Stacia Kane - Demon Inside

She laughed. “Maybe.”

“I’d buy you a big heavy chain to attach to it, but you’d probably manage to choke yourself with it if I did.”

“Probably.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Heading home. Are you—”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Where, the house or your apartment?” She preferred the apartment, honestly. More anonymous, less crowded, and with a much better view. But he spent so much time at the Ieureanlier these days, and with Templeton Black gone, it made sense for him to spend most nights there.

“Actually, I’m at Mitchell’s.”

“Mitchell like a guy, or Mitchell’s the—”

“Restaurant, yes. Come over. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“Earlier. Come on. I’d like to see you before I leave and this way you can have something to eat.”

If she waited she could probably get him to say please, and she did love it when he said please. But she wanted to talk to him anyway. After everything that had happened, after her visit to the Yezer and Althea’s phone call and my-name-is-Pat…

Actually, she probably didn’t want to tell him about Althea’s phone call, now that she thought about it. But everything else, she did. More than that, he should know about it. If the answers weren’t already lurking in that twisty mind of his, he’d find them somewhere else.

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me stop off and change, okay? I’m not exactly dressed for Mitchell’s.”

“I’m sure you look fine.”

“I’m wearing jeans and a big T-shirt.”

“Ah. Put on the dress Mr. Santo gave you yesterday then.”

“I—how did you know—oh, of course. Malleus, right?”

His laugh caressed her. “I know everything, bryaela. See you soon.”

She wished she hadn’t offered to change. Especially not into a dress, because the temperature had dropped even further if that was possible. Just the short walk from the parking lot into the building numbed her legs.

The dimly lit interior of Mitchell’s wrapped around her like the inside of a garnet, warm and filled with subtle sparkles from the candles on the tables. She’d never been there before, but she knew Greyson loved the place.

And no wonder. It smelled like every kitchen of childhood dreams and felt even more welcoming.

She stood by the door for a minute, feeling her muscles relax as heat seeped into them and enjoying the atmosphere. Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head in time to see a couple of little demons disappear. Good. They were keeping themselves hidden tonight. She slipped off her coat and draped it over her arm.

“Surely a lovely woman like yourself isn’t dining alone?”

