Seducing the Hunter
Vivi Anna
Straight to hell…When Daeva revealed her true identity to her love, Quinn Strom, the exorcist and broodingly handsome demon hunter sent her straight back to hell without a backward glance.Now, three years later, he needs her help. The key to the Chest of Sorrows has been stolen and the hunt is on to unlock the horrific contents on to the world. Daeva is the only one who knows where it is – but there’s a price to pay. And Quinn now has no choice but to make a deal with her. A deal that now gives her ultimate power over him…
“You look surprised to seeme,Quinn.”
Tilting her head, Daeva looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s right. You never did get to see me in my true form. You were so quick to get rid of me. Never gave me a chance to introduce myself properly.”
It had been three years since Daeva had seen Quinn Strom. And she had to admit that he looked just as dark and dangerous and delicious. His inner darkness called to her like a moth to a flame. But she couldn’t let him see that. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand here. She’d never give it to him again.
A vixen at heart, VIVI ANNA likes to burn up the pages with her original, unique brand of fantasy fiction. Whether it’s in the Amazon jungle, an apocalyptic future or the otherworld city of Necropolis, Vivi always writes fast-paced action-adventure with strong, independent women who can kick some butt and dark, delicious heroes to kill for.
Once shot at while repossessing a car, Vivi decided that maybe her life needed a change. The first time she picked up a pen and put words to paper, she knew she had found her heart’s desire. Within two paragraphs, she realized she could write about getting into all sorts of trouble without having to suffer any of the consequences.
When Vivi isn’t writing, you can find her causing a ruckus at downtown bistros, flea markets or in her own backyard.
Seducing the Hunter
Vivi Anna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Crowley, the cheekiest demon of them all …
Contents
Cover (#u7b0bd626-49b9-5302-880b-57768af4e368)
Introduction (#u43e61542-b2c1-5e0f-9de4-35a3f383e262)
About the Author (#ueb21ab85-8266-5759-8247-0873ecc586cf)
Title Page (#ue0a84293-3883-5a56-8dea-770ca6ca5ba0)
Dedication (#ucd2cb317-c69d-5fc0-aa3e-ca18c22d5719)
Chapter 1 (#u50d03326-6b75-58f8-ba2a-21b6dbd72ef7)
Chapter 2 (#u9c586301-d786-5df8-9cda-d509ac744863)
Chapter 3 (#u5d51ccf0-9205-58d1-a7e6-b3550b3d9ad4)
Chapter 4 (#ub7397a3c-fd73-5227-b487-2c3470bef7ea)
Chapter 5 (#ud4e3ebfa-282d-504f-9342-0f4791ccdad0)
Chapter 6 (#ua50297f3-c5f3-5519-acb7-48434d1998e5)
Chapter 7 (#u63679814-d972-5956-9627-a25d37ab55f9)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Sneak Peek (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_328926f5-b895-5031-9b97-0bbca5c208fa)
The candlelight illuminating the small chamber flickered when the heavy wooden door opened. Daeva looked up from the backgammon board to see who had entered her private room. She smiled as the little green creature, carrying a bronze tea tray, hobbled in on his spindly and knobby legs.
He set the tray on the small round table next to her, then slid onto the velvet-covered chair on the opposite side of the backgammon board.
She reached over and poured tea into two porcelain cups then handed one to him. “Prompt as usual, Klix.”
The creature accepted the offered cup and took a sip, his beady black eyes staring at her over the rim. “I wouldn’t miss our daily game, Mistress.”
She drank the hot, spiced tea and watched the goblin set up the game. It was her one small pleasure in the day, to play the ordinary game with him in her private chamber away from the others. Away from the reality of her situation.
Here she couldn’t smell the rancid odor of brimstone and sulfur or the stench of burning flesh. Here she could block out the woeful screams and pitiful mewls of those being tortured in the fire pits below. She didn’t have to make polite conversation with the other demons she wholly despised. As long as she had to stay in hell, she could at least pretend she was elsewhere when she was here in her room playing her games with her friend Klix.
Hell was the place of Daeva’s birth, but she’d done everything possible for thousands of years to get out and stay out. And she’d done pretty well. Staying topside most of her life, possessing bodies, living their lives, until some clever exorcist or demon hunter would exorcise her back to hell. Then the process would start all over again. It wasn’t perfect but she’d accepted the fact that she’d never be able to walk the mortal realm in her true form, so she’d stolen identities and pretended to be those people. It wasn’t quite like being a real mortal. But it was the best she could do in her circumstances.
At least when she took over a body, she kept her host in a dream state. They didn’t know they were being possessed. They just thought they were having one heck of an amazing dream. Daeva always gave them good, happy dreams.
Despite what a lot of lore said, not all demons were wicked. In fact, most lived, just as other beings did, somewhere between good and evil. Here, in hell, demons were split into seven types. Daeva was of the second, which consisted of lust demons. She wasn’t a full-blooded lust demon though; there had been some mixing of types over millennia, but she had one in the family tree somewhere. She didn’t possess people to just suck the sexual energy from them or those that they seduced. She wasn’t what some people would call a succubus.
But she did derive some energy from sex. Which was one of the reasons she preferred to possess the bodies of women. She liked sex with men. She supposed her affinity to them was one of her weaknesses. She’d been told as much by every other demon in her family tree. Which was one of the many reasons she hated it so much in hell.
She’d been doing okay as a mortal for years, surviving, forging a pretty good new life with a job, a home, friends, family and a man she loved. The woman whom she’d possessed had been near death in a coma when Daeva had come along. Her brain had little function so it would’ve been like being in a dream for her when Daeva had taken over. The girl was mercifully unaware of Daeva’s presence. But that all had come to a halt about three years ago when she’d been exorcised out of her most favorite body, her most favorite life, and sent back to this...hell. She’d been looking for a way back ever since.
She’d been looking for payback on the man who’d sent her back, who just happened to be the same man she’d loved.
Klix had the game set up—he always played the black—then picked up the dice and rolled. She watched him move the pieces with his crooked fingers and smiled. He was her only comfort in a place that offered nothing but misery and suffering.
“So, my friend, what is the word out in the world?” she asked as she took her turn.
“Loir is going topside,” he said as he rolled again.
“Really?” This surprised Daeva. Loir was Klix’s twin sister. Goblins usually didn’t go to the mortal realm. They weren’t very good at assimilating into the human world. Seeing a four-foot, bald, green-skinned creature with bulbous eyes, razor-sharp talons and four sets of teeth would send anyone into a panic or an asylum. “What is her purpose?”
Klix shrugged. “I am not sure. She would not tell me much.”
“She must be accompanying someone on a task.”
He nodded. “Yes, that would be logical.” He moved some of his black pieces into the winning box. “She did say something about a key.”
This perked Daeva up. There were only a few important keys up there in the world. “What kind of key, do you know?”
“Not sure. But I did hear it is supposed to open something of great value to demons. Something powerful. Something ancient.”
Daeva nearly dropped her teacup. She set it on the table, her hand shaking.
“Are you ill, Mistress?”
She swallowed, then gave him a small smile. “I must be a bit under the weather, Klix. Could we finish our game later? I believe I need to rest a bit.”
“Yes, of course.” He rose from his seat. “Shall I take the tea tray?”
“No, that’s fine.”
He bowed his bald head to her. “I will be back later to check on you, Mistress.”
“Oh, Klix, could you deliver a message to your sister for me?” Daeva reached for parchment and a quill. She scrawled three words on it, and folded the paper. She handed it to the goblin.
