A Demon's Desire Read online

  “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you some tea?”

  “No!” she said more forcefully than she intended. “I mean, no, thanks. I’m in a hurry. I just need to know if you can help me.”

  “I can. Sit down.” It was not a request, and before she could pounce on his response, he breezed past her, brushing her arm. Emma shuddered as a flare of warmth traveled up her arm. He smelled good, of dewed grasses and sandalwood. She glanced around, distinguishing a table and two chairs in the corner into which she hadn’t been able to see a moment before.

  A chill swept through her. She swallowed hard and looked around. She grabbed a small candelabra from the window and set it on the table before she sat. The dog’s nails clicked as it drew near.

  Animals can sense evil and storms, she assured herself, ignoring the small voice that reminded her that the street was populated by faux vampires in capes the blind dog seemed to have no problem with.

  Tristan emerged from the shadows once again, his gleaming eyes visible first, then his shape molding from shadows. She purposely avoided wondering why her mind played the same trick on her twice and watched him set down the tray. Her eyes were drawn to the movement of his well-manicured hands. He poured her a cup of green-brown tea that smelled as calming as the store’s incense and placed it before her.

  He sat across from her, his calf brushing hers. A shot of warm electricity jarred her, and her leg jerked upward instinctively, slamming into the table and spilling tea. She gave a growl of frustration and pain and pulled her knees from beneath the table, rubbing one. Her face was warm.

  “It’s okay. I have plenty,” Tristan said with another trace of a smile.

  She sensed no danger from the angles and planes of his features, but she sensed no welcome either, as if they sat on a fence while he assessed her before deciding which way to push her: to the vampires outside or to the impenetrable shadows around him. He poured more tea into her cup.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She took a sip of the sweet, hot brew. The hellhound nudged her.

  “She likes you.” Tristan raised his eyebrows toward his dog. There was warmth in his gaze as he looked at the blind hellhound. It was the first sign of humanity she’d seen anywhere on the street.

  “Animals are so much better than humans,” she replied. “I’d take a rabid dog over some of the people I met today.”

  “Dogs are kindred spirits.”

  “It would be a nice life, wouldn’t it? Eat, sleep, roll over and have your belly rubbed.” She sighed. Tristan chuckled, a sound as dark as the shadows. Despite his strangeness, she felt her body relaxing in his company, her emotions gaining the foothold she had denied them the entire day. She looked away before his gaze could capture her. “I’m looking for some advice.”

  “You said witchcraft?”

  “I have …” She looked down and around, realizing she’d forgotten the box. Her eyes swept to her car parked across the street, where the lumpy shape of a box was visible against the backdrop of a lit store window. The vampires had multiplied and moved closer to her car. Despair made her throat tighten.

  “I think I … wow.” She stared at the table, embarrassed when her gaze blurred with tears. “If you dare make a joke about this costing me my soul or making a deal with the devil, I swear I’ll … I’ll just walk away. Again. I’ve done it a million times already and will do it again if you laugh at me. But I’ll show it to you anyway. Excuse me.”

  Frustrated and tired, she stepped over the dog and left the shop. She wiped her face and stalked across the street, snatched the box, paused for a few deep breaths, and trotted back to the porch as several of the caped spectators started toward her.

  She entered the shop and found Tristan seated where she left him, one hand dangling down to pet the hellhound’s massive head. He watched her with a piercing gaze she avoided, and she pushed the box onto the edge of the table.

  “There. Laugh or whatever so I can be on my way,” she said.

  His gaze slid to the box, lingered, then returned to her. He didn’t even touch it. Sorrow bubbled within her. She reached out to grab it, but he caught her hand. Warmth flared up her arm once more. His palm was calloused; his fingers gently stroked the sensitive underside of her wrist.

  “It’s too late for someone like you to be out on the Alley. Most people know better than to remain after dark,” he said.

  “I don’t have time to wait ’til morning. Or eat. Or sleep,” she replied.

  “What is your plan? To sleep in your car?” he asked.

  “I lost my keys. I can’t even do that. I’ve failed at everything,” she said and blinked, surprised at how the simple touch affected her. Warmth traveled up her arm, easing her muscles and tension. “I was planning on going door to door until someone called the cops on me.”

  “I own the apartments above the shop. I’ll loan you a room. You really look like you could use some rest.”

  “Do I look that bad?” she said, suddenly self-conscious with the considering gaze of the handsome stranger on her.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take his honest answer. His gentle touch somehow managed to pull the tension out of her. She had come to Demon’s Alley for help. For the first time in two weeks, a stranger was offering to assist her. It was not the help she desperately needed, but it was help nonetheless.

  “Thanks. That sounds good,” she murmured.

  Tristan turned her hand to expose her palm. He studied it. She forced herself to draw away finally.

  “Better?”

  She nodded, in control of her emotions once again.

  “Try some tea.”

  She hesitated before taking a sip. Her gaze went to the box. He hadn’t looked at it after she set it down.

  “You’re not interested,” she said sadly.

  “I’m very interested.” His heated gaze was on her, not the box, and his look made her face warm again. “What do you want to know exactly?”

