The Devil You Know

by Jena Gregoire

  "You didn't answer me on the phone," he purred. "Did you miss me?"

  "Well, with the harem of men I have at my disposal, I couldn't find the time to miss someone I only had a little fling with." She stepped back and added, "I mean, I didn't even get breakfast."

  He dropped his gaze for a moment. "I deserve that.” He nodded his agreement before continuing. “I really am sorry, Dez. For what it’s worth, I didn’t want to leave, I had to. It was a 9–1–1 and it was coven business. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. And I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I had a great time. I’m just hoping it won’t be the last."

  Deziree smiled. "I'm not mad. Not really. I mean, I was initially, but I figured something must have happened. A call or a text would have been nice. Something to let me know you weren’t somewhere desiccating in an unmarked grave.”

  "Well," he said, his wicked grin firmly in place and his eyebrow cocked, "let me make it up to you."

  "We'll see about that," she replied and her pulse quickened.

  “I can hear your heart racing.” Stepping forward, he leaned down and kissed her again. She found herself wishing she didn't have to go back down to the bar, but if she didn’t, Danni was going to run out of liquor. He leaned his forehead on hers and whispered, "My place when you get out?"

  "Sure," was her quick, breathy reply.

  "I have a few things to take care of," he said quietly, "and then I’ll meet you here around the time you guys usually lock up."

  She nodded in response, and he turned, walked to the edge of the roof, and dropped off the side. After standing there for a few moments in a daze, she finished her cigarette, and headed back through the access door to grab the bottles she’d promised Danni.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Michael

  Michael had spent the previous two weeks feeling horrible about walking out that night. Deziree deserved better, and he knew it. When his presence was requested in Italy, he had no idea what he was getting into, and was forbidden to share any of the details of the case with anyone, including her. Specifically her. He had figured not calling and begging forgiveness when he returned would be easier than lying to her. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, and he couldn’t bear the repercussions if she ever found out he had. He knew he would have some making up to do when he got back. He just wasn’t sure how much damage he'd done by leaving in the middle of the night without a word.

  He expected Deziree would be furious with him, but she had forgiven him without any begging involved. He had every intention of explaining, regardless of her mild response. Holding back the truth about Italy would prove disastrous if she did come to find out. There had never been any secrets between them before and he wasn't about to begin keeping them now. Especially not with this.

  Michael glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. He had just finished preparing dinner for the two of them, and it was almost time to go back over to Onyx and pick up Dez. Thinking of their informal date inspired happiness in him. He felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he knew she didn’t hate him. There was still a note of tension between them, but once he told her what happened, he was sure it would pass. The physical chemistry was still there, but Deziree had been so adamant years ago about their not starting a relationship. He wasn’t sure if one night had changed her mind. His was made up. He knew what he wanted. The ball was in her court now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dez

  Deziree was busy for the rest of the night, but it didn't keep her mind off Vegas. Her plan had never been to get involved with the vampire, but it was starting to appear the universe had other ideas for the pair.

  The main reason she'd chosen a solitary life was her own immortality. It was a little difficult to explain to a potential suitor while they were growing old and wrinkly, her flawless alabaster skin would never be marred by the likes of crow’s feet and age spots. Her long black hair would never turn a dignified shade of silver. Her impossibly blue eyes would never cloud with cataracts. Essentially, she would never look a day over twenty-five.

  Living her life alone also lowered her chances of having to watch someone she loved wither and die. Over the centuries, she'd seen plenty of immortals fall in love, only to be left a mentally-destroyed mess when the object of their affections aged and inevitably passed on. Hell, Charlie was knowingly setting himself up for the very same fate.

  Almost all immortal races were capable of deep emotion, and a great many of them fell victim to it. Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, and every other race touched by magic all experienced love and grief on some level, some more intensely than others. She had vowed long ago she would never make the mistake of opening herself up to that kind of pain, and had done pretty well at keeping herself protected. She was half human, which meant she was extraordinarily susceptible to emotional connection. She had avoided forming bonds with anyone too easily, she had begun to think her half-demon DNA had over-powered those human tendencies. Sure, there were those she cared about but they were few and far between. Demonkind was the only race which was pure evil by nature, at least as far as she knew. Originally angelic souls, when they were sent to Hell, they were twisted and torn into something unrecognizable, their pure light snuffed and replaced by pure darkness. They were the originals, the purebloods, and the only emotions they’re capable of were rage-fueled hatred and the occasional bout of pleasure born of someone else’s pain. Not exactly the stuff happily ever afters were made of.

  However, she felt something for Vegas that she’d never felt for anyone before. She loved him, but she had always loved him. He was practically her family. But that night had changed things. And then it was ripped out from under her the next morning when she woke to find herself alone. He had been nearly the sole occupant of her thoughts since; angry with him one minute even though she knew he would never have left like that without a good reason, and angry with herself the next for thinking the worst of him. It made for a shitty mood in the last couple of weeks. No matter what she did to steer her thoughts elsewhere, they never strayed far from him.

