A Demon's Desire Read online

  * * *

  Olivia lingered in the shadows of the stone wall marking the perimeter of the graveyard, her heart racing. Her eyes were pinned to the shadow demon she’d sent across the street to the caretaker’s shed, where a light still shone. One of the witches in her coven had scouted the area and claimed the caretaker was always gone by sunset. It was past midnight; no one should’ve been there.

  The shadow demon disappeared through the wall of the shed. She heard a surprised shout and then the sound of thrashing. It stopped. Silence. She waited a minute before hurrying across the road to push open the door.

  The caretaker was alive and held under the weight of the shadow demon sprawled on top of it.

  “Mistress, your command,” the shadow demon said. The caretaker twisted to look at her, surprise crossing his face. She knew it was her newfound beauty; it would stun any man into silence.

  She hesitated and smoothed the sweater over her hips. The middle-aged, stocky caretaker’s life was in her hands. She should be benevolent, as people with power generally were, and let him live with a warning.

  Kill him. Jeffrey’s voice entered her mind again, ill-timed as usual. He’ll report you, and they’ll find you long before you have Adam.

  “I don’t want to kill him. He’s just a …” she argued out loud.

  A nobody? A threat? I see his thoughts. He thinks you’re weak.

  “I am not weak,” she grated.

  Do it, Olivia.

  “Fine, but this is not what I want!” She shook her head, marveling briefly at the long, blue-black tresses that crossed her vision. “Kill him, slave.”

  “How shall I kill him, mistress?” the shadow demon asked.

  “Quickly. We have things to do.”

  Slowly. And you will watch, Jeffrey corrected her.

  “No, I-- ”Pain radiated through her. It drove her to her knees. Startled, she sat back, uncertain what had happened. Blood trickled from her nose to her designer jeans.

  Do as I say, Jeffrey ordered.

  “Slowly, slave,” she said, eyes on the wide eyes of the caretaker.

  “How shall I kill him?” it said again.

  Anger and fear filtered through her. She was here for Adam; she didn’t have time for this. Olivia launched to her feet and grabbed a shovel from the wall.

  “Move, slave,” she snapped. “Hold him still.” The shadow demon obeyed. She gripped the shovel’s rough wooden staff, hesitated again, and then slammed it onto the man’s head. He grimaced. She hit him again.

  The new fire in her body-- Jeffrey’s fire-- flared and consumed her. She slammed the man’s head over and over with strength that wasn’t hers, growing more frenzied as blood splattered everything around her. Only when his head resembled a smashed pumpkin did she drop the shovel and step back, horrified and satisfied at the same time.

  “I will find Adam,” the shadow demon said.

  Olivia wiped blood from her face and turned away, unable to face what she’d done any longer. She left the shed and breathed in the ocean air deeply. Her hands shook.

  He was in the way. He would’ve taken Adam from you, Jeffrey said, his voice gentle once more.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Nothing can stand between me and Adam.” She steeled herself. She’d done what was needed to clear a path for her future with Adam. Even so, the image of the man’s bloodied body made her feel ill.

  “Mistress, he is here,” the shadow demon called.

  Her head swiveled toward him at his words. She ran, the caretaker forgotten. The shadow demon stood in the middle of a grassy area surrounded by tombstones. She’d walked through the cemetery many times, willing Adam’s spirit to recognize her and tell her where his body was. She’d accepted Jeffrey’s offer of finding Adam for her, and was surprised at how easy he made it seem.

  Olivia approached the grave marked “John Doe” with apprehension. He’d had no family come forward after he threw himself off the bridge. She hadn’t known he was dead until a few weeks after their final fight. A couple out on their boat in the Chesapeake found his body on the shore near the bridge, and the police ruled his death a suicide. Olivia couldn’t help but feel guilty. She’d left him again after the Emma episode. He’d claimed to be sorry and begged her forgiveness, but she’d walked away. If she’d forgiven him, as her heart urged her to, maybe he wouldn’t have taken his life.

  She knelt in the grass before his grave. She had eternity to make it up to him.

