A Demon's Desire Page 12

  The corpse beside her began to change. Adam’s face formed as it had been two years ago. The change spread from his head to his neck, his chest.

  “Adam never loved you, Olivia,” Emma said, frantic to stop the spell. “He knew you were as big of a whore as he was!”

  The chanting stopped, and the shadows stilled. Adam had enough awareness to face her. His eyes were as she remembered them: warm and brown. She expected to feel some of her previous emotion for him return.

  Nothing. If anything, she pitied him as the look of both pain and confusion crossed his features.

  “You little bitch!” Olivia snarled, snatching the knife once again. “I’m done with you! Adam is mine!”

  Emma tried to hedge away from the plunging knife. It pierced her right shoulder, and she screamed. By the frenzied look on Olivia’s face, the black witch intended to chop her into pieces. Jeffrey snatched her arm and hauled her away, forcing her to face Adam.

  “Finish it!”

  Emma saw the look on Olivia’s face change from fury to worship. She pried herself free from Jeffrey and stepped to the body of Adam. The half-corpse looked at her, puzzled.

  “Tell Olivia how beautiful she is, Adam,” Emma urged.

  Recognition crossed his features, and he grimaced, appearing repulsed. Olivia touched her face and stepped closer.

  “Adam, it’s me!” she said. “Jeffrey did this. Am I not more beautiful than you remember?”

  His response was too quiet and ragged for Emma to hear, but its impact was clear. Confusion and hurt crossed Olivia’s face.

  “Olivia-- ” Jeffrey said, pulling her away from Adam.

  “What do you mean?” she asked of Adam.

  He didn’t answer but twisted his half-repaired neck and looked at Emma. Emma stared back, in too much pain to care about the look that crossed his face. Olivia, however, saw it.

  “What did you do, Jeffrey?” she demanded and turned on the half-demon. “He said I was ugly. What did you do?”

  “You did this to yourself,” Jeffrey snapped. “Get out of my way.” He pushed her aside to get to Adam. Emma winced as Jeffrey shoved Adam onto his back. Jeffrey met Olivia’s gaze, and a cold smile spread across his face once again. “You want him, Olivia? He’s yours.”

  “You said you’d bring him back.” Olivia looked from him to the not-yet-alive Adam.

  “And I did. You broke the incantation. Now you’re stuck with that.”

  “No. You will bring him back to me, the way he was!”

  “You ugly, stupid bitch!” Jeffrey replied. “You think anything I did was for you? Adam was right; you’re hideous. No man in his right mind would choose you over Emma. Even now, Adam lusts for her, or maybe you missed the look he gave her? They’ll be fu-- ”

  “She’ll never have him!” Olivia roared, her face black with rage. Her gaze fell to Emma. Emma wriggled in her bonds, reading Olivia’s intentions in her maddened eyes.

  “Why would you want him?” Emma said. “In life he was a whore and now ... Look at him, Olivia! You’re lucky he doesn’t want you.” Jeffrey paced to the fissure, and Emma grew colder. She didn’t understand what Jeffrey was doing, but it couldn’t be good.

  “You don’t want me.” Olivia’s gaze went to Adam. “It’s her, isn’t it? You’re going to cheat on me, leave me for her again!”

  “I loved … her.” Adam’s voice was raspy and took great effort.

  Startled, both Emma and Olivia looked at him. Olivia snatched the knife off the table and flung herself on top of the half-corpse, stabbing him and screaming wildly. Emma looked away, disgusted by the splatter of tissue and blood. Olivia stopped and panted, sobbing. Emma waited for Olivia’s fury to turn to her. Instead, she heard a shout of surprise and opened her eyes to see Olivia’s knife buried in Jeffrey’s back.

  Jeffrey growled, an inhuman sound, and whipped around. He picked up the woman and flung her against the wall. Emma watched her crumple to the ground and looked again at Adam. Despite Olivia’s attack, the mostly dead man was battered but breathing.

