Get a grip, bucko. You have more important things to do than to lust after a demoness, no matter how tasty she is.
“How far to the house?” Mari asked.
Grateful for the distraction from his body’s reactions, he looked at the chronometer. “A mile, give or take.” He looked at his watch. “We have about one hour until the occupants begin to stir.”
She nodded then looked around. Deep lines cut into the smooth skin of her brow as she frowned. “I feel odd.”
Yeah, no kidding. “So do I” was what he wanted to say. Instead, figuring she wasn’t referring to a reaction from the lip-searing kiss, he asked, “What do you mean?”
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It feels like someone is watching us.”
“Human or demon?” he asked.
She shrugged again. “I cannot tell.” Despite the nonchalant tone, the rigid set of her jaw and clenched fists told him she didn’t like the fact she couldn’t discover their watcher.
Shit. He scanned the surroundings. This time of the morning, nature and people were just beginning to stir. The friendly songs of birds and in the distance the rumble of a vehicle—suburbia at its best, even in the desert. A light breeze stirred the air, bringing the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. Nothing moved.
His buddies had told him their target was secure enough that he had few guards inside the compound. Very convenient, but that didn’t mean the outside didn’t have some kind of alarm. He reached down and unhooked the infrared glasses from his utility belt. After clipping the band over his head, he drilled in, looking for heat signals to tell him they weren’t alone.
Nothing.
“If it’s a demon, you would not be able to see it with your human sight, even enhanced sight.”
Great. “Just covering all the points.”
Before he could think about what he was doing, he turned and looked at her. Illuminated by the infrared, her body was engulfed in red as if she burned from within. Flicking tongues of yellow, orange with the deep blue of her core. The colors so brilliant it hurt to look at them. He jerked his gaze away and flipped up the goggles. She was not looking at him. Her gaze swept over the lawn.
“It is gone. The sensation. Whatever was there is no longer.”
Jackson contemplated their situation. Could be a misfire of her Spidey senses or some passerby she happened to catch? Since the compound wasn’t flooded with light or guys running around with machine guns, he had to guess they were still okay. It did occur to him briefly they might be walking into a trap. Could the woman in Canada have lied?
No. Her death had been real. As was the fact she reminded him of his mother. He shook off the memory.
“Okay,” he said. “Could just be some curious bloke.” Or maybe not. That insidious reminder curled around his brain.
“We don’t have that much time,” he continued. “Let’s get in, get the skull and worry about being observed later.”
She nodded and waited while he finished checking his weapons, including the pain-in-the-ass sword she insisted he carry. He knew she had one, but she sure as shit didn’t have it tucked into the skintight leather pants and sleeveless vest that hugged her every curve. He hadn’t approved of her attire, but at least he’d stopped her from wearing those damned spike-heeled boots she favored.
Damn, he was never going to get through this mission as long as he kept lusting after his partner.
Chapter Eleven
By the time they’d reached the huge stucco house, Mari had, more than once, thought about thanking Jackson for his suggestion to leave her boots behind. The grass, thick and lush from watering, made the ground difficult to negotiate due to the saturated top inches. She was sure she’d have lost her boots and ended up arriving barefoot. Besides, the Toscanas with the laser-cut pattern at the top were her favorite pair.
On the other hand, she wasn’t sure what to do about the kiss, as he’d called what happened when his lips had touched hers. When she was sure he wasn’t watching, she pressed her fingertips against her mouth, feeling the memory of the touch of his mouth. That was a new sensation. For the first time, she could almost see why Mikos had chosen to stay with Lexi. If the kissing was wonderful, what would the sex be like? Maybe the succubi and incubi were right after all.
She’d felt lust at times, and certainly when she’d been around Jackson, but this new feeling—the one when he’d kissed her and she’d returned the kiss—made her feel weak in the knees, along with a curious swooping pull in her stomach and a deep, throbbing sensation between her legs.
