American Demon

by Kim Harrison

  “Un soom ou un ermoon es un soom ou un om,” Hodin intoned, the monotone words tickling a memory I’d never had. “Un soom ou un om es un soom ou un ermoon,” he echoed, only two words shifting place. I’d have given just about anything to know what he was saying. Old magic. It wasn’t elven; it wasn’t demon. It was a mix of them both, and I stifled another shiver as he coated me in power older than the universe. Hodin was asking for the Goddess’s help, and I bowed my head, knowing the pain he was opening himself up to if she shunned him again and it didn’t work.

  His words softened, becoming thick in my head until he was breathing the chant, the brush never lifting from me as he went clockwise, then doubled back in widdershins, and then back again, making smaller and smaller arcs until tracing a final arc encompassing all the loops before rising up to my left shoulder, making a sparkling line between my neck and the knitted throw.

  My eyes widened as Hodin shifted to stand before me. He looked like nothing I’d ever seen before as his plea to the Goddess spilled from his lips, begging her to help for my sake. His eyes held a thick torment. I knew he was breaking his own promise, one made in anger and humiliation. He’d been a slave because the Goddess had said no. He had suffered because she turned her back on him. And now he was asking again, opening himself to rejection from someone he loved and hated, despised and needed. I bowed my head in understanding, grateful.

  His motion never slowing, never quickening, Hodin traced the ink in a shallow curve, staying above my breasts as he mirrored the glyph on my back but in a much smaller size—tingling against my skin. “Un soom ou un ermoon es un soom ou un om. Un soom ou un om es un soom ou un ermoon,” he whispered as he finished the last interior arc, the final swoop curving around the small glyph and rising up to touch the point on my shoulder where he’d begun.

  Only now did he lift the brush from my skin. I staggered, and Trent’s hand was there, gripping my elbow as, without warning, the ley line wasn’t moving through me, but around me.

  “Mirror it on your elf, and you should be able to merge your circles,” Hodin said, but I was still trying to find myself. I was wrapped in a ley line, the warm humming protecting me from everything, tingling as he shifted the blanket to cover me fully. The ink was already dry. “As long as you are both conscious, your combined strength may hold it.”

  Too alone to hold me, echoed in my thoughts. “Hodin, this isn’t an elf or demon curse. It’s both,” I said, pulse fast. “Is this why they hate you? Because you mixed elf and demon magic?”

  Hodin’s eyes flicked to Trent standing resolute beside me. “Constantly,” he said. “And now I’m doing it again.” He shook his head, grimacing. “You’d think I’d learn after two thousand years of penance.” His eyes came to me, and I quailed. “But we’re both half what we could be apart, and I can’t bear it. Don’t make me suffer them alone as I try to survive their anger.”

  Them being the demons. I didn’t think the elves would have cared, except it would have made the demons more powerful yet. I swallowed hard, fingers damp as I twined them in Trent’s. “We won’t,” I promised. “Thank you,” I added, and Hodin seemed to find a shadow of peace.

  “You felt the how of it?” he said as he scuffed back. “Can you do it again?”

  I nodded as I pulled the knitted throw closer about me. I didn’t have to see the glyph painted on me. I felt it, knew its every turn and convoluted shift. “Maybe not the words, but the pattern,” I said, and he nodded sharply, as if having expected nothing less.

  “Then I’m done.” Hodin tugged his threadbare robe close as if it were fine silk.

  “Hodin, wait.” I stepped from Trent, and the demon slumped. “I mean it. Thank you,” I said again, nervous. “I know . . .” I hesitated, not wanting him to think I understood what he’d done. How could I? His Goddess had turned her back on him, allowing him to be enslaved. His kin had shut him out, reviled him for not just practicing but relishing an art of magic that they considered foul and wrong. And all he had from me was a promise that I wouldn’t do the same when they found out he was alive and came for him again. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, realizing how expensive a promise I had made. “With the rest of them.”

  It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Hodin nodded and looked from me to Trent. “Bis, you will best serve Rachel outside while she twists the curse upon her elf,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” Bis’s leathery wings beat the air once, and he landed atop Hodin’s shoulder, looking embarrassed.

