Demon Inside

Chapter 16

I don’t want it,” she said, but no one seemed to hear her over the argument. She tried again, louder. “I don’t—”

“Meg. Shush.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispered furiously. “I don’t want any of it.”

“You don’t know that.” Greyson leaned closer, but didn’t look at her, watching the reddening faces of her mother and brother instead.

“I think I do.”

“No. You don’t. Not until you know why, and what he gave Maldon in exchange for everything he got.”

It made sense, just like most of his suggestions, which was probably why it pissed her off so much. She pulled her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest.

“They’ll contest the will,” he went on, as if she hadn’t just distanced herself from both him and the conversation. “And when they do, you can make a decision and I’ll handle the legal stuff. But for now don’t make any comments on the record.”

“There’s no record. This is a will reading, not a trial.”

“You think that viper and her spawn won’t remember everything you say and try to introduce it?”

“That’s assuming I change my mind and fight them. I won’t.”

“You might.”

“You! What did you do to him?”

Megan looked up. Diane stood at the end of the table, her red-rimmed eyes blazing. “As if being a disgrace to our family wasn’t enough, you—what did you do? Blackmail him? Drug him? We always knew something was wrong with you, always thought—”

“Mrs. Chase!” Tucker’s voice cut through the diatribe, hoarse with shock. “Please, sit down! There’s no need for—”

“Don’t you tell me what there’s a need for! That little witch—”

“Mom, Mom.” Dave stood up and tried to grasp his mother’s arm. “Calm down. We can do this later. We can fight this. Right, Tucker? We can fight this?”

“You can contest the will, yes.” Tucker glanced at Megan and Greyson. “But we’ll discuss that another time. Please, Mrs. Chase, take your seat.”

Megan’s mother looked around, seeming to recall for the first time where she was and how many people were watching. Their gazes flipped from her to Megan and back again, as if they expected a slapfight to break out any second.

Diane subsided, then wiped at her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief. The move, Megan knew, was a calculated one, to remind the rest of the room of her bereavement and bring home the stress she, the loyal wife, was under.

Almost without realizing it, Megan lowered her shields a tad and reached out. She’d probably never see this woman again after today, at least she hoped she wouldn’t. Weren’t there things she deserved to know, things she was curious about?

There she was as a child, a pretty little blond girl in a pink dress. Megan remembered that dress. She’d hated it, with its itchy lace trim…

“Mommy! Why does Mr. Grubman hate Daddy?”

“Don’t be silly, Megan. Mr. Grubman is our friend.”

“No, he’s not. He thinks Daddy’s an idiot and he wants to see you without your pants on.”

The slap had been so sharp and unexpected Megan’s eyes teared up just seeing it all these years later, but all her mother had felt was rage. Rage and a queasy kind of fear.

More images, more memories. Megan at six predicting her grandmother’s death. Grandma…she’d liked Grandma, and Grandma had liked her. Funny, Megan didn’t realize until now that Grandma had had her abilities too, not as strong as Megan’s but there nonetheless. She’d died when Megan was still too young to understand, or to realize what she could do was unusual.

Megan at twelve, wearing the baggy gray sweater she’d thought hid her embarrassing lack of development, while her mother tsked and pulled at it and finally gave up, upset Megan couldn’t even achieve puberty properly. Megan at fourteen, and Orion Maldon coming to their house to talk to David about something…

Oh my God.

She stood up, so fast she almost toppled forward over the table, interrupting again poor friendly Tucker’s attempt to finish the reading. “I need to leave.”

She didn’t care that they were all staring at her. She didn’t care what they thought. She knew it now, knew what she’d failed to ask Maldon, knew why all of this had happened to her, and she had to get out of that room before she did something she would really regret. The second heart in her chest pounded, furious, sending heat rushing through her body.

“I want to see those documents,” she told Tucker. “Can I see them now?”

“They’re in the house, but probate—”

“She’s not going into that house by herself,” Diane snapped. “I want the police there.”

