Demon Inside

Chapter 2

What?” Megan jerked up in her seat, instinctively trying to look behind them, but his hand forced her head back down. Her ear pressed hard against the padded console.

Another shot. This time Megan heard it, heard the rear windshield shatter. She screamed, the sound ripped from her throat as Greyson cursed again and spun the wheel. She fumbled with her seat belt, wanting absurdly to crawl onto the floor and hide like a small child under her bedcovers at night.

Orange light filled the car, pulsing, disappearing and coming back as Greyson sent balls of flame into the car behind them.

He cursed. She popped up, unable to resist looking, and saw the flames extinguish, saw the black car behind them still racing along as if nothing had happened. Another tiny explosion happened inside their car. Again it disappeared and they advanced.

What sort of creatures were these, impervious to fire? Were they vregonis demons, like Greyson himself?

As if in answer to her question, the Jag filled with smoke, black and foul smelling. It filled her nostrils, stuck to her skin.

“Stay the fuck down! Cover your face!”

She ducked just as fire filled the car, burning away the smoke. Sweat broke out on her skin from the brief, intense blast of heat. “What was—”

“Open the glove compartment, get the gun.”

The car bounced over something, a pothole or speed bump. Megan’s arms flailed in the air. She’d tried to reach for the dashboard but the impact had sent her back against her seat.

Greyson made a sharp left. The Jag’s tires complained loudly about such rough treatment. Megan clutched at the center console to keep from hitting the door.

“Open the glove compartment, Meg, come on.”

“I’m trying!” The engine roared. The interior was bleached white by the headlights of the car behind them, switched on high. Greyson flipped the console lid up and grabbed his sunglasses, snapping them open and sliding them on to block the glare.

The car bounced again. Another gunshot broke the air, then another. Loud thunks came from the car and it shook with the impact; they were shooting the trunk, the roof, as Greyson swerved back and forth, trying to avoid the shots.

“Fuck! My car!” For the first time she felt his anger, a breeze colder than the air outside brushing over her skin.

Megan grabbed the handle with clumsy fingers and yanked open the glove compartment. Inside, Greyson’s leather gun case rested on the owner’s manual.

Light flared behind them. Megan turned and saw flames erupting from under the hood of the pursuing car as Greyson tried to make the engine explode. Even as she started to breathe a sigh of relief, the flames disappeared and the car lunged at them. She could almost see the figures inside, two shapes, pale flashes in the dark exterior. Maybe if she lowered her shields—

“Megan!”

“I’m trying to read them.”

“You won’t get anything. They’re not human. Just open the case.”

It took her three tries to grasp the slider and pull it down and another second to force herself to look at what lay inside the case. She knew he carried it, she’d seen it several times. But she’d never really thought about it before, about why he needed it or what he might do with it.

“Take out the gun. Be careful, it’s loaded. Take off your seat belt.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want to die?”

“No!”

Greyson swerved again, riding up on the curb. They’d turned onto a busier road; horns honked and tires squealed around them. “Then get the fucking gun out now!”

Her mouth was so dry she didn’t think all the water in the world could help, but tears poured freely from her eyes. The gun sat heavy and cold in her hand, dwarfing her palm. She didn’t like guns, had never liked them, and Greyson once told her he didn’t particularly care for them either.

She turned around so her chest rested against the seat back.

It’s them or us, it’s them or us…

“Okay. Steady your arms on the back of the seat and look straight down them. Use your dominant eye and close the other one.”

She obeyed. “Okay.”

“Good. See those notches at the end of the barrel? Line up what you want to shoot between them. Then squeeze the trigger—don’t yank it, just squeeze it. Be ready, it’s going to kick back on you, so don’t lock your arms too hard.”

This felt unreal. She could do this, she could, she’d destroyed two zombies once with nothing more than a showerhead and some hair spray, she could definitely shoot these fuckers trying to kill her…

She took a deep breath and fired.

