Demon's Song

by Sonya Bateman

  He managed to rise with her help, and together they shuffled through the door. Logan’s heart pounded like a jackhammer, and not just from the effort.

  She had a feeling she was going to regret this.

  * * * * *

  Jaeryth was not as helpless as he’d feigned to be—or so he thought, until he tried to walk and the legs of this weak mortal body buckled beneath its own weight. It was humiliating, having to rely on someone else merely to move twenty feet. How could humans tolerate such frailty?

  At least Logan had taken him in. While he’d lain on her porch for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, he had realized he needed a story of some sort. He did not know enough to fabricate anything detailed, so he’d decided on some nebulous group who intended him harm.

  It was not that far from the truth, since there were a number of demons trying to consign him to Hell.

  She settled him on a couch, plucked up the blanket that draped the back of it and covered him, and then stood back frowning. “How bad is it?”

  “It?” he echoed.

  “You’re hurt. Is anything broken?”

  “Nothing.” Save for his pride. “I will be fine.”

  “Sure you will.” She offered a lopsided smile, but it faded fast. “Well, if you’re going to stay the night, I guess we should exchange names. Real ones this time. You first.”

  He hesitated. If he were to accomplish his goal of corrupting her, he would have to stay with her for as long as possible. Not that the prospect displeased him. But it meant that, eventually, he would “meet” the damned angel, who may have heard of him. Still, it would prove nothing, and to hear Logan speak his name would thrill him. “I am Jaeryth,” he finally said.

  “Hm.” She cocked her head. “It’s better than Sid. I’m Logan.”

  He had not realized he’d been holding his breath in anticipation of finally having her address him by name. He let it out now and attempted to disguise his disappointment. “Logan,” he said. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “Let’s not go there just yet.” Her brow creased, and she stared pointedly at the blanket covering him. “I don’t suppose whoever jumped you left your clothes lying around somewhere.”

  “Unfortunately, they did not.”

  “Well, you can’t just sit around here…like that.” A blush stained her cheeks, and she looked away. “There’s no way I can get to a store right now, either. I guess you can wear—”

  A loud gurgling emanated from his stomach. Sharp pain accompanied it, as though someone had plunged a blade into his gut and twisted. He looked down in alarm and lifted the blanket to check for blood. As he did, it happened again. “What is this?” he said. “It hurts!”

  Logan stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He frowned. Was this phantom pain normal for humans to feel? Hell’s flames, it was miserable being mortal. He could not wait to be restored to demonhood. “Yes. A joke,” he said—but his gut cramped fiercely, and his wince betrayed him.

  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  Ah, so that was it. Sustenance. Demons did not require it, but he could not tell Logan that he had never in his existence consumed food. “I don’t remember,” he said.

  She smirked. “Must’ve been a while, then,” she said. “Stay put. I’m going to get a few things together for you.”

  He managed a nod and let his head fall back against the couch. Once again, this feeble body was drifting toward sleep, or something like it—and try as he might, he could not force himself to stay conscious. The void soon claimed him.

  * * * * *

  Logan headed for her bedroom, feeling even less confident that taking this guy in was the right thing to do. There was something off about him—well, besides the obvious. People wandering around naked and beat up wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but at least there was the possibility of a plausible reason for that.

  She couldn’t think of any explanation for a man who apparently didn’t know what hungry felt like.

  One thing she knew for sure was that he couldn’t hang around naked. Because oh, God, that body was distracting, and she hated thinking that way when the guy was in such bad shape. It was wrong on so many levels, not the least of which was that she’d sworn off ogling men after the last one led her down the path of spiraling destruction.

  Anyway, he was putting some clothes on. And he wasn’t staying.

  She rifled through her sparsely filled drawers until she found the only things she owned that might fit him—a worn pair of gray sweatpants and an oversized night shirt with Tweety Bird on it. At least he wouldn’t look so damned attractive in this stuff.

  When she went back to the living room, the mystery man was still passed out. Jaeryth, he’d said. No last name—not that she’d expected him to give one if he was really on the run. She stood in front of the couch and stared at him, trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar. It wasn’t because of the two-minute meeting at the thrift store. Even then, she’d felt this same shiver of recognition. Like he was an old friend dropping into a hole in her life that she didn’t know had been there.

  His eyes opened slowly and fixed on her. “Logan.”

  Something in the way he said her name simultaneously thrilled and terrified her. Standing here suddenly seemed like a bad idea. She would just give him the clothes and distract herself in the kitchen finding him something to eat…and despite her intentions, she wasn’t actually moving.

  But he was. He straightened slowly, leaned forward and stood. The blanket fell away. She was absolutely not going to look down. His steady gaze held hers as he moved toward her, reached for her.

  She really needed to stop him. And she wasn’t going to.

  He took her free hand, and her breath hitched in surprise. Then he was kissing her. She didn’t expect it to feel this incredible—like his lips had been made for hers. Tingling warmth infused her from head to foot in a dizzying rush, and for a moment she thought she’d collapse from it.