“I will do this right away.”
“Thank you, Klix. Please tell her to burn it after she reads it.”
The little goblin left her chamber, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Once he was gone, Daeva rose from her chair and went to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase along one wall. She ran her finger along the book titles until she found the one she needed. She slid it off the shelf and went to sit on the sofa.
She opened the thick tome on her lap and flipped through the pages. She stopped at a picture of a large wooden box with an elaborate lock on it. She read the text that went with it, then her finger circled another picture, that of a key. A skeleton key. The key that fit the lock. The key that opened a box that had been buried.
A plain wooden box she had buried herself, over a hundred years ago.
She sighed and leaned back against the sofa cushions. She prayed that this wasn’t the key Loir had gone topside to look for. As far as she knew, she was one of only a few people who knew who had the key. If someone was looking for it, then they were looking for the box.
The box had been entrusted to her more than a century ago by an elderly human scholar. He’d been an intelligent, well-read man who knew about the curse on the box. He knew exactly what had been sealed inside. And he had pleaded with her to bury it where no one, no human, no demon, would be able to find it again. He had been her friend, one of the few she had as a demon, so she did as he asked. With the help of a local man, she’d buried it deep in the earth in northern Canada.
They couldn’t allow what lay inside the box to be used again. Daeva feared what would happen if it fell into demon hands. It had been used against demonkind two millennia ago, used to enslave them and do one insane man’s bidding. But if it fell into demon hands, it could be used to subjugate the entire human population. It would overthrow humanity.
Recently, she had heard rumors and whispers about who possessed the key. And the last confirmed report had chilled her blood. If only she was still topside, she could’ve protected him, the key keeper, and he would never have even known.
Because she’d spent years right under his nose, hiding in plain sight. Hiding inside the woman he’d fallen in love with. The woman she’d been possessing for years, before she even met him. So, in Daeva’s mind, he had fallen in love with her.
And she had loved him. Damn him for it.
She pushed the book to the side and stood. Pacing the room she flicked her hand and all the candles in her chamber lit. She tried to warm her body with their flames. It would surprise everyone to know that even in hell she could be cold. She worried about what was to come, fretted about the future.
Daeva knew she would be called upon. There was only one being still alive who knew she’d hidden the box. The man she’d loved, the man who had sent her back to hell.
Soon, Quinn Strom, exorcist extraordinaire, would come a-knocking at her hellish “door.”
A knock startled her. It couldn’t be Klix; she had told him to come back later. Her heart thudding in her chest, she opened the door.
Two soldiers with swords at their sides stood waiting for her. “Daeva, you must come with us.”
“What is this about?” Although, deep down in her churning gut, she knew.
“Please comply, or we will be forced to be unpleasant.”
Swallowing the fear that was quickly rising, she nodded and stepped out between them, firmly shutting her door behind her.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_21f0fda5-5332-5101-8d3d-4ecc5e94d9f1)
The sound was faint, maybe only a creak of the house, but Quinn Strom heard it. He sat upright in his bed, peering into the darkness of his bedroom and straining to listen.
Trained to sleep lightly, he was always alert at any out-of-place sound. He’d lived in his modest house long enough to have memorized every normal creak, squeak and groan of the place. And the creak he’d heard was from the stairs just outside his room; the fourth step from the top had a soft spot that only a certain amount of weight triggered.
The creak came again, prompting Quinn to bolt off the bed and reach under his bed for the arsenal that he’d stashed there when he first moved in. Fortunately he always slept in sweatpants, so in emergencies like these he didn’t have to bother dressing. He grabbed the shotgun, loaded with silver and rock salt, and the beat-up old satchel that contained ampoules of holy water and his blessed silver crucifix.
Quinn had been a demon hunter and exorcist for most of his life, so he was always prepared for any threat, be it human or other. His father had trained him since he was ten to be vigilant, to be wary of the things that went bump in the night.
All the doors and windows had been warded against demon attacks, so the intruder had to be human. But just because they were human didn’t make them any less of a threat. He knew that firsthand. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with sorcerers, especially those from the Crimson Hall Cabal, a powerful organization of one hundred members who were always searching for more power.
Quinn took position at the side of his door, his gun raised, the satchel hung over his shoulder. He couldn’t cock the gun now because of the sound it would make, but the moment the door opened, he would pump it and point it in a nanosecond. In his other hand he had a glass ampoule of holy water ready to be released, just in case his wards had failed. One splash of the water on unholy skin would incapacitate any demon for a few minutes. Enough time for him to shoot silver into a demon body and kill it.
Breathing deep and even, he counted down the seconds in his head. The attack would come any moment now. He could sense movement on the other side of the door, hear the swish of fabric moving. What the hell were they waiting for?
Could this be a regular, run-of-the-mill home burglar? Looking for expensive things to steal and hock? Quinn didn’t live in an affluent neighborhood. There was no indication in either his house decor or the vehicle he drove that he was anything but a blue-collar working man with nothing of worth to take except maybe a plasma TV and a game console. But nothing worth searching the rest of the house for.
No, Quinn didn’t harbor any delusions that the intruders were after his valuables. At least, not the type that a person could buy in a department store. He did possess some things of worth. Things that only certain types of humans and demons would know about.
Were they after the key? God, he hoped not. That thing had been nothing but trouble from the second his father had bequeathed it to him. He’d tried to hide it in plain sight by giving it to his sister disguised as a pendant, but it had ended up back in his hands anyway. Back to being his responsibility.
Before he could consider that further, the door burst open. And not in one push. It splintered into a hundred pieces, as if C-4 had been placed on it and lit by a fuse. But he didn’t hear an explosion. Something else of great power had rendered his door into kindling.
He cocked the shotgun and, stepping over the wood pieces scattered on his floor, he took a stance in the doorway, pointing his weapon. But he couldn’t get a shot off before he was catapulted backward by a ball of green light that hit him full force in the gut. All the air was knocked out of him when he hit the wall.
He slumped to the floor just as a man with long dark hair and glowing green hands stepped into his bedroom. He smiled down at Quinn.
“Quinn Strom, I presume. Where is the key?”
All of Quinn’s muscles quivered. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through his body. He could barely blink.
The man stood over him, threatening green sparks dripping like melted metal from his long fingers. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will to get what I want.”
Quinn licked his lips, trying to get his mouth to work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play with me, Strom. I know you have it. Your lovely sister, Ivy, had it and then she gave it to you.”
Quinn tried to sit up at the mention of Ivy’s name. “If you touched her, I’ll kill you.”
The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, she is quite safe. The cambion of hers is quite formidable. I should know, he killed Reginald, the man I succeeded as leader of the Cabal.” He turned his glowing hands this way and that, looking at them affectionately. “Although I probably should thank him for that...”
Quinn now knew who had broken into his house. The Crimson Hall Cabal. They were a ruthless group of powerful sorcerers who ran their organization pretty much like the mob and a gentlemen’s club combined. Not long ago, his sister, Ivy, and her lover, Ronan, a cambion, otherwise known as a half demon, had had a run-in with Reginald Watson. He’d initially hired Ronan to find Quinn and steal the key. But Ronan had had a change of heart—everything to do with the fact that he’d fallen in love with Ivy—and had given the key back. Then he ended up killing Reginald to keep Ivy and the key safe.
Obviously, the legend of the key had been passed on to the next in line for the cabal throne. The legend and the desire to possess it.