The Jaguar was going too fast for her to recoil far. Inertia, like a large hand, forced her body against the seat, but her arm kicked back. The gun’s report echoed in her ears, thundering all the way through her body. She couldn’t see where the shot had gone.

More black smoke filled the car. This time she acted instinctively, ducking forward while heat flared behind her back.

The car behind them swerved and sped up, its front end only inches from the Jag’s rear. Greyson jerked the wheel to the left. Megan fell against the door, her hair blowing wild around her face, obscuring her vision. The Jag bounced and lurched, cutting into the next lane, flying across the center divider and down another side road. Metal crashed against metal behind them.

“Okay, get my phone and hit one,” Greyson said. She couldn’t believe how calm his voice was, how through all of this he’d barely yelled at her despite the rage she felt simmering below his surface. Even now his face in profile didn’t reflect any anxiety save the slight tightening of his lips and a faint furrow in his brow. Whereas had she looked in a mirror she doubted she would have been able to recognize herself.

She obeyed, the sleek little phone much friendlier in her hand than the gun now resting on her lap. The other end rang once, twice, before a familiar Cockney voice answered.

“Malleus! Malleus, we’re being chased, they’re shooting—”

“Tell him where we are and we’re heading for the reservoir,” Greyson interrupted. “Tell him to meet us at exit twenty-two.”

She’d barely finished repeating this when Malleus hung up.

“Are they gone?”

Her answer was another gunshot. The aluminum accents on the dash broke with a sharp, loud crack. Megan’s hands flew up to cover her face. Greyson said something, but she didn’t understand him.

“Shoot them again.” Roughness underscored his tone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just shoot!”

She braced her heels against the underside of the dash and raised the gun again, shaking with adrenaline and fear.

“Shoot the grill!”

She did, aiming as best she could, but just as she squeezed the trigger the car shot forward. Greyson jerked the wheel to the right and Megan fell onto him. His gasp was audible even over the screaming engine and the rushing of blood in her ears.

The world spun dizzyingly around the car; they were turning in a full circle, leaving ink-black tire marks on the street. Before Megan even had a chance to duck they’d sideslipped the black car and passed it, heading back the way they’d come. Flames leaped up behind them, completely obliterating the road.

They went right, taking the turn wide, almost ramming a truck coming through the intersection. The truck’s horn added to the cacophony of sounds around them.

“Did we lose—”

The black car flew around the corner, its tires still burning. Without being told she raised the gun, her fingers working of their own accord as they pulled the trigger. This long smooth stretch of road was the best chance she’d have.

This time she hit something. The black car lurched sideways, the dim shapes inside moving. A ball of blue-white fire came out of nowhere and slammed into the grill, through the grill, flames licking the top of the hood from beneath. Black smoke poured out, then as Megan watched, the smoke formed itself into a shape like an arrow and aimed at the Jag, only to vanish in another conflagration.

Her eyes burned from the horror and heat. She shot again, not knowing how many bullets were even left in the gun. More smoke, white now, came from the car behind them. Still it burned. Hope blossomed in her breast.

“Hang on,” Greyson said, spinning the wheel. The Jag slipped up an entry ramp onto the highway, the black car still following but slower now, lurching forward. Its tires exploded in a mass of flames. The car leaped in the air, forced up from the blast, and landed on its side against the retaining wall of the ramp. Megan watched until Greyson merged into traffic, but the car didn’t move again.

“Oh my God, oh my God, who were they? Why were—”

Pale gray light from the streetlamps flashed into the car and out, like a slow-motion strobe, highlighting the black splatter of blood on the charcoal dashboard, the gleaming river of it soaking Greyson’s sleeve.

“I’m fine,” he said again, just as he had so many times in the last hour as they drove all over the city to make sure they weren’t being followed. Megan stopped just inside the dimly lit white entry hall of Iureanlier Sorithell, the mansion on the outskirts of town belonging to the Gretneg of Greyson’s Meegra.