  Furious, Jeffrey pulled the knife free from his back and dropped it. His eyes glowed with fire, and he looked around the basement before turning to the fissure, tossing his head back, and bellowing a command. Two shadows emerged from the fissure and took shape in front of him. He nodded toward Emma, and one obediently floated to her. She closed her eyes, panicking again at the thought of being dragged to Hell.

  She felt the cold touch of the shadow and cried.

  * * *

  Tristan snatched the shadow demon hovering over Emma and flung it away. The other shadow hovered over Olivia. The fever in his body-- his own shadows trying to escape-- made the world seem to move slowly and his head spin with thoughts.

  I’m so close to home. His eyes went to the fissure.

  No! He belonged here, with Emma.

  Jeffrey whirled, sensing him. Glee was on his twin’s face at the prospect of returning to Hell. Tristan looked around at the basement. Emma was hurt, her life fading. The corpse beside her was unsettling with its human head and mutilated, decomposed body that appeared as if part of it had gone through the blender.

  Jeffrey used his shadows to fling Tristan against the wall and keep him there as he had the day before. He retrieved a bloodied knife from the ground near his feet and approached Emma. Tristan drew a deep breath and did what his mother said: he let go of what control he had of the darkness within him. Warm and cool, dark and light … they mixed within him, overwhelming him, until they became shadows that controlled his body.

  He launched off the wall where he was pinned and landed on top of Jeffrey. Darkness and fire consumed them, and Tristan surrendered.

  * * *

  Emma heard them fighting. The inhuman sounds were disturbing, but even they weren’t enough to keep her from drifting closer and closer to passing out. A fuzzy face crossed her vision. Repulsed, she tried to move away from Adam but couldn’t. He had rolled to face her and stared at her before grimacing with effort. She twisted her head to see what he was doing. One of his hands was tugging at her bonds. Surprised, she watched as he worked to free her.

  “I’m s….sorry,” he stuttered.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Everything,” he said. “I’ll make this right.”

  After a long moment, her left hand was free. She stretched to her right hand and fumbled with the knot, crying at the pain caused by putting her weight on her injured chest and shoulder. Her hand came free and she took a deep breath before sitting with effort. Her head swam but she focused on her right foot. The sounds of the brothers fighting faded in and out of her soupy thoughts. One foot was free, then the other. Lightheaded, she rose with some difficulty and could think only of escaping the hellhole that was the basement. She pushed herself away from the altar, staggered, and careened into a wall.

  Tristan. She stopped, alarm making its way through her unfocused mind.

  “Go, now!” he shouted in response.

  Her eyes found him and his twin, locked in battle across the basement, shrouded by shadows. A shrill shriek jarred her attention to the altar, and she saw Olivia charge across the basement, knife raised over her head.

  “Tristan!” she called.

  Olivia dove into the shadows, stabbing at anything that moved. The ground trembled, and the fissure grew by another foot. A blast of heat knocked Emma back. She staggered to her feet and moved toward the three battling, trying to distinguish who was who among the flailing arms.

  The decomposed figure that was Adam slid off the table. On stiff legs he lumbered in the direction of the three, tripped, and fell into the midst of the shadows. Another shriek, and Adam emerged from the battle, Olivia clutched in his arms. She clawed at him, screaming madly. Emma watched, horrified, as he staggered to the fissure to Hell. Olivia’s screams took on an eerie quality as she saw their destination. As they neared, demons from within the fissure grabbed both figures and hauled them into its depths.

  Emma co
vered her ears at the sounds of demons devouring their new prey. Her gaze returned to the twins, both of whom lay still. The shadows were gone.

  “Tristan!” She made her way across the basement, shaking and avoiding the area between the altar and the fissure.

  She dropped to her knees between the two of them, unable to tell them apart with her blurry gaze. One of them reached for what looked like a large black marble.

  “Tristan?”