“You’ve wasted a trip. I don’t have the key,” Quinn croaked, his throat dry from the pain that still zipped through his body.
There was movement behind the sorcerer in the doorway. He turned as a small squat creature hobbled into the room.
“I could not find it, Master.”
It was a goblin, a female one by the way it was shaped. It regarded Quinn with its big, opaque eyes, and Quinn thought maybe he saw a quick flash of remorse in its wide-eyed stare. He couldn’t be sure. He’d only ever seen a goblin once before. It was rare to see one topside. They usually resided in hell, acting as servants to the demons that inhabited the pits.
“Yes, well, I did not suspect that the great Quinn Strom would have it lying around.” The sorcerer looked back to him. “You’re much too much like your father. Paranoid to a fault. Too bad that didn’t help him before he died.”
“I’d leave my dad out of this.”
“Or what?” the sorcerer sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”
Quinn nodded. “Something like that.” He pulled his hand out of his satchel and a dagger glinted in the light cast by the sorcerer’s hands. The sorcerer saw the knife too late.
He lifted his hands, just as Quinn sank the lethal blade into the sorcerer’s leg, and dodged his magic green rays. The green light slammed into the wall behind him, just missing his head, and burned a hole through the wood and concrete.
Dragging the shotgun with him, Quinn gained his feet, but the sorcerer was already turning toward him, the knife still sticking out of his thigh. Quinn dashed past the little goblin and out of the room. A blast of green fire hit him in the shoulder as he rounded the doorway.
It sent him to the ground, and he rolled dangerously close to the first step on the staircase. Pain shot through him like acid, but he managed to pull himself up using the railing and started down the stairs. Another bolt of green hit the wall next to him, causing him to stumble. Sparks sizzled on his cheek.
He reached the bottom step just as the sorcerer started down. Quinn risked a glance at him. The sorcerer had pulled the knife from his leg and dark droplets splattered the rug with each step he took. It wouldn’t be long before the blood loss affected the sorcerer’s vision. He’d be seeing black spots soon. Or least, Quinn hoped he would.
Quinn ran into the living room. He had to get to his bookcase. There was one book he needed before he could get out of the house. The room had been trashed by the little goblin. Sofa cushions had been sliced open and spilled out on the floor. All his shelves were tossed. The bookcase was broken apart on the rug, the books scattered everywhere.
He surveyed the damage, desperately seeking a thick black tome. He spied it in the corner, off by itself. As if waiting for him.
He dashed for it even as the sorcerer came around the corner, his hands glowing brighter. Quinn had a feeling that if he was hit by another wave of magic he wasn’t going to be getting up so easily. He’d crossed paths with the sorcerers before, but this one’s magic seemed much more powerful.
Ducking to grab the book, he barely missed being hit by a large orb of green. It crashed into the wall just above him. Liquid green sparks rained down on him, burning holes in his skin. He sucked in a breath to deal with the pain and shoved the book into his satchel.
If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could escape out the back. He had an escape route planned in advance. One he’d practiced repeatedly. He’d dash across the yard, out the back gate, down the alley and over the fence of his neighbors who had two dogs he’d already made friends with. After going through their yard, out the front and down another block, he’d get to the old junker he had sitting there. The keys were sitting on the right front wheel, under the fender.
But the thoughts were moot. Just as he reached the archway to the kitchen, he felt the impact on his back.
Quinn catapulted forward. Luckily he had the presence of mind to put his hands out, so he didn’t land on his face. But he did manage to smash his knee against the kitchen island as he fell. Dark, searing pain surged over his back, up his neck and over his skull. His vision wavered.
He tried to gain his feet, but dizziness seized him and he collapsed to his knees, agony bursting through the one he’d just battered. “Damn it!” he yelled.
He half crawled, half pulled himself on his stomach, toward the back door. But it was pointless. He was down.
“Admirable, Strom. But face it, I have more power than you do.”
Quinn rolled onto his back to see the sorcerer limp into the kitchen, the little goblin trailing behind him.
“Loir, grab the bag.”
The little green creature shuffled past the sorcerer to where Quinn was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He clutched the satchel to his chest. “Touch it, goblin, and I’ll bite your hand off.”
The goblin grinned at him, showing off four rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Not before I bite yours off, first.”
The sorcerer laughed.
The goblin reached for the bag, but Quinn wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it. The creature dragged one sharp talon across the back of Quinn’s hand. His skin split open, bubbling with infection.
“Jesus!” he dropped the bag and cradled his injured hand. The pain was intense. It made his head swim. Nausea filled his mouth.
The creature took the bag and handed it to the sorcerer, then shuffled in beside its master.
The sorcerer pulled open the leather bag, and withdrew a Holy Bible. He smiled when he saw it. “Cute.”
The sorcerer opened it and flipped through the pages until, Quinn imagined, he came across Quinn’s hiding spot. He’d hollowed out pages of the book and set the key inside.
The sorcerer tossed the Bible aside, and held up what he’d found between the pages. It was the key. The key that had been entrusted to Quinn to keep hidden. The key that unlocked the Chest of Sorrows, which contained a book that could end the world.
The sorcerer closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Quinn. Give my best to the demon horde when you get to hell.” He turned on his boot heel and glanced down at the goblin. “Make it quick. We have places to be.”
“Next time we meet, sorcerer, I’m going to bury that blade in your neck and watch you bleed out,” Quinn said.
The sorcerer shook his head with a little smile at his lips. “So much drama, exorcist.”
He hobbled out of the kitchen and Quinn could hear his steps through the living room and out the front door, leaving Quinn alone with the little assassin.
The goblin tilted its head and looked at Quinn. “I have longed to meet you, Quinn Strom.”
“Is that right?” Quinn cradled his hand to his chest. The infectious bubbling hadn’t stopped. The wound had widened and blood joined the phlegmy green liquid oozing out of his hand.
“You are most famous in hell.”
Quinn imagined he was. He’d exorcised hundreds of demons back to the fiery pits. He imagined he was hell’s Most Wanted. He wondered if there were posters of him nailed to the walls. He hoped they got his good side.
The goblin neared him, regarding him curiously. “Are you afraid to die?”
Quinn boldly met its gaze. “No. Are you?”
“Is there anything you want to say before it happens?”
He nodded. “Yeah, who was that sorcerer bastard?”
“His name is Richter Collins.” It smiled, then reached for him.
The goblin squeezed Quinn’s head between its mottled green hands. Quinn could feel the scaly skin on his cheeks. It leaned down and looked him straight in the eyes.
“I will not kill you. She would hate it and I will not do that to her, although you have done worse to her, I think.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“You know who. The one you wronged. The one you loved, once upon a time. I am one of her loyal servants.”
“And she sent you to get her revenge?” he spat.
The goblin shook her head. “No, to save you, stupid man.”
Before Quinn could respond, everything went dark.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_c5214bb0-ee7d-580c-9c7e-e6b6bdea06ea)
“Who has the key?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Daeva pulled at the brown leather straps binding her to the iron chair. They were secure and she didn’t think any amount of wriggling was going to get her out of them. The torture room—there really wasn’t any reason not to call it that—was small and stifling, with no color anywhere except the dark brown stains on the stone that could be nothing but old blood.
Her torturer loomed over her, a maniacal gleam in his inky black eyes. “Don’t bother. You can’t escape. Where would you go? Topside?”
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?”
