Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

She had no sense of emotion or life from the images in front of her, as if they were ghosts.

If Craig Monroe was a ghost reliving his last moments, trapped between Heaven and Hell, this alley was now haunted. Moira was no expert on getting rid of ghosts. Demons, yes; ghosts were a whole other business. Ghosts could be dangerous, but they weren’t a direct threat and they rarely roamed. Moira could contact any number of people to deal with Monroe and release his soul to wherever it was supposed to go.

Monroe didn’t seem to see her, and he didn’t look like a ghost. Or act like a ghost. While he stood right in front of her, she knew better than to try and touch him. She didn’t want to give him an easy way to get inside her.

“I’m so hungry for you,” he said with a primal growl. He was looking right at Moira, but not at her. She remained frozen, ready to run or fight.

The woman said, “What do you want?”

“Suck my dick. That’s what you promised.”

The woman laughed, a low, seductive sound. She kissed him and he grabbed at her, eager, greedy. Fisted her hair violently in his hands. Pushed her down to her knees so hard it had to have hurt, but the woman didn’t protest. She unzipped his pants and pulled them with his boxers down to his ankles. His penis jutted out, hard and red and quivering.

“Do it!” Craig commanded.

The woman took his dick into her mouth and he groaned. Oddly, Monroe looked pained as he thrust himself into the willing woman’s mouth, his hands pressing her head against him, unconcerned about whether she could breathe or whether he hurt her. His knuckles were white from the pressure, and he grunted. Moira wanted to beat him senseless for the complete disregard he showed for the woman, as if she were there solely for his pleasure.

Moira knew this wasn’t real. But it was . It wasn’t happening now, but it had happened. She’d heard of imprinting, where an act of violence imprinted itself on a place and certain people-empaths-could sense the crime. But she’d never heard of anyone actually seeing the act itself unless there was a ghost involved.

One of her hands moved to her pocket that had salt. Her other hand was wrapped around her dagger.

The color drained from Craig’s face and he cried out, “What-what-” then his body jerked, his eyes bugging out in complete terror. His mouth moved but no words came out, only a high-pitched, barely audible screech that gave Moira goose bumps. No human sounded like that.

The woman rose from the filthy alley as Craig stared blindly at Moira, his body sliding down the wall as he fell, dying.

He’s not seeing you. He’s not seeing you .

“No-” His voice was weak. Moira didn’t know if she actually heard him, or if it was her mind filling in the plea.

The woman put her hands on his head and said, “Vestri animus est mei, adeo mihi.”

Your soul is mine, come to me .

Craig’s spirit-his soul-rose from his body. Not a ghost, but his actual soul. Moira had never seen a soul as it was ripped from a body, but she’d heard it was possible. Had nightmares about the possibility. Craig’s cursed soul was a dark-gray glowing mist. It wrapped around his body, trying to get back in. The woman opened her mouth, sucking in the mist-his soul. Her entire body momentarily darkened, then it shimmered seductively. She dazzled, becoming even more beautiful than she already was, unnaturally stunning.

The demon turned and saw Moira. Her eyes widened in total surprise. Moira reached for her dagger, not understanding what was happening. Had she slipped back in time? Impossible. She almost laughed. After what she’d seen and done in her life, backtracking a couple of days seemed plausible!

Then she recognized the woman-the same brunette she’d had the vision about that morning. The woman who was possessed.

Craig Monroe had been killed two days ago. The chilling realization that Moira was sharing some sort of experience or memory with this vile demon terrified her, but she stood her ground. Swallowing her fear, she said with surprising authority, “Deus, in nomine tuo salvum me fac, et virtute tua age causam meam! Deus, audi-”

The demon cut her off. “Moira, darling. You do not understand.”

Moira held out the sacred blade, ready to defend herself or kill if she had to. She didn’t want to take an innocent life, prayed she could save the victim the demon was using.

“Deus, audi -” she started again, her voice cracking.

The demon laughed. “You foolish child.” She grimaced. “But now I need to find another vessel. That displeases me.”

With a flick of the demon’s wrist, Moira was flung across the alley and slammed against a brick wall. She fell to the filthy ground with a thud. Trying to rise, her vision blurred and her head ached. She closed her eyes. A wave of heat crossed over her and she tried in vain to stand, then she collapsed.

I just need a minute …

Rafe ran toward Moira as she flew across the alley and hit the brick wall. Intense rage and deep-seated fear filled his mind even as his instincts had him scanning the area for threats. Moira tried to rise, then collapsed. She wasn’t moving by the time he’d reached her side.

Rafe glanced at the wall where Moira had been staring. There was nothing there. He’d known something was wrong, but she’d made it perfectly clear she needed space to concentrate, and his presence distracted her. If he had gotten there sooner, she wouldn’t have been hurt.

Her charge is extremely dangerous and any distractions will prove fatal .

Rico’s warning came unbidden, and Rafe scowled, pushing the thought from his mind. But Rico had planted the seed, and now Rafe feared his former trainer was right.

He knelt next to Moira and checked her pulse. Strong. Rapid, but steady. Thank God. She was unconscious, though, and that worried him. “Moira? It’s Rafe.” Her face had a nasty scrape from where she’d fallen, and there was a bump on the back of her head. He pulled his hand from her hair and came away with a smear of blood, but there didn’t appear to be a deep cut.

Dammit, he shouldn’t have let her go down the alley alone!

Her knife had fallen out of her grip. He heard something behind him and quickly pocketed the dagger inside his jacket.

“Slowly move away from the body,” commanded a deep voice behind Rafe. “This is the police; keep your hands where I can see them.”

He hesitated. Moira’s gun was partly visible.

“Now!” the cop shouted.

His back to the police officer, Rafe gently placed Moira’s head on the ground, and while doing so shifted her jacket so that her gun wasn’t visible. He couldn’t take the chance that the cop would see him remove it from her holster. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the cop, who had his gun drawn and aimed at Rafe.

Rafe said, “She needs help.”

“Step away from the body.”

“I’m not leaving her lying in this filthy alley!”

“Step away from the body,” the cop repeated as he walked briskly down the alley, his eyes never leaving Rafe. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Rafe did what the cop demanded. The cop knelt to check Moira’s pulse, his gun still on Rafe.

“What happened?” the cop said.

The alley door across from Rafe opened-it was the employee entrance to the nightclub. A muscular black guy walked out. “Trouble, Detective?”

“Call an ambulance, Reggie. How long has she been out?”

Rafe said, “Two or three minutes.” He started toward Moira and the cop said, “Stand back. Do you have identification?”

Rafe began to retrieve his wallet and the cop shook his head. “Back right pocket,” Rafe said.