The Demon Within (A PeaceKeeper Novel)

by Stacey Brutger

  Melech rubbed his forehead as he paced. “Same here.” The big angel looked more drawn than when he first appeared. “I’ve not been called home.”

  Ruman crossed his arms. “And I wouldn’t have been.” What he didn’t say was that even if he could leave, he’d refuse. He belonged by Caly’s side.

  Melech massaged the bridge of his nose. “Could the women block us? Unintentionally or not?”

  “Because of the demon, you mean?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe so. I’m part demon, and I can still communicate with those who are willing to demean themselves to talk to one such as me.”

  “Good point.” Melech threw up his hands, clearly disgusted. “Then I am not sure where that leaves us.”

  “Have you…” Ruman cleared his throat, uncomfortable on how to broach the subject. “Have you had any adverse side effects from being around your charge?”

  After the first initial blank stare, understanding darkened the big man’s eyes. “I’ve not touched her.”

  Ruman straightened to his full height, bracing himself for an attack. Accusing an angel of impropriety was a serious charge with deadly consequences. “I never said you had.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Melech, and his shoulders slumped. “I assumed I was the only one affected.”

  “Could we have been sent to protect them?”

  “I doubt we were sent to kill them. Anytime I am gone too long, someone tries to kill Parthina.”

  Ruman’s brows lowered ominously. A sick feeling moved through him. “Caly, also.”

  “Because of the summoning, I’m more visible to humans than I’d like. I thought I was to stay only as long as Parthina took to compete the task assigned her. Now, I’m not so sure.” He looked out the window then turned back, nodding solemnly. “Watch your back. Something’s happening, and I believe our women are the key.”

  “Stay safe, brother.”

  With a half-smile, Melech dissipated into nothingness. Conscious of the passage of time, Ruman took a deep breath and knocked on Caly’s door, uncertain of what type of reception he’d receive. She seemed so cold when she entered her room, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

  Not having her within sight, not being able to touch her, left him anxious to be near her again. As each second passed without receiving an answer, worry turned into fear. He expanded his senses.

  And found the room empty.

  “Saints and sinners.” Anger overrode all other emotions as he kicked open the connecting door. Heavy wood splintered. The latch ripped the striker off the doorjamb, and the oak door thudded open. Without stepping inside, he knew everything of hers was gone. The room felt empty without her.

  He concentrated on her essence, determined to give her a piece of his mind for scaring him, and found nothing. Anger quickly faded as worry set in. If he didn’t catch her soon, he’d lose her. He released a breath then tried again. An image came to him immediately.

  “Son of a—” A growl escaped, and he gathered the energy around him. He didn’t actually feel his flesh dissolve, it was more like falling into space, a disjointed feeling of being here one moment and…gone the next.

  The dark, gray world of the Between was the same place as Earth, but on a different plane. Buildings, the grass, even the sun were shades of gray, created as a place between the living and the dead, and inhabited by the creatures banished from the world such as ghosts and demons to name a few.

  The only thing of color easily seen between the barriers of the two worlds was the bright outline of his charge, as if she had a foot in both worlds. She lit up like a beacon for anyone hungry for power. This was why they had targeted her, why they sent her to the temple. Thankfully, not many could pass from one realm into the next.

  Fear shot through him. He knew she was different. Now he believed she was much more than that. No way could she be allowed to meet Azazel.

  He should’ve known the stubborn chit would’ve tried something. What initially drew him to her was her independence. She didn’t rely on him to grant her every wish like his other charges. Now that quality annoyed the crap out of him. He wanted her to lean on him or at the very least, not run.

  He reappeared just inside the library doors. The hours posted showed that they would close in a few minutes. Midnight was less than an hour away. Not a good time for Caly to be out alone.

  No one else appeared to be on the third floor but Caly. He spotted her seated with her back toward him, her head bent as she labored over a book. It didn’t take a genius to know that she thought to find Dudael without him.

  His fingers curled tight at the thought of her trying to confront Azazel by herself. On his home turf, the unpredictable bastard could get away with anything. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his skin went clammy at the thought.

  On silent feet, he crossed the distance between them, fists clenched against the urge to shake some sense into her. Seconds away from grasping her, she launched out of her seat and rolled across the table, leaping to her feet on the other side.

  They stared, each in a similar pose hunched slightly over the table, waiting for the other to move first. Then he saw around her wrist the leather strip he used to tie back his hair. Momentary satisfaction filled him.

  Until he looked up. The cold frost in her eyes spiked his anger, and he let it take over.

  A flick of his wrist sent the table scraping across the floor. In less time than she could blink, he had her by the shoulders, her back against the wall, his muscles shaking as he tried to rein himself in.

  “You left me.”

  The bafflement in his voice clutched at Caly’s heart, but she remained mute, too shocked that he’d come for her.

  “Have you any idea the danger you put yourself in by leaving me?”

  He shook her hard before she could answer, shaking loose her own anger. How dare he come after her, drag this out and make it all the more painful. A snarl curled her lips. “I’m not a dog to keep on a leash.”

  “No, a dog would know his master and obey.” The dead look in her eyes when he first arrived wavered as her anger ignited.