He circled the chair that was bolted to the stone floor, leering at her, cleaning under his talons with the tip of the silver blade clasped in his hand. She wondered when he was going to use it on her. Likely after the theatrics. Lord Klaven did enjoy his drama.
“You’d like to go back topside, wouldn’t you, Daeva?” he sneered. “To live like a human.”
“Better than living like an animal like you, Klaven.”
He chuckled, and it chilled her to the bone. “But you are like me, Daeva. I remember the fun we used to have together.”
“That was millennia ago.”
“True.” He leaned into her face, and she could smell the rotten meat on his breath. “But they were so deliciously twisted that I remember them like it was yesterday.” He licked his lips. “You were one depraved woman.”
“Were is the operative word here. I’m not that person anymore.”
“True.” He straightened and regarded her with contempt. “Now you are weak and human tainted.” He sniffed the air. “You still smell like the exorcist, even after all this time. Did you steal some of his clothing when he sent you back?”
She winced inside at the mention of Quinn. It still hurt to think of him.
“Although he didn’t want you, now, did he?”
She glared at him. “Come closer and say that.”
He laughed again, then twirled the blade between his fingers. “Oh, poor Daeva. Exorcised by the man you loved. At least, that’s what I heard. Is it true?” He leaned down into her face.
She turned away. She didn’t want to look into his vacant eyes, didn’t want to see the total lack of empathy or emotion there.
“Oh, you’re not going to cry are you?” He drew the blade tip across her lips. “I do so hate to see a lady shed tears. Especially over a man who tossed her away like the heathen she is.”
Klaven took a step back, and the air shimmered around him until it was Quinn standing in front of her and not the demon lord. The fake Quinn image smiled.
“It must’ve hurt when he banished you.” He took a step toward her.
She didn’t look at him, she stared at the stained floor. She couldn’t see Quinn looking at her like that, not again. As if she was an animal. As if she wasn’t a woman but pure filth.
“Did he torture you first? Did he sprinkle holy water on you? Burning your flesh, burning your soul.”
She didn’t rise to the bait, although she remembered that night three years ago when Quinn exorcised her as though it had just happened. It was still fresh and raw in her mind. And being reminded of it by the horrid Lord Klaven didn’t help matters. Her stomach churned at the memory.
He moved closer to her again, gripping her chin with his long, bony fingers. He lifted her head up, forcing her to look upon him. She wanted to scream at seeing Quinn’s face with black eyes and fangs poking out between his full lips. Lips she used to kiss for hours on end.
“Does the exorcist have the key?”
She spat at him.
Klaven wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grinned down at her. “Does he have the chest?”
“You’re wasting your time, Klaven. I won’t tell you anything. You can’t kill me, so you might as well let me go.”
He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Leaning down, he slammed his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She bit his tongue when it invaded her mouth. His sulfur-tainted blood filled her mouth.
He jerked away, his crimson-stained lips pulling back into an evil sneer. “I might not be allowed to kill you, Daeva. But I certainly can have my fun.”
He drew his knife down her arm, slicing open her skin. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out at the pain. She looked down at her damaged flesh, knowing his demon-cursed blade would leave a scar and that she would use that as a reminder of this day. Of Klaven’s betrayal—and that of all of the demon horde.
“Do your worst. I do not fear you or anything that you can do to me.”
Klaven, still looking like Quinn, clapped his hands, and the heavy metal door opened. The two guards that had brought her here marched in.
“Grab her and tie her to the rack.”
When they came to unbind her, she kicked and struggled and lashed out at them, but they were twice her strength. There was nothing she could do when they dragged her across the room to the ancient wooden rack that was once owned by the Marquis de Sade, a close personal friend of Klaven’s.
Her torture was going to be savage. She’d seen Klaven’s artwork before. But she swore to herself she would hold out as long as she could. No matter what Quinn had done to her all those years ago, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. And if the demons knew he possessed the key, he would not be safe. His death would be her fault.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_db012e94-8879-51e9-bcf2-25e0b032bdcc)
When Quinn finally woke, the sun was streaming in through the big kitchen and his head was pounding something fierce.
He made his way to his knees, then up to his feet, using the kitchen counter to brace himself against. His hand still throbbed where the goblin had wounded him, but it was no longer oozing with infectious goo or blood. It still needed tending to, though.
Arduously climbing the stairs, he went into the bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit. While he doctored himself, he thought about his next move. The Cabal had taken the key. He could form a small army to get it back by force. But he’d been through so much fighting recently.
It had only been a few months since the slaughter by demons in Sumner, Washington. It had taken him and Ivy hours to bury their friends and burn the rest of the dead. He didn’t want to go through that again. And it would be a bloodbath if he went after the Cabal, he had no doubt in his mind.
He washed the wound, poured antiseptic onto it, biting on his lip the whole time. It stung like a thousand bees. He wrapped it tight, then went back down the stairs to his ruined living room. The goblin had done a thorough job of wrecking everything he had. Which, by some standards, wasn’t much. His lifestyle didn’t really permit the luxuries of living a normal, comfortable life.
Usually on the move, Quinn had only just set up shop in this small starter home, basically for cover. It wasn’t as if he worked nine to five at an office. No, he hunted demons. That was his vocation, his life. He’d been born into it.
As far as the people he bought the home from knew, his name was Quinton Sterling, and he was a divorced small-business owner. They’d been more than happy with his story since he paid cash for the place they couldn’t afford anymore.
The money came from the other jobs he did. Jobs he wasn’t necessarily proud of. Demon hunting wasn’t exactly lucrative. He’d pulled a few cons over the years, something he’d learned from his dad. It was a dishonest way to bankroll a lifesaving job of hunting down and destroying demons. Quinn didn’t ponder the ethics of it too much.
Righting the overturned sofa, he shoved the ruined cushions back on and sat. He had to think. He had to figure out what to do.
Rubbing his good hand over his face, he sighed. Ultimately, he knew what had to be done next, but he just didn’t want to do it. It would be way too complicated and messy. Two things he hated.
If the Cabal had the key, that meant they were going after the chest that contained the book that could unleash hell on Earth. There was only one choice here and that was to find the chest first. Find it and protect it.
Sighing, he leaned his head on the back of the sofa. Maybe there was another way. There had to be. To do what he needed—to uncover where the chest was hidden—would almost be too much to bear. He wasn’t sure he could see her again.
Quinn found his cell phone on the floor. He picked it up and dialed a familiar number. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only six in the morning. It rang only four times before being answered.
“You do know what time it is?”
He smiled. “Yup, I know, Q. I need to talk.”
There came a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine. Meet me at my office in an hour.”
Quinn stood and headed upstairs to get dressed. It was going to be one long, hellish day.
One hour later he stood in the office doorway of Quianna Lang, one of the youngest professors on staff at the San Francisco State University and resident mythologist to the university. But he knew her talents and knowledge lay in demonology. She possessed more knowledge about demons and demon lore than anyone he knew.
She barely looked up from whatever she was reading on her old mahogany desk when he entered. “Sit.”
He came all the way in and slid onto one of the leather chairs situated in front of her big wooden desk.
She finished reading, slammed the book closed and looked up at him. “Okay, so what’s going on? How much trouble are you in?”
“Why does something have to be going on?”
She smirked. “Because you’re here. The only time you demon hunters come here is when the shit has hit the fan. First Ronan and your sister, and now you. Something major is happening, I suspect.”
He sighed, then met her gaze. “The key is gone. Stolen by the Cabal.”