  Neither of them had planned it, but maybe that was the point. Maybe two people were just destined to come together after spending so much of their lives in each other's company. Until the relatively recent public revelation that vampires and weres existed, they had bonded over the shared secret of immortality. Having to live in the shadows for so long seemed to drive an unspoken need to be honest with each other. There wasn’t anything one kept from the other. She was a professional thief, and he was a mercenary for hire. Both jobs required a somewhat broken moral compass, so both knew they had no right to judge the other.

  Michael's outlook on settling down with someone had always been much the same as her own: it was off-limits. He was a loner, even by vampire standards, and up until recently, their interactions had remained friendly, sexual tension-free zones. Now and then, conversation would be peppered with mild flirtation, but who didn't flirt? They spent their off time together, but things always remained friendly between them. Up until two weeks ago, they had spent a few hundred years successfully keeping it in their pants. They were confidants and companions in a life which would have otherwise been unbearably lonely. She thought that’s how it would always be. She was apparently wrong.

  The heat between them that night had been undeniable. The moment she’d seen him up on the roof earlier tonight, everything she felt that night came flooding back to her. Their one-night stand had clearly been more than a fling. She knew it was from her side, and she was fairly certain he felt the same way.

  Last call came and went. Deziree and Danni scrambled to get the bar cleaned up in a mutual effort to get out of there as quickly as possible. She considered Danni one of her closest human friends. One of her only human friends, if she was being honest. Dez had brought her up to speed on the Vegas situation shortly after it happened, and upon being informed that he was going to be meeting her when they were done, Danni had
taken it up as her personal mission to make sure Dez was out of there in record time.

  When they declared victory over the messy bar, Danni grabbed her purse and in a quiet sing-song voice, she whispered, "Good luck," capping it off with a playful wink. Deziree laughed, shook her head, and ran upstairs to her office for her things. When she came back down, Jack and the rest of the crew had just finished for the night. Jack was the last to leave, and as he walked out the door, he called over his shoulder to say goodbye. She walked to the back and flipped all the light switches to the off position. She took one last look around to make sure nothing was left out of place. Satisfied, she turned and headed for the door.

  Dez turned the key in the deadbolt lock.

  "Hasn't anyone ever told you most girls are creeped out by guys who skulk in shadows and watch people?" Deziree said before turning to smile up at him.

  Vegas stepped away from the alley wall he'd been leaning against and into the light.

  "Someone might have mentioned it once or twice," he replied. "Are you saying I give you the creeps?"

  "Nah," she replied lightly, "but I’m not most girls."

  Vegas scoffed. "Tell me about it. You ready to go?"

  "I am," she answered, and then asked, "Want to walk? It's finally dry out. I figured I can just leave my car here and get it later."

  "Works for me."

  The walk to his place wasn't far and she wanted to enjoy the night air. His brownstone penthouse was only a few blocks away from Onyx. However, the walk felt like an eternity as they strolled in a weird, slightly uncomfortable silence. The entire time she struggled with what she could or should say. He was the one who eventually spoke first.

  "So how was work?"

  "Not too bad. A couple of wolves got into a fight, but it was over pretty quickly. Having Jack around has definitely been beneficial. He hired a few guys from Lunacore for a little extra muscle parked around the room. The two guys they sent over are no joke. They’re bigger than any were or shifter I've ever met, and neither of them seem to have a sense of humor. Needless to say, we don't chat. Ever."

  Lunacore was a new security firm on the East coast. Based out of New York City, they were owned by an alpha werewolf, and they basically had a highly trained army of supernatural soldiers at their disposal. They were the new go-to if you had a security problem that couldn’t be handled by the normal human means.

  "Jack’s a smart guy. I’m glad he got some extra help," he replied thoughtfully. "He’s capable, no doubt, but one shifter is no match for an entire pack of angry wolves. What were they fighting over?"

  "A girl; what else?" Dez shrugged. "She was drunk and willing, and they got into a territorial pissing contest over whom she’d be going home with. Apparently, there was some confusion regarding exactly who she was interested in. She was hanging all over both of them at different points throughout the night. They figured it out, and rather than getting pissed at her, they both came down with a case of testosterone poisoning. She was just an excuse to throw punches." She felt the awkwardness in the air break a little bit. This was the old them. This was the way they talked with each other prior to the night she'd come to refer to as The Incident when talking with Danni.

  As they arrived at the brownstone, Vegas dug his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked his front door. When they got up to his penthouse, he opened the door and held it for her. She smiled. It was a sweet gesture. Familiar but different somehow.

  "And here I thought chivalry was dead."

  She walked in and set her bag on the hulking black leather couch in the center of his living room. No matter how many times she'd been here, she was always in awe when she saw his home. It was beautiful. Three of the four walls were bare brick, with the fourth wall of fully stocked, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The living room and the kitchen were open, with a black marble island separating the two rooms. She’d always thought of his living room as being built for comfort. The large leather couch sat directly in front of a fireplace spacious enough for an average human to step into. Above the fireplace was a seldom-used flat-screen television. It was always kind of a mystery to her why he kept it. The only time it was ever used was when she came over. Vegas wasn’t usually the couch potato type, but she’d gotten him to agree to a semi-regular ritual of kicking back and watching a movie together.