Right now that was Greyson, at least in theory. Since his takeover of the position had involved handing the former Gretneg, Templeton Black, over to the supernatural law enforcement agency known as Vergadering, some members of his Meegra doubted his integrity. The other Gretnegs were still debating whether or not to allow him to have that much power and authority.

It was a battle she knew he was still fighting, but one they didn’t discuss. She’d never asked, and she doubted he would give her a straight answer if she did. It was his business, just like the changes she’d been implementing in her Meegra were hers. Although she knew he didn’t approve of them, he’d never once told her so, or tried to change her mind when she made a decision.

“You’re getting blood all over the floor,” she said, following him through the small crowd of rubendas—members of his Meegra—who stood waiting. Clearly the wound wasn’t serious, but the sight of it still made her nervous. Uncomfortable.

Especially since something deep inside her, some small part she refused to acknowledge, liked seeing it. Liked the contrast of dark red blood on the white marble floor. Wanted to touch it, to raise fingertips smudged with it to her lips and taste it, spicy and tinged with smoke.

Horrified, she looked away, swallowing hard. Her eyes caught those of one of the rubendas and saw the same yearning reflected there.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she hurried to catch up with Greyson, staring resolutely at his sharp profile. Malleus strode along beside him, carrying the overnight case he’d gone to her house and packed for her. Through the open door of the kitchen she saw Maleficarum and Spud opening a large bag and setting out silvery instruments on white cloths.

Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud were guard demons—brothers—terrifically strong and tough, with self-healing powers accelerated even beyond those of normal demons; she’d seen them lose enough blood to kill a man and do a jig three hours later. But they’d spent some time learning emergency medical procedures as well, especially over the last three months. They were among the few demons Greyson really trusted, so their duties under his rule had increased from simple bodyguards to something more like personal assistants.

“Mr. Dante?”

Megan and Greyson both stopped. Megan turned around to see the rubenda who’d caught her eye earlier step cautiously forward and gesture to the droplets on the floor.

“Mr. Dante, can I have your blood?”

Angry mutterings broke out in the small crowd of demons near him. Megan’s mouth fell open, but when she looked back at Greyson he stood perfectly calm, as if the other demon had asked him about the weather.

“No,” he said, and strode into the kitchen without looking back.

Her feet sank into the soft pale carpet as she paced back and forth, trying to somehow walk the adrenaline out of her system. Whiskey had taken the edge off, but her mind still raced.

From the way Greyson’s eyes tracked her movements she knew he was well on his way to being drunk. He slouched in his heavy chair by the wall, shirtless, his bandaged arm resting on pillows beside him. His other hand clutched yet another drink.

“I really don’t think painkillers and booze are a great combination, Greyson, why don’t you—”

“Why don’t you let it go?” he snapped. That, more than anything else, told her how unnerved he’d been by their experience. Greyson almost never lost his temper.

She stared at him for a minute, then kept walking. Tension hung in the air between them, weighing Megan down even more fully than she was already. She’d found another of her demons exploded all over some suburban home, she’d been arrested, she’d gone to jail, she’d almost been killed…and she’d had the bizarre and unfortunately not unfamiliar desire to lick her boyfriend’s blood. A desire shared by at least one demon in the house, if not more.

“Sit down, bryaela,” Greyson said softly. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“I can’t sit. I’m too nervous.”

“We could lie down.”

Her laugh sounded slightly hysterical in her ears. “Is this really the time?”

“It’s as good a time as any, isn’t it?” He stood up and crossed the room to her, capturing her between his hard warm body and the heavy dresser behind her. “You’re here, I’m here…I believe you’re familiar with the bed—”

“We almost got killed tonight. After I went to jail!”

“Mmm, that’s so sexy.” His lips tickled her ear, then traced a path down the side of her neck, stopping so he could scrape her skin with his teeth. “You bad, bad girl.”