Megan sighed. “Mother, you are such a miserable bitch, do you know that?” It wasn’t original or clever, but it was the best her stunned and weary mind could come up with at the moment. “I’m not a thief. I just want to look at what’s mine, and I want to do it now so I can get the hell out of this shitty little town.”

“Grey, you’ll be with her?” Tucker half-whispered in their direction, while the rest of the room stared at Megan in silence. Her mother’s eyes narrowed, hatred burning in their icy depths, but she said nothing.

Greyson must have nodded, because Tucker cleared his throat and spoke again. “Mrs. Chase, Mr. Dante is a highly respected attorney. He’ll be with Dr. Chase in the house. I trust him—and Megan.”

Dave stood up, holding out a set of keys. “Here, Megan.”

He didn’t look at her, but for some absurd reason tears threatened behind her eyes just the same. “The house is part yours anyway, right?”

Two hours. They figured they had about that long before everyone came back, and Megan had never in her life wanted anything as badly as she wanted to be out of the house before they did.

The will reading wouldn’t take that long, but the discussion they knew Diane and Dave would have with Tucker afterward just might.

Megan pulled boxes out from under the desk, lifting the lids, rifling through loose papers. The documents had to be in here somewhere. She needed to know who her father’s partners were in that land deal. She had one-third interest. Who were the other two? She thought she knew.

The blank walls in what used to be her bedroom stared at her as she worked, while Greyson set another box on the neatly made bed and started flipping through its contents. He’d barely said a word since they’d left the reading, but his silence wasn’t cold any more than his body was.

Her back started to ache from crouching by the time she found what she sought, by the time the names leaped out at her from the page. Every letter taunted her, answering questions she didn’t know she had but leaving more in their wake.

“Greyson. Come look.” Her voice sounded stronger than she thought it would.

He took the sheaf of papers from her and thumbed through it. “Title deed…documents of incorporation…here we go. Blah blah blah, board members—” He looked up.

“Board members, yes.”

“David Chase, Orion Maldon, and…Templeton Black.” He lowered the papers and stared at her. “I didn’t know, Meg. I swear I didn’t.”

So he’d come to the same conclusion she had. The same knowledge. “Look at the date.”

“I don’t need to.” But he glanced just the same. “Temp never told me he—”

“That he’d essentially bought me from my father? That in exchange for me, he and Orion Maldon would give my father part ownership in valuable property, they’d build his practice, they’d—” She stopped, unable to go on. Her hands shook as she raised them to her head.

Sixteen years ago she’d sat in this room and had her first conversation with the Accuser, right before he’d entered her body and changed her life forever.

And that was what David Chase had wanted. In exchange for power and wealth he’d sacrificed his only daughter.

Anger rose in her breast, filling her, making both her hearts beat faster. She wanted to hit someone. She wanted to hit her father. She should have laughed at him in that casket yesterday. She should have scratched his dead eyeballs out of his head and stomped them into goo under her feet.

“That bastard, that unbelievable bastard.” This time she didn’t try to stop her tears. Rage, not sadness, brought them to her eyes, but it didn’t matter. She stood next to her childhood bed and cried, and after a second Greyson gathered her in his arms and held her tight, and for once it didn’t feel like she was being humored.

It didn’t last long. The initial wave passed, and she was left simply raging, wanting to strike out at someone, anyone.

“I hate this room. I hate even being in this house.”

“I know.”

She turned around to look at the bed, at the window by which the Accuser had rested sixteen years before. Light poured through it, taunting her. “He stood right there,” she said. Her palms ached from her fingernails digging into them. “I was in bed and that’s where he was. Like…like he was my buddy or something. I wondered why no one was home that day. My mother usually was…”

She jumped when his warm hands touched her shoulders and rubbed gently. “Maybe it’s a good thing,” he said. “Now you know.”

Her head fell forward as he massaged her, easing some of the tension in her neck but doing nothing for the howling fury gripping the rest of her body. Her muscles ached from trying to still her trembling.