  This couldn’t happen. Some small part of her realized she was kissing an injured, naked man she knew nothing about, right next to a conveniently placed couch. And it felt so amazing that in a few more seconds, she would be willing to let things get even more awkward.

  She pulled back with extreme effort and shoved the clothes at him. “Put these on. I’ll get you some food.”

  For a second she thought he’d keep going anyway, but he took the bundle with a slight frown and said, “All right.”

  She headed for the kitchen fast. Once again, her heart slammed a rapid rhythm, and it took several deep breaths to slow it down. This was absolutely insane. A huge mistake. She should’ve just called 911 outside and let the cops deal with him. It was their job to serve and protect, right?

  A double thud drew her attention. She turned and got an eyeful of Jaeryth’s very fine ass. He was bent double, and apparently trying to put the sweatpants on both legs at once.

  She watched him struggle and curse and ultimately straighten with an exasperated snarl, still pants-less. When he did, she finally noticed the angry purple-red scars on his back. Two long slashes, each starting from the outer edge of a shoulder and slanting inward, running down almost to his hips. There was also a good-sized round mark at the base of his spine that almost looked like a gunshot wound, though he would’ve been crippled if he’d been shot there. They were fairly recent injuries—a few weeks old at the most. And they were obviously warnings.

  That sealed it. She wouldn’t call the cops. Anyone capable of doing that wouldn’t hesitate to kill. This guy was a little strange—and a dangerously good kisser—but he wasn’t lying about having someone after him.

  He let out a breath, slumped in place, and started to bend over again.

  “Wait,” she said. When he glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, she pointed to the couch. “Maybe you should sit down and put them on.”

  His lips firmed. “Ah…yes. I should.” With a slight cough, he tur
ned away and lowered himself slowly onto the couch, then proceeded to dress just as slowly.

  Smothering a smile, Logan moved to the cabinets in search of something quick and edible.

  She found a can of spaghetti rings, dumped them in a bowl and warmed them in the microwave. Not exactly gourmet, but it would put something in his stomach. While that was going, she filled a glass with water and grabbed the small bottle of Motrin she’d picked up the other day for a headache. Maybe it would help take the edge off.

  When she brought everything out, Jaeryth only had the pants on. She set the bowl and cup on the end table, opened the pills and motioned at the shirt, which he’d put at the far end of the couch. “You don’t like Tweety Bird?”

  He followed her gesture. “That is a woman’s shirt.”

  “Yes.” She smirked at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman.”

  “But in the…thrift store, you were choosing men’s shirts.”

  The fact that he remembered such a small detail about their first meeting touched her. Even though she wasn’t the slightest bit interested, because that would be crazy. “Yes, I was,” she said. “But I wear a men’s small. No way they’d fit you. That’s the only thing I have that might be big enough.”

  He shook his head. “I will pass.”

  “Suit yourself. You’ll probably have to wear it in the morning, though.” She shook two Motrin out, then reconsidered and added another. “Here. Get these down you. They might help.”

  “With what?”

  “The pain.”

  “Ah. That.” He held a hand out and stared dubiously at the small brown pills she deposited into it. When she moved over to the table for the water, something crunched, and Jaeryth made an awful gagging sound. “These are terrible!”

  “Oh my God.” She turned to stare at him, water in hand. “Did you just…chew those?”

  His brow furrowed. “Yes. Was that not right?”

  “You’re supposed to—” She thrust the glass at him and sighed. “Drink. If you know how to do that.”

  He took it as though she’d offered him poison.

  “It’s just water. It’ll wash the bitterness out.”

  “I see.”

  At least he didn’t have too many problems working a cup. But that didn’t explain all the other weirdness. Even if he was from a foreign country or something where they didn’t have pills, which was insane by itself, shouldn’t he at least know how to put on a pair of pants?

  Well, he’d be gone in the morning. She just wouldn’t think about it until then.

  He finished the water. She gave him the food, and he ate without another word—practically wolfed it down after the first few bites. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he licked the bowl clean. But he put it back on the table, shuddered all over, and leaned back with his eyes closed. “Tired,” he said hoarsely. “Need to rest.”

  “I’ll bet.” She couldn’t help a faint smile. “You can lay down, you know. It might be more comfortable.”

  He murmured something indistinct and slumped to one side, then drew his legs up. And promptly fell asleep.

  Logan gathered the dishes and brought them to the kitchen, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. This guy was something else. She definitely felt sorry for him, but sympathy wasn’t enough to justify the familiarity, or the unwanted attraction—and it sure as hell didn’t explain his strange behavior.

  She came back, retrieved the blanket from the floor and covered him with it. He let out a soft sigh, but didn’t wake.

  Though she was exhausted herself, her mind raced and churned. She probably wouldn’t sleep for a while yet. Instead of going straight to bed, she settled in the easy chair angled next to the couch. She’d just sit here and keep an eye on him for a few minutes.

  Sleep claimed her almost as soon as she stopped moving.

  Chapter 12

  Logan woke to soft light and not-so-soft pain. It didn’t take long to remember that she’d fallen asleep in the chair—the aching stiffness in her neck and the dead block of the foot she’d tucked under her leg attested to that. Moving was going to be a bitch.