  “Soon, my Adam,” she murmured, a new kind of excitement lighting her blood. “Dig him up, slave.”

  She had Jeffrey to help her raise Adam, and now she had Adam’s body. Jeffrey was dealing with Emma. Everything was as he promised: perfect.

  The shadow demon disappeared into the ground. She rose and stepped aside. A few minutes later, the demon reappeared clenching a body that reeked with the scent of death. She didn’t care; she stepped forward, gaze taking in her lost lover hungrily. She saw him not as he was in his decomposed state but as he had been and would be again.

  Her eyes glowed.

  Chapter Four

  Tristan stood in Emma’s cluttered living room the next morning, taking in her jewel-toned apartment. Mama had intended to drop by Emma’s for clothes, but he’d convinced her to stay with Sissy and send him on the errand. While he felt bad about entering her apartment without knowing, he needed to know what she wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t know what he was looking for but hoped his shadows keyed on something.

  The apartment was larger than his but not by much. Her collection of … things made it feel cozy and small. He gazed around, growing more amused. Books took up what space trinkets and brass and ceramic figurines had not already invaded. There was no smooth surface left untouched. The TV in the entertainment cabinet was stacked high with DVDs despite the mostly open DVD rack beside it. The window sills were burdened with trinkets, some of which had blown onto the floor, and even the dining room table was a depot for mail, two purses, and a small basket of junk.

  He moved into the kitchen and almost grimaced. There was nothing natural about the processed food she preferred. Appliances were aligned haphazardly according to which she used last, and her fridge was cluttered with cheerful magnets holding up two different calendars turned to two months-- neither of which was the current month.

  He avoided the cabinets, suspecting what kind of messes he’d find. Instead he went to her bedroom. The bed was, unsurprisingly, unmade. The room smelled like her. He relaxed and breathed deeply. She slept with a teddy bear. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. According to Mama, Emma hadn’t dated in a couple of years.

  He entered the walk-in closet. She liked clothes and shoes, all of which were piled or stacked in the closet. Tristan’s eyes settled on two small shoeboxes scrawled with the words don’t lose! They were stacked on one shelf, and he walked over to them. The first box contained her passport, birth certificate, and photos of her family.

  The second box contained three letters, two addressed to her from Adam Merchant in Baltimore and one addressed to Adam that had been stamped unable to deliver and returned. Interested, Tristan opened a card from Adam Merchant. It was a birthday card with nothing more than a signature and a picture of the two of them in daylight making faces at the camera. Adam was a handsome man with dark blond hair, friendly brown eyes, and a lean frame.

  Tristan ignored the stirring of agitated darkness at seeing Emma with her arm around another man’s waist. The shadows within him growled, joining the male part of him that wanted no man within a mile of the woman he claimed as his.

  This, his shadows told him. He didn’t know why, but he listened. He pocketed the picture, replaced the card, and opened the second card, drawing out a letter sent from Adam to Emma.

  Emma –

  I’ll always love you with all my heart. I’m sorry about Olivia and the others, but you weren’t exactly perfect, either. I tried a few times to tell you I wasn’t happy in the relationship, and you just ignored me. What was I
supposed to do? Anyway, I’m sorry, and I love you. I promise, if you come back, it’ll never happen again.

  Adam

  Tristan’s anger flared. What kind of weak man would fool around on a woman like Emma?

  Adam is dead, the shadows told him, and Tristan fingered the letter, wondering if Emma knew, or if she had walked away and never looked back. While he didn’t fully understand it, his dark side was satisfied with the information. How he would learn more was less clear. He replaced the card in the box and the boxes on the shelf before exiting the closet. He removed the backpack from his shoulder and crossed her dresser, recalling the mission Mama had sent him on. Emma had gone to the grocery store while Mama was supposed to pick up clothes. Mama had admitted she was out of work and low on funds, and Tristan couldn’t help sympathizing with the pleasant woman. Dark angel, she’d called him again.

  He smiled. He did his best to choose matching clothes and set them on the bed as he went from closet to drawers.

