Personal Demons

Chapter 14

"Just relax, Megan," he said, his mouth stretched in a Cheshire-cat grin. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Without moving her head Megan glanced to the left. The fight seemed to be slowing down. Maleficarum lay on the grass, unmoving, but Spud and Malleus were both on the thing, their fists blurring in the air. There was no sign of Brian. She tried to move into a better position to see and be seen, between the trees, where she hoped one of the brothers would spot her light brown sweater against the darkness of the trees and water.

"I guess they're pretty busy." Don cocked his head to one side, as if he was listening to something only he could hear. "They're not very good bodyguards, are they?" The whites of his eyes gleamed against his sallow, dirty skin.

Even a few feet away she could smell the acrid, animal odor of sweat and fear, mixed with a healthy dose of cheap malt liquor. A five o'clock shadow flecked with gray covered his jaw and crept up his cheeks like fungus. She'd seen him the day before and he'd looked fine.

"Don, what's happening to you?"

His hand twitched. Megan yelped and tried to step backwards, but she'd maneuvered herself so there was a tree directly behind her. She'd have to duck to the side and go around it, if she wanted to get away.

Panic left her shaking and dizzy. She'd never seen a hole as gaping and wide as the end of the gun's barrel.

"Nothing's happening to me," he said, but his voice shook. Did his eyes plead with her to help him?

"Don." She tried to keep her voice calm and matter-of-fact, just as if he wasn't holding a gun on her. "Don, you're not this kind of person. You're a good person, you know that. People like you, you're a strong man, you don't need to do this."

For a moment she thought she had him. His eyes had lost a little of their dazed look and his hands had steadied and started to lower the gun. But the words she'd hoped would appease him had the opposite effect. His eyes blazed and he targeted her again with the gun.

"Don't tell me what I do or do not need to do," he said. "I know what I need to do! I don't have a choice, do you understand? I don't have a choice."

She held her hands up. Out of the corner of her eye she still saw movement. When would it end? When would the brothers defeat that thing and come find her? Where the hell was Brian?

"Of course you do, Don." Her voice shook. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. "You're a good therapist, you know things always get better. There's no need to—"

"Shut up!" he screamed. Tears flowed down his face, leaving tracks on his grayish, sweat-covered skin. "You don't know what you're talking about. They said you'd try this, they said..." Again, he cocked his head as if listening to something only he could hear. Megan didn't have to think hard to realize he was hearing a voice and she knew whose.

Her pulse throbbed in her head. She could hardly breathe. Slowly, carefully, she started to edge her way to the left. If she could duck behind the tree and run from there, she might be able to stay out of the path of a bullet long enough to get to ... where? There was no building to hide in, no people to save her. Nowhere to run.

At this range Don would be able to blow her heart out of her chest without even aiming.

"I'm sorry, Megan." His voice shook but his hands were steady as he braced the gun.

Megan dove forward, hitting Don's legs and knocking him down at the same moment the gun went off. The report echoed through the trees, through her head: the loudest, most terrifying sound she'd ever heard. Her ears rang and she could barely make out renewed, frantic shouting coming from where she'd left the brothers.

She raised herself up on one arm, balling her free hand into a fist and slamming it into Don's face as hard as she could. Pain thundered up her arm from her knuckles as bone connected with bone. She screamed. Beneath her, Don twisted. He brought the gun up sideways, trying to smash the side of her head.

Megan leaned into it, managing to deflect the blow with her shoulder. She threw herself sideways and landed on both hand and gun, pinning them to the earth.

Don yanked his arm out from under her just as she grabbed his shoulders and aped Spud's earlier move, slamming her knee into his balls with all the force she could muster.

He shouted and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot off into the trees above his head. Megan scrambled to stand but he grabbed her leg. He was curled into a semi-fetal position on the ground but still managed to flip himself onto his stomach and start dragging her back towards him.

She kicked wildly with her feet, trying to detach him. He held on, but her foot connected with his face again. He grunted.

She spun around and grabbed the hand holding the gun, unsure if it was a very smart or very stupid move but certain there were no other options. Blood poured from Don's nose and down his face, staining his clothes and pooling on the packed brown earth beneath them.

She slammed his hand down onto the ground, digging her fingernails into the thin skin on the back of it. The skin broke. Blood oozed from the wounds, hot on her fingers. He tried to pull his hand away but she held on.

With his free hand, he tried to yank her fingers backwards. She scratched him again and planted her foot on his wrist. It was an awkward position but it put more weight on him.

He lifted onto his elbow and shoved his shoulder into Megan's leg, knocking her back down. Her head hit the ground hard enough to make stars appear in front of her eyes, then he was standing over her with the gun pointed right at her face.

"Megan," he gasped, forcing the words out between sobs. "They won't leave me alone—"

A large body flew from the trees and pounded into Don, knocking him to the ground. The gun went off. The tree behind Megan exploded, bits of bark and wood flying everywhere. She rolled away, only to hit a pair of heavy, blood-soaked legs.