As they walked, she would occasionally catch Jackson peering at her from the corners of his eyes, a sneaking glance with an expression she didn’t understand.
What was this feeling? She wished she were closer to Lexi or Kat and could ask them. Maybe she could ask Kat when she returned. The ghost would likely know and Mari would be less uncomfortable seeking her assistance.
Jackson put up a hand and halted. Crouching, he peered through the thin line of hedge that separated the main house from the lawn. She joined him, her calves cramping slightly. She grimaced and when he lifted an eyebrow in question, shook her head. Under her feet, the ground squelched as she shifted position.
Like him, she scanned the building. A few lights, mostly in the places servants were likely to be, lit up the early morning, creating deep shadows where the light didn’t touch. No sign of any patrolling guards or hint of dogs. Not that she would have minded the dogs. She actually liked the creatures, found them friendly and playful, with an innocence she loved being around.
“Do you feel the skull?”
Mari tilted her head at his question. For some reason, he seemed to think that because Michael had dumped her as a sacrifice into the middle of Ancient Maya, she was connected to it in some way.
“I’ve told you before. I cannot feel the skull.”
As the word left her mouth, she froze as a wisp of something danced across her skin and lifted the small hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. There. What was that? A tingling awareness in the pit of her stomach expanded, rolling outward until her nerve endings were sensitized and alert.
She must have had a strange look on her face, because Jackson turned to her. “What’s up? You got something?”
“I don’t know. There’s…something, but I don’t think it’s the skull.” She pursed her lips. “It’s more like…” Her stomach swooped.
She surged to her feet, ignoring Jackson’s exclamation of surprise. As she ran, she called her sword and slashed at obstacles in her way. Behind her, she heard his pounding boots as he ran to keep up.
After leaping onto the porch, she took one large step then kicked in the door, wood splintering around the hinges. Another hard kick sent it crashing to the floor. She pounded over the debris, her heels sliding on the marble floor. After collecting herself and ignoring the swearing behind her, she followed her stomach’s directions to a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway.
The doors were open. At the sucking sound coming from inside the room, she knew immediately what she’d find when she went in. One foot was over the threshold when she was grabbed from behind and jerked backward into a hard chest.
“Marisol, wait,” Jackson said, his voice low and urgent. “You don’t know what’s in there.”
“I know exactly what’s in there, human,” she growled. “Let me go.”
“At least be careful.”
She considered snarling a response but decided against it. After all, she understood this was a human reaction to danger. Instead, she gave him a brief bob of her head then cautiously strode through the door.
The room smelled of blood and decay with a hint of brimstone. Chilled air whirled around her, lifting bumps on her bare arms. In the center of the room, white carpet soaked in red provided a focal point the eyes couldn’t avoid. A pile of ash heaped in the middle of the pool also clued her in to whom she was about to see.
The sucking sound stopped. Mari turned tow
ard the noise. The pale-yellow creature pulled away from the drained husk of the human she’d been snacking on and stood. She threw back her head and stretched, armlike appendages reaching for the ceiling.
“Absolutely wonderful. I really must do this more often.” She lowered her head and her gaze locked on Mari. “Well hello, Marisol Asheni. So good to see you again. And you’ve brought your tasty human. What brings you to Iraq?”
“Jahi, you bitch. Not done yet being Beliel’s lackey, are we?”
Jahi, Queen of Succubi, in her true form, reminded Mari of a fat slug.
Glistening skin shivered and in the next instant, a petite woman with blazing-blue eyes and a waterfall of blonde hair falling to her waist stood before her.
“Pot and kettle, Marisol. Aren’t you tired of scurrying about and associating with humans that”—she swept her hand at Jackson—“no matter how yummy they are, consider you of less worth than the dirt under their feet? We should be worshipped by these creatures. Instead, God put them above us and expects us to coddle them.”
The slight twinge of memory struck Mari in the center of her chest. She’d once felt like that.
