Red Demon

by Deidre Knight

  Reaching with all her will and strength, she battled against the demon. Opening her medium’s gift, she attempted something that she’d not done in years—she worked a barricade around her own private thoughts, but she had no idea whether it would be effective. She’d never had access to her supernatural gifts as a spirit, and although she knew her talents had been resurrected along with her body, at least based on the way she’d been able to trail Ari downtown earlier, she wasn’t sure about this protective barrier.

  Another knifing pain erupted behind her eyes, and she heard Layla shriek again. That is no shield against me! You are weak. You were always weak; that’s why you died, the demon taunted. It’s why you believed my bargain. Weak, pitiful human.

  “I belong to God. To Jesus Christ . . . you can’t have me,” Jules protested, doubling over. Her belly spasmed, and she began writhing on the floor, unable to control her body’s reaction to the demon’s surging power inside of her. She began panting then, overwhelmed by a scorching heat that burned right inside her abdomen and chest. She felt her vision grow dim and bleak, everything a single grayish color—washed out and ugly in its sameness. It was different from when she’d been dead; something about the landscape, the way she saw it, was filled with despair.

  Layla’s vision, she realized. Layla was taking control, and no matter how hard Juliana battled, the demon couldn’t be stopped. Her chest rose and fell frantically, and she knew she was about to be overrun. Knew that she could not prevent Layla from seizing control of her body, not by her human will or even by physical action, not now. Then, her physicality actually began to transform, and she felt her skin tingle as it changed to a duskier hue. Layla wasn’t just taking control; she was . . . altering Jules physically. But the demon had said that it inhabited Juliana’s own form, so what was this?

  Oh, precious one, I can force your body into assuming any appearance I choose. But perhaps it will be more interesting to go to your Aristos as . . . you, Layla trilled inside Juliana’s mind.

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” she began reciting, barely managing to get the words out. “I shall not want. . . .”

  The words stopped then, sizzling on her tongue, trapped in her throat. Her world became fully dark, like the deepest bottomless well.

  “Oh, but I want very, very much!” Layla said, her voice a distant echo. “And I’m in charge of this body now.”

  Chapter 29

  Nikos was already in the driveway, stripping out of his shirt and about to take flight. There wasn’t time to stick around, have a group meeting, and try to vote by committee, which was how he knew things would go if he told the others about his call with Juliana.

  Jamie was right. Mace really was in some kind of trouble; he had to be, if he wasn’t answering his cell. Particularly since he never screened calls, at least not ones from Nik, but it was obvious that he’d hit IGNORE from the way the phone had instantly rolled to voice mail.

  So, Nik wasn’t having a hard time putting facts together—Mace was working on his own, planning to take down Juliana. And, given the way she had sounded on the phone? Mace might actually be at least halfway right about her true identity. Except what kind of demon begged for help? It was a bizarre, threatening situation, from top to bottom.

  Which meant Mason might be in danger, Ari right along with him. Tying his long-sleeved tee around his waist, Nik considered going back into the main house and making sure he had backup. But he knew how the cadre operated, and every minute spent deliberating might put Mace and Ari in even greater danger.

  But as much as he cared for his Spartan brother, it was the thought of Mace landing in a demon’s crosshairs that sent a frisson chasing across his bare arms and chest. Because he’d meant what he’d told the man last night: He would die saving him, would use his wings, his sword, and his body to protect him rather than see him hurt in any way.

  Reaching into his jeans pocket, he retrieved his cell phone. Maybe he was overreacting, he thought. Except then he recalled how worried Jamie had been earlier, the fear Nik had seen spark in the man’s eyes—fear that his brother was in true danger because of his PTSD. Because of how upended he currently was. Even Mace’s own brother considered him to be at risk right now, and he didn’t even know that Mason might be right about Juliana.

  The way she’d cried out for help, the strangled sound of her voice, couldn’t be good. He dialed Ari’s number again, his hands shaking slightly as he held the cell phone up to his ear.

  “Well, hello there,” a female voice purred. The timbre sounded like Juliana; the tone and attitude definitely did not.

  “Uh . . . Juliana?”