  “What did you think you were going to do when you found Dudael? Storm the gates and demand entrance?” His heart pounded at the thought. Azazel would’ve allowed her entrance, but he doubted she would’ve ever been able to leave.

  “That’s none of your concern.” She lifted her chin, and he resisted the urge to growl at her obstinacy.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Tut, tut. I thought angels weren’t supposed to swear.” A taunting smile crossed her face. Part of him relaxed as the cold woman melted into the hot-tempered Caly he knew, sealing the tiny fissures that had appeared in his soul when he thought he’d lost her.

  Ruman leaned closer until their eyes were level, her body pressed up against his. He let the part of himself he kept hidden emerge in his smile. “Then it’s unfortunate that I’m currently a demon.”

  When her mouth opened to refute him, he claimed her lips with his own, unable to resist tasting her again. Lust exploded through him.

  She hit him once, then her body softened and she kissed him back with a wickedness that short circuited his brain. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and for the first time, he understood what Heaven truly felt like.

  Her hand fisted into his hair, the grip just short of painful. He resisted her tug, didn’t want to stop. When she turned her head away, he followed blindly. Now that he had her at his mercy, he intended to take his fill.

  But as determined as he was to have her, Ruman felt her withdrawal, putting distance between them, and he almost growled.

  When she shoved at his shoulder, his hands automatically dropped to her ass to support her, his fingers digging into her flesh to keep her locked into place. With her face flushed with arousal, Ruman’s whole body demanded more. Determined to get another taste, he bent his head.

  “Shhh, listen.”

  Her hand covered his mouth, and he teased the soft underside of her fingers
with his teeth, only half-listening. She shook in ways that did dangerous things to his body.

  It was then that he heard them. Wrath like something he had never known gathered in him at those who dared to interrupt them.

  Carefully, silently, he released Caly from his hold, sucking in a sharp breath as her luscious form slid down his front. When she stepped away, he immediately missed the warmth of her curves.

  Before he could stop her, Caly slipped into the stacks and disappeared. Ruman tried to follow but Caly had seemingly vanished. He sensed her stalking the demons. Terror stopped his heart, and he couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  Determination increased his stride, and he focused his senses on locating her. He shifted forms, fell through space and reappeared behind her in time to watch her attack. She moved in a quick, graceful way he couldn’t help but admire.

  With a quick jab, she sliced the demon’s arm down to bone. Her boot shot out and knocked the legs out from the creature. Even before it landed on its back, she plunged the blade deep within its chest.

  Ruman crossed his arms and smiled.

  “Behind you.” Her warning came too late.

  As he twisted and crouched, pain seared his arm.

  “Stay down.” Caly issued the order in a calm, no nonsense voice that warned him not to disobey. The warrior in charge.

  The demon attempted to run. Metal whistled in the air inches above his head. The heavy blade thudded hard into the wood as the demon twisted to disappear into the stacks. Caly made to give chase but hesitated at his side. “Are you okay?”

  Ruman lunged forward, jerked the knife out of the wood then tossed it at a third demon climbing over the stacks above her. Caly turned in time to see the demon disintegrate and received a mouth full of dust.

  “Yes.” He had no doubt that without him there to distract her, she would’ve killed all three without breaking into a sweat. He straightened and winced, his eyes going over her body for signs of injury. It was his job to protect her, and he let himself be distracted until it was almost too late. He’d been so preoccupied watching her that he could’ve been killed, leaving her vulnerable while he recuperated.

  He couldn’t afford to leave her unguarded. Not when danger increased every day and she had no sense of self-preservation.

  There would be no more chances for him.

  She was it.

  He watched her collect the rest of her weapons, efficiently hiding them back on her person. Pain streaked up his arm when he moved to follow, the cut deep enough to slow healing.

  “We need to go. Midnight’s too dangerous for us to stay in the city.” Without waiting for a response, Ruman turned away. Only after he heard her light steps behind him did he breathe again. He’d made such a hack of everything, he wasn’t sure she’d follow.

  “Wait.”

  Ruman kept moving, very conscious that they were vulnerable while out in the open.

  “I said stop.”

  He took five steps before he realized she’d stopped moving. Dread tightened his gut, and he slowly turned. Arms crossed, her foot tapping, Ruman knew he wouldn’t be able to budge her.

  “What?” Careful to keep his gaze on her face, Ruman advanced. It was time she listened to him, even if he had to drag her out of the building.

  “You’re wounded.” He didn’t understand the pinched expression on her face.

  “I’m fine.” He glanced down at the two gouge marks that arrowed through his flesh. The ends were blackened, burned from the demon claws. By tomorrow, he’d be good as new. “We have to go.” Ruman captured her wrists, turned and pulled her behind him.

  “We either look at the wound now or spend the rest of the night arguing.” She dug in her heels, using her weight to slow him. “The only way you’ll get me to go anywhere with you is to let me take a look.”

  He shifted to pick her up, but the look on her face pulled him up short.

  “I’ll scream bloody murder. Think of all the attention.”

  A deep sigh rumbled through him. “We don’t have the time. The demon that escaped could come back with reinforcements.”