  She managed to straighten her head, groaning as tendons creaked and popped. Her sleep-blurred gaze wandered to the couch, and her breath caught when she noticed what wasn’t there. Jaeryth. The possibilities that occurred to her weren’t all pleasant. One of them was him standing behind her with a kitchen knife.

  Then she caught sight of the blanket on the floor, and Jaeryth tangled in it like seaweed in a fishing net. Apparently it hadn’t been a comfortable night for either of them.

  She straightened with caution and lowered her leg slowly. Wiggling her toes sent bright, hungry sparkles of pain through her foot. Teeth clenched, she kept moving it until the aching surges settled into the normal pinpricks of waking flesh—and made a mental note to never sleep in a chair again. Christ, that hurt.

  When she felt nominally human again, she leaned forward and tried to stretch some of the kinks out of her back. A shower would probably help. She’d grab one while her unexpected guest was still asleep, and then she’d have to wake him up. And kick him out.

  The thought twanged hard against her conscience. His twisted, half-covered position showcased the jagged scars on his back and the weird round mark that no bullet could’ve made without putting him in a wheelchair. He obviously needed help. But she couldn’t be the one to give it to him. She had enough problems of her own.

  That’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?

  She jumped at the voice in her head. Definitely not Fred. It didn’t sound anything like him, and it sure as hell wasn’t something Fred would suggest. If Fred was real—which he wasn’t, damn it.

  “No,” she murmured aloud, suddenly angry with herself for buying into the voice thing again. “Not selfish. Smart.”

  He needs you.

  She managed not to shout at the voice. Better to just ignore it. Stifling a sigh, she rose and headed for the bathroom, determined to outsmart her own mind. It was just some bizarre manifestation of her conscience. But regardless of her sympathy for Jaeryth, he had to go. She couldn’t help him any more.

  She could barely help herself.

  * * * * *

  Jaeryth waited to open his eyes until he heard a door closed somewhere in the house, followed a few moments later by the muted whisper of running water. She was showering, then. He had heard Logan stirring and was fully awake by the time she had begun talking to herself.

  “Not selfish. Smart.” Strange words, spoken as if in response to an accusation. But he did not see anyone else here, and surely she would have made mention to a visitor of the unfamiliar man asleep on her floor. Perhaps she’d been talking to him. But that made no sense, either.

  He shifted a bit, and at once realized that an aching stiffness had threaded itself through yesterday’s pain. Damn this mortal body. Being stuck in flesh was proving nearly as torturous as the upper levels of Hell. How could humans tolerate their lives in such conditions?

  With their suffering comes great reward.

  The voice was a bright ribbon in his head. He scrambled upright, seeking its source, suddenly knowing he would see nothing. When he was proven correct, he eased onto the couch and scowled at the empty air, daring it to speak again.

  Something like laughter responded.

  So there was someone here after all. But it was no human.

  Though Jaeryth had nothing at his disposal in this miserable shell, he should at least still be able to perceive Shade. And, unfortunately, Citadel. Humans would not see it, but most had the capacity to, if they so chose. He also had the advantage of knowing the realms existed. If he concentrated, he could find this unseen tormentor.

  Every muscle in him tensed as he focused, willing his eyes to recognize what he knew was right in front of him, all around him. Slowly, wisps and streaks of shadows coalesced, gaining bulk and shape, until he made out pale blue robes and a face from which solid blue eyes blazed.

&nbs
p; A Shepherd. Oh, rapture.

  This was not the same one he’d attacked in the city. The genderless creature before him was shorter, rounder of face and stature—more cherubic than ethereal. Its grin lacked the condescension of its colleague. But it was a Shepherd all the same, and therefore unwelcome.

  “Heavenly bastard,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Get away from me.”

  The Shepherd’s cheerful smile annoyed him. “So you do not want my help, then?”

  “What are you blathering about? You’re not helping me.”

  “The human.” It gestured in the direction Logan had gone. “You need someone to care for you. I’m helping her to realize that.”

  Fury sizzled through him. When she spoke a few moments ago, she’d been talking to it—the vermin was trying to influence her. “She’s mine.” He kept his voice low so she would not hear, though he longed to shout the words. “Don’t speak to her.”

  “Why not?” The little Shepherd cocked its head. “Anyway, you do not look much like a demon. I suppose that’s because you’re no longer a demon, are you?”

  Blasted creature. When he was restored, he would make it a point to seek this one out and utterly destroy it.

  The Shepherd’s brow arched. “You do not speak much. Are all demons as unfriendly as you? You are the first I’ve met, personally.”

  Jaeryth gaped at it. “Of course we are, you foolish insect,” he whispered harshly. “We’re demons.” Hell’s flames, what was wrong with this Shepherd? It was an embarrassment to all of Citadel.

  There was a slight change in the air, a subtle diminishing of sound. The muffled hiss of running water had stopped. Logan would return to this room soon. “Get out,” Jaeryth said, loud as he dared. “You cannot have her.”

  The Shepherd blinked, and then smiled. “I am not here for her.”

  Jaeryth’s jaw dropped. Why would a Shepherd seek him out?