Quianna bolted out of her chair and came around the desk. She was a compact woman, short and petite, but she possessed more fire in her pinkie than most people did in their whole bodies. She pinned him to the seat with her intense, determined gaze.
“How?”
“Richter Collins is how. And he had a goblin with him.”
She shook her head. “I thought that once Reginald died, the Cabal would fall. I guess I was wrong.”
“I should’ve been more diligent in hiding the key. I had been planning to move it...”
“Well, what’s done is done. Now, what are we going to do about it?”
“That’s why I came. I thought if anyone would know what to do, it would be you.”
She sat on the edge of her desk. “You have to find the chest. You have to get it before they do.”
He groaned. “I was hoping there was another way.”
“There isn’t. If they have the key, they will be going for the chest. That’s just logical.”
Quinn leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He had been hoping for another answer. Another way to solve the problem.
“I take it you know where it is?” She eyed him curiously.
He shook his head. “Not where. But I know someone who knows.”
“By the look on your face, I’d say this someone is pretty bad.”
“You could say that.”
She nudged him with her foot. “Well, man up, Quinn. Whatever you have to do, you better do it. This isn’t some small problem. We’re talking end of days stuff, here. If the Cabal finds that chest and uses that book, it won’t matter who this person is, because we’ll all be dead.”
“When I find the chest and the book, what do I do with them?”
“Bring the book to me. I know a place where even demons fear to tread. I can keep it safe there.”
Quinn left Quianna’s office with a deep sinking feeling in his gut. It almost made him sick to think about what he had to do to find the chest. But the powerhouse professor had been right, he had to man up and do what needed to be done. No one else was going to do it. He had been entrusted with the key and he had lost it. It had been his responsibility. Now finding the chest was his as well. He was the only one on Earth who could do it. He just had a pit stop to make first.
The new age store located downtown looked like any other crystal and tarot shop. Mary, the proprietor, doled out spiritual wisdom and metaphysical prophecy to every patron that passed through her doors. But when Quinn walked in, she frowned deeply and shook her head.
“I was having a good day,” she said.
“Hey, Mary, how’s business?”
“On the light side.” She moved her hefty frame around the counter to stand in front of him. The beads on her wrists clicked when she moved. The scent of patchouli and lavender wafted to his nose. “But I take it, since you’re here, that’s going to change.”
“I need some supplies.”
She sighed heavily, as though she was going to deny him, but she swept her arm toward the back curtain. She never said no; she just liked to put on the drama. She knew he was one of her best customers. He and the Crimson Hall Cabal.
“Come on, then.”
Quinn followed her into the back where she kept her stores of “other” types of metaphysical supplies. The type reserved for those who dabbled in the darker side of the magical arts.
“What do you need?”
Quinn examined the shelves of bottles and tins. “Goofer dust, asafoetida, horehound, another blessed chalk stick and some yarrow.”
Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you calling?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The stuff you’re asking for, Quinn, is for calling forth a powerful demon and keeping it in line. Who is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do you have the stuff or not?” He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket.
She nodded and went to the shelves to start pulling down jars. “I have everything you need.” She stacked it all on the table. She sighed. “Between you and the Cabal, I’m surprised demons aren’t running amok on this plane.”
Quinn opened his leather satchel and shoved the ingredients inside. He peeled off money and handed it to her.
Mary slid it into the pocket of her flowered housedress but pinned him with a hard glare. “Be careful, Quinn. You’re playing with fire.”
He nodded. “I know. But it has to be done.” Closing his bag, he hefted it onto his shoulder and left the store, his heart as heavy as the bag he carried.
When he got home, he went straight down to the basement to prepare. Using his new blessed chalk he drew a large pentagram on the cement floor, inscribing it with familiar symbols. Symbols he’d been using his whole life as an exorcist and demon hunter. He left two open triangles in the pentagram. This was where he would put the two sigils that would call the demon he needed. They’d been burned into his memory. But for different reasons.
He chalked them in. Around the pentagram he sifted a thick line of goofer dust. It was a protective circle. The demon couldn’t cross it if Quinn didn’t want it to. And until he got a binding agreement, he didn’t plan on letting the demon go anywhere.
Once that was done, Quinn set everything aside, lit seven white candles and started the ritual.
In Latin, he spoke the words to invoke the spell, then he called the demon using its real name. The one that gave him power over it.
“I call you, Daeva, Seductress of Shadows.”
At first nothing happened, and Quinn wondered if he’d mistakenly written the symbols backward or upside down. But then a slight breeze blew through the basement. None of the windows were open. Then came the smell. The delectable scent of cinnamon. He tried not to inhale it. But it was difficult not to. Cinnamon had always been one of his favorite smells. It made his gut clench with the memories it brought.
Three popping sounds echoed in the room. Like fingers snapping.
Then it appeared.
Dressed in tight black pants, black leather knee-high boots and a sapphire-blue blouse that accentuated full, firm breasts, the demon smiled at him, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down his back.
“Hello, lover.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_1cb0f77d-cff3-53e1-a8fc-c8d07033f321)
“You look surprised to see me, Quinn.” Tilting her head, she looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s right. You never did get to see me in my preferred form. You were so quick to get rid of me. Never gave me a chance to introduce myself properly.”
It had been three years since Daeva had seen Quinn Strom. And she had to admit that he looked as dangerous and delicious as ever. His inner darkness called to her like a moth to a flame. But she couldn’t let him see that. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand here. She’d never give it to him again.
“How’s my favorite exorcist?”
“I didn’t call you to have a trite and pointless conversation.”
“No? Too bad. That’s definitely one thing I missed about you.”
She saw him bristle and grinned. Score one for Daeva.
Quinn had always prided himself on his ability to speak on all kinds of subjects. On several occasions, he’d bored her to tears. But she’d listened to him attentively. That was what a person did when they were in love.
Love. Ha. Quinn Strom knew nothing about the emotion. If he had, he’d never have done what he did to her.
But, alas, she obviously was not here to discuss the past. Quinn had something dire to talk to her about, or he would never have called her forth. Never. She knew him well enough to know that he held a grudge the way a miser held money.
“So, to what do I owe this utmost pleasure of seeing your handsome face again?” Although she had her suspicions that it had everything to do with her twelve-hour torture session and Klaven’s questions.
Thankfully, that had ended without Daeva revealing much of anything—nothing important anyway. He’d poked and prodded at her until he’d gotten bored. And her restorative powers made it look like she’d barely been bruised. Although the truth was it had taken a lot out of her and she was feeling its effects.
“I need information.”
“I gathered that. On what?”
“The Chest of Sorrows.”
And there it was. She’d known it deep down, the moment she’d heard that the little goblin Loir had gone topside for a key. Loir had confirmed it herself when she snuck into Daeva’s chambers as she healed from her torture session to warn her. Sorcerers used goblins for some of their work. She assumed it was one of the cabals that had stolen the key from the great Quinn Strom. She was surprised he was still alive.
“What do you want to know that you don’t already?” she asked.
He paced nervously in front of the pentagram. Usually he paced when he wasn’t quite confident in what he was doing or the decisions he was making. “Where is it?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?”
“Yes, I do.” He gave her a hard stare.
She’d always loved his gray-green eyes. They were so intense. Always searching for something. At one time, he’d look at her with those eyes and she’d see the desire in them and succumb to it. She’d surrender to him without a second thought.
Now, he looked at her as if she was the worst thing he’d ever seen. She supposed betrayal did that to a person.