Malleus lifted her up, carrying her as easily as he would a child, and ran away from the trees. His clothes were soaking wet. When Megan lifted her hand from his chest it was red with blood, but his breathing sounded untroubled and normal.

He set her down by the body of the creature lying broken in the blood-soaked grass. Brian sat on the bench next to a slightly paler-than-usual Maleficarum, who was, thank goodness, no longer bleeding. At least, not that she could see.

A moment later, Spud ran out of the trees carrying the gun in one hand and the limp body of Don Tremblay in the other.

"Is he ... dead?" Megan asked. She wasn't sure if she wanted the answer to be yes or no, but she was relieved when Spud shook his head.

"'E's alive, m'lady, don't you fret none," Maleficarum said, giving Don an appraising look. "You just sit down now an’ let us worry ‘bout ‘im. And ‘im," he added, nodding at the red beast on the ground.

Her vision started to go black as she realized it was over. The fight was over, she was alive ... they were all alive, even Don, and she was glad.

She was also going to be sick. She tried to turn away, but didn't quite make it. Malleus patted her back. "Better out than in, eh, m'lady?" he said, sounding awfully cheerful for a man who'd just been almost killed by a seven-foot, red-skinned hellbeast. Then again, he'd been awfully happy after his scrap last night. Perhaps this was just a fun challenge for him.

"Megan?" It was Brian, his light eyes huge in his pale face. "What the hell just happened?"

Shit.

Megan dropped chunks of stew meat into the searing hot pan, taking pleasure in the simple prosaic sizzling sound and the fresh, beefy fragrance rising. When she flipped the pieces with her stainless-steel spatula, the sides that hit the pan were already dark brown.

Maleficarum, sitting at the table eating an enormous sandwich made with just about everything in her fridge, sniffed the air and smiled. "Reminds me of me mum's kitchen, that does."

"Oh? She used to make steak pies for you?"

He nodded. "Aye, well, it weren't exactly steak, y'know. It were meat, but not that kind."

Megan dropped the subject.

All three of the brothers had healed amazingly well. That was what guard demons did, apparently. They weren't perfect, but they could certainly move without severe pain and their wounds had already healed.

Megan shuddered and inhaled deeply. Four steak pies was a tall order, and it was one the brothers hadn't expected her to fill after the scene at the park. She'd insisted on it. She was going to cook, damn it, cook a nice hearty meal for her guests. Just as she'd planned.

She'd forced them to take her to the grocery store after the police finally let them leave the park. The body of the fiend hadn't been a problem, because nobody could see it but her and the brothers. Don Tremblay hadn't been much of a problem either. He'd readily admitted to what he'd tried to do, crying and begging for forgiveness, and she'd granted it before they put him in the back of the police car called to take him first to the station, then to the hospital.

At least he would get some help, she thought as she lifted the first batch of meat out of the pot and started dropping in the next. More fragrant steam rose from the pot. Now if only someone would help her figure out what to do about Brian's brush with the demons.

He hadn't seen the creature, either, but he'd felt it. She'd insisted he go to the hospital, too. His reactions were slow enough to make her worried for his health, and he'd barely spoken the whole time the police were there. Kind of a blessing, that was, because she didn't have to try and convince him to go with the cover story they'd concocted on the phone with Greyson in the frantic few minutes before the police arrived.

Putting off the inevitable was all well and good, but they couldn't do it forever. What had he felt when that demon ran through him? What had it done to him?

And what were they going to do about it now?

The voices of the brothers behind her made an oddly homey accompaniment to the sizzling meat. It struck Megan how strange all of this was. She, who'd never had many friends, had never had that "urban family" people talked about, now had three demons sitting in her kitchen sniffing the air with smiles on their faces and chatting about sports.

She put in the last batch of meat and started seasoning it, adding the scents of rosemary and onion to the comforting fog in the air. Her stomach growled.

She'd been right to insist on this. Making this meal was just what she needed, what they all needed, to bring a sense of normalcy back to ... well, okay, it was just what she needed. The day had been just another day for Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud.

She sprinkled a good pinch of sea salt on the meat and added it all back together in the pan, stirring it, heating it back up, then opened three bottles of Murphy's Irish Stout and poured them in, scraping the bottom of the pan gently with her spatula. The repetitive motion soothed her tired mind.

She didn't need to hear their voices quiet to know to hand the remaining bottles to the demons. They opened them with gusto.

"I've got more of those," she said, covering the pan and lowering the heat. "There's plenty."

"You're too kind, m'lady," Maleficarum said, and something in his voice made her stop and look at him.

"We don't deserve it, none of it." He sniffled. "We almost let you get kilt today. You may forgive us, but Mr. Dante ... he's not gonna be too pleased wif us."

"No, he isn't."