Did she still? She ignored the mocking voice. “It is not for us to question why the Lord acts as he does. It is our duty to obey.”
A peal of laughter broke forth. “Ah, you sound just like Michael, cousin. What a shame.”
Inwardly, Mari winced. Had she really begun to parrot the Angel of the Lord?
“Mari, why the hell are we wasting time in a philosophical discussion with this thing?”
Having forgotten Jackson’s presence, she jumped at the sound of his voice. Guilt rushed through her. He was right. This was not the time to be debating the whys and why-nots of God’s plans.
She looked over her shoulder at the handsome human. A muscle jerked in his jaw as his narrowed eyes focused on Jahi. He held his sword before him, his fingers clenched tightly around the hilt, so tight she could see his knuckles whitening.
The last time the succubus and human came into contact hadn’t been pleasant for Jackson. Well, it had been pleasant, but in a forced way. He’d been angry at how easily Jahi had been able to make him pant after her like a dog in heat. His words.
Even now, a circle of white ringed his mouth. She could sense the struggle within him as he fought the succubus’s influence. He’d lose; no mortal and very few demons could resist.
As if Jahi recognized that, she turned to him. “You want me, don’t you, human? You want me to come to you so you can take me in your arms, force me to the ground and press your sex into mine until you scream with pleasure.” A malicious smile spread her lips. “I can do that for you. All you have to do is walk over here.”
Jackson took two steps before he swore and stopped. Mari saw his knees quiver with the urge to do as the succubus wished. Something that felt like the warm rush of pride filled her when he froze in place while every muscle in his very human body fought to go to the succubus. Pain furrowed his brow and creased the corners of his lips.
“Stop it, Jahi,” Mari snapped. “This is between you and me.”
The demon laughed. “The handsome human is quite strong, isn’t he? No wonder you keep him as a pet.”
Jahi’s smug smile left Mari with the need to scratch it from her perfect face. “Where is the skull?”
She shrugged then looked down at the shriveled husk at her feet. “I don’t know. It’s not here.” She looked up and grabbed Mari’s gaze. “This is becoming quite a regular occurrence, isn’t it, cousin? You arriving a half second too late? Losing your edge?”
“I haven’t lost my edge, succubus. Why don’t you fight me and find out?”
Jahi shrugged again. “As you know, I much prefer to make love,” she said and paused. “But he”—she jerked her head at the large glass window—“loves to fight. You two have fun.” Another trill of laughter, then she disappeared in a flash of hellfire and brimstone.
At the same moment, something large and heavy crashed through the glass. Mari held up her hand to protect her face from the tiny shards peppering the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson do the same.
The creature had coal-black skin covered in bonelike protrusions. Two sets of thick, muscular arms extended from his torso. Each set was tipped with shining obsidian nails that reminded her of miniature knives.
A cold knot formed in her chest. Pammon, a demon general under Beliel, focused his protruding yellow eyes, which were shot through with red, on her. Pure hate and spite radiated from his glare.
She hissed and settled into a crouch. Pammon was nasty and liked to play with his food. In this case, food meant her and Jackson. She was hard to kill but could die, and Pammon could make that happen. May Styx’s Black Waters take Jahi.
“Traitor with puny human. My day lucky,” he snarled through thick, jagged teeth about the size of piano keys.
“Fuck me,” Jackson muttered from her side. “Who the hell invited him to the party?”
“Jackson,” she murmured. “I know you like to fight but this is not an ordinary demon. It will be best if you run.”
“And leave you behind?” His tone, and the look he swung to her, were incredulous. “Absolutely not.”
“This is not a joke. Pammon will kill you—he may kill me.”
“Then I’m definitely not leaving you behind.”
Mari sighed. “Foolish human.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
She considered how she might appease Pammon and convince him not to fight, despite the fact he worked for Beliel. He must know what would happen if his boss overthrew Lucifer. If she could make him see, he’d be a great ally.
