A Demon's Desire Page 9

  “Of course.” She took a bite and froze, queasiness washing over her. Mama gave her an odd look, but Emma forced the food down. Isolde joined her. Emma patted her with one hand and fed her bacon when Mama turned. She toyed with her food, feeling nauseous, before eating another two bites and stopping.

  A minute later, Emma hurried to the bathroom, sick to her stomach.

  * * *

  Tristan reached his apartment around noon. He never considered it bare or cramped. He never noticed anything about it except that it served his needs, and he wanted for nothing.

  Walking through it, he felt the loneliness, the emptiness. He went to his bedroom, almost relieved to see his bed unmade from Emma’s stay. He picked up a pillow as he set down his bag, smelling her scent before replacing the pillow. Everything else was how he left it, perfectly aligned, arranged, and in its place. Why did it bother him after so long of not noticing?

  It would be a long night. Thirty years sleeping alone, and one night without Emma seemed ... unusual. He sat in the living room and pulled his laptop from the coffee table to his thighs. His phone buzzed and hopped. He snagged it off the adjacent cushion.

  “Hello, Tristan!” Mama’s voice rang out.

  “Hi, Mama,” he said with a smile. “How are you?”

  “We’re doing fine. Wanted to make sure you made it okay.”

  “Yes, I did, thanks.”

  “Emma’s staying home with Sissy tonight. Amber and I are going out for a little bit. Amber needs a breather, I think.”

  “A great idea,” he agreed. “How does Sissy like Isolde?”

  “Oh, she loves that dog! Isolde follows her everywhere, I think mainly because Sissy drops as much food as she eats.”

  Tristan grinned, touched by Emma’s family. “Feel free to call if you need anything.”

  “We will. Thanks, Tristan!”

  He hung up, warmed by the sound of the plump woman’s voice. He flipped on his laptop and sat back, turning his head toward the door.

  “I suppose you forgot to call me,” his mother said as she entered through the kitchen. “I left a message with those snotty girls to call me when you got in.”

  “Hello, Mother. I’ll be leaving again tomorrow, Mama. You can always call my cell.”

  “Mama?” she echoed. “That’s new, boy.”

  Tristan studied his mother. She was small and prim with a cool air compared to Mama’s. Tristan knew his mother to be intelligent but oftentimes selfish, and he wondered for the first time in a long while what she would be doing with a demon, if that were truly what his father had been. He knew better than to ask. She never responded, and she was the only person he had yet come across who could keep him from rifling through her mind.

  “Are you almost done with this consult?” his mother asked. She sat, oblivious of his scrutiny.

  “Soon. I’ve got another loose end to tie up.”

  “In Virginia or Maryland?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, again leery of her casual tone.

  “Maybe I missed you. You’ve never left your attic since we got to Maryland.”

  “You don’t miss me. You can find me anytime, anywhere,” he countered. “You did See something, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe I did, son.”

  “So you’ll cheat at slot machines and cards but not tell your own son what’s obviously bothering you?”

  “I don’t alter the events around me, just figure out when a machine is about to pop and happen to sit there,” she snapped. “It’s … hard for me to see you grow and know that growing will take some painful lessons.”

  “What kind of painful lessons?”

  “Lessons that will make you face the half of you neither of us wants to admit exists.”

  He shifted. “I won’t use the evil, Mother,” he said, irritated. “I’ve always protected you, Emma, and everyone around me from me.”

  “Emma, is it?” She raised an eyebrow. “Will I be officially meeting her soon?”

  “If she wants.”

  “So much for ignoble intentions, eh, boy?”

  “Gambled your savings away with the ladies yet?” he asked instead.

  “Not quite. I keep winning.”

  “Mother.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

  “It’s your inheritance, son,” she said. “They make enough money off me.”

  “I thought you were the last witch to use her powers for evil.”

  “I’m not a witch anymore,” she reminded him. “I’m too old for them to throw out of the casinos, and I make a point of losing when I can afford it.”