  “What am I? Chopped fairy farts?” Jenks said as he rose up on a column of silver. “Zack is probably eating something. Give me a minute, and I’ll join you,” he added, and Bis nodded.

  “I’ll be on the roof,” Bis said, and with a tweak on my awareness, he and Hodin vanished.

  Again the bell rang from the other room, the pure note assuring me they had left. Jenks gave us a two-fingered salute and hummed out into the darkness in search of something to eat. We were alone. I looked at Trent, nothing but that silky throw between me and the world. Oh, and the curse, wrapping me in a ley line. We had a chance, and I gave his hand a quick squeeze.

  “Your skin glowed. Did it hurt?” Trent asked, and I shook my head.

  “No, it felt good going on, actually,” I said as I picked up the brush and the inkpot sitting on the desk. There was considerably less “ink,” but I knew for a fact Hodin had never lifted his brush. “Shirt off. Tap a line,” I directed at Trent. “Let’s see if this works.”

  Trent glanced once at the open door before beginning to undo buttons. I’d seen Trent in far less, but seeing him before me, waiting for me to paint a curse on him, made him brand-new, and I resisted the urge to touch his smooth skin and defined shoulders, his abs shaped by his almost daily rides with the girls. Thirty minutes of garden dirt and ley line magic . . .

  “Okay, let me know if something doesn’t feel right,” I said, and then he shuddered, breath coming in fast as I set the brush to his shoulder.

  Ta na shay, I thought, knowing I’d never get the words right as I began the first long swoop down Trent’s back. But then Hodin’s words rebounded in my memory with a new meaning. “Un soom ou un ermoon es un soom ou un om,” I whispered, and goose bumps blossomed on Trent. The soul of the one is the soul of the all, I thought, not knowing how I knew, only that I did. “Un soom ou un om es un soom ou un ermoon.” The soul of the all is the soul of the one.

  Breathless, I kept the brush moving as I traced the pattern to blur our auras into one. The words rose from my mind as if I was in the collective, evoking a feeling of protection, of belonging, like that of a wolf pack. The words and spell were elven, but it was as if both the enclave and the collective had taken us in, sheltering us even as we lent our souls to protect theirs. The ink never thinned as I finished the large glyph on his back and turned, coming to his front to create a smaller shield atop his upper chest.

  “Un soom ou un ermoon es un soom ou un om. Un soom ou un om es un soom ou un ermoon,” I intoned, my words sounding apart from myself as if others were repeating them, not me. “Ta na shay,” I whispered to make it wholly Trent’s as I traced the final loop and rose to find the beginning. My skin tingled, and I wasn’t sure why.

  I looked into the pot to find the ink was gone. “That should do it,” I said, my words sounding crass as I lifted the brush from him, and he shivered, his hand reaching up to grab mine.

  My eyes darted to his, and I froze at the unexpected desire in them. Suddenly I realized that I was still wearing that afghan, which was basically wearing nothing at all. “That was the most erotic thing you’ve ever done to me,” Trent whispered, and my pulse quickened.

  “Is that so?” I said, eyes closing as his hands reached around my middle and pulled me closer. “How about the time— Oh! Mmmm,” I gasped as he bent his head and nuzzled my neck, his teeth fastening on me in a brief gentle tug. There was no preamble. It was ra
w need in him, and it sparked my own with a surprising urgency. Damn demon-sex curse anyway.

  “Yes,” he muttered when his lips let go. I couldn’t think. His hands rose to my breasts. The drape hid his movements, and feeling dove to my groin, making me squirm in desire.

  Sensation welled up, and a desperate need to see this to the end filled me. “Hodin said it didn’t instill any desire,” I said as I set the empty pot and brush aside. Hands free, I eagerly traced my hands down him, tugging his waistband until our hips touched. “You think he lied?”

  “No. It’s all you,” Trent said, and then we gasped as one when, by chance, our fingers laced together and the glyphs drawn singly upon us resonated with the same exhilarating feeling. Breathless, I looked at Trent. He felt it, too. The soul of the one is the soul of the all, I thought as the sensation of connection snapped through us, ebbing and flowing through our fingers.