“What are you going to do, Quinn, if I don’t tell you?” She arched an eyebrow and ran a finger along her lips. “Torture it out of me?”
“I might.”
“You’re a bastard, true. But I don’t think you have it in you to do that to me.”
“Maybe I’ve changed in the last three years.”
She met his gaze, looking for something of the old Quinn. The man she’d loved, who had loved her. After a few seconds, she wasn’t sure he was still in there. “Oh, I suspect you have. But you still have those interesting morals. Those you will never let go of, I am sure. I fell victim to them, as I recall, once upon a time.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his haggard face. It was obvious he hadn’t slept in a while. He looked harder, sadder. As though he held the world on his shoulders. She supposed he did, in a way, considering that he’d been the key keeper and now no doubt felt responsible for finding the chest and keeping it safe.
Quinn had always been a crusader. It was one of the things she’d loved about him. And that had also been the thing that had killed their relationship in the end. His single-minded sense of justice.
He could never see the shades of gray in between those morals of his.
Gray had always been her favorite color.
“I called you, Daeva, thinking there was some sort of good person inside you. A person who would do the right thing.”
She laughed again. “The right thing? Huh. And what exactly is that, Quinn?”
He stared at her and she stared back. It was the showdown they’d never had when she’d possessed the body of the woman he’d fallen in love with. The woman she’d been, mind, body and soul for ten years. Seven years before she’d even met Quinn and fallen for him.
At first when she’d confessed her secret about being a demon, he hadn’t truly believed her. He’d thought she was pulling a really bad prank on him. He’d asked her a lot of questions to prove it. Daeva had told him things only a demon would know, and she’d also told him about burying the Chest of Sorrows over a hundred years ago. It was then that he had truly believed. And it was as if a switch had been flicked on. He’d gone into demon hunter mode.
He’d bound her to a chair, drawn a pentagram around her, sprayed her with holy water and sent her screaming back to hell. How he’d dealt with Rachel’s comatose body, she could only imagine. Maybe the real woman had woken up.
Daeva had never gotten a chance to say goodbye to anything that had mattered to her. The friends she’d made, family members who had loved her like their own, coworkers she’d grown accustomed to. She hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to the life she’d made. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Quinn the way she wanted to.
When he had her tied in that chair, he’d acted as if they hadn’t spent three wonderful years together. That they hadn’t just spent the entire day before in bed, making love and talking about their future. He’d pretended that he hadn’t just told her that he loved her more than anything in the world. She remembered the tears, though, and the way he’d looked at her through them.
He dropped his gaze. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
She tapped a finger against her lips. “Hmm, since you asked so nicely, I think not.”
“I guess I was kidding myself, thinking a demon would even consider doing the right thing.”
“Yeah, maybe you were. You seem to do that a lot.”
He glared at her, then went to the wall, grabbed a folding chair and dragged it out to the middle of the room, in front of the pentagram. He unfolded it and sat. “I can sit here all night.”
She smirked at him, then settled onto the hard cement floor, crossing her legs. “So can I.”
For the next hour, they sat and stared at each other. Daeva broke her gaze once in a while to examine her nails. It seemed to piss Quinn off and that’s why she did it. She really didn’t think that her nails were more important than the situation. She just liked to revel in the way the vein at his right temple would throb.
“What happened to your arm?” she asked.
“What do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m just being polite.”
He held his forearm up and looked at it. “Courtesy of your little goblin friend.”
“Loir did that to you?”
He nodded.
“Well, then, you must’ve deserved it. I’m surprised that she didn’t kill you. She’s usually very bloodthirsty.” Daeva spoke with her tongue in cheek, because Loir was anything but. She was one of the kindest creatures Daeva knew. Unless, of course, she was forced to do something. Then she could be lethal.
“I’m surprised she didn’t, as well. She said you would hate it if she killed me.”
Daeva examined her nails again. “Hmm, she must have been mistaken. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have alluded to such a thing.”
She had though. In her note. She’d simply written, “Don’t kill him.”
Another half hour went by. He was as stubborn as she remembered him to be. Maybe more so. She didn’t remember the stern wrinkles in his brow, the way it was now. That was new. But she had a feeling it had something to do with her. She’d put those lines of pain there.
She sighed. “Are we seriously going to sit here all night?”
“Until you help me, yes.”
“I never said I wouldn’t help you, Quinn, I just can’t tell you where the chest is.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She shrugged. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
“Well, that’s the only help I need. The location. So if you won’t give it to me, then there’s nothing to talk about.”
She stood and brushed the dirt off her black pants. “Fine. Send me back, then. I have laundry to do.”
He looked at her, and she could see the hesitation on his face. He obviously hadn’t expected her to call his bluff. He should’ve known she would. She possessed all the same personality traits she had when she’d been wearing a human birthday suit. She was basically the same, except for a few physical changes.
Sighing, he shook his head. “What’s it going to take?”
“I’ll help you find the chest, but I want something in return.”
“Of course you do,” he sneered.
“Play nice or you can forget it. And when the Cabal opens the chest and uses the book, and your world goes to shit, don’t complain to me about it.” She pointed a finger at him. “Besides, you know as well as I do that it’s the nature of my...condition to make a bargain.”
“What are your terms?”
“I guide you to where the chest is, you get it, and in return I get to stay topside in a new body forever.”
Quinn stood, his chair overturning from the suddenness of his movement. The banging of metal on cement echoed through the basement. “Absolutely not.”
“Then send me back, because those are my terms and I won’t change them.”
He shook his head. “Nope. That’s too easy.” He turned toward the stairs. “We’ll see how cooperative you are after a few more hours in that pentagram.” He mounted the stairs.
She watched him leave. When he was at the top of the stairs he flicked off the light. The room plunged into darkness. Not a big deal for Daeva, though—she could see in the dark. But it was starting to get drafty. Right now she was almost missing the hot stifling air in hell.
“You’re a jerk, Quinn Strom.”
He slammed the door shut on her words.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_322884ea-3542-509a-84a2-a37349897abe)
Quinn tried to keep himself busy. Tried to keep his mind occupied. But it was difficult with a demon in his basement. Especially one that smelled like cinnamon and looked like sex on a stick.
She’d been right, her appearance did startle him. When he’d known her, she’d been a lithe blond with an athletic build and a pert little nose. Her name had been Rachel. The demon who had popped into the pentagram was a curvy redhead with stormy gray eyes. She looked very different from the woman he’d loved, but something about her was still the same. The fluid way she moved, the tilt of her head as she regarded him. If he had passed her on the street, he suspected he would’ve recognized her.
The thought was completely unnerving. He didn’t want to recognize the woman from three years ago in the demon he’d just called. He wanted them to be two distinct entities, but deep down he knew that they weren’t. They were like two sides of one complicated coin. He supposed Daeva had always been a part of Rachel, however much he wanted to deny it.
By the third hour, after straightening up everything the goblin had ruined, Quinn ended up in the kitchen to make dinner. He flung open the refrigerator and started pulling out various ingredients. He grabbed a pot and a pan, and tossed in this and that, frying and boiling, anything to occupy his thoughts. In the end, he had made spaghetti Bolognese. It had been one of Rachel’s favorite meals. And he’d made enough for two.
“Damn it,” he mumbled under his breath.
He stared at the food, unsure of exactly what to do. He could make himself a plate and put the rest in containers for leftovers. Or he could fix another plate and take it down to his captive. Demons didn’t derive any nutrition from food, but he knew they reveled in all mortal pleasures. Like food, and drink, and sex.