  “You do what you do, and leave me to what I do,” he said.

  “Fine, son. I want to meet this Emma’s family,” she continued. “I’m still your mother, you know, and I want what’s best for my son.”

  “It’s not that serious,” Tristan objected. “She’s the first woman I’ve known so long without sleeping with her.”

  “Have mercy, son!” she exclaimed. Tristan laughed huskily. “It must be serious then.”

  “I’ve got to help her family first. If we all survive this, you can meet them,” he said. He leaned forward to his computer and looked up when his mother said nothing. She was staring at him, the look on her face revealing he’d hit close to home with his statement. “Do we all survive this?” he asked warily.

  “I don’t know. I can’t See that far,” she said. “Anyway, I came by to tell you I think one of the snots downstairs has been pilfering some herbs.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, unwilling to look away. She avoided his gaze and stood.

  “Where’s Isolde?” she asked.

  “With Emma. She’s in danger, Mama,” he said. “Whatever spell you put on Isolde, she’s all that’s protecting Emma and her family.”

  “You need that protection, too. Isolde is your protector.”

  “Emma needs her more. I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t stand the thought of someone like that being a victim of something like black magic,” he said. “She’s beautiful, gentle, proud, and so sweet I feel dirty around her.”

  “Everyone has their secrets,” his mother said. “You’re the sweetest man I know.”

  “I’m the only man you know,” he reminded her with a faint smile.

  “I’m being serious, Tristan. I may be your mother, but I still wouldn’t put up with you if you were anything but an angel. A dark angel, maybe, but still an angel.”

  “Dark angel?” he echoed. “I’ve heard that term far too often lately. I’m the farthest thing from an angel, dark or otherwise. I’m not good enough for a woman like that.”

  “You are good enough for her,” she chided. “When will I meet her?”

  “Mother, please,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got to take care of something first. If we all survive this, you can meet her, though I’ll warn her about your tongue.”

  “You’re so cruel to me sometimes,” she said. “You’re leaving again tomorrow? For how long?”

  “I’m not sure. I hope to be back within the week,” he said. “Got plans for me?”

  “You’ve been near your whole life. It was strange to find you gone,” she said in a softer tone then added with a flash of heat, “Without calling me, when you know I’m worried.”

  “I’ll call you every day,” he said. “When I’m done, I’ll let Emma know a dragon-tongued old lady wants to meet her.”

  “Dragon?” she snapped. “Before this is over, you’ll have a greater appreciation for me, you ungrateful boy.”

  “Unless you want to tell me what you Saw …”

  “You know I can’t. Just be careful,” she said. “The ladies are waiting for me. Check in with me daily, son.”

  “I will, Mother,” he said and watched her go. He could tell she was beyond worried. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what it was she saw that he couldn’t yet and concerned he wouldn’t figure it out in time to help Emma and her family. When he heard the door close,
he picked up the phone again, dialed, and returned his attention to the computer.

  “Lora,” he said as soon as the woman picked up.

  “Tris?” Surprise was in her voice. “It’s been awhile. Are you coming up to Baltimore?” Her voice lowered a notch, and Tristan smiled. There were few things as predictable as an ex-girlfriend who wanted to be anything but ex. Lora was the only witch Tristan had convinced to return to college and make something of herself, even if he was too afraid to take a chance she’d reject him if they had a legit relationship.

  “Not exactly. I need a favor,” he answered. “You still working for the state police?”

  “Yep. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to research suicides off the Bay Bridge about two years ago.”

  “Sure, I can help.”

  He settled into his seat for a long day of research and repelling Lora’s attempts to hit on him.

  Chapter Five

  He felt the disturbance long before Emma worked up the nerve to call. He paced, eyes on the notepad beside the computer, and stretched. It was nearly two in the morning. He glanced at his phone before sitting once more on the couch and reading his cramped writing filling several pages of the notepad.