  Tristan, I don’t want to go with the snowman. He drew a breath, startled to hear Sissy’s complaint clearly in his thoughts. He’d taught her quiet mind how to call to him when it awoke and was thrilled it worked.

  “Tell him to wait for me,” he whispered, even more pleased that his work had drawn out the evil spirit at last.

  He’s in your chair. Sissy was angry. Tristan smiled, placed Emma’s clothing in the bag, and strode out.

  Tristan said they won’t hurt me. This voice was Emma’s. She had to be quite distressed for her thoughts to be so loud. He checked his cell to make sure he hadn’t missed her call. She hadn’t called, still didn’t trust him. Disappointed, he hoped she would one day. He debated calling her and then thought of Sissy. The shadows chasing her were almost powerless during daylight. He’d check on Sissy first then go help Emma.

  He returned to Amber’s apartment. Voices in Amber’s room indicated the presence of both Amber and Mama. Tristan entered the apartment and placed Emma’s bag on the couch before moving to Sissy’s room. Her large green eyes were open and staring at the shadow man she dubbed the Snowman, who did indeed sit in Tristan’s rocking chair.

  Tristan eased the door closed, recognizing the dark spirit for what it was despite its human appearance. The man was tall and lean in a light gray suit with eyes the silver-gray of clouds. The air around it was cold, and shadows clung and danced around it, left briefly to welcome Tristan, and returned. It was a shadow demon, one of the lesser demons from Hell. He’d read about them in his occult research but never met one.

  “Brother,” Snowman greeted him. A shiver went through him as he realized his mother wasn’t lying about him being half-demon.

  Tell him I won’t go with him. Snowman looked at Sissy, hearing her words as Tristan did.

  “Who caged you?” Tristan asked and perched on the bed beside Sissy. While unnerved, he didn’t fear the dark spirit. It did only what its master bid, knew it only knew what its master willed it to know. If it wanted him dead, there would’ve been no greeting.

  “Witch,” was the shadow demon’s response.

  “Where is she?”

  No response. The witch must’ve forbidden it from answering questions about her whereabouts, Tristan reasoned.

  “What name?” he asked.

  “Olivia.”

  “Go back to your master; you are on my territory,” Tristan commanded, recalling the name from Adam’s letter to Emma.

  “Who caged you?” the shadow demon asked.

  “I’m not caged,” Tristan answered. He felt icy shadows probing him.

  “We are not alike,” the dark spirit said. “You are free but trapped in this weak form. How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The dark spirit looked to Sissy again.

  “She is mine,” Tristan said more firmly. “Tell your master it is so.”

  “Very well,” it said.

  Good-bye, Snowman, Sissy said angrily.

  The room grew colder. The air around them became heavier until it weighed down on Tristan’s shoulders. He reached for Sissy instinctively and touched her arm, watching as the form before him faded, grew dark, and absorbed the shadows of the room like a sponge. A snap of icy cold, and the dark spirit eddied and eased out of the open window like smoke. Tristan waited until the air in the room returned to normal before closing the window. He still sensed a shadow somewhere in the room, the lingering evil a sign confirming his suspicion something in the room had been tagged.

  Sissy watched him, too weak to speak, and he touched her face gently.

  “He’s gone, Sissy,” he murmured.

  Mama. The girl’s eyes welled with tears, and Tristan soothed her before going to the door.

  * * *

  Emma began to wonder if being afraid of the dark still made sense. After all, she only saw creepy freaks following her during daylight. In the dairy aisle.

  She’d overstayed her welcome, she suspected, but lingered over the cartons of soy milk, torn between doing something somewhat nice for the demon in her house and bypassing it.

  The feel of eyes watching made her tense enough to snap. She glanced over her shoulder, where Cat-eyes, with no apparent intentions of shopping, leaned against a bread stand and stared at her.

  Tristan said they won’t hurt me, she thought again.

  She pulled a carton from the shelf and placed it in her basket.

  Tristan’s effort to be normal the night before touched her. He would never look anything but like a demon to her, but he was more human, taking her out to relax, answering her questions.