Resigned, Quinn grabbed two plates from the cupboard and put spaghetti onto both. Picking up one plate, he got a fork and took it down to the basement.
He flicked on the lights. As if weighted down with leaden feet, he descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he saw Daeva sitting cross-legged in the middle of the pentagram with her eyes closed. It looked as if she was meditating.
“Oh, my, is that spaghetti Bolognese I smell?” Her eyelids slowly fluttered open.
He gestured with the plate. “I wasn’t sure if you were hungry or not.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I am.”
Nearing the pentagram, he reached across the lines and handed her the food. She took it from him and set it in her lap. She picked up the fork, spun it in the noodles, then put it in her mouth. She grinned around the mouthful. When she was done chewing, she looked up at him.
“Good Lord, that is so good.” She twirled her fork in it again. “I’ve instructed the goblins on how to prepare it properly, but they never get it right. It always tastes so sour. Must be the water in hell. Can’t seem to get that sulfur flavor out, no matter how long you boil it.”
He watched her eat, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling his gut. He’d always loved that Rachel had enjoyed his cooking. There had been many nights when they’d spent hours in the kitchen together preparing a meal, talking, laughing, eating. The thought now made him sad. And angry. Angry that those memories were tarnished by her true existence. By Daeva’s existence.
“Where’s yours?” she asked.
“Upstairs.”
“Didn’t want to eat with the demon?”
“Something like that.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She shoveled more of the spaghetti into her mouth.
“I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
She set her fork down and regarded him. “Then don’t.”
“I can’t in good conscience give you what you’re asking for.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t let you possess someone, Daeva. Take over her life like that. You have no idea what I had to deal with after you left Rachel’s body.”
“Did she die?” Something about asking that made her face pale. She actually looked extremely concerned.
“No, she woke up and was hysterical. She had no idea what she was doing there or who I was.”
“What did you do with her?”
“I took her to her parents’ house and told them she fell and hit her head and didn’t remember me.” He rubbed at his face, hating to have to relive it. “They took her to the hospital and ran tests on her. I slowly removed myself from her life. Her parents hated me for it.”
She eyed him intensely for a moment. He thought maybe she was going to apologize to him, but then she sighed, and leaned back onto her hands. “You can have the veto over the body I possess.”
“In what way?”
“When the time comes, after you have the chest in your hands, I will pick a body and if you disagree, you can veto me.”
Quinn looked at her, mulling over her words, trying to find the catch, the loophole. There were always loopholes in demon deals. But in every scenario he conjured in his mind, he couldn’t find a way she could deceive him. Ultimately, in the end, he could stop her from possessing anyone. He just had to continually say no.
“Agreed.”
“Excellent.” She picked up her plate. “Just let me finish this, then we can hammer out the details.” She started to eat again.
Slightly off balance, Quinn mounted the stairs to head back to the kitchen to eat his dinner. All the way there, he was sure that she’d gotten the upper hand on him. She was much too calm and reserved about the whole thing. But, as he ate his spaghetti, he couldn’t figure out why.
Once he was finished eating, he returned to the basement with his book of Latin rites. Daeva was standing, her empty plate right on the edge of the pentagram. She must’ve pushed it as far as she could without crossing the lines.
“Okay. You ready?” she asked.
“No, but I guess at this juncture I don’t have a choice.”
She smiled. “You always have a choice Quinn. You’re human. You’ve got free will.”
He didn’t say anything else on the subject. He didn’t feel like having an ethical or theological discussion with a demon right now. “Once I release you from the pentagram, will you have powers?”
She nodded. “Although I’ll be losing some because of the bargain we’ve made. I won’t be able to zip through the ether with a snap of my fingers. For all intents and purposes I will be human. Well, a human with super strength and other goodies. Not sure what, though. Need to test them out.”
Quinn was nervous. He’d never released a demon from a bound pentagram before. That was how his father had died. On the job, after releasing a demon he thought he could trust. Demon and trust were two words that didn’t go together.
He’d dealt with demons when they’d been bound inside a pentagram and when they’d been possessing someone. But he couldn’t think of another way to find the chest. He knew that Daeva, alone, had hidden it a hundred years ago. If he didn’t bind her with an agreement, he was certain someone else would. Like Richter Collins of the Crimson Hall Cabal. Once the sorcerer found out that the demon was the only one with that knowledge, he’d be looking to make a deal with her. And he wouldn’t bother with ethics.
Quinn opened the book to the right page and, holding his hand out toward the pentagram, began speaking the Latin words of the ritual.
When he was done, he took his ceremonial dagger and cupped it in his hand, slicing his palm open. Blood dripping onto the cement floor, he held his hand out to Daeva.
“Now yours.”
Palm up, she offered her hand to him. He quickly drew the blade across her skin. Instantly, blood welled to the top.
“Until the bargain is complete, Daeva, Seductress of Shadows, you are bound to the Earth and to me.”
They shook hands, their blood mixing, the power of the bargain sealing them together. He could feel the potency of it sizzling the hair on his arms.
Quinn pulled his hand away first and quickly wrapped it with gauze. Daeva squeezed her hand tight, but blood dripped from the corners.
“You aren’t going to heal as fast,” he offered. “Give me your hand.”
Daeva stepped out of the pentagram to stand beside him. She looked around, seemingly surprised to find herself unbound by the blessed lines. She smiled and took in a deep breath. “Finally.”
He saw the extreme relief on her face and he wondered if this was her first time being free. Well, not completely free—she was bound to him, which meant no matter where she went he could find her or compel her to return to his side. She was also free from exorcism. Which meant no one could send her back to hell. Except for him, that was.
“You’re bleeding all over the place. Give me your damn hand.”
She held her hand out to him. As quick as he could, he cleaned her up and wrapped her wound.
She tested it by clenching and unclenching her fist, then nodded. “Thanks.”
As he’d doctored her hand, he’d noticed a few scars on her arm. They’d looked fresh and sore. He wondered what they were from but didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to seem as if he cared.
“Okay, before we go on this little adventure, we need to set some rules.”
Smirking, she shook her head. “You and your rules.”
“I just want to make sure I don’t end up with a knife in my back and you on the run.”
She pinned him with her gaze. He had to suppress a shiver. “Despite everything, I can’t believe you’d even think I would do that to you.”
Her words gave him a slight pause. He had to keep chanting in his mind, she’s a demon, she’s a demon, and not the woman I fell in love with. But her gaze was fierce and hard and serious. As if he’d actually hurt her feelings by even suggesting she would betray him like that.
“Wouldn’t you?” He met her gaze right on. He wasn’t about to back down, to cower before her.
She took a step away from him, then licking her lips, she glanced up the stairs. “I’m earthbound to you, Quinn. I couldn’t run even if I wanted to. And for the other part, quit being a dick and maybe I won’t consider it.”
He laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. In the past, the insult had been one of Rachel’s favorite things to call him when he was being difficult. It had always made him laugh when she said it.
Surprised, she looked at him and smiled. “Oh, so there is a human being in there somewhere.”
“Yeah, deeply buried.”
“I knew it.”
His laughter died down and he set his shoulders straight. They had to get to work. He suspected the Cabal would be on his ass soon. Once they found out that Daeva had been called out of hell, and by whom, they would have little time.
“So, where are we going?”
“Well, we’ll need a car, lots of gas and supplies.”
“Where are we going, Daeva?”