  Emma’s dream had been much more accurate than he expected.

  Adam Merchant committed suicide by jumping off the Bay Bridge, which connected mainland Maryland to the state’s outer banks. The rest he could piece together, with the exception of what made Emma fear the dark. Whatever happened was not available online, in public records, or even in newspapers at the local library, where Lora had kindly agreed to go.

  Olivia’s whereabouts were another unknown, though he suspected she wasn’t far from either Emma or from Adam’s likely burial place of Baltimore. He could follow her through the darker side of his abilities once he dug up whatever object she’d tagged in Sissy’s room.

  His phone buzzed and hopped. He snatched it and answered.

  “Tristan?”

  “Yes, Emma.”

  “Tristan, Amber and Mama were …” Her voice trembled. “They were in an accident. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I … I …” … need you.

  He almost sighed at her thought, even if her voice spoke other words.

  “Could you come back?” she asked, with an edge that bespoke her expectation for his rejection. It took great courage for Emma to ask another for help, and Tristan was proud of her despite his irritation.

  “Of course, Emma,” he said.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” she whispered.

  “How are they?”

  “Mama’s okay, but Amber is in the ICU.” She regained her control and hid the note of vulnerability. “Sissy and I are here at the hospital. And Isolde. She likes car rides. Tristan, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?” he asked, rising. He shut his laptop, grabbed the notepad, and walked to the bedroom, tucking the notepad in his bag. He was changed and ready, his clothes clean, his bed made once more.

  “I haven’t been as good to you as you’ve been to me,” she said with a small sigh. “I was thinking about it today. I treat you like you have lice, and you’ve only treated me with respect, and given me a chance when everyone else laughed. Sissy’s alive because of you.”

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he replied. “I think it’s time for us to have a talk, Emma.”

  “I know.” The note of anxiety was back in her voice. “Can you hurry?”

  “Yes, Emma.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gathered his things and left quickly, reaching the hospital as dawn stretched across the sky. He left his bag in the car, aware of the shady characters lingering everywhere. They noticed him, too, and those not fast enough to flee were swallowed by darkness and shadows.

  Isolde waited outside the ER doors, guarding them from the shady characters. The dog recognized his scent from a distance and wagged. She rose and sniffed the air as he approached.

  “Hello, Isolde,” he greeted her and knelt. “Good girl. Stand guard.” Isolde sat again and butted his arm with her hand. Tristan smiled and handed her the contents of his pocket, a pack of half-eaten crackers, before rising.

  He entered the modest-sized hospital, pausing in the ER to greet a sleepy teen manning the information desk. The teen fumbled and stammered under his gaze, so Tristan followed his instincts to the second floor. He pushed through the doors marked ICU into the antiseptic-riddled scents of the hospital. He spotted Emma as he rounded a corner. She stood in the middle of the hall, speaking to two doctors and a nurse. Sissy was asleep in her arms with her cherubic face resting on Emma’s shoulder.

  By her profile, Emma was ill herself. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed. He sensed the shadow clinging to her, sensed her distress and apprehension. She nodded to something one doctor said, a queasy look crossing her face. With a weak smile, she handed Sissy to the nurse and moved away, trotting down the hall.

  Tristan followed with a frown. Emma darted into the first bathroom she found, holding her mouth. He waited several minutes before opening the door. She leaned over the sink, rinsing her mouth. From the portable dentistry kit resting beside the sink, this was not the first time she vomited. She glanced up and caught sight of him in the mirror. He entered, closed the door, and locked it.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said and tucked away a toothbrush before reaching for mouthwash.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Like you’re mad at me,” she answered after rinsing her mouth once more.

  “Right now, I am. All you’ve needed to do was talk to me, and I’ll help you,” he said in agitation. “How are they?”

  “Mama will be discharged at eight. She has a sprained wrist and will probably need an MRI for her neck. Amber might have spinal cord damage and …” She cleared her throat. “ … a broken bone or two.”

