathered her close. Her heart beat like a drum against her chest. He could feel every thud. He pushed back the dark hair from her face. “How are we going to do that when you can’t even walk?”
“Sorry,” she panted, her gaze fixed on the house. “I’m always weak… after… It was harder to fight him here. Without the cold, he’s stronger.” Her eyes drifted shut and she went limp in his arms.
For a moment an irrational fear seized his heart. He jostled her in his arms. “Tre!” Relief filled him when she moaned. She was okay. Just drained. He lifted her, holding her close like she was something fragile. Which was ironic, considering that she was the least fragile creature he’d ever met. The woman hadn’t survived for generations by being weak.
Holding her in his arms, he circled back to the front of the house, finding his car parked alongside the road with dozens of other vehicles. He secured her carefully in the passenger seat, buckling her in. Her head drooped to the side and silky dark hair fell into her face. He smoothed the hair back, tucking a lock behind her ear. She looked so young and innocent. Not at all like a woman who had lived over two thousand years.
With a sigh, he closed the door. For a moment he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the house. Light and noise spilled out on to the street. Balthazar was in there. And his witch. She was probably closing in on her next victim, Balthazar egging her on.
Shaking his head, he climbed behind the wheel. He couldn’t possibly leave Tresa in the car and resume hunting the witch. Not in this condition.
Reaching across the seat he brushed the backs of his fingers against the gentle curve of her cheek. It seemed he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. He needed to feel her, needed to assure himself that she was all right. Strong and well. Somehow that had become his priority.
She needed him right now. And he wouldn’t let her down.
SIXTEEN
Tresa woke to a dark room.
She sat up with a gasp, fighting and kicking against the covers, her mind and body reliving the sensation of being trapped inside herself. Balthazar controlling her, taking over until she was locked up in that dark corner of her mind again and unable to do anything. Unable to stop him. It was horrible, second only to the terror she’d felt when she was drowning, water filling her, burning up her lungs… consuming her.
Tears clogged her throat, running hotly down her cheeks as she thrashed, struggling to break free.
“Tre! Tre!” Hands grasped her arms
and she struck out blindly, her knuckles making contact with hard, unyielding muscle.
“Tre. It’s me, Darius. You’re safe.”
She stilled, the words sinking in. Darius.
She went weak, her body trembling. She pushed back the hair from her face, hating how her fingers shook.
She was safe. With a lycan. That irony tightened her throat. But as his hands closed around her arms, it felt right. Too right.
Her encounter with Balthazar had shaken her to her core. These past months had been so peaceful without him. She’d forgotten just how terrible it was when he possessed her and she lost control of herself. Tonight had brought that all back to her.
And Darius had been there to witness her shame. Perhaps that stung the most.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have been stronger—”
“To fight off a possession? It’s harder in warm temperatures, right?” He was a shadowy outline on the bed, but she perceived his shaking head. “You did all you could. And you did reclaim yourself eventually.”
She looked down, nodding mutely, uncomfortable with the idea of him making excuses for her. Compassion… understanding. She didn’t deserve it from him.
He smoothed the hair that veiled her face. The tenderness of the gesture shook her.
“Tell me,” he softly commanded. “I want to understand.”
She lifted her gaze. Even in the gloom, his pewter eyes shimmered.
“What?” she whispered, even though she already sensed it. He wanted to know everything. He was ready to hear about her past. To find out why everything had happened. Why she’d surrendered to Balthazar. To know her. He wanted to understand. Even though he shouldn’t, even though she shouldn’t accept this from him…
Silence floated between them. There was a rustle of movement and then a click as he turned on the bedside lamp. She blinked at the dull glow flooding the room. The muted light softened his features. He looked less harsh, the hard angles less severe. No resemblance to the hard-faced lycan who’d first shown up in her house.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gliding down her arms to her hands. His broad palms lightly covered her fingers. The heat of his skin radiated over her, warming her from the inside out.
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 12