  “I want to know how to counter it, what it is, where it came from,” she replied with emotion. “I want to know why.”

  “It’s not something you can counter,” he told her.

  “I don’t have a choice,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “If you have no intention of helping me, please tell me now and I’ll find someone who will. And please don’t you dare make a joke about this costing me my soul.”

  “I would ask nothing you couldn’t afford to give.” His response startled her. There were many things she could afford to give! She could afford to give an arm since she had two. She could afford to give her car, her money, even her life, so long as she kept her soul. It was not the reassurance she sought, and her courage faltered for the first time in two weeks. She studied him carefully, the way shadows molded around him as if he were one of them.

  Would you make a deal with the devil? She’d asked herself the question many times over the past few days and always answered yes. Facing the devil, she wasn’t so sure. If Tristan mentioned her soul, he wouldn’t be joking.

  “You can’t have my soul,” she said.

  “That you can keep. Soul extraction is too difficult,” he said. She gasped. Amusement crossed his features. “Breathe, Emma.”

  “How did you know my name?”

  “It’s on the box, along with your address. At least, I assume they’re yours. Is it?”

  She nodded, face warming at her stupidity.

  “Any other stipulations?” he asked. “Aside from your soul?”

  “Do you have some sort of contract for consulting services?” she said.

  “I’ll remember.” The resolution in his tone made her uneasy.

  She searched his gaze. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You really can fix this?” she asked, waving her hand at the box.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you charge for such a thing?” she asked and braced herself for a sum she couldn’t pay.

&
nbsp; “Why don’t I tell you when the time comes?” he offered in a tone too casual for her comfort. “That way if I fail, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t like games,” she responded. “I would feel more comfortable knowing up front.”

  “You.”

  Her hands jerked from their place in her lap, knocking her tea cup on its side. She righted the cup, using her sleeve to keep the tea from reaching the books on the adjacent window sill.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, standing. “I think I better go.”

  “Your friends look eager for you to return.”

  She looked out the window at his words and saw her car surrounded by caped figures. Devil or vampires?

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “About your price. I, uh, don’t really understand.”

  “Sit,” he said and motioned to the chair. Emma glanced out the window, hesitated, and sat again. “What I said. I want you.”

  “Like, to kill or turn into a toad or drink my blood or something?”

  “Nothing so drastic,” he assured her with a half-smile. “Your body.”

  “You’ll have to spell this out for me,” she said. She clutched shaking hands together in her lap.

  “The way a man wants a woman,” he said.

  “Oh. Oh!” she exclaimed and gave a shaky laugh.

  His price reassured her he was indeed human, and she blinked as her vision grew splotchy from her headache. He was a handsome man, albeit scary. She could imagine worse fates than sleeping with the guy in exchange for helping her. Compared to her soul or yet another dead end, Sissy’s life was easily worth a night with a stranger.

  “But not if you fail,” she reinforced. “And … you’re not into … weird things, are you?”

  “Weird things?”

  “You know … uh … chains, whips, leather, toys, weird things.”

  “Nothing you’ve listed but possibly things you’ve not.”

  “Christ.”

  He gave a smoky chuckle. Emma sagged, head throbbing.

  “Do we have an agreement?” His voice warbled, as if traveling through water to reach her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I need to lie down. My head is killing me.”

  “The tea should be taking effect. It’ll help you sleep. Janet will take you upstairs to your room. We can talk more tomorrow. Go on back to the counter.”

  Emma nodded with a wince and rose, vaguely realizing she should be pissed he’d drugged her. She couldn’t find an ounce of energy to be angry and instead, obeyed without another word. One of the witchy cashiers glared at her before leading her to a set of stairs in the back.

  She found someone to help her. Why didn’t she feel relieved? Too tired to dwell long, she entered the door the clerk indicated, heartened to see the dog following her. The hound led her through the tiny apartment to a bedroom. She pulled off her shoes and pants, lay back, and murmured a sleepy goodnight to the dog.

  * * *

  The woman named Emma slept through the night and well into morning, her soft snores filling the small, plain bedroom. Tristan looked in on her once more. She was entwined with the bedding like she might a lover, one toned leg slung over blankets and exposed to her thigh while her arms were wrapped around a pillow. Long, light brown hair was highlighted with honey and dark gold and spread over the length of one king-sized pillow. Though they were closed now, he knew her striking eyes were the color of spring.

  He crossed to his dresser and lit the candle beneath a small dish of chamomile and passionflower essences. His blind hellhound, Isolde, had climbed into the bed with her and took up half of the bed. Tristan gave the dog a pat before closing the door and retreating to his small living room.

  The apartments above his shop were bright and small, made for function and not luxury. The income from the two rentals made up for the lack of money coming in from his shop below. He maintained it to keep his customers comfortable. He didn’t need the herbs or candles he stocked to work his magic, but revealing that made even those who hired him as an occult consultant uneasy. If he’d run into a problem like Emma’s before, he’d have charged her a few thousand dollars.