  “Indeed it is. And you are Nikos Dounias,” the female trilled, startling him until he recalled that she’d have seen it on the caller ID. “What a beautiful name. A mighty warrior, are you?”

  “Is Mason with you? Is Ari there?” he rushed on, shifting his feet on the sandy drive impatiently.

  “Don’t you want to talk to me?” she purred into the phone, sounding very much like a coquette—and not at all like the woman he’d met the night before.

  “I’m worried about Mason,” Nik insisted. “Put him on right now.”

  “Is that because you like Mason? You know, in the way Mason likes men?” she asked with an easy laugh.

  “Give the phone to Mason!” he shouted, realizing that something had to be very, very wrong. And that Mace had obviously been very, very right about Juliana’s identity.

  “Oh!” she cried out in a delighted voice. “I understand now. You’re the new Kelly!”

  Nikos slammed the phone shut and, with a running leap, took to the sky. The Djinn’s words revealed the truth: Mason was in terrible, deadly danger. That demon had obviously found a way to track him all the way from Iraq, and right into the center of their ranks. That kind of targeting could only mean one thing: She intended to destroy Mason completely this time—and Ari, his beloved Spartan brother, was right in the cross fire.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jules still hadn’t come back to the table. Had she wandered over to the gator pit and fallen in? Ari wondered. A simple trip to the bathroom shouldn’t have taken nearly so long.

  Across the table from him, Mason maintained a death grip on his beer, and Ari was starting to get restless himself. He’d wanted her to make a good impression on Mace, not vanish like the mists blowing across the deck.

  Thankfully, she waltzed out on the deck right then. Well, maybe sashayed was more like it, swinging her hips in what could only be described as a very un-Victorian manner. If she’d tried that during one of their long-ago strolls through Forsyth Park, someone would have sent her off to a sanatorium strictly on the basis of being indelicate.

  She looked . . . different to him suddenly. While in the bathroom, she’d unbuttoned the top of her bodice so that it fell open and revealed the swell of exposed breasts. Her cheeks were flushed, and she carried herself with a feline, sensual gait that he’d never seen her use before.

  She arrived at their table with a flirtatious flourish, handing over his BlackBerry with a coy smile. Why had she taken his phone without telling him? He didn’t have time to ask, because she turned and stroked a hand along Mason’s shoulder with downright proprietary sensuality, eyes ablaze as she touched him. “Well, how do you do, Mr. Angel?” Jules asked in a coquettish voice, sliding an arm around him like he was a hot target. “Your arrival is a very nice surprise, indeed. Have you missed me? It’s been a long time, after all.”

  Ari clenched a fist against the table, cutting his eyes at her as a warning. This little outburst was totally the wrong move—whatever her intentions were. She was what? Coming on to Mason like some tawdry whorehouse seductress? That wasn’t the way to win that demon hunter to their side of things, and it sure as Hades made him jealous. They’d bared everything to each other earlier today, and here she was bestowing those lustful caresses along Mason Angel’s nape. And was she seriously running her fingers through his hair?

  Ari leaned forw
ard, gaping in silent fury. “I’ve never seen Jules behave remotely like . . . like this. I have no idea what’s gotten into her.”

  “Ironic choice of words.”

  Ari kicked the guy’s chair with his foot. “I told you she’s not possessed.”

  Mason gave him a long, skull-drilling stare for at least five seconds. “This isn’t Juliana. Already told you that.”

  “Trust me, gentlemen; I’m a lot more fun.” She laughed and exchanged a long look with Mason, but Ari couldn’t see her face clearly because of the angle. Couldn’t get a read on her mood or why she was acting so oddly with Mace.

  But whatever Mason glimpsed had him ready to pounce out of his chair. Ari jabbed his finger in unmistakable warning. “You stay; you play nice. That was our arrangement,” he cautioned. “You gonna follow those ground rules?”

  “Your ‘girl’ gonna stop manifesting?” Mason shot back, settling down. “Maybe you should keep her on a leash, like the unruly hellhound she obviously is.”

