“How you figure that one, Mr. Ed?” Jamie fired off.
Mace caught his brother’s arm, silencing the sarcasm. After rising unsteadily to his feet, he approached the Djinn. “What do you have in mind? I’m open and willing to listen.”
Sable’s eyes went wide at the sight of the blood drenching Mason’s shirt, and he seized hold of Mason’s shirt in his gnarled hands. “I smell Sophie in that blood! What happened? Tell me what Layla did,” the demon demanded with an urgency that was shocking. “Sophie . . . she is all right? Uninjured? Where is she?” He looked toward the house, frantic. “Tell me where she is!”
Mason wavered on his feet, afraid he might face- plant on that drive at any moment. “She’s fine,” he told the Djinn unsteadily.
“Her scent is in this blood,” Sable snarled.
Mason shook his head. “Soph’s not the one who was injured.”
“But . . . but I thought . . .” Sable trotted backward, rubbing his scalp with both hands, appearing unnerved. “I can smell her, in that blood.”
Mace wouldn’t have believed it, but the goddamned Djinn was shaking—over Sophie’s well-being. His hands were trembling as he pushed them against his chest with a desperation Mace fully recognized; he’d felt exactly the same way moments ago, holding Nikos.
“She did the healing; that’s why,” Jamie offered, now on his feet. Walking up to the centaur, hands in his pockets like it was a casual thing, his big brother asked, “So what’s your idea, Sable?”
The Djinn glanced toward the house one more time, as if still trying to reassure himself that Sophie was all right. Mace didn’t even have time to try to analyze what that was all about; he knew she’d healed the Djinn recently and that some sort of bond had been formed between the two of them. Maybe that was what motivated this highly protective streak?
Wait, Mason thought, remembering his own words about Sable having staked a claim on the light side of the things.
Ari showed up right then, flying over the drive and landing in front of Sable. He pointed an accusatory finger at the demon. “You got past the wards. They’re secure, so how’d you pull that off?”
Shay grabbed Ari by the arm, stopping him. “He’s here to help, Ari. Isn’t that awesome, that he’s offering to help us?” Her words were spoken carefully, meant to clue Ari into Sable’s cooperative mode. “I mean, the assistance of a Djinn—right now—that’s a really good thing.”
“Elblas,” Ari seethed, using the Djinn’s true demon name, “tell me how you vaulted past the protections, or I’m going to instruct these guys—my friends—to take you out, and fast.”
Sable shrugged. “I had no problem entering the property. I merely assumed that the wards had been dismantled.”
Ari shook his head. “They’re fully in place, and they’re all intact.”
Sable blinked back at him, clearly surprised, and then Ari started grinning like a bastard. “Oh, my, my, you have turned, dude,” Ari declared, pointing at Sable. “I can’t freaking believe it.”
Then Ari swung around and faced Mason. “It’s like what you told me, from the book.” Then, doing an almost kind of victory dance around the Djinn, Ari shouted, “You have turned light, old friend! Congratulations, and so much better for us. You’re one enemy that’s off our backs.”
“Stop that!” Sable growled, stomping an indignant hoof.
Mason moved between his friend and the demon, warning with his eyes to pipe down. When Ari clamped his mouth shut, Mace turned to face the centaur. “Sable, tell us how you can help with Layla.”
Sable stared at the ground for one long moment, almost as if still warring with himself. “She’s my cousin, Layla,” he began slowly. He hesitated, still fighting an internal battle; Mace could see it in his eyes.
“We need your help, Sable,” Mason urged, then whispered, “Sophie needs it, so she can stay safe.”
His eyes flared at her name. “I have the key for battling Layla. The one sure way you can get her to release this Juliana.”
Mason knew exactly what Sable meant. “You know her true name, don’t you? The one that will enable us to bind her and force her out of Juliana’s body.”
Sable lifted his gaze and one more time looked at the house. “Llayais. She’s called Llayais. Now use that name . . . and keep Sophie safe.”