  Tristan’s anger eased at her distress. “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said at last. “Being strong. Dealing with the doctors, police, and insurance companies, and Sissy and the freaks.”

  “Thank you for calling me.”

  “I hope I’m not bothering you. I know you have your own life. I just couldn’t think of anyone else I really wanted you to be here.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been sick?”

  “It’s not important,” she said and straightened. “I deserve it.”

  “What did the freaks offer you?” he pursued and stepped closer. She pulled her head back to meet his gaze. He saw her debating whether to resist or give.

  “Mints,” she said, bitter amusement crossing her features. “Demons like fresh breath, I take it.”

  “Let me help you, Emma,” he replied. “You’ll be no more obligated to me than you already are.”

  Her bravado faltered, displaying her fear and uncertainty. She nodded, and he offered a hand. She took it.

  “This might hurt a little,” he warned with a half smile.

  “Famous last words.”

  He drew her into him, cupped the back of her neck with one hand and steadied her with his other hand at the small of her back. For once, she didn’t resist him but surrendered.

  Tristan kissed her, reveling in the sensations caused by her slightest touch. She relaxed against him, welcoming and yielding. He coaxed her mouth open, savored her taste, then tightened his grip on her.

  Tristan felt her tense despite his attempt to be gentle. He released his shadows into her, commanding them to find their brethren and return. Her body shuddered, but he worked her lips, suffusing her with warmth while the shadows within chilled her. She responded almost desperately, and he felt some of her pain and loneliness, distress and yearning. When he withdrew, both of them were breathing raggedly. Tristan released a puff of black smoke above her head.

  She wrapped her arms around him, and he squeezed her. Her scent wrapped around him, its subtlety only making him want to be closer to her, to engorge himself
on her elusive essence.

  “Who supports you while you shoulder the world?” he murmured into her hair.

  “I don’t need anyone,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “Stubborn girl.”

  She pressed herself against him and relaxed, letting him support her.

  Incredible. There was no other word for the sensation of having her pliant in his arms, her sultry body pressed against his. It was a tender surrender, one he suspected would not last long, but one he would relish while it did. Tristan memorized her heady scent and softness, her lingering taste in his mouth and her arms around him. He’d never met a woman capable of ensnaring his senses or calming the raging darkness within him.

  “Tristan, they’ll never leave my family alone, will they?” she asked.

  “I don’t think they will. It’d be much easier for me to protect them and you if you’d trust me enough to tell me who it is that’s after you.”

  “I love them so much. I couldn’t bear it if anything else happened,” she whispered. He felt her give like the first drops of rain after the tension of a gathering storm.

  “Let’s go talk.”

  She nodded in silence.

  He took her hand and led them out of the restroom and down the hall until he found a waiting room with no one in it. Emma sat in the chair next to him, looking broken. He squeezed her hand, and she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

  “A few years ago, I met this guy named Adam. Total charmer, handsome, sweet, and he seemed so genuine,” she started. “I was a freshman in college, and he was a senior. I was on top of the world that he even noticed me. He was my tutor for math. I hate math, but he made it simple. We started talking then hanging out. I’d heard from friends he might be seeing someone, but I never brought it up, and neither did he. One day, we’d stayed out late at a coffee shop. When he took me home, he kissed me. It was the beginning of this disaster.”

  “I take it he wasn’t single,” Tristan said, keeping the anger out of his voice.

  “Not even close. He had a few different women,” she said with a frown. “One was Olivia, another freshman. She was kinda strange. She was very goth. I never thought she was a witch, and I never thought such things as black magic existed. She found out about Adam fooling around on her and flipped out. His other girlfriends sort of … disappeared. One moved out of town suddenly, and another one jumped off the Bay Bridge. I don’t know what happened to the third one. She just looked real sick and stopped coming to school. I didn’t think anything about it at the time.