  Ari turned back to Juliana, his mind riddled with so many conflicted thoughts, he could hardly make sense of them. He stared at her in hurt disbelief, not sure whether he should demand to know why she’d suddenly been all over Mace—or look into her eyes and try to glimpse her soul.

  Just then she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, giving Ari a coy, sultry-eyed examination—as if she’d never gotten a good look at him before. “My, my! You are nice. No wonder.”

  “No wonder what?” he asked carefully.

  She only smiled at him through half-lowered lashes, a very naughty expression on her face. “Not going to tell right now,” was all she said before turning her scorching gaze back on Mason once again.

  Ari tugged on her arm. “Sweetheart, have a seat,” he insisted, trying to divert her bizarre attention from Mason. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “Forgive my appalling manners, in that case. I did not mean to be rude, Aristos, nor behave in a way ill-suited to polite company. My deepest apologies, good sirs,” she pronounced, fluttering a hand against her breastbone. As if she were back to being her usual self, she spread the layers of her dress out, making a great show of settling herself primly in the seat between them.

  And then the game switched all over again. She swiveled her body in that chair, focusing wholly on Mason, putting her back to Ari as she did so. “However, this marine and hunter”—she lingered on the word significantly—“is, as always, so very, very fine, it’s no wonder I can’t resist him.”

  Mason motioned his head toward her, giving Ari an expression that said, “Now do you understand what I’m talking about?”

  Ari gaped at her as if she’d sprouted horns and a forked tongue, because he honestly had no idea how to process these abrupt behavior changes. In fact, he was too busy feeling insanely, brutally jealous to see anything but the brightest shades of red . . .

  And then silver. His whole damned vision washed with it, his hands clenching along the table’s edge. Mason glanced all around the restaurant, obviously wondering whether Ari’s transformation was being observed by the dozens of patrons all around.

  Ari dropped his gaze, determined to regain control, but couldn’t hold back his furious question. “Juliana,” he demanded hoarsely. “What . . . what exactly are you trying to do with Mason? He’s my friend, and it’s like . . . like you want him.”

  “Aristos,” she purred, “don’t feel jealous. I’m simply remarking on Mason Angel’s alluring appearance. He’s my own . . . Well, what is he, precisely? My great-great-nephew? Why should you feel threatened by him? He’s family.

  “Besides, Mason doesn’t even like women. Isn’t that right?” she trilled. “I found that out the hard way. Who is Nikos, anyway?” she asked in an innocent tone.

  “I’m Nikos,” came the deep-voiced reply from behind Ari. Nik stepped around the table, folding strong arms across his chest. “The more important question is, who the bloody hell are you?”

  “Nik, why are you here?” Mason asked in a tight voice, never taking his eyes off the demon. He’d be damned if he gave her any opportunity to lunge at Nik or strike at him. Mace didn’t even blink, just kept his total attention focused on the Djinn.

  “I called Ari,” Nik answered, his thick accent betraying his heightened emotions. “And she answered.” He pointed at the Djinn significantly. “Hauled ass here after that.”

  Nik dropped into an open chair, and the female preened, unbuttoning more of her blouse. “Nikos was so very concerned about you, Mason,” she said sweetly. “It was touching how much he cares for you.”

  Mason’s heart began to hammer, adrenaline rushing into his system. “He . . . he doesn’t mean anything to me. Nothing.” Mace shook his head in denial, hating the flash of pain he saw in Nikos’s brown eyes. But he wouldn’t have Nikos wind up like Kelly had at this demon’s hands.

  “Leave everyone else out of this,” Mason told the Djinn firmly. “It’s you and me, period.”

  She leaned much closer, surreal eyes riveted on him. “Are you admitting this is all about the two of us?” She stroked her fingertips along the back of his hand; he’d begun clutching the edge of the table like a vise the moment Nik showed up. “That this is our dance, Mason?”

  “Yes,” he said, swallowing. “This is all about you and me.”

  She beamed, triumphant. “Good. You do know how jealous I can get,” she said with a quick glance toward Nik.

  Every instinct demanded that Mason begin using his spiritual weapons of warfare against the demon, especially since he didn’t have his physical ones within easy reach.

