A Demon's Desire Read online

  “From my dreams, only he was real and sitting in Tristan’s chair. I said I didn’t want to go and-- ”

  Emma looked at Tristan, Sissy’s cheerful prattling unheeded. His head rested against the back of the rocking chair, his eyes slits through which gleamed his dark demon eyes.

  “ … can we?” Sissy asked and shook her arm.

  “I’m sorry, Sissy, what?” Emma returned her attention to the little girl.

  “Go to the movies? When I’m well.”

  “Yes, of course. Why don’t you lie down until the doctor comes, Sissy?” Emma said and nudged the little girl toward her covers.

  Sissy gave an exaggerated sigh and crawled to her pillow. Emma watched her and stood, unable to shake her guilt. Sissy’s sickness, the men following her, the demon in her niece’s bedroom. Everything was her fault. She felt ill knowing she’d caused so much harm to her family.

  She looked at Tristan. His eyes were open, and he assessed her once more. She stepped toward him. He watched, relaxed, as she leaned down and looked him squarely in the eye, her face inches from his.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” she whispered and added silently, this better be real.

  His faint smile indicated her message was received. She kissed him. He yielded to the tender kiss, his velvety lips sending a shot of warmth through her.

  “No mushy!” Sissy all but yelled.

  “Okay, okay, Sissy,” Emma said, laughter bubbling. She straightened. Tristan touched her arm in his own sort of reassurance. Emma turned away without looking at him. She went straight to the bathroom, managing to close the door before bursting into tears.

  * * *

  Emma hid the rest of the day in the bedroom they shared. Tristan was annoyed by it. He’d expected some sort of progress with her after she saw Sissy. Instead, she spent the afternoon crying, refusing to let anyone comfort her. He didn’t want Emma to cry, ever. He yearned to take away what pain was hers and see her dazzling smile. He had never felt so affected by a client before.

  “Adam Merchant?” Amber repeated. He pulled his gaze from the front bedroom door again and focused on Amber, who he’d been talking to for half an hour. Two days of sleep rendered the woman’s color returned, and the sight of her healthy daughter made her glow with warmth and happiness.

  “Tristan!” Mama chided as she brought him a cup of tea. “You should ask Emma.”

  “Mama, Emma’s too stubborn,” Amber responded. “And if Tristan’s here, Emma trusts him.”

  Mama padded back to the kitchen, passing Isolde a cookie as she did so. Isolde had never had so much attention or people food in her life.

  “I remember her mentioning him in a less than complimentary way, as usual,” Amber went on. “She saw him for a while, maybe even a year. I think she really liked him, but I think …” Amber glanced toward the kitchen and lowered her voice. “I think she found out he was engaged to someone else.”

  Adam’s letter blaming Emma for their failed relationship returned to him. Irritated with the dead man, Tristan sipped his tea.

  “Why is she afraid of the dark then?” he asked.

  “You don’t think badly of her for that, do you?” Amber asked. “She’s a good girl and never would’ve stolen someone’s fiancé on purpose.”

  “I know she is,” he assured her. “Sometimes circumstances are less than clear when we walk into them.”

  “She was really angry at him for a long time. I know she had bad dreams for about a year afterwards; she stayed with me for a bit. It’s hard to sleep with every light in the house blazing.”

  “She never really said why aside from nightmares?”

  “No. Why so interested?” Amber asked curiously.

  “I’m more interested in why she’s afraid of the dark,” Tristan responded. “Your mama mentioned that she started turning on lights about the time she broke up with Adam.”

  “I guess that’s about right,” she agreed. “Maybe it’s connected. My sis is too private for her own good. Do you mean to help her like you did Sissy?”

  “Help her be unafraid of the dark?” Tristan chuckled.