  Kissing the daylights out of her. Emma touched her lips, face warm. No man had ever kissed her like that. No kiss had ever suffused her with warmth, welcome, and promise beyond that of the hot fire of desire. He made her feel like the only woman on earth.

  Which meant he had kissed a lot of women.

  She shook herself mentally and continued, unable to dismiss the wonderful sensation of his lips against hers. She rounded a corner and nearly ran into another freak. She pushed this one with her cart. He moved but continued to stare at her, and she decided her trip was done.

  Emma checked out under the supervision of several more hawk-eyed freaks and moved smartly to her car, where one leaned against it and another hovered.

  Calm, Emma, calm. Tristan said they won’t hurt me. She hurriedly placed everything in the trunk and turned, jumping and pressing herself against the trunk.

  Mr. Winter stood in front of her in a light gray suit, smiling a smile as chilling as a stiff breeze. His eyes were silver-gray and empty, his presence like that of a meat locker: dead, still, cold.

  Tristan said--

  Mr. Winter touched her arm, and Emma jerked.

  Tristan said nothing about what to do if they did more than watch. She eased away, determined to run over any that remained in her path. Mr. Winter took her arm in a tight, painful grip.

  “Why don’t you try one?” he offered, producing a tin of mints and flipping the lid with one hand.

  Emma stared at him. Freaks lingered in a loose circle around them, watching, shifting, waiting, as restless as shadows. Mr. Winter held her in place, and Emma suspected she would not be released until she accepted. She timidly took one and placed it in her mouth, surprised it tasted like a real mint and didn’t burst into flames.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Winter said and released her.

  She moved away from him, startled to see the loose ring around them break up. The freaks turned their backs and walked away. Mr. Winter smiled again.

  Shaken, she threw herself into her seat, locked the doors, and bolted from the parking lot to Amber’s apartment building. She hesitated in the parking lot of the apartment building, willing her hands to stop shaking before seeing her family. They needed her strong, especially Amber, who was too fragile for such trials.

  Isolde waited at the foot of the stairs. Emma relaxed and crossed to the blind dog.

  “Hi, angel,” she murmured and sat on the stair be
side it. “Met a few people you need to chew on.”

  Isolde licked her and panted, ears flickering. Emma hugged the animal, comforted by its warmth and presence. Isolde trailed her back to the car. Emma filled her arms with what she could carry and staggered up three floors and into Amber’s apartment. She made it to the table before dropping everything.

  “Hey, doodle,” Mama greeted her as she emerged from Sissy’s room.

  Emma gave her a withering look at the hated moniker and snagged an apple as it headed for the edge of the table. Isolde snapped up the first that fell, surprising Emma and Mama alike.

  “Good nose,” Mama stated.

  “Emmy!” The shout was tiny, high-pitched, feminine, and distinctly Sissy’s. Emma froze, suspecting she was hearing things as well as seeing freaks everywhere she went. “Emmy!”

  “Is that …” She looked at Mama. Mama smiled. Emma gazed at Sissy’s partially closed door, recalling the last time she had stepped within.

  She moved forward, heart beating fast, and pushed it open, eyes settling on Tristan before falling to Sissy. The little girl was awake and bright-eyed, her cherubic face gaunt but glowing.

  Emma took a step and braced herself, awaiting the coldness of the curse. Nothing came, and she hastened to the bed, amazed when Sissy flung open her tiny arms and leaned forward with a grin. Emma sat and was engulfed by slender arms and the scent of innocence. She squeezed Sissy’s warm little body hard, tension slipping from her. Black curls tickled her nose and eyelids.

  The bottle around her emotions cracked. She blinked away tears, relieved.

  “Tristan and I played a game,” Sissy told her.

  He did it. Torn between gratitude and fear, Emma pulled away and cleared her throat.

  “I have to stay in bed, though,” Sissy continued with some disappointment. “Mama went to get the doctor.”

  “Oh, good,” Emma said, aware of Tristan’s gaze on her.

  “I don’t think I need one,” Sissy said. “Tristan says the snowman won’t come back.”

  “Snowman?”