  Mason rubbed at his temples, struggling to clear his mind enough that he could start praying for some serious heavenly backup. He glanced around the restaurant, hoping he might spot an angel. He didn’t see just demons; sometimes he glimpsed the good guys, especially in the thick of a bad fight. But not tonight, he realized as thick dread filled his belly.

  Turning back to Aristos, he confirmed that the huge Spartan was too lathered up to see straight, not in full control at all. In fact, Ari’s whole face seemed on the verge of glowing, and Mason shifted in his chair uncomfortably. No wonder Emma and River had been concerned about his stability, or obvious lack thereof.

  “Aristos, could you tone down those Vegas Strip lights? Otherwise known as your eyes? Cause they’re looking very, very bright, my friend. You’re gonna blind somebody with those things.”

  The immortal’s shoulders rolled forward as he released a low, feral growl.

  “Fine.” Mace tossed his napkin onto the table. “Go on and expose your berserker side to all of the low country. I’ll even video it with my cell phone and post it on YouTube if that’ll make you happy.”

  Ari’s blazing eyes narrowed and his growl grew lower, deeper, but he seemed to be regaining at least slight control, no longer in the full thrall of his power surge.

  “Uh, Nik, do me a favor? Take on off, okay?” Mason tried casually. “Got this under control.”

  “Not going anywhere,” Nikos growled back at him.

  Then Nikos slid his chair back, putting more physical distance between him and the demon. “I’ll take action if you need me,” Nik said, his voice calmer, his expression fierce. He was one hell of an amazing fighting partner, had been from the beginning, and even with Mace’s concerns for his well-being, he felt stronger with Nik at his side.

  More confident, Mason turned back to the Djinn, who was the true threat at their table. “Whatcha doing over there?” Mason asked her in a chatty, relaxed tone that he didn’t remotely feel. He tried to shut down the background chatter in his brain, which kept reminding him that he was in the presence of Kelly’s killer.

  He barely summoned the discipline to remain in his seat, as the demon stroked his arm with a long, sensual caress. “Oh, Mason Angel, you are even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.” She sighed appreciatively.

  As if it had been a tryst, as if that night hadn’t practically destroyed h
im. “I was covered in blood and guts and sand the last time you saw me,” he seethed.

  “Well.” She pouted a little. “I know how you loved him, but . . .” She leaned into his physical space, smiling wickedly. “But perhaps you could find some women alluring? I mean, with the right inducement.”

  Ari groaned at those words, a sound of soul-wounded despair. “Aristos, it’s gonna be okay,” Mason tried promising under his breath.

  But Ari didn’t even seem to hear. He had a glazed look to his eyes and just kept rubbing a large palm over his heart, back and forth, like maybe the damned thing was breaking that hard.

  And Mason felt bad; honest to God, he felt terrible about this moment of vindication. Ari obviously loved Juliana, truly, or he never would have bought into the demon’s lies.

  The Djinn moved her attention back to Mason, brushing through his hair with a lover’s adoration. “Such interesting thoughts in here,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his forehead. She frowned down at him, and Mace went into a fire-alarm panic. She’d invaded his thoughts, probably seen exactly what Nik meant to him.

  He shoved her hands away. “We both know the nasty history we share. So cut it out—now. Aristos,” Mason said carefully. “You catching on to what I been saying? Are you tracking with me now?”

  The Spartan stared down. Mason could see how badly he shook; in fact, the harder he gripped the table, the more it started rocking, too. He wasn’t sure Ari was really clued in to the unfolding events, not with the way his own body seemed poised on the verge of a violent change.

  That was the moment when the demon swiveled her attention away from Mason . . . and fully onto Nikos. “So tell me about Nikos,” she said. “How does he fit into this scenario?”

  She stroked a fingertip along Nik’s jaw, licking her lips voraciously; he never even blinked beneath her inspection.

  “He looks delicious,” she purred, eyes narrowing hungrily.

  Mason became desperate then, the sounds of the restaurant roaring at him like a freight train, every clinking glass or eruption of laughter like the distant popping of an enemy’s AK-47.