  He sat on an old, plush couch before the box Emma had brought and considered it once more. He’d never seen anything quite like it, outside of his own evil shadows. It was dark, the essence of its creator lingering despite an attempt to erase it. A woman, once experienced enough to call up dark magic but not wield it effectively, and a man, whose essence was stronger than that of anyone’s he’d ever felt. The woman had help creating this magic.

  Tristan had no need for such spells. He was born with magic within him, shifting and restless, at times submissive and at times demanding. His mother called his father a demon, among other colorful names. Tristan didn’t know what his father was. His own careful control of the consuming magic came from years of darkness and struggle, of fighting to suppress the darkness, and of cursing the man who made him what he was without providing him guidance on how to live with the darkness.

  He touched the box, his body shuddering at the contact. Yes, he knew this magic, and it scared him. It was like an icy drink of water on a hot day, soothing yet burning and too seductive for just one sip. It seemed to recognize him, too. He’d long ago locked up what he could of the evil within him, yet felt it urge him to touch the box again. Why this magic clung to the brown teddy bear within the box, he didn’t know. Emma had powerful enemies. She was a pure soul, a good soul. Why, then, was something like this in her possession?

  “She still sleeps, Mother,” he said, sensing the woman’s silent entrance through the kitchen. His mother, a woman of olive skin and short silver hair, wore a gym suit and gaudy amethyst and amber jewelry.

  “You’re too drawn to it,” she replied, unease in her voice. “I don’t like this, Tristan.”

  “I’m stronger than you know.”

  “Don’t underestimate this magic.”

  “Have you seen something that I should know about?” he asked, alerted by her tone. While she claimed to be retired, his mother still practiced white magic when it suited her.

  “I couldn’t tell you if I had,” she said. “This evil is something you’ve never faced before.”

  “I feel it,” Tristan said and glanced up to meet dark eyes similar to his. Her features were heavy and smooth despite her age, her small shape thickened with age. “I couldn’t turn her away. This magic doesn’t belong among humans, but it feels so familiar. I can’t place it.”

  “I worry for your safety in dealing with something like this. Don’t get involved in this stuff more than you must.” The woman before him softened. She perched on a worn chair that matched the sofa. “Not many seek out the demon’s son. And Isolde likes her.”

  “She fed her a candy bar.”

  “The way to any woman’s heart. It’s a shame she came with this in tow.” His mother’s features were troubled. She shook off the mood. “You need to fire those clerks. They’re snotty little girls.”

  “They amuse me.”

  “By all means, sleep with them and send them off.”

  His mother knew him well, and her bluntness was refreshing after dealing with the average person too afraid of him to formulate a coherent sentence. Normally he did just that: slept with the clerks until bored with them and sent them on their way. His gaze drifted to his bedroom. He’d never found a woman who could accept the darkness within him. In truth, he’d never trusted his ability to control the evil enough to look for something other than a fling. No one deserved to be with someone like him, especially a woman like the one sleeping in the next room.

  Emma wasn’t shallow, bitchy, or obsessed. That kind was easier to get rid of, yet something about Emma drew him. The woman had been dead on her feet but too determined to quit. He admired her for it. Perseverance was oftentimes the only thing standing between life and death. He’d been down that road many times in his own struggle with his evil half.

  “Did you take her car to your ho
use?” he said.

  “Yes. I’m surprised it lasted the night in this forsaken place.”

  “Isolde watched it.”

  “Bless that dog. If not for her, you’d have no decent company,” she said.

  “You’re harsh, Mother.”

  “Honest, dear, not harsh.”

  His mother looked thoughtful, and Tristan studied her, waiting for her frankness to overwhelm her hesitation. He leaned back and slung an arm over the couch back. His mother was a seer, a white witch who saw visions of the future. Though she claimed not to practice, she still meddled in the lives of her sons and her friends when she pleased.

  “Son,” she said at last, “I don’t think she’s the normal flimflam you date. She dresses nicely and has a clean car, and her aura is as clear as a spring morning. She fell into your arms. I want you to promise only to do what you must with this darkness to rid it from her, and then keep her. I think I’ll like her.”

  “It’s business, Mother, not personal. You shouldn’t be peering into my future anyway.”

  “I’m getting anxious for grandchildren, Tristan.”

  “You think it’s wise to bring more demons into the world?” he teased.

  “Bite your tongue, son!” she retorted and glared at him. “You go out of your way to avoid a quality woman, and when one’s thrown into your lap, you still don’t see her.”

  “I see her, Mother. My intentions aren’t as noble as yours.”

  “Before the end of this, you’ll have to make some choices. Maybe you can stop hiding up here and start living,” she said and rose. “I’ve said too much. The ladies and I are going to town. I’ll drop by and check on her on the way back.”

  “No cheating if you’re going gambling,” he warned. “Not that I haven’t told you a thousand times, but you’re not supposed to use your magic for selfish reasons.”

  “I’m retired. Besides, it’s not cheating if you lose sometimes,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Tristan watched her leave with a small smile. When the kitchen door clicked shut, he leaned forward again and gazed at the box. His mother’s strange wariness around the darkness made him think she, too, recognized it. She’d never tried to make him promise not to finish a consult, and she’d never looked as troubled as she did when he shared the details of his job.