Chapter 41
Juliana began unbuttoning her torn bodice, staring at the flowing, dark river below the dock’s edge. Somewhere along the way tonight, her pretty new dress had been ruined. Maybe by Ari’s talons? Or perhaps as he’d swept her into his arms midfall. It hardly mattered, she thought, blinking back tears as she stared at the churning surface of the river, mind resolved.
If she didn’t take her own life—and permanently this time—the demon inside of her would kill again, and her greatest fear was that Layla would lash out at Aristos. That was why the singing voices were right this time. They’d begun calling to her from the depths of the river.
“Juliana!” they wooed. “Return to us . . . now, now. We want you. End it all.”
She sighed. “I believe I should cooperate with your plan,” she spoke to the voices. They were hypnotic, so familiar.
Her dress slid down, over her hips, pooling about her feet. She began unbuttoning her corset, stripping it away. It was stupid, pathetic, but she didn’t want to go to her death in the beautiful clothes that Aristos had purchased for her. They were a reminder, a heartbreaking one, of the future they should have shared together.
Stop it, she told herself. There’s no time to regret or grieve, not if you truly love him.
And she did, with so much intensity that she’d take this step in order to protect him—and to protect the others, friends and family whom he also loved.
She let the corset fall to the wooden dock and stripped away her silk panties until she stood perfectly nude on the platform. The time was now; she would not hesitate.
The sooner she acted, Aristos would be safe, as well as the others. They’d all been willing to fight for her life; the least she could do was offer her own now, before Layla tried to kill again.
She stood fully nude, staring up at the moon. She swallowed down the tears that ached to come out, and with one last look back up the incline at the distant lights of the plantation home, she stepped off the dock and plummeted into the water.
The current was powerful because of the recent storm, and Juliana felt it rip and pull about her body, but the tide’s force was nothing like the slimy, slithering creatures that began twining about her feet, dragging her down.
Her lungs filled with air, briefly, as she flailed against the surface, even as she knew this was the only way to protect Ari. She had to save him, couldn’t be the cause of his death.
Yes, the demons taunted. Go down, down into the depths, Daughter of Delphi. Consumed by us, by the curse.
Curse? They’d broken her curse! These demons had no hold over her.
And then it was as if she woke up, came back to herself and fought against them. What was she doing out here in the river? Why would she have given up on their efforts to exorcise Layla?
It’s the only way to save him, the demons taunted, their words entering her mind. Your Aristos . . . you must die to protect him.
Ari had been in danger, yes, but . . .
No! she thought. There is still hope!
She began trying to swim to the surface.
Ari was practically skipping as he made his way to the dock where he’d left Juliana. That bastard Sable had really pulled off a miracle on their behalf—choosing a new path to follow! And at just this moment when they needed him? He hummed under his breath, barely able to wait to tell Juliana the news.
“Hey, baby!” he called out, walking onto the long wooden pier. It reached across the marsh grasses, traversing some twenty yards or so before ending in the middle of the river. “Darling!” It was dark, and he hadn’t heightened his hawk’s vision, but he began to grow concerned that she didn’t answer back.
“Damn it,” he muttered, sprinting the length of those boards, feeling them sway beneath his heavy footfalls. “Juliana!” he bellowed, looking all around, even out in the water. But she wouldn’t have gone there, would she?
Something gleamed at the farthest end of the dock, and he walked toward it, heart in his throat. “She wouldn’t,” he said to himself. “Darling, no. No.”
He fell to his knees, fingering her delicate dress and lingerie; she’d left them in a neat pile. They crumpled there against the planks as if she herself had been vaporized, leaving them to cascade downward.
“I’m not going to let you do this,” he said, staring at the water furiously. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for all of us.”
The only way she could have been persuaded to try to drown herself a second time was from the conviction that she’d be protecting him—all of them—from Layla’s deadly presence.