  “Interesting,” Trent said, his smile turning wicked, and something in me quivered.

  “Uh, I don’t think this was Hodin’s intent,” I said, wondering how I was going to get Trent’s pants off if I couldn’t let go of his hand. I knew I didn’t want to. Feeling his desire echo through me was so erotic, I could hardly bear it.

  “Not my problem,” Trent said, and giving in, I found his mouth with mine.

  Sensation redoubled, spilling through me, through us, our desire amplified by the still new and unblemished curse painted on our skins. My mouth moved against his, tingles racing through me, making my pulse beat fast and my hands skate over him, tugging him closer. The silky yarn between us was a cool wash on my skin, tingles trailing wherever it moved.

  In wild need, I reached for his zipper, gasping when he pushed me back to the wall beside the couch. The shock jolted through me, and our hands parted. The snap of disconnection raked over my soul, and then it was just my desire making my breath quicken. But even that was exhilarating, and he quivered when I laid my hand atop the inked pattern on his chest and I could feel his love for me again.

  “So it’s like that, then?” I whispered, the throaty rasp of my voice making his smile heated as he took my hand from him and pinned my wrists to either side of my head.

  “Ever and always,” he said, and then I groaned, leg twining in his as he dropped his head and began nuzzling past the knitted throw for my breasts, finding one, then the other with his mouth until I nearly climaxed right there.

  “You’re wearing too much.” I tugged my hand out from under his, and this time he let me. I fumbled with his zipper, his feet tangled in mine. He gasped in relief as I finally got his zipper down, shimmying everything to his knees with a careful foot. And then I found his mouth again, my tongue lightly twining with his, my hands behind his neck as he worked my jeans off and I shuddered, the cold hitting me to raise goose bumps.

  I pushed from the wall, breath fast as he diverted my motion to the couch, pressing me back against the wall again with a thump. My eyes flashed open, seeing the hunger in his eyes, knowing it matched my own. Lean body taut, he pressed into me, holding me still as he found my mouth and filled my thoughts with wanting more.

  A rising desperation was growing in me, little trills of emotion plinking one by one, sensation following every touch and caress. I was feeling everything twice, my desire and his, the need and hunger almost unbearable. Desperate to find all of him, my hands fisted in his hair and my legs twined with his. The tangle of our pants was lumpy under our feet. Breath fast, I tugged him closer, nails digging into him as he bore down hard enough on my neck to make me gasp. He was raw with need, strong with desire, all the passion he kept hidden under a suit and tie and the trappings of civilization gone. It made me want him all the more.

  My hands skated over him, feeling his muscles move as I traced the lines of the curse from his back to his front, dropping down to search him out. I ached, wanting all of him. “Now,” I whispered, and he shook his head, leaning to find my breast, biting, tugging, pulling until I moaned, shivering with the need to do more. My hands fell to seek him out, desperately wanting to guide him in, wanting to get lost in feeling.

  “Not yet,” he said as his lips left me, and he pulled me closer, not letting me open myself to him. “Not yet,” he said again, his voice hard with demand.

  Goose bumps rose as he pulled the knitted throw from me, then traced the path of the curse on my back. Trails of sparking sensation rose. I was beyond thinking, and he cupped my face with his hands, his light kisses jolting me. I was going to die. It was that simple. One person could not hold this much.

  “Oh, God. Trent. The couch,” I whispered, and his grip tightened. “The couch,” I insisted until Trent held me tighter and lifted. My arms went around his neck and my legs tightened about his waist, and he shuffled to the couch, sighing as he eased me down and his weight covered me. I wedged a foot into his slacks and pushed to free his feet. With a tug, he did the same for me.

  The sudden freedom raced through me like fire, and I pulled him lower, arching up to find him. I needed him. Now. I wanted to feel him move within me, to move with him. But he wouldn’t let me, and as I ran my hand over him, he dropped his head to find my breast again. Sensation arched through me with his every pull, and I groaned softly, feeling him against me. Again I traced the lines I’d painted on his back, and he shuddered, his breath coming fast. In a sudden motion, he pinned my hand to the couch and found my mouth with his. I met him with my own desire.