“I always knew. I mean, I didn’t know know, but it doesn’t change anything, does it? I’m still what I am, no matter the reason. They never liked me. They never wanted me around. It must have been like winning the lottery.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice as she uttered the last line. Her blood still raced, her heart pumped furiously. She wanted to go run a mile, she wanted to throw things and attack things and tear them apart. All that excess energy buzzed around in her mind, in her veins, until she thought she might explode from it.

A cold breeze caressed her, like a ghost passing by. “Forget them.”

“I can’t forget them. I’m too…God, Greyson, I’m just so fucking mad at them, I can hardly see straight.”

The zipper of her dress lowered a bit. His lips tickled between her shoulder blades. “Maybe it’s time to let it all go. Exorcise your demons once and for all.”

She smiled, surprised it was still possible to do so. “Exorcise or exercise?”

“It’s so efficient when you can accomplish two goals with one…act, isn’t it?” Heat seeped through her dress from his palms as he slid his hands around her, gliding down over her hips and thighs, then back up. His fingers curved around her waist and pulled her back so she could feel his erection.

Her breath caught in her chest. “Do you ever think about anything but sex?”

“Money. Power.” His soft laugh warmed her throat as he scraped his teeth over her skin there. “I think about you, bryaela.”

She refused to say, “You do?” like some innocent heroine in a novel, but the temptation was too much to resist. “Oh?”

“Yes.” His right hand sneaked under the neckline of her dress and down into her bra, finding her left nipple and rolling it gently. Her eyelids fluttered shut. The raging demon inside her changed its tune, finding another route to forgetfulness, seeking a different kind of release. “I wonder how your day is going, what you’re doing…when I’ll see you again…don’t you think about me? Don’t you, sheshissma?”

“What does that mean?”

He paused, nibbling her earlobe. “It doesn’t translate well. My desire.”

“I think your desire translates pretty well.” It came out as a gasp; he’d started tugging up her skirt with his left hand while his right still played beneath her top, and the feel of his skin on her bare thighs above her stockings sent a violent shiver through her body.

“That’s what it means. My desire.” His foot nudged hers, punctuating his words, urging her legs apart. His fingers stroked over her panties. “The thing I want.”

Her head fell back, resting on his shoulder as he rubbed the damp silk against her. All that energy inside her, that fierce need…she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Every gasp of air was scented with him, tasted like him.

“So what do you say, sheshissma?” The teasing tone didn’t fool her; his voice behind it was hoarse. “What do you want? To work off some of that anger?”

He edged the panties aside so he could slide his fingers along the bare, slick folds of her skin. His own rough breath drowned out the moan she couldn’t stop. “You want to take it out on me, my bryaela? Use me? Hurt me?”

Fear slid down her spine, meeting the heat pooling in her pelvis and sending a shiver through her body. This was dangerous. She should pull away, put a stop to it, because his words were edging her far too close to a chasm she wasn’t sure she could emerge safely from.

But oh God, she wanted to jump.

“Do you? Is that what you want? I’m here. Just tell me. Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”

He unzipped her dress and slid it from her shoulders, stopping just at the point where the fabric trapped her arms at her waist. Her bra was next; cool air swirled over her aching nipples as the scrap of lace and wire fell from them. She still couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, so she floated weightless in perfect darkness, with only his warmth and hands keeping her in the world.

Those hands sculpted her body from the air, creating every line and curve as they traced them. It should have been as soothing as it was arousing. Normally his touch made her purr like an extremely contented lion. Now…like the flames of his energy burning in her chest, between her legs, so her restlessness grew, her need to do something, anything, to move. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he forcing her to be still, to not let it go, to not run through the darkness and scream in bloody triumph?

“Jesus, Meg…you make me ache. How do you do that…” More teeth now, harder, nipping at her shoulders. He filled his hands with her breasts, lifting them, and the heat of his skin radiated out.

Flames appeared, dancing along the top of the window, hovering above them. They were in a different world now, the one where he ruled, and the knowledge of his domination forced the word from her lips.