  “I told you to go,” the man to her left said. “Leave it and go!”

  “Toss it into Hell,” the man to the right countered.

  “No, Emma, he’s trying to confuse you. Give it to me, before he gets it!”

  “Emma, toss it into Hell.”

  Thoroughly confused, she made out the blood pooling around both of them from their own battle and Olivia’s stabbing. They were locked in some sort of silent tug-of-war; both lay prone, their faces furrowed with effort. Her gaze settled on the marble. She grasped it. It felt hot, like Hell.

  Throw it into Hell. Tristan’s voice said into her mind. She hesitated before pushing herself up and moving as close as she dared to the fissure. Hands reached out at her, and she stepped back. She threw it.

  Good. Now run. I’m going to bring this place down.

  “Not without you, Tristan.”

  “Run, Emma. I can’t control … them.” His voice was broken and ragged, as if it took great effort for him to say the words. I’m a demon. I deserve Hell.

  She heard the last words in her thoughts, his own resignation to dying alongside the other half-demon. Emma dropped beside the man who had been on her right and touched him. His body burned with otherworldly fever.

  “You’re coming with me, Tristan,” she said. “Or we’re dying here together. I won’t leave you here.”

  For a long moment, she didn’t think he’d respond. He moved at last, pushing himself to his knees. His eyes spun with flames like those beyond the fissure, and she drew back, wondering if she’d guessed wrong. He closed his eyes then opened them again. They went back to normal. He stood and pulled her up. She felt the wave of power ripple through the world around them and shake the house to its foundation.

  Tristan lifted her with unexpected strength and hurried to the stairwell as the walls shook around them. He ran through the kitchen and hallway. The house collapsed around them. Emma covered her head, and they burst into the light of early morning. Relieved, she lost what will was keeping her out of unconsciousness. She sagged against him.

  “Emma?” His voice was still ragged. “Oh, god, Emma!”

  She closed her eyes, exhausted.

  I’ll take care of you, he promised.

  One week later

  Tristan paced outside of the hospital room. The bossy nurse that forbade a non-relative access had finally been put in place by Amber after a phone call demanding to know why he wasn’t there. He was so nervous, he’d forgotten flowers or a card, despite his mother’s advice to bring both. He ran his fingers through his hair, which now stood on end every time he got excited or anxious.

  Some of his newfound powers were irritating. He’d found he couldn’t harness the darkness once he let it go. Instead, it might accept his guidance or it might become passive-aggressive and make his hair stand on end or his shoes melt on his feet.

  He had a lot to learn about living in peace with his other half.

  “You can come in.” The stern nurse left the room with an irritated look in his direction.

  His hands were sweaty, this time not from the demon side of him but from the prospect of seeing her again. Tristan entered the small room and closed the door behind him.

  Emma was pale, the earthy color he loved about her faded. She looked him over intently as he approached, no doubt sensing the change in him. His mother had noticed it, too.

  Emma had spent two days in the ICU but looked good despite the trauma. At the awkward silence, he drew up a chair and sat beside her.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “A lot. I wondered …” She hesitated. “None of that was a dream, was it?”

  “No, Emma. It was all real.”

  “Olivia and Adam?”

  “Together forever, like she wanted, though she won’t be happy where they are,” he said.

  “Adam freed me,” she said, troubled. “What happened to Jeffrey?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tristan said. “Hell probably got him, too. It’s what he wanted, though, to return to our father.”

  “I saw Amber yesterday. She said she’ll need surgery eventually, but her back wasn’t as bad as they initially thought. Witches, gateway to Hell, demons cutting brake lines … God, what a story we’ll have to tell the grandkids!” she said with a weak laugh. “Can you imagine?”

  Grandkids. He tried not to smile at her sentence and felt relieved that she wasn’t driven away by what she saw.

  “You’re safe now, Emma, all of you,” he said and took her hand. They were quiet for a moment.