Yanking off his shirt, he unfurled his wings and flew out over the water—listening, all the while, for the siren calls of water demons. Because he knew one thing, deep in his heart: Juliana would never leave him willingly, not unless she’d been hypnotized into it a second time.
Flying over the water, he kept screaming Jules’s name, sniffing the air, ramping up every sensory ability he held in his fighting arsenal. In the distance, he swore he heard the high-pitched squeals of demons and swooped in, talons raised.
A scaly head popped up, then dove below with a splash. The little minion had spotted him; he shrieked his intent, diving down to the water, raking his talons through the bubbling waves. Jules had to be there, fighting those same demons. As he scraped his talons through the water, he latched onto one of the demons and put a quick and dirty end to it. He hurled the water demon to the shore like a gutted fish and then soared upward in the hopes that he could get a better view of the terrain below.
There, up ahead, rocks protruded from the flowing water, and he saw something gleam for a moment. He turned down into a furious plunge, heading right toward that quicksilver image, screeching his hawk’s cries the whole way down. With an agile leap, he landed on that rock, scanning in every direction. Whatever gleaming thing he’d seen, it was gone.
He stood there, breathing heavily, trying to swallow the bile in his throat. He could not lose Jules again. He spread his wings, taking flight again, and then paused midair. He’d have sworn he heard his name!
“Aristos!” came Jules’s weak voice, and he flew toward the sound, beating his wings faster than ever, expanding his chest to gain more strength. He wasn’t in full hawk form, as that would prevent him from rescuing Jules, but rather in his hawk-warrior state—with the muscular, strong body he possessed as a man, and his powerful, mighty wings spread across his back. He beat those wings now, soaring downward as he dove just above the water.
There was her arm, flailing in the waves, and he could see the coppery flash of her hair. As he reached her, he grasped her arm, pulling, but never stopping the motion of his wings. The water demons would strike out, try to keep her, so he took hold of her arms and kept going. She dangled from his grasp, and it was awkward, but he used his knees to press her up into his arms.
Finally, after soaring back toward the dock, he could hold her against his feathered chest, soothing her. She kept coughing up water, and he rubbed her back. At last she settled against him, soaking wet, and blinking at the water. She was so cold, too, teeth chattering as he nestled her in his arms.
“I’m not done fighting to free you,” he told her seriously. “And I don’t believe you tried to kill yourself just now.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to die,” she said, pressing her cheek against his chest. She moved it back and forth against the downy feathers, closing her eyes. “I wanted to be with you. . . . I just didn’t want Layla to hurt anyone else. Those water demons, they used that against me.”
“Layla isn’t going to harm anyone—never again,” he promised as they touched down on the creaking wooden boards. “Most especially, not you.”
Maintaining his hidden place in the shadows along the drive, Sable watched Sophie sink onto the top step of the Angel family house. She seemed weary, truly exhausted, and that tangy smell of blood was still on her. With an ambling gait, he moved out of the shadows. “You are not well?” he inquired.
She dropped her hands away from her face, lighting up. “Sable! How did you get here? When?” There was relief in her eyes, as if his arrival gave her new strength. She bounded to her feet, walking down a step or two, and then sank back down weakly. “Oh, crud,” she muttered, closing her eyes.
“You are injured?” He bolted forward, trying to climb a couple of the steps, but it was too awkward with his hooves. “Sophie, come to me,” he insisted, reaching toward her.
She took his hands, and he pulled her to her feet, helping her down to the very bottom step. That brought her a little closer to eye level, although he still towered over her.
“I can see you better this way,” she agreed, then wavered slightly on her feet. He caught her about the waist, steadying her, but snapped back his hands as if he’d just been burned.
Aristos was wrong. He was not light, not turned at all. He was just . . . drawn to this woman, for reasons he couldn’t understand. “Are you a witch?” he blurted suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
He cursed under his breath, about to leave, but then she began sinking fast, and leaned into him for support. “Please, hold me,” she said, tears suddenly in her eyes. He clasped her waist, steadying her. “Just like this. I’m so worn-out after tonight. Healing . . . all the spiritual warfare.”
