Red Demon

by Deidre Knight

  “Right now, Sophie, I could relish killing you. . . . I’d drag it out, get drunk on the pleasure.” He leaned closer into her space and sniffed the side of her neck right at the jugular.

  She didn’t recoil. “You can’t do it.”

  She wasn’t shaking, damn the bitch. Wasn’t trembling or crying out. That stillness in her was an accusation.

  “I am death. Not your comforter or your . . .” Beloved! He couldn’t even say the damned word.

  She finished for him. “Or my friend?” She just looked up into his eyes, her expression sad but not intimidated. She’d never even glanced at the sharp blades beside her cheeks.

  “We are not playmates!” He thrust a hand against his chest. “You seem blind when you look upon me. Unable to sense or understand my true nature no matter how plainly I reveal it to you.”

  She shocked him by suddenly smiling, and brightly, as she tilted her chin and met his gaze. “That’s just it. I do see. Your truest nature. Not the one you wear now.” She waved a hand up and down in front of him.

  “Tell me this truth, Sophie Lowery,” he seethed, leaning so close against her face that his hot breath undoubtedly burned her cheeks. “Tell me what I, with all my thousands of years of roaming this world, do not know about my own nature.”

  Reaching before he could stop her, she touched his cheek. “You’re going to love me. Completely. And you’ll do anything to make me love you in return. I’ve seen it. That is what is true.” She shrugged easily. “It’s the only truth, really, between you and me.”

  He tightened his grasp on the twin swords, ready to inflict deathly wounds, anything to end her babbling. “I am incapable of love!” he roared. “Incapable of caring.”

  “Or holding me close while I cry?” she reminded him on a gentle whisper.

  His eyes slid closed, and somehow, all the roaring fury inside of him evaporated at the quiet words.

  He was a liar; she was truth itself, so pure and lovely that he could not fight her tide. It was a losing, drowning effort to cling to his own fading darkness.

  “I . . . hated that you hurt,” he admitted, wincing at his own confession. “I had to stop it. Do anything to take it away.”

  She stroked his scarred cheek, so gently. “Yes, see? It’s not so hard, after all. It’s just that this change inside of you—it’s painful, I know. But it’s okay. It will be worth it.”

  Closing his eyes, he turned his face so that his lips grazed her palm, and with the faintest, lightest touch, kissed the center of her hand.

  “You gave us Layla’s true name. Why?”

  He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “You, Sophie,” he admitted hoarsely. “I did it for you.”

  Juliana brushed out her damp hair, fastening the white lace blouse she’d bought from the boutique. She wore it with a multitiered skirt, black taffeta cut above the knee. It was ridiculous, she supposed, but she wanted to present herself to the others appearing composed, especially if it was the last time she would ever see Aristos. For surely, she felt in her bones, if they could not defeat Layla by using this new information, then Layla would consume her.

  Not entirely satisfied with her appearance, she set the silver-handled brush down and walked out of the room. Aristos leaned up against the wall outside her door, looking as sinfully handsome as ever, even though his eyes revealed fatigue and fear.

  She walked right into his embrace. “I love you,” she promised him, needing him to hear it, now more than at any other time. “No matter what happens next, always know that I love you.”

  He slid his arm about her, leading her down the hall. “I love you, too, but this isn’t good- bye, baby. It’s our beginning.”

  “I want to believe that, too,” she said, leaning into him as they entered the library. She flinched when she saw the bloodstains on the floor. Someone had tried to clean up, but without much success, and soaked rags and a mop lay on the floor. She shivered, staring at the bloodshed.

  Ari pulled her along. “Don’t look at that. You didn’t do it, remember. And Nikos is all right now.”

  “For now. But if Layla gets loose again?” She fought tears, still gawking at the scene.

  But then another hand grabbed hold of her arm, touching her softly. “Juliana, hi.” It was Mason, and he was looking at her with a surprisingly kind expression. “You ready for this?”

  “Do you hate me now?” she asked bluntly. “Because, sir, I would not blame you at all if you did not care to assist me. Unfortunately, I still very much require your help.” She glanced at Ari, who hadn’t let her go for a moment. “We both do.”