  “Yes, I suppose.” Amber’s considering, evasive response sparked his interest. She knew more than she was saying. At his intent look, she looked away. “She had her mail forwarded when she lived with me. Someone used to write her nasty letters. I was nosy and opened a couple. Her dreams were bad, too. She looked like a zombie for a couple of months and used to jump at her own shadow. I remember because Sissy was sick with pneumonia and we were in and out of the hospital constantly for a while. Whenever I came home, Emma would have every light on, the radio up full blast, and an overflowing coffee pot to keep herself from going to sleep. She said something similar to what Sissy said a week ago, that there was someone waiting for her when she fell asleep. Sissy said it was a snowman.”

  Tristan listened, intrigued.

  “I have no idea what that means or why she’d be afraid of it. I mean, a snowman?” Amber continued, glancing again toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I think something bad happened before Emma left Adam. She came here from where she was going to college in northern Maryland. She never said what, but sometimes she gets this haunted look on her face, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking about it. I kinda thought it was some sort of post traumatic stress disorder, like when soldiers come back from war and dream of being attacked by the enemy.”

  Mama emerged from the kitchen with a tray of snacks. Amber grew quiet, gave him a quick, anxious look, and smiled at Mama. Tristan leaned back, patting Isolde as the animal followed the scent of food. He would research Adam, using the city that had been on the letter in his pocket.

  Someone waited for Emma in her sleep. He dwelled on this. Sissy experienced similar, a dark spirit trying to draw her away. What got rid of Emma’s dark spirit? He didn’t sense the darkness anywhere but in Sissy’s room. Something in there acted as a homing device for the spell.

  “Does Emma have anything stored in Sissy’s room?” he asked, puzzled as to how else someone had tagged the little girl.

  “Her apartment’s too small for all her junk. I moved some of her boxes into Sissy’s closet to clear out the guest bedroom. Not sure what’s in them.”

  The evil in Sissy’s room was similar to that which had tagged Emma. He’d felt it the minute she returned. Something had happened when she went to the grocery store. She was approached by something, and it managed to mark her. Wondering if the signature would be the same as that in Sissy’s room, he went to the closed door of the bedroom they shared and opened it. Emma lay on her back, with one arm slung across her eyes. He was quiet for a moment, allowing his grip on the shadows to loosen enough for him to read what had tagged her.

  It was the same evil that had afflicted Sissy. He entered, more concerned than before.

  “How’s your headache?” he asked and closed the door behind him.

  “Fine. Tristan, does this mean you’re done?” she asked. She swung her legs off the bed, regarding him with large, guarded eyes.

  “Done?” he echoed.

  “With your part of the deal.”

  “Not quite. I need to cleanse the apartment and discover the source.”

  “I don’t want you to do that. I say you’re done, aside from cleaning.”

  “Cleansing,” he corrected. “I’ll do what you asked me to do. We made a deal.”

  “Which was …”

  “You wanted to know how to counter it, what it is, where it came from, why,” he reminded her.

  “You do remember,” she said with a frown.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any answers?” she asked.

  “I’ve countered it. It’s black magic. Sissy was not its target but happened to be there to fall under its influence. Why and where I’m still unearthing,” he explained. “If you care to share anything about this …”

  She crossed her arms in response.

  “I guess not. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for a day,” he said. />
  “Why?”

  “I need to go home for a day to do some research and check on my shop,” he said. “Sissy will be fine, and whatever is tracking you doesn’t want you dead. I won’t be gone long.”

  “You’ll leave Isolde?” she asked. He nodded.

  What if something happens? Her question went unvoiced, and he didn’t respond, agitated she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask him.

  “Just don’t take any candy from strangers,” he said with some frustration and turned to go. Emma shot up and took his arm, pulling him back to face her.

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  His warning was late, as he suspected. “You don’t know what you’re messing with, Emma,” he told her. “You need to start talking to me. I’m working in the dark here, and you’ve got the info that’ll help me find the source of evil.”

  She released him and her jaw clenched.