“Why did they involve you in this intervention?” he asked sharply.
She looked at him in surprise. “I’m a Daughter of Delphi. I had to be there! And Nikos almost died when Layla attacked him, so I healed him, no choice there,” she chattered. “Same with Juliana, duh. You know that! You understand who I am.”
He released her from his grasp. “You are impossible, female! Without a bit of self-preservation or self-concern in your body.” He pointed at the few thorny protrusions that remained along his flank and sides. “Why don’t you go ahead and touch me again as well? Add that additional pain and anguish to your own frail, pathetic little body!”
Wordlessly Sophie walked forward and pressed her face against a smooth portion of his withers, and began weeping. Her small shoulders heaved, and several soft sobs were muffled against his side. The damp tears instantly burned his body; they were pure. He was evil.
“Stop that!” he roared, swiveling his torso to get a better look at her. “Move off me, woman!”
Before he could stop himself, his hand shot out, reaching toward her, but then he froze midgesture. He began laughing cruelly, ignoring the way her tears seared his side. “You pitiful mortal. What help do you believe I can provide?”
“Sable, for once . . .” She didn’t finish, just pressed her face harder against him, her left hand now rubbing across his withers. “For once just stop fighting it.”
Staring at his own hand, still outstretched, still halfway extended toward her, he grew enraged by her existence—and that he cared for her, that he couldn’t shake her or resolve the conflict inside his perverse soul.
With an infuriated growl, he felt his horns lengthen and sharpen, his vision washed pure crimson with rage. He was at war with himself. The horns twisted again, wrapping about his forehead. He was at his ugliest and most foul, and still, despite the transformation, in spite of the pure crimson that washed through his vision . . .
He did not hurt her. He did something that went against every ruined instinct humming in his mind. He drew Sophie Lowery closer against his side.
“Wh-what happened?” he stammered, aghast at his own need to be a source of strength. “Why these tears?” he asked more softly, his gnarled fingers catching
and pulling in her unruly curls.
She released another sob. “Juliana . . . we might not be able to save her. I hope you’re right, about Layla, but if not . . .” She cried harder. “Juliana will die. Aristos will lose her, again, and it’s . . . heartbreaking. I feel that sadness inside of me. It seems so cruel.”
His mouth watered at the word. She was treading dangerous territory; darkness roared inside his heart. “Cruel?” he forced the word past his lips, panting slightly with need. A need that only grew as he felt her warm, soft body fold closer against his own.
“Don’t you think so?” she asked softly. “But at least their love lives forever.”
“Don’t talk of love,” he warned her. “Not around me. The word does not inspire me to . . . behave.”
She only clung to him harder, as if he represented her next breath of life, the only stability in a foundering landscape. As if, he thought with a painful gasp, he was her beloved.
“I knew you’d make it better,” she said with innocent frankness. She rested her cheek in his fiery palm. “I knew . . . I needed you.”
The words pierced his heart, made him feel alive, and at once the world was no longer red. He blinked at her, still cupping her cheek.
“Your eyes,” she murmured wondrously. “They’re blue again. . . . Why does that happen?”
Because some small part of my soul isn’t craven, he almost shouted. Because you are dangerous to my basest nature.
As the hurricane of conflicting emotions rose even higher inside his chest, he gave a shake, bucking slightly so he could throw her off.
She cried out, and he flinched when she fell awkwardly against the base of a large oak tree.
“You are such a liar. You know what you feel,” she accused, pointing a finger at him. “What happens inside of you whenever I’m around.”
With a flick of his fingers, he’d summoned his fighting swords. Their hilts were encrusted with gleaming rubies and emeralds. “This is what I am, Sophie Lowery! A demon. A murderer.” He sliced the weapons dramatically through the air, and when she didn’t even blink, he drove first one, then the other into the tree where she leaned, framing her between the vibrating blades.
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