  Mason rubbed an eye for a minute, then said, “Like Ari said, you didn’t do all this. You’re a victim of Layla, sure as anyone else. She’s lethal, but it’s my job—it’s my calling, Juliana—to protect you from her. You’re one of the innocents that her kind prey upon, even, apparently from beyond the grave.”

  They directed her to the sofa, and Shay took position behind her, laying gentle hands on her shoulders. Ari settled beside her, and his strength and solidness reassured her more than anything else, including the group that now knotted all about her.

  Ari leaned forward and gave her a sweet, long kiss. “Here goes, sweetheart,” he said.

  Ari began praying much harder right then. Layla was not going to do this again, he thought, as she transformed beneath his grasp, becoming slithery and clawed—even displaying gleaming fangs this time around.

  “Take two, anyone?” Jamie barked, but Ari never even looked up.

  “Let’s contain this thing,” he said, forcing Layla onto her back. Her leather wings beat against the sofa, bunching beneath her shoulders. “Whatever you guys do, nobody let her get free.”

  She writhed and fought him, scratching up at his face, and he barely managed to duck out of her reach before Mason pinned her wrist down with brutal strength. “Don’t even think about it,” Mace growled at her.

  “Kelly didn’t have nearly the fight that you do,” she said to him.

  “Ignore her, Mace!” his brother cautioned. “Don’t let her use his memory as a tripwire.”

  “I’m using his memory for fuel, brother,” he said, pinioning her down. “Ari? Go! Now—do it.”

  Ari leaned right down over her and produced his own genie from a bottle. “Llayias, you ready to rock and roll?” he asked with a smug, satisfied smile. “Because we’re about to bind you and boot you back to where you came from.”

  Jules moaned, her body covered in cuts and welts, but as far as Ari could tell, Layla was truly gone. She’d released her hold on Juliana, flying with a murderous screech all about the room, until Mason had dropped low, semiautomatic in hand, and fired a single sniper’s round. She’d fallen like a swatted bug to the floor, writhing there for half a second, then just vanished in a squealing puff of smoke.

  Done. Gone. Hasta la vista, baby.

  In that aftermath, though, Jules wasn’t looking very good, or seeming to possess much strength at all.

  Sophie stroked her hair, laying her healer’s hands all over the marks and bruises. “Oh, poor thing,” Soph said softly, murmuring against her cheek as she kept releasing her gift into Juliana’s body. Ari had tried—and failed—to do the same; too much of his energy had already blown out during the demon battle.

  Daphne approached, leaning against the sofa’s arm. “Aristos?” she said very gently. “We have to get her to Olympus. She’s not strong, but I worry that if we don’t take her now, she may not survive. She needs to be in Eros’s pool immediately.”

  He stared at Jules’s wan expression and felt torn. If they teleported her, that required strength, and in her current state, would she survive it?

  “She’s so weak,” he argued.

  Sophie leaned closer, working more furiously. “She’s getting a little better.”

  “We really need to go now,” Daphne pressed.

  Juliana was drowning again. This water was warm, light, though, not asphyxiating. She felt it s
eep into her body, restoring her and bringing life. She tried opening her eyes, but there was only the glowing crimson water in every direction. She kicked and used her arms, trying to figure out which way was up or down so as to know how to reach the surface. Was this some aftereffect of her original curse?

  Strong arms seized hold of her shoulders, pulling her. She felt the cool breeze of air on her face and, blinking, sucked in a deep breath.

  Ari knelt by the pool, pulling her toward the side. She reached for the edge, but he stopped her. “You have to stay in; that’s what Eros told us.”

  “Actually,” a warm, musical voice informed them, “you both need to avail yourself of the water’s special properties. There is life there that you must absorb while you’re together. Let’s put it that way, shall we?”

  She gaped at the tall man—god?—who loomed over the edge, right beside Ari. “In you go,” the beautiful man instructed Ari, giving him a light, playful shove. Ari went tumbling into the pool with a huge splash, and then swam back toward her.