  “It smells amazing in here," she said, inhaling the aroma of grilled chicken and a hint of garlic.

  “I made us dinner,” he replied as he closed the door behind them. He headed for the liquor cabinet tucked discreetly under the island.

  "You cooked?" she asked, feigning shock. "What are we having?”

  "Chicken alfredo." Nodding his head toward the fireplace, he asked, "Care to do the honors?"

  She turned to the fireplace, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She rolled her neck, stretching the muscles, and then relaxed her shoulders. She opened her eyes again and whispered, "Incendia." Instantly, the logs in the hearth burst into flames as though someone had been carefully tending it for hours. She held her hand out to the fire and pushed down, taming the flames slightly.

  "Someday, you're going to have to teach me how to do that," Vegas commented. "Speaking one word would be a lot easier than the newspaper and matches method. I don't have the patience for it."

  "I've told you before," she replied, taking a seat on the couch, "you're a vampire, so you're already tied into the magicks. You just need to take the time to learn how to use them. It also happens to be one of the easiest spells to cast. It’s one of the first most witches learn."

  Vegas mixed their drinks and made their plates, then brought them into the living room on a tray. She tried to balance her reason against her emotions and still keep up with the conversation, trying her best not to look distracted. Her mind kept going back to The Incident. Then there was the kiss on the roof of the Onyx ...

  "Well, that would blow this whole thing I have going," he remarked pointedly. "See, I invite you over for dinner and drinks, and you start the fire for me. Why mess with a good arrangement?"

  He had to have thought about it, otherwise why would he have kissed me? They could go on avoiding the inevitable conversation, but if they didn’t just get it out there, every future interaction between them would be affected by what had taken place that night.

  "Very clever plan, my friend. Cheers." She raised her glass and took a sip of the pale pink Malibu Bay Breeze. The drink and dinner were both perfectly made as always. After a quiet moment, she asked, "So, where have you been for the last two weeks?" Might as well just rip off the proverbial Band-Aid.

  "Venice, actually," he replied, staring into the warmth of the dancing orange flames, licks of blue appearing and disappearing. "I was called there by Cassandra. She needed me to investigate an occurrence."

  "What do you mean, 'an occurrence'?"

  Vegas was only called in to investigate for the covens when they needed to be discreet. Sometimes, cases were too dangerous for the human authorities to take on. They weren’t prepared to deal with the vast array of strength and capabilities the supernatural community at large possessed. It’s kind of hard to prepare for something when you don’t even know it exists. So Cassandra would call Vegas in to handle it without the humans ever even knowing he was there. He was the best, and the high priestess trusted him implicitly.

  "The new records keeper for the covens was murdered.”

  “Wow, that didn’t take long.” The records keeper position had only recently been filled due to the long overdue passing of her predecessor. Neither of them had met her, since the event to officially welcome her to the covens hadn’t happened yet.

  “No, it didn’t. When Cassandra saw the condition of the girl’s body, she called me immediately." He looked up from his plate and added, "She appears to have been burned from the inside out."

  “Another fabrication for the record books?” she asked before stuffing another bite of alfredo in her mouth.

  Vegas shook his head with d
oubt. “I don’t know. If it was faked, I couldn’t find anything to prove it.”

  While the majority of the supernatural community didn't mind public acknowledgment, it was decided the demons should remain in the shadows and nightmares. When they roamed the Earth, pureblood demons killed their victims by incineration from the inside out using their ability to conjure hellfire. It was their calling card, so to speak. The humans first called it witchcraft, then it was dubbed spontaneous combustion, but they were blissfully unaware there was nothing spontaneous about it. Eventually, a coven of witches discovered a way to drive the purebloods back down into Hell to remain locked there. The cases of spontaneous combustion since then had all been proven to be hoaxes.

  After the purebloods were gone, the only signs of demon life on the human plane were the foot soldiers, the lesser demons created when a human soul was sent to Hell. They were a much less powerful, lower class of demons which would occasionally make an appearance. The human populace would spread accounts of the appearances as possession. When a foot soldier possessed a human, the victim would appear to be sick and start doing things which were completely out of character. Their behavior would progress, growing more violent and, in many cases, resulted in the victim hurting themselves. The possession would be enough to terrorize the victim, often leaving a mentally broken shell in their wake, and in a small percentage of the cases, it would kill them. Unlike purebloods, foot soldiers were unable to command hellfire, but they caused enough trouble to be worrisome when they turned up.

  It had been just over four hundred years since the last occurrence of a pureblood demon attack. Cassandra had been part of the group who located and stole the Sentinel Stone, the magical artifact which enabled the demons to cross over. The stone was made of brimstone taken from the Hell dimension itself. The witches from the Brujani Coven had taken a chance and opened themselves up to the dark arts. Through the use of blood magic, they were able to imbue the stone with an oath which sealed the gateways the demons had created. As long as the stone remained safe in the care of the Guardians, the purebloods would not be able to come through.