They all turned as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't, to find Greyson standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He must have left work early; the sleeves of his pristine white shirt were rolled up, the top buttons undone and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked like a stockbroker after a satisfying day of bankrupting his enemies—except for the fury pouring off him and filling the room. His body was tense, unmoving, but his rage swept over them like a flooded river washing away everything in its path.

She hadn't felt him like this before. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of that power he held back from her. She didn't have any of her own, but she felt it from others. Some people just had more ... energy, or strength, or charisma. Whatever you wanted to call it, Megan usually felt it, but she'd never experienced anything like this.

But then, she'd never been around an angry demon before.

"How did you get in here?" She meant the words to come out strong and sure, but it was more like a whisper.

He held up a stylish silver key ring in the shape of a padlock, but kept his eyes focused on the demons. "I made a copy of your key."

"What? I—" She stopped herself. This was not the time to discuss his key-cutting habits, not when he looked as if he would kill the brothers with his bare hands.

They sat very still at the table as he spoke to them. "I need to talk to the three of you."

They hesitated, glancing at Megan as if she could save them.

"Now." He almost didn't sound like himself. All the pleasantness was gone from his voice. It was pure cold fury. Megan shivered.

The demons stood up and filed reluctantly out of the kitchen. "In the spare room," Greyson said. He turned to follow them.

Megan took a step towards him. "Greyson?"

He stopped.

"You won't ... hurt them or anything, will you?"

He spun around, so fast she almost couldn't track the movement. "What do you think I should do?" he demanded. "Give them a fucking medal for almost letting you get killed today? Twice?"

"No, I—"

"What do you think would have happened if you hadn't been lucky enough or strong enough to beat Don Tremblay? Do you think they deserve some kind of reward for letting a cheap distraction like that yaksas today work? Letting Tremblay get to you?"

"No, but—"

"They're here," he said, standing so close now that she could smell his cologne, "to protect you. Their job, what they get paid for, is to protect you. Do you think they deserve to get paid for today?"

"They couldn't have known—"

"It's their job to know. It's their fucking job to keep their eyes open and their fat little mouths shut, and to save your life. What if you'd died today, Megan? What do you think would be a fit punishment for them letting you—"

This time she pulled him to her, this time it was she who cut off his words with the pressure of her lips.

He hesitated just long enough for Megan to wonder if she was doing the right thing at all. Part of her knew she wasn't.

Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him, and all thoughts of reasons and consequences flew from her mind in a blast of pure heat.

Perhaps because his emotions were already stronger than they'd been the night before so, too, was the passion of his kiss. His lips plundered hers, angry, needy, forcing her head back. She tasted blood and wondered if it was hers or his. It didn't matter.

She was caught between the smooth edge of the countertop and Greyson's hard body. He bent her almost backwards over the counter. She lifted her legs to wrap around him, encouraged by his hands supporting her thighs.

The movement brought the already buzzing space between her legs into direct contact with the hard ridge of his erection. She gasped against his mouth, and he responded by pressing himself more firmly into her, letting her feel the entire length of him as he propped her on the countertop.

His hands curled into her hair, tugging her head further back so he could explore her throat and neck with his lips. She blazed everywhere he kissed, every time his teeth scraped against her delicate skin.

This was more than it she'd meant it to be, more than it had been the night before. Megan was drowning in him, in the sensation of every nerve ending in her body springing to hot, instant life.

She clutched at his shoulders, his back, as if she would fly spinning off the earth if he weren't there to hold her to it. Her legs tightened around his waist, pressing him still closer. His hand invaded the small space between their bodies to caress her breast with heat, and she arched her back as he lowered his mouth further to kiss down the open neckline of her shirt.

She didn't know what might have happened if Tera Green hadn't chosen that moment to walk into the kitchen.

Megan wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't opened her eyes to yank Dante's tie out from under his collar. Tera watched them, her arms crossed and a look of intense interest on her face.

Megan gasped and pulled away at the same time Dante spun around, almost dropping her. As carefully as she could, she loosened her legs. They barely held her up when her feet hit the floor.

"The door was unlocked," Tera said. "I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me."

"Um ... the meat was cooking pretty loudly." Megan had no idea what to do. Laugh it off? Be offended? Tera shouldn't have walked right in, but Tera didn't seem the type to worry much about social niceties.

"Right. The meat." Tera looked them both up and down. "Is there anything to drink?"

"Yes, um, beer, wine, Coke, water?"

Tera accepted a beer. "I'll wait in the living room, Megan. I don't have all night, either."

Megan didn't breathe again until the other woman's back disappeared around the corner. How must this look, how must she look? Like some stupid teenager, some preposterous woman who couldn't control herself?

Greyson reached for her, but at the first touch of his hand on her arm she cringed. What had she been thinking?

He dropped his hand. "I need to go talk to the boys."

She watched him walk out. Her body still throbbed and ached. Only the conviction that this was the wrong time, the wrong thing, kept her from leaping back into his arms.

At least, she thought that was all it was.