  They were alone, thank all the gods who lived on this mountain, Ari thought, pulling Jules to him. Her soaked clothes bunched about her, and he began unbuttoning absolutely everything. Something in these waters aroused him beyond anything he’d ever known before. Go figure, he thought, barely swallowing a laugh. Eros would have the hot tub to end all hot tubs.

  Jules had already become much stronger, her face and smile radiant as she clung to him at the pool’s edge. Her small skirt came free from her hips, sinking. She stared down. “Wait! I like that design,” she argued, fumbling for it, but he caught her hand.

  “Darling, I’ll take you shopping every day for the next year if it makes you happy.”

  “With that flat, plastic card?” She stared up at him joyously. “Truly?”

  “Can I watch while they truss you up in all the finery?”

  “That is not polite, sir.” She swatted his arm, but he pulled her against his chest, swimming them toward what was obviously the shallow end of the enchanted pool.

  “Once and for all . . . ,” he started.

  “I will always call you ‘sir,’ ” she said. “I find that doing so is rather . . . sexy.”

  “Oh, how you adapt to the twenty- first century,” he growled, nipping her ear. “I like it!”

  Then they were in the shallow area of the bathing pool, and Ari stood, drawing her up against him. His own shirt dripped heavy rivulets, and she reached to pull it off, but he held out a hand, yanking it over his head and hurling it across the water’s rose-petal surface.

  Jules held to him, thinking that the flowers along his arms were only a lush reminder of his very masculine beauty.

  Never taking his eyes off of her, he was out of his pants, too, so that all that remained was her white lace blouse. She began removing it quickly, needing to be naked and bare against Aristos.

  Then, with a self-conscious glance, she searched all about them. “Are we truly alone?”

  He captured her mouth, kissing her, and then whispered. “Eros himself told us to get it on.”

  “Get it on?” she repeated, then intuiting the meaning, made her eyes wide. “He did not! He said we were to spend time together in this pool.”

  “Together, baby. Subtext is king.”

  Hitching her legs about him, she felt how very aroused he was, the thick length of him pushing between her legs. “This pool has some wicked mojo in the water.” He laughed, drawing her right up into his arms. “Not that I need any help when it comes to wanting you, darling.”

  He cupped her buttocks, sliding her up against him, and before she could hold her breath, he was pushing up inside of her. “Yes,” he said, eyes sliding shut with pleasure. “That’s what I want.”

  They rocked together, wordlessly, and a warm wind fanned across their semi-exposed bodies. They dipped in and out of the water, moving and thrusting, but always that magical quiet wove its way between them. To be alone like this, together on Olympus, at the very seat of Eros’s power of love and magic, made the moment of joining breathtaking.

  “I . . . geez, I can’t hold back,” Ari barked. “This . . . something here makes me want to really lose it, fast.”

  She could feel him releasing inside of her, the jerking motion as he filled her completely. He gripped her hard, right up against his chest, and her own body responded in kind, gripping and pulsing and needing.

  When they were totally spent, he still kept her in his arms, so close and tight, she could hear the hammering of his heart. “Sweet Jules,” he sighed against the top of her head. “Nobody does it better. Trust me on that one.”

  They kept clinging together, unwilling to let the other go, and Jules marveled at the strength she felt, like a bell ringing all through her body. “I’m going to live, Aristos,” she whispered into his ear. “This pool has saved me. You have saved me.”

  A whispering sound came overhead then, and they both looked up with a start. It was Eros, flying right over the pool, an expression of absolute glee and joy on his handsome face. “Love has saved you!” he crooned. “And I have defeated my father . . . this time!”

  Then, raising his bow, a flaming arrow—a crimson one—he fired right over their heads. “Live forever, my young ones!” he sang. “Both of you, eternal. Your love, immortal. Yes, live forever!”

  Chapter 42

  Nikos turned in the bed, blinking his bleary eyes. How long had he been sleeping? And why did his chest hurt so badly?