She sighed. “Look, I can’t tell you that. It’s for your own safety. If you’re captured and questioned, you can’t give them the location.”
“And I won’t be able to ditch you, either.”
She ran her tongue over her top lip. “There is that, too.”
He nodded, resigned to having to do it her way for a while. He just wanted to find the chest. If he had to follow her directions he’d do it. “Fine.”
“Great. Now that that’s solved. I need to clean up.” She pushed past him to go up the stairs. “Do you have any bubble bath?”
Chapter 7 (#ulink_189a6385-c9f2-5818-93d2-843c44f99ee3)
“No, I don’t have any damn bubble bath,” Quinn growled at her as he mounted the stairs behind her.
From the stairs she came out into the kitchen. It was small and cozy with a compact island in the middle. The scent of the sauce he’d made for the spaghetti still clung to the air.
She looked left then right. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Upstairs.”
She moved through the kitchen and into the living room. She took in the destruction. “Maid’s day off?”
“Courtesy of your goblin friend, again, and the Cabal.”
She didn’t comment as she strode across the room and up the staircase, Quinn right on her heels.
“We don’t have time for your frivolous needs, Daeva. We should be on the move.”
She found the bathroom, but turned toward him before entering. “Look, I’ve spent the last few years in a stinking cesspool of misery and mayhem, thanks to you no less. I’m taking time to wash off the smell.”
“Well, since I’m the one that called you forth and released you, I think that makes me in charge.”
She smiled at him, putting a hand on one hip. “I may be bound to you, honey, but you don’t command me. There’s a huge difference, you know?”
He frowned. “I know the difference.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She took a step back into the bathroom, then slammed the door shut on Quinn’s next protestation. With a satisfied sigh, she locked the door.
“Daeva, we don’t have time for this crap.”
“Sure we do, lover. While I bathe this beautiful body of mine why don’t you get what you need ready. Make sure you pack an extra pair of shorts, it’s going to be a long trip.”
She heard his exasperated sigh, and it tickled her inside. Let him suffer for a while. Fair was fair. Besides, she really did want to wash off the stench of sulfur she was sure still clung to her skin and clothes.
Plus, it would give her a bit of a reprieve from the sensations surging through her at seeing Quinn again. She didn’t think it would be this hard to be near him, with his masculine scent tantalizing her senses. The urge to touch him warred with the desire to slug him in his pointy nose.
Maybe she was being silly by demanding a bath when obviously there was a level of danger hovering over everything. But she found she couldn’t just jump in as Quinn’s traveling partner, however forced it was. It was a bit too much too soon. She’d just returned from three years in hell, sent there by the man beyond the door. She needed a little time to decompress her anger. Anger that she was surprised she still harbored. Seeing him face-to-face manifested that bitterness.
Daeva turned on the sink tap and splashed cold water on her face. She looked up into the mirror at herself. It was strange to be topside in her true form, well, almost true form. She was minus the fangs and glowy-type skin. She’d gotten so used to seeing Rachel’s face in the mirror that her real appearance sometimes startled her. She could just imagine what it was doing to Quinn. Maybe she should give him a break. This was probably just as difficult for him as it was for her. She gave him credit though, for swallowing his enormous pride and calling her. Asking a demon for help must’ve really pricked him in the ass.
Straightening, she patted her face dry with the hand towel. She opened the door. She supposed she’d give him that break. Although his suffering was sweet, she did possess a heart and conscience somewhere deep inside.
He was there leaning against the wall when she stepped out.
“I thought you needed a bath?”
She shrugged. “Nah, I just needed a minute to adjust to topside. It’s a bit unstable up here. The Earth’s always moving.”
He stared at her as though he didn’t know whether to believe her or not. He opened his mouth to respond but she grabbed his arm and yanked him to her.
His eyes widened when she leaned into his ear. “We have company.”
“Are you sure?” Quinn whispered.
She nodded. “Sounds like three or four men. Two at the front, one or two at the back.”
“Damn it.” He cursed a few more times. “Must be the Cabal. They’re earlier than I thought.”
“I could go blast them.”
He shook his head. “No. No blasting until we absolutely need to.” He moved to the stairs. “We have to get back to the basement.”
She followed him, close behind. “Won’t we be trapping ourselves?”
He shook his head. “Trust me. I’m always prepared.”
They made it back downstairs without incident. He rushed to one wall, slid his hands along the wallboard until he found a groove. He dug his fingers into it and pulled a piece off. Behind it were two duffel bags.
He grabbed them both, tossing one to her, then he pointed to the small window. “We’ll go out that way. I have a car parked about five blocks away for emergencies.”
She watched him pull the metal bars from the opening. Obviously they were there only for show. He tossed his bag through then dragged a chair over and set it underneath.
“You first.”
Although she was better equipped to stay behind and deal with the Cabal if they rushed down the stairs, she didn’t argue with him. Stepping up onto the chair, she pushed her bag out then reached through the window, grabbed hold of a tree root that was pushing through the grass and pulled herself up. Kicking her legs, she managed to wriggle her way out the small opening.
Once on her feet, she reached down and helped pull Quinn through. It proved a little harder for him to squeeze out the window opening. He was much thicker than she was.
They peered around for any sign of sorcerers lurking. She couldn’t see anything, even with her night vision. “We’re clear,” she told him.
“Okay. We run east about five blocks. There is a dark blue sedan parked on the right side. Keys are hidden on the right front wheel under the fender.”
“Got it.”
Quinn draped a bag handle around each shoulder, then took off. Daeva did the same and was right behind him. She’d run barely a block before she felt the first zing of magic behind her. She glanced over her shoulder just as a green bolt of energy slammed into the azalea bush she’d just passed.
“They’re on us!” she shouted to Quinn who was maybe three feet in front of her. “You get to the car. I’ll slow them down.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. She stopped running and turned, already conjuring a ball of dark fire in her right palm. As a demon on this plane, she should have possessed many powers. Telekinesis, manipulation of elements—especially fire—moving through shadows. But she wasn’t sure which ones would work now that she was Quinn bound.
Her hands heated quickly, so she assumed her firepower was still intact. Once she had a good-sized fiery globe in her hand, she launched it at the two sorcerers running down the street toward her. The ball hit the pavement in front of them, sending up sparks, and a wall of flame.
It wouldn’t last long, so she hoped Quinn had made it to the vehicle. Before the flames could go out, she made another ball in her left hand. It wasn’t nearly as big or powerful, but it would have to do. She had always been right-handed.
But before she could release it, a bolt of magic clipped her in the shoulder, and she dropped the sphere of fire. The moment it hit the sidewalk, it exploded in an array of sparks and flames leaped at her. She dived to the right and fell onto her side on the grass before her pants started to burn.
She looked up just as two other sorcerers advanced on her, their hands glowing green with power. Rolling, she gained her feet and started to run, but they were right on her ass. Sudden jolts of searing pain rushed up her back. The impact of their magic pushed her forward and she stumbled again, falling to her knees.
She couldn’t believe the pain surging over her body. She’d never felt anything like that before. Obviously she was more fragile topside than she was in hell. The binding must’ve made her human like.
A kick in the back of her head sent her face down to the cement. She tried to push up, but one of the men pressed her down with his boot on her back.
“We got the demon bitch,” one of the men called.
“There’s no need for name-calling.” Daeva pushed up with all her strength, sweeping her leg at the man. She knocked over the sorcerer standing on her.
Once he was down, she stumbled to her feet. But the other one was there, grabbing her by the back of the head.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
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