“Yes…”

Megan reached behind her, forcing her hand between them to caress the hard ridge of his cock.

He bit her neck, so hard she felt her skin dent and bruise beneath his teeth, and it was as if he’d flipped a switch, set her free. She spun around and tried to wrap her arms around him, but they were still trapped by her dress. She shoved them forward as far as she could, managing to grip the firm muscles of his ass in her hands before his lips found hers and sent her flying into the burning sun.

His growl rumbled against her lips, into her mouth. Their tongues tangled, fighting a war Megan didn’t think could be won, as he shoved her hands away and freed them from her dress, pushing it down over her hips to fall on the floor.

She yanked at his tie, pulling his shirt open, dragging it up from his waistband. Her panties disappeared. She thought she heard them tear, thought she felt the tug against her skin as they did so, but didn’t care.

Together they fell onto the bed. Megan thrust his shirt away, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her palms, beneath her nails. She wanted to bury them in it, to see his blood dark against the tawny flesh.

The thing inside her, the demon or ghoul or simply a part of herself she’d never known before, still raged and ripped at her with sharp, terrible claws, roaring in anticipation when he unfastened his belt with one quick, decisive movement and removed his pants.

He shoved himself inside her with more force than finesse, and Megan screamed his name, her back arching, her legs spreading wider. His answering cry was lost somewhere in the waves of pleasure crashing over her, drowning her. She dug her nails into his skin and felt it break; she smelled his blood in the air. The scream erupting from her mouth didn’t even sound like her voice. She was gone, lost, trapped in a body too small for the tumultuous emotions inside it.

His fingers twisted in the hair at her nape and yanked, pulling her head back so far all she could see was the opposite wall. It didn’t matter. His face was seared into her brain. She focused on it, seeing him, feeling him burning deep inside with his every rapid, forceful thrust.

“Go on, Meg,” he gasped. The pressure on her neck relaxed as he pulled her face closer. His eyes glowed like traffic lights, redder than she’d ever seen them. “Whatever you want. I can take it.”

Her hand moved before she even realized it, before she thought of it, striking out at him with the same unreal speed she’d noticed when Maldon had tried to touch her hair.

Not fast enough. Greyson caught it before it hit him, his fingers making the bones in her wrist grind together painfully. Sharp tingles ran up her arm and blossomed into something stronger in her chest.

She tried again, harder, faster, wanting to hurt him, wanting to feel that power, but he caught her again and slammed her wrist down onto the bed. She wanted to cry, but instead of disappointment, instead of anger, she felt relief. She couldn’t hurt him. He’d beaten her. He would beat her every time, and for some reason that knowledge made her feel safe. She could let her rage go, let it take over. Permission was granted. Her heartbeat sped up.

As if he sensed this—and he probably did—he let go of her hand and took her lips again, plundering her mouth, not stilling or slowing his movements inside her.

“Just…just fuck me,” she managed. “Greyson…”

She hadn’t thought he could go faster, harder, but he did. He gripped the edge of the mattress, using it as leverage while he reared up over her and slammed into her. The smooth perfection of his chest hovered only inches from her mouth. She lifted her head and sank her teeth into it, twisting her fingers in his hair and pulling as hard as she could while the fingernails of her other hand made fresh gouges in his back.

His voice echoed in the small room, mingling with hers. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t control herself. Flames filled her body, filled her vision, destroying everything else. All the memories of the last few days, all the memories of this house and her childhood, her father’s betrayal, eradicated in a second by the voracious fire, mixing with the rage and pain and turning into something so pure she wanted to live on it.

“Greyson!” Her back arched as the first waves of her climax rolled through her. Megan rode it, letting it wash her clean, until nothing was left of her but her bare, stripped soul wrapped around him.

His final thrust almost pushed her off the bed. He swelled inside her, impossibly large, wringing one last scream from her throat to almost cover his, until the walls of her childhood bedroom shook from the force of their release and he collapsed on top of her.