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to recall how he’d gotten here in . . . Where was he? Another look, and he saw Mason’s antique dresser and the framed Harley-Davidson posters on the wall. He sank down into the pillow.

  He’d almost died, and they’d healed him—and apparently, someone had brought him here to Mace’s room. Why here, of all the blasted places, he wondered miserably. That was when he noticed an empty chair beside the bed, and he felt his eyes burn. Mason wasn’t in that chair, because undoubtedly he’d been too spooked by Nik practically dying in his arms.

  He groaned slightly, rolling onto his back, knowing that he’d lost Mason Angel for good. There was no way around it.

  “You’re up, huh?” Mason asked softly. Nik hadn’t realized he was sitting beside him on the bed. “About time, too, Dounias. Don’t get soft and lazy on me in your old age.” Mason brushed a hand through Nik’s hair. “Might have to call you Sleeping Beauty if you keep this up.”

  Nik blinked up at him, confused, his body still hurting. Desperately wanting to believe that having Mace in bed beside him meant something.

  Mason wore shorts and a faded Marine Corps T-shirt. A sudoku magazine was propped against his knees.

  “How long have I been out?” Nik asked groggily.

  Mace checked his watch. “Going on about seventy-two hours now. You were starting to worry me, but Ari and Soph kept saying you just had to sleep it off. So . . . I took up guard duty.” Mace grinned down at him, his green eyes filled with undisguised tenderness and affection. “I was starting to miss you in a pretty big way, man.”

  “I didn’t expect I’d have you here,” Nik said honestly. He knew what Mason must have felt, holding him, injured and bleeding to death. All the man’s worst fears and memories had surely been brought back—and every one of his reasons for avoiding a relationship fully confirmed by that horrible scene. “I . . . just figured you’d be scared off for good by now.”

  Mason’s light eyes became teasing. “After that dying act? Look, you gotta stop going for the attention.” Mace slid down on the bed and propped his head on one elbow. “ ’Cause, for the record, you’ve had my attention all along. You copy?”

  Nik nodded, feeling ridiculously shy, especially when Mason moved a little closer, and continued. “So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About you. About us . . . And about me, my stupid issues, my past, Kelly. So here’s the thing,” he said, staring meaningfully into Nik’s eyes. “You deserve a boyfriend who’s got his shit together, you do.” Mason drew in a b
reath and announced, “I’m gonna go back to the VA. Get some help to deal with my PTSD, all of it. Because you deserve a guy who’s not gonna run scared every time you try to get close. You deserve . . .”

  “You, Angel,” Nik said, pulling Mason into his arms. “You are all that I want and deserve.”

  Mason began stroking his hair very slowly, such a gentle, sweet thing that Nik got sleepy. Really, really sleepy, and then he was floating into the dreamworld again. Until with a start, his eyes popped open. He turned to Mason, who had apparently just been lying there, watching him rest.

  Nik stared into Mason’s eyes. “Aristos often says I am too reserved, and I suspect he is correct, so I’m going to do something very, very risky right now.” Nik cupped Mason’s face, murmuring, “I’m not asking this time. I’m telling you what I want, what I need . . . my one kiss. This kiss. It’s mine, Angel. You are mine. Make no mistake on that matter.”

  “Roger that.” Mason began grinning like an idiot. “You’re about to become one of the few, the proud . . .”

  “Mine,” Nik growled with Spartan brevity.

  Mace began laughing as their lips brushed together and murmured, “Oorah!”

  But then suddenly he heard someone clearing his throat, and Nik froze, Mace still in his arms. Shit, he wasn’t ready for the cadre to really know the full truth about what they had going, not so early on.

  “Sorry,” River said sheepishly, hesitating at the threshold. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “The door was open,” Mason said, sitting upright and waving him on into the room.

  River walked closer, hands in his pockets, seeming awkward and unsure.

  “So, uh, how are you feeling, Nik?” River ventured, taking the empty seat beside the bed. “You’ve had us all worried.”

  Mason slid a hand onto Nik’s shoulder and in a soft voice said, “River’s been in here for most of the time you were sacked out.”