  “Now I owe you,” she said.

  “No, Emma. If you sleep with me, I want it to be because we’re more than clients,” he replied.

  “You sleep with all your clients?”

  “No.” He chuckled. She squeezed his hand.

  “Mama and Amber are excited for you to come over. Sissy can’t stop talking about you,” she went on. “You fit right in.”

  “And you? Are you excited to spend time with me?” he asked, breath stilling. She looked up at him with a faint smile.

  “Maybe,” she said. “We had a rocky start. How about we start over?” She offered him her hand. “My name is Emma. I’m recovering from a run-in with a black witch who tried to throw me into Hell because I stole her boyfriend two years ago.”

  “Hi, Emma,” he said and shook her hand. “My name is Tristan. I’m a half-demon, and my mother is a white witch who cheats at slot machines. And, I like the idea of telling our grandchildren stories about our adventures.”

  “So do I,” she whispered, a warm smile crossing her face.

  This month, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to yet another up-and-coming, brilliant indie writer, paranormal romance and chick-lit novelist Heather Marie Adkins! Heather is a friend as well as a colleague, and she’ll one day be That Writer who went from obscurity to the front page of the newspaper because of her strong writing. Heather can be reached at her blog:

  http://heather.bishoffs.com/

  Please enjoy the synopsis and exclusive peek at the first chapter of her book!

  Abigail

  Synopsis

  When Abigail’s supposedly immortal faery mother is found murdered, her human father sells her in to slavery. Bought by a young and wealthy landowner named William, she is whisked away to a Grecian island to play caretaker for his baby sister.

  However, the island has a deadly secret connected to Abigail’s past. Her budding romance with William is shattered by Abigail’s intimate, unwanted connection with the island’s faery prince. Meanwhile the faery king plans revenge upon the family. Abigail must join forces with the very race she’s sought to deny, to save the humans she has learned to love.

  Abigail is available at:

  Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Abigail-ebook/dp/B005F28PU0

  BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abigail-Heather Marie-adkins/1104560658?

  Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/77230

  Exclusive excerpt, copyright 2011 by Heather Marie Adkins, used with permission

  Abigail

  Chapter 1

  My father was selling me into slavery.

  No manner of pressure could fix the uncomfortable tick caused by the throbbing behind my closed eyelids. I alternated between digging the palms of my hands into my eyes and seeking solace from the earth.

  Sliding my right hand behind me between my back and the wall, I pressed it firmly to the moist stone. With just a little mental push, I sent myself into the ground beyond, feeling the worms crawl and the dirt shift
. For a moment, I was able to forget the dank cell and let the Mother’s arms wrap around my shoulders, the earth’s strength seeping into my skin like a much-cherished blanket.

  A burst of girlish laughter brought me back to myself, leaving me bereft. My skin was chilled beneath my thin, muslin dress; a stark contrast to the way the earth had brought me warmth. Bringing my hand back around, I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders-- even though it was riddled with holes-- and tucked my bare feet under my knees.

  Perching on an old barrel that smelled of stale wine and piss, I surveyed the scene around me feeling oddly detached. It was the kind of dark that made one sluggish and miserable, from where nightmares originated. There was not a single window, or even a crack in the earthen walls to bring us comfort from the outside world; we were lucky to have the pale yellow glow of the oil lantern hanging by the only door.

  We swam in the scent of feces, its source a crude hole in the floor where we relieved ourselves. The stench hung in the air like another entity, stagnant and unhealthy. From where I sat, I could feel two women with illness creeping through their bodies.

  Fourteen women, some of them but children, in a room barely big enough to house eight.

  The little girl sitting to my right leaned against the wall with her knees pulled up to a face so covered in filth she looked like an animal. I caught her eye, a vivid green shiny with unshed tears but hard with lessons learned much too early. She couldn’t have been nine years old. I tried to give her a comforting smile only to find the muscles in my face weren’t responding.