On the other hand, he was a bastard of the highest order and didn’t care one bit for humans or his brethren.
She decided on a response. “Fuck you, Pammon.”
He laughed, a rumble of sound deep in his chest. “You always have big mouth. I take great desire in closing it forever.”
As the last syllable rumbled from his chest, he leaped at her, all four arms extended with fingernails stabbing for her breasts.
She dodged his initial strike—even as she felt the tear of claws in her shoulder and swung sideways at the waist—punching at the bastard’s groin area. Not a disabling blow but it was a hard-enough hit that he staggered back a bit. Enough so she could set her stance and distribute her body weight for defense.
He came at her again, this time slashing with one arm while he swung in low with the other. She blocked the upper movement and jumped back, then kicked out, smashing her right leg into his knees. A bellow ripped forth and Pammon’s eyes flashed bright red. Thick lips pulled back, revealing the long canines surrounded by jagged teeth made for ripping and tearing.
“What’s the matter, Pammon? Not used to fighting someone who can fight back?”
An oily black cloud curled upward and came to rest in each of his hands. When the cloud solidified, he clutched a sword—metal dull but appearing sharp—in each of his four fists.
Crap.
Behind her, Mari heard Jackson swear.
“Last chance, human,” she tossed over her shoulder at him. “This is going to get messy.”
“Not a chance. I’m staying here.”
“Suit yourself.”
Then she didn’t have time to worry about Jackson. With a flurry of spinning and slashing swords, Pammon dove at her. She had barely enough time to call her own sword before he was on her. Brute force pushed against her defenses. Occasionally, she caught a flash of Jackson’s sword coming at Pammon from the side, but all that seemed to do was piss off the demon.
When Pammon’s retaliation against Jackson’s cuts tore open a long slash in Jackson’s leg, Mari’s eyes narrowed. Fuck this. They didn’t have time for this dance.
Then she saw her opening. Ducking under two wild strikes that would have separated her head from her neck, Mari front-kicked a punishing blow against Pammon’s stomach. Without pausing, she ducked again and this t
ime drove her sword under his, right up the center of his chest and out the other side. He gasped, choked and dark blood flowed out of his mouth. The red in his eyes dimmed and he stared at her in disbelief.
“You chose the wrong side, Pammon,” she murmured and pushed the sword in deeper until all that stuck out was the hilt.
With a death rattle filling his chest and expanding through the hole, Pammon slumped forward. The edges of his body shattered, rolling inward until there was nothing left of the demon except a sticky stain on the carpet. She stared at the area for a minute. While she’d never liked Pammon, she’d once called him brother.
Stepping back, she looked at Jackson. He glanced from her to the stain, then back to her again. The human’s chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing. Her sword hung down, the tip brushing the carpet. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a thick, dark substance, more black than red—Pammon’s bodily fluids—slide down the blade’s smooth edge and drip onto the carpet, mixing with human blood.
“What the hell were those two? I get the female was a succubus, but the other?”
She sighed and focused on Jackson. She didn’t really want to have this conversation with him. Humans would never understand the mixed-up connections among angels and demons.
“The best way to describe them is family,” she finally said and cleaned her own blade on the couch cushions before continuing, “in the loosest manner.”
“She’s called you cousin several times.”
Mari nodded. “Yes, that is as good a term as any.”
“You have no problems killing your cousins?”
The distaste in his voice was as clear as the crystal that made up the skull.
“No.” Her brow lifted. “What would you have me do? If I do not kill them, they will kill me. I’ve grown rather fond of being alive.”
He shook his head. “Every time I begin to think of you as human, I’m reminded you are not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Good. It is much safer if you remember what we are capable of.”
He met her intense gaze with one of his own. Was he remembering their kiss? She was, but didn’t want to. Thinking of her as human was dangerous for him in a lot of ways.
The Death Skull: Relic Defender, Book 2 Page 12