  Tristan left to cool his anger at the stubborn woman. He went for a long run, took a shower, then braced himself to deal with her again. When he entered the bedroom, she was stretched on the bed once more, staring at the ceiling with the pillow fort down the middle of the bed. She had switched them so she was closer to the door and the light switch.

  She gave him a dirty look as he approached the light switch to the room and flipped it off. Her eyes snapped shut. He walked around the bed and lay down. She crossed to the door and turned on the light once more.

  He willed the light off. She muttered something he knew to be a curse directed at him and turned it back on.

  “I want it on, Tristan,” she told him.

  “I don’t care,” he answered. He willed it off again. She all but leapt into bed, tugging the sheet up over her head defensively. Tristan watched, entertained, and leaned over the pillow fort, poking her side. “You think a sheet stops anything?”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of,” she growled and swiped at his hand. She curled into a ball.

  “You survived Demon’s Alley after dark. You don’t seem like someone who’s scared of much.”

  “No, I’m not,” she agreed. “But some things that go bump in the night can hurt you, Tristan.”

  “How, Emma?” he asked softly. She said nothing. Tristan reached over and tugged the sheet from her head, brushing her soft, warm cheek with his fingers. She didn’t move, and he felt the wetness of tears. They burned his skin, as if punishing him for causing them.

  At once he felt guilty for torturing her, even if she refused to help him figure out what evil had made it into the apartment. He ran his fingers through her hair, and her body relaxed, her eyes closing. She found his hand with her own and held it tightly, her grip relenting only when he commanded her body to sleep.

  He removed her pillow fortification once more and adjusted his grip on her hand. With a deep breath, he carefully gathered his darkness to use on her.

  “I’m sorry, Emma,” he whispered. He released his darkness into her and found the evil taint she’d brought back from the grocery store. He nudged for it to do its master’s bidding.

  “C’mon, Emma, we can do it together.”

  Emma’s face was turned toward the warm sun, her form leaning against the steel railing of the Bay Bridge. A warm, summery ocean breeze swept past her, making the curls of her ponytail dance and tickling her neck and face.

  She opened her eyes at the voice and recognized Adam, his dark blond hair tousled by the same ocean breeze sweeping over her. He gave her a familiar goofy grin. Her emotions soared in excitement and confusion to see him again.

  “Do what together?” she asked.

  “You know,” he said with a wicked grin. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and he kissed her palm, the familiar action making her melt even when she tried hard not to be affected by him.

  “No, I don’t,” she answered. “What?”

  “Jump.”

  “Whatever, Adam,” she said. “Just tell me why you wanted to meet me here.”

  The dream flickered. His back was to her now, and the scene altered in a way that gave her more awareness of her surroundings. A chilled fog tickled the back of her neck. Emma turned to see the afternoon fog rolling in over the bay, heading quickly toward the sun.

  “We’re about to be fogged, Adam,” she said.

  “We still need to talk,” he replied.

  “Fine. Let’s go get dinner at the café.”

  She started in the direction leading back to the mainland, where she’d parked her car at the foot of the bridge. They were the only ones on the bridge, car or human. Puzzled at the lack of activity, she looked around. The Bay Bridge was well traveled, especially on a weekend evening. The bridge ended a few hundred feet away. Instead of land, there was nothing.

  “Adam?” she called. Fog blocked the sun and moved to envelop the land at the other end of the bridge. Within a blink, it swallowed everything. She reached out to grip the railing to keep from wandering into the road. It was unusually cold, and she drew back.

  “Emma?” Adam’s voice was close.

  “Adam, something strange is going on,” she said and turned to face him. He leaned over the edge once more, gazing downward. Emma joined him, touching the railing with her fingers to test its coldness. It had grown cold enough to burn. She leaned out cautiously to see what caught Adam’s attention. The bay was gone, swallowed by the same fog at both ends of the bridge.

  “Let’s go home, Adam,” she said, a chill of fear sweeping through her.

  “C’mon, Emma,” he said dismissively and placed one foot on the edge.