  Our breaths twined and our motions against each other became more certain. Reaching down, I guided him closer. My breath escaped me in a moan as he slipped inside me to his full length in one satisfying motion. I gasped, and his hands found mine, holding them down as we moved together with a rhythm older than the curse echoing our every move.

  “Oh, God, now,” I whispered, straining, and it tripped Trent over the edge. Groaning, he deepened his motion, sending fulfillment crashing through us. I shuddered, my hands springing from his light grip to pull him deeper, closer as I climaxed, wave after slow wave seeming to echo as they built one upon the other, over and over, until they finally died away, leaving us exhausted.

  And then there were just the rasping of our breaths, his fingers twined in my hair, and the knowledge that Trent wasn’t really the calm, collected businessman he showed the world, but that the demons were right. He was an elf, ruthless and savage, his needs as demanding as my own. If he didn’t love me, he’d use and discard me with no thought. But he did love me, and my soul resonated with the knowledge. He loved me, and I knew to the bottom of my being that he’d turn that same ruthlessness toward ruining the world if it meant I would be safe.

  Spent, I blinked at Trent, loving the way he looked above me, loving the way he felt atop and in me. How could I ever leave him? I thought, my fingers tracing a line of ink.

  “Wow,” Trent rasped, and I laughed. “Hey, watch it!” he protested at the sudden clenching of my inner muscles, and I pulled him closer, not wanting him to leave. There was the small issue that he couldn’t leave yet. Maybe in a few minutes. Trent had never complained, but it was still a source of embarrassment for me. By the looks of things, it might be a while.

  “Don’t ever leave me,” I said, playing with the tips of his pointy ears, and he shifted his weight, putting all of it on the flat of one arm so he could catch my hand and kiss my fingertips.

  “Promise,” he said, but as our breathing slowed and my thoughts turned introspective, I wondered if anyone would bother to check on us if we spent the night here, encircled by the strength of the ley lines and our love for each other.

  CHAPTER

  29

  The sound of pixy wings pulled through me, stirring me awake. My eyes opened to the dim, increasingly familiar lines of Trent’s room and his sparse, smooth-lined furniture. A fading line of pixy dust showed where Jenks had been, but he was gone now, and I smiled, feeling hungry and loved, but mostly loved. Trent’s arm
was over me, heavy and secure. After having fallen asleep on his mom’s couch, we’d stumbled back through the fireplace sometime after sunset to find Trent’s bed. The clock on the side table and the light leaking in from around the curtains on the window wall said it was now just after sunrise.

  God, save me from elven schedules, I thought as I spooned up into the curve of Trent’s body behind me. A smile quirked my lips as my eyes shut. He might not have been awake, but he was up.

  Feeling me move, Trent pulled me closer. He smelled really good, of cinnamon and wine, and a hint of leather from his horses. But my wish to fall back asleep for a few more hours was crushed when I heard Zack talking to someone in the outer room, his voice low and melodious. The scent of brewing coffee became obvious and Trent’s breathing quickened. He was waking up.

  My shoulders itched, and my fingers touched the curse that Hodin had given me. Old magic. And as I idly traced the path from my back to my front, a sensation of connection spilled into me.

  Trent stirred. Wondering if he felt it, too, I pulled my hand away, my fingers curling under my palm. “What time is it?” he whispered, his voice soft with sleep.

  “Just after sunup.” I sighed, knowing he’d leave me. Zack and Jenks were talking, and the faint drone of the TV was becoming obvious.

  Sure enough, he groaned, his arm tightening around me. “I don’t hear the girls. You don’t think Ellasbeth ignored Quen and stayed in the safe room, do you? It’s been over twelve hours.”

  More like fifteen. I spun in his grip to see him, liking how soft he looked with sleep dulling his usual sharp expression. “That’s your first thought?” I teased, my fingernails raking his stubble to make his eyes open. But inside, I cringed. Ellasbeth was coming back into his life. Not only because of the girls, but to keep his head above the political waters. It was the right thing to do, but it still left me aching.