  Caly raised an eyebrow and looked to the chair behind her. “Then you’d best get your butt over here so we can get this done.”

  Ruman ambled closer, baffled at her insistence to look over some scratch when the demons could return at any time.

  “Sit.” She pointed to the chair and crouched to unpack a small black bag from her suitcase.

  Exasperated, he did as told. Anything to get her to hurry. “Just tape it up—” His breath hissed out when she pressed an antiseptic pad to his wound. “It’s just a scratch. Why does it feel like you’re ripping off the whole arm?”

  “Stop being a baby and let me get this bandaged.”

  Ruman turned his head then froze when he found her face inches away, her brows furrowed in concentration. Predictably, his body reacted, eager to inspect every inch of her for injury and familiarize himself with her body.

  The pain didn’t distract him. If anything, he wanted to strip her naked and take advantage of her good nature. Until he noticed a fine tremor in her fingers when she tied off the bandage.

  She cared.

  The novelty of the idea destroyed his focus. He opened his mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. Knowing her, if he mentioned it at all, she would deny it. Or worse, try to prove him wrong. The last thing he wanted was for her to retreat.

  “Done.” She snatched her hands away as if she’d touched a live coal. Turning her back to him, she silently and efficiently repacked the bag.

  Ruman didn’t say a word, using the time to monitor the area. So far, they were safe.

  No sign of retaliation.

  No otherworldly activity in the area.

  When she stood, he reached past her, brushing against her arm and lifting the case off the floor.

  That she cared was enough to forgive her for trying to run.

  But if she ever tried something like that again, he’d tie her up just so she’d remain where he put her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stars illuminated the sky for miles as they barreled through the night on an invisible road. No markers, no traffic, no towns. Nothing in any direction. Caly didn’t have a clue where they were except to say in the middle of an endless sea of sand.

  A tinge of pale pink threatened the horizon. They’d have to pitch camp soon, traveling by night for Ruman’s benefit. Deep in the desert, each mile brought them a step closer to Dudael. To finally having answers. After little sleep over the past few nights, only nerves kept her awake.

  She wanted to be conscious when they arrived. If she fell asleep, Ruman, the sneaky bastard, would leave her somewhere safe, all tucked away in the middle of the desert while he searched for answers.

  But no matter how she fought it, exhaustion drained her last reserves. Her body grew heavy. Her eyes itched, their sockets dry, and the temptation to give them a rest for just a second weighed them down.

  Her head bobbed and she jerked upright, shifting in her seat. It didn’t help. Warmth surrounded her and sleep beckoned. The constant sound of sand hitting the car in an uneven rhythm lulled her.

  The cheap Volkswagen Rabbit’s interior was almost completely made of plastic. The rusted red exterior had dulled to a matte finish from years in the sun. When Ruman told the car rental place they were going out for a ride in the desert, they gave them the cheapest model available. Which wasn’t much.

  Like any man, Ruman insisted on driving although he had never driven before. The first few miles were ones she never want to repeat. He said it was because he knew the way, but after hours of seemingly aimless wandering, they were in the middle of…she looked out the window. Yep, same place.

  Nowhere.

  Hands clasped in her lap, she studied her fingers. Unlike Ruman’s unmarked hands, calluses ran along her fingers, nicks and wounds from practice with tossing knives littered her skin. Three cuts had required stit
ches, which Oscar handled himself, giving them a Frankensteinish appearance.

  She traced a long, puckered scar along her index finger with her thumb. Her chin touched her chest, rested there for a moment. Her eyes fluttered. When her head came to rest against the window, she closed her eyes for a second to ease the dryness.

  An image formed, sharpened into a room of sorts. She spun, quickly scanning every corner. The place was sealed tight, no doorways or windows. No avenues for escape. The stone walls were decorated like a museum with weapons from broadswords to rapiers, American Indian war lances to Mongolian spearheads, even Greek javelins and so much more. Shields with embossed crests dotted the walls.

  Polished steel sparkled, varnished wood gleamed. Then her gaze landed on the pedestals and the daggers displayed there. One specific dagger drew her irresistibly forward, and she took a few steps closer, unable to help herself.

  She had to see it.

  Her boots scuffled along the floor, the sound loud in the silence. She scarcely restrained herself from reaching for it. Something told her she’d get slapped down hard for daring to touch anything here.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” A low, melodious voice filled the room.

  Caly whirled and came face to face with the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. The way he moved toward her, the way his eyes slowly raked her body, let her know he was more than dangerous. Lethal.

  The elusive Azazel.

  Something about him shouted ‘don’t touch’. When he continued to advance, she took a hasty step back. He stopped and raised his hands in surrender, but used the time to study her with a slow perusal that left no inch uncovered. Satisfied with his conclusions, he nodded to the pedestals. “You prefer the daggers over the others.”

  It was a statement, but she was compelled to answer anyway. “Yes.”

  He reached out to her but slowed when she flinched. He traced the sheath around her waist instead of touching her. “Are you worthy to wield such a weapon?” He dropped his hand then nodded, indicated behind her. “Some of the greatest warriors throughout the centuries have wielded these blades.”