She didn’t intend to respond, but did, meeting his lips with a ferocity that stunned her. Her arms slid up under his so her fingertips could run over the tiny sgaegas—dull little spikes—covering his spine. Goose bumps broke out on his skin under her hands.

He gripped her waist with his right hand and pulled her closer, pressing his erection against her belly while his left hand tangled in her hair. She raised herself on tiptoe, forcing him to kiss her harder, wanting to forget everything and lose herself in him.

Heat exploded in her chest, in her stomach, working its way to points lower. Her fingers yanked at his belt. The entire night—the shame, the terror, her failure to protect her demons—disappeared in a haze of need so strong she thought she might die from it.

She shoved his pants down and grabbed his cock, hot and heavy in her palm. His breath rasped into her mouth, onto her throat, as he pulled away enough to lift her shirt.

One quick move slid it over her head, and another adroit twist unfastened her bra. It slid down her shoulders and he pulled it all the way off, then pressed his chest to hers, forcing her hips harder against the dresser. She caressed his back, down the hard muscles of his behind, forward again to stroke him where she knew he’d appreciate it the most, and all the while her heart beat with fire and fear and the need for oblivion.

He lifted her up, his powerful hands curving under her thighs, and propped her on the edge of the dresser.

“Your arm,” she gasped. “Be careful.”

“Hush.” His mouth caught hers again while he undid the button of her trousers and lowered the zipper. Underneath she wore a tiny scrap of black silk he’d bought her on his last trip to Paris. Greyson liked to give gifts, especially gifts he could remove later.

She started to lower herself from the dresser but he stopped her, bracing her back with one hand while he used the other to peel the panties off and drop them on the floor.

“I thought you wanted the bed,” she whispered.

“Changed my mind.”

Her head fell back as he thrust into her, gripping her hips with both hands. She clutched the short, soft hair at his nape, twisting it between her fingers and bringing him closer. His mouth hovered not half an inch from hers, his eyes glowing red and staring into her, through her.

“Meg…”

He dove closer, capturing her lips, invading her with his tongue, and the flames in her body leaped higher. Their mouths fused together as he thrust, keeping his pace steady, but she felt his arms shaking and the loose urgency of his lips and knew this wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, that the fear and pain which made her want to escape acted like an aphrodisiac for him.

Her hips left the dresser. She braced herself with her hands on the smooth, cool surface and wrapped her legs around his waist while he held her up, moving her pelvis in slow circles so he hit all the right spots deep inside her. She tensed, her thighs urging him on, begging for more.

His grip shifted, freeing his right hand so he could slide it down between them, and that was all she needed. Her back arched, shoving her hips farther forward, and she cried out as her body shuddered and clenched with release.

He joined her moments later, his fingers digging into her skin so hard it hurt, his entire body shaking, her name on his lips.

They stayed like that for a long, lost minute, their foreheads pressed together and their breath slowing in unison, until her arms started to cramp and she lowered her feet to the ground.

He brushed her cheek with his fingers, then bent to retrieve her panties, handing them to her as he pulled his trousers back up.

“How’s your arm?”

He shrugged, but the quick smile he gave her warmed her heart just as surely as he’d warmed her entire body moments before. “Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be fine in the morning. Good thing too. I have to go to New York on Monday, and there’s a bunch of stuff to organize before that.”

“But—I mean, aren’t you worried?”

He picked up the half-full glass he’d left on the little table by his chair and drank it off. “Why? Harrel’s a good pilot, and—”

“Somebody tried to kill us, Greyson. Aren’t you worried about that?” She grabbed one of his T-shirts from his drawer and yanked it over her head. Exhaustion started sinking into her bones, and the bed had never looked more inviting—almost never, anyway. But although the memory of the car chase and its attendant panic had faded, thinking about it didn’t do her nerves any good.

“They weren’t trying to kill us, darling. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“They did a pretty good imitation.”

“No.” He poured himself another drink, and a shadow crossed his face. “That was just a warning.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they were witches. If they’d wanted us dead, we’d probably be dead.”