Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

I heard car doors open behind me, but I didn’t waste my focus looking. Eilahn could assess with far more ease and accuracy. Besides, MAC-10 guy hadn’t shot us dead yet, which meant the trap had a different goal in mind.

The back door of the Lexus opened, and James Macklin Farouche stepped smoothly out. I’d never met the man in person, but the pictures I’d seen of him did nothing to convey the confidence with which he carried himself. Immaculately dressed in a perfectly-tailored dark suit, white shirt, and a blue and gold-patterned tie, his steely gaze penetrated, though his expression remained one of utter ease.

Slowly, I crouched and placed my gun on the ground, then straightened and gave a nod. “Mr. Farouche.”

Farouche flicked a glance to my gun then to me as he began a slow approach. “Smart girl,” he said with a confident smile, and I had to fight to control a scowl at the condescension. Not such a saint after all. “No one’s going to get hurt as long as you remain smart,” he continued. “I simply want to talk.”

I lifted my shoulders in a casual shrug. “Then talk.”

“You are holding my people, and I want them back.” His voice reminded me oddly of Mzatal—not in tone, but in expectation of compliance. “Where are they?”

Paul and Thatcher . Now I understood. Farouche was behind the failed raid on my house. “You’re mistaken,” I told him. “I’m not holding your people.”

He was only a few yards away now. “Where are they?” he asked again, voice cool and insistent in a way that wormed itself right into my core.

Tension knotted my back, and I pygahed. “Not on any property of mine,” I answered.

“Indeed true,” he said as though somehow discerning the veracity beyond the words. “Where then? Where are they?”

I sucked in a sharp breath as a sudden and pervasive fear engulfed me like a shroud of frost wrapping around my essence. Part of my mind wondered why I was so weirded out, while the rest of me freaked like a rabbit beneath the eagle’s talons. “Not where you or I can go,” I choked out.

Farouche lowered his head, gaze heavy upon me. “They are returning to you,” he said, and I had the unnerving feeling he’d read it from me. “When?”

The sick fear increased as he took a step closer. I licked dry lips, but somehow managed to stand my ground. How the hell can he read me? “I’m not certain.” It was almost true.

His smile turned predatory as though he knew he closed in on his goal. “They will return in three days?”

Cold sweat pricked my back and underarms, and my pulse slammed an unsteady tempo. “P-possibly.”

Satisfaction lit his eyes. “Sooner, then. Excellent.”

No, he wasn’t reading me. Somehow he could interpret beyond my words, sift truth from lies with glimpses of more. Not that it fucking mattered at this point.

Eilahn let out a hiss, clearly disliking the turn of this conversation. An arcane tingle crackled over my skin as she extended her shielding to me, likely in preparation to make a move. A new rush of fear rolled through me at the thought. “Eilahn! No. It’s . . . it’s okay.”

Farouche flicked a glance at Eilahn, then returned his sharper gaze to me. “You will call me when you have my people on your property again, yes?”

Protest rose within me, followed instantly by a paralyzing sliver of primal terror. I gave a shaky nod. “Yes.”. Immediately the terror faded. Something is seriously wrong, the thought whispered.

“Then we understand one another completely, do we not?” he asked, still holding the predatory smile.

Sweat rolled down my sides. “Yes,” I said. And I meant it.

“Of course we do. I look forward to working with you in the future,” he said with polished confidence. “Have a nice day, Ms. Gillian.” He turned and strode back to his car, slid in and closed the door.

MAC-10 guy kept his eyes and weapon on me for another few seconds, then climbed into the front passenger seat. The car backed, turned and headed away, the crazy fear retreating with it. Sight, sound, and full awareness returned, though I hadn’t realized they’d been diminished.

I glanced to Eilahn, noted her facing the car behind us. I turned, saw the two men with guns still pointed in our direction. One stocky and Caucasian, with an angled face and an expression as hard as the steel of his gun, the other Hispanic, of average height and build with a soft gaze and determined manner. At some unspoken signal they retreated into their car, then drove right past us in the wake of Farouche’s vehicle. I didn’t bother getting their plate number. There was no point. I knew who they were.

Eilahn came around the car, scooped my gun from the ground and put it in the console between the seats. “I will drive,” she told me as she took me by the arm then walked me to the passenger side and stuffed me into the vehicle. “Bad,” she muttered. “Very, very bad.”

“What the hell was that?” I asked after she slid behind the wheel. “I said I was going to call him.” I scowled, shook my head. “Like that would ever . . .” I trailed off as my chest tightened in vague panic. I knew the truth. “Eilahn,” I gasped out, “I’ll call him when they get back. If I even think about not calling him . . .” I clenched my teeth on a mewling whimper as a surge of terror left me shaking. It passed within seconds, leaving its mark like a trail of slime.

“You will not call him,” she stated as she drove toward the house. “I will sit on you until Mzatal can assess what has happened.” Her hands tightened on the wheel. “I also felt it, though it did not affect me.”

I rubbed at my eyes, clung rigidly to the knowledge that my current mental state wasn’t right, even though I knew in my gut that accepting the fear as normal would ease it. “Maybe Zack can fix this or . . .” Nausea roiled at the thought of fixing it. “Shit. This is vicious. No, call Ryan.” The fist in my chest tightened, and I gasped. “No.” I shook my head almost frantically. “No, I’m okay with it now. It’s cool.” The fist eased, the nausea retreated.

Fortunately, Eilahn didn’t agree with me one tiny bit. Her face remained locked in a fierce scowl as she drove one-handed and called Ryan on my phone with the other.

“Come home,” she said when he answered. “She needs you.” I couldn’t hear his response. She simply repeated, “She needs you,” then hung up and drove like a hell-bound demon the rest of the way home.

I found myself comparing the bizarre incident to Elinor’s influence, yet where her touch was subtle, Farouche’s overwhelmed. I knew, knew , that if I stopped fighting his influence, relaxed into it, the unnatural fear would subside, but I’d lose all ability to maintain distance. It would become an ingrained part of me. I couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen, and so I danced its dance without allowing it to take me home for the night.

The car crunched along the gravel of the drive. Eilahn looked over at me. “Ryan will be here in ten minutes.”

“I told you I don’t need Ryan. I’m cool,” I insisted through clenched teeth.

“He is coming anyway,” she insisted right back as she parked the car.

I managed a nod, flung open the car door and staggered out. I made it into the house and collapsed onto the living room sofa with a groan, ignoring the growl of Fuzzykins as I disturbed her gestational nap at the other end. In the background, I heard Eilahn on the phone with Zack.

“Zack is on the property adding warding to the perimeter,” she told me. “He is coming in.”

I didn’t try to respond. I curled on my side, focused on telling myself over and over that this was wrong. I backed off when I felt the fear about to drown me and pushed more when it receded. I danced the dance.