  “Adam, this isn’t funny,” she objected and grabbed one arm. His arm burned her fingers, as cold as the railing. Surprised, Emma drew back. Adam glanced down at her, his brown eyes icy gray and empty. She stepped away before he reached for her.

  “Will you leave me to die again?”

  Coldness swept through her. She spun and started away, seeing the darkness at the end of the bridge drawing nearer.

  “Don’t abandon me again, Emma.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Wake up, Emma.” The voice was familiar to her even in her dream, and she thought of Tristan. “Release her, shadow.”

  * * *

  She awoke groggily, aware of bad dreams. The room was bright from opened blinds. She stretched, one hand landing on the other side of the bed, where Tristan should have been.

  He was gone. Emma’s gaze lingered before she recalled his words about leaving for a day. She sighed, grateful for a break from his intensity yet anxious about him being gone as well. She simply would not leave the apartment.

  Mama was up and cooking breakfast when she left her room. The smell made bile rise to her throat. Surprised, Emma paused, hand on her stomach.

  “Hello, doodle!” Mama called.

  “Mornin’, Mama,” Emma replied. “Where’s Amber and baby?”

  “Sissy’s getting a bath,” Mama replied. “Tristan left an hour or so ago. He said to thank you for the soy milk.”

  Emma blushed, uncertain why it mattered that he noticed. She sat on a stool at the breakfast counter.

  “You should see his apartment, Mama,” she said. “Exact opposite of mine.”

  “Clean?”

  “No, Mama,” Emma said. “I mean, his apartment is sterile. Nothing out of place, nothing excessive, not even pictures on the wall or color anywhere.”

  “Amber, Sissy, and I like him, Emma.” Mama turned to face her and folded her arms firmly. “A lot.”

  “You don’t know him, Mama,” Emma mumbled.

  “I know he’s taken time out of schedule to stay here and help Sissy. He might be in dire financial straits if he up and left his store. He’s sweet to all of us, and he’s strong enough for your attitude.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t taking advantage of him! They had a deal, she reminded herself, a deal in which he had named his price, though she’d never considered his financial concerns. Tristan seemed too self-sufficient to need
anything and too much like her to ask for help if he did.

  “He’s your dark angel,” Mama added and heaped scrambled eggs onto a plate next to bacon.

  “My what?”

  “Your dark angel. You used to say one day, a man with dark eyes and hair would come and sweep you off your feet. You called him your dark angel.”

  “Yes, but that was before …” …I gave up hope. Before Adam. Before I knew you never really know anyone and can’t trust those you do.

  The words died in her throat.

  “Before what, doodle?”

  “No ‘doodle,’ Mama,” Emma said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. Before Tristan, I guess.”

  “He’s so reserved. He must have been a lonely child. Is he an only child?”

  “I hope to God there’s no one else like him,” Emma said with feeling.

  “You’re a snot this morning, Emma-doodle.”

  “I don’t know anything about his childhood,” she admitted. “I feel like I don’t know anything about him.”

  “Then you’re not paying attention. He’s a gentleman, reserved and intense. I imagine if you ask, you’d discover he doesn’t have many friends. I feel a bit sorry for him.”

  “You’d pity the devil if it came down to it,” Emma joked.

  “Of course, darling. The devil is forever cut off from light and God. What’s not to pity?”

  Forever cut off from light. Was that Tristan? She sensed the darkness within him, around him. What would baby Tristan have been like? How would he react when even the adults shunned and rejected him? Was that why he lived alone in the attic above the store?

  If you can’t be accepted in the freak-fest of Wooster, where can you be accepted? she mused. She rubbed her face and recalled her first conversation with Tristan. He was the only one who tried to comfort her and the only who took her seriously.

  “Oh, Mama,” she murmured.

  “Have some breakfast,” Mama said and placed a plate before her. “You kids are young enough. You still have time to figure things out. Amber and I are going somewhere this evening, if that’s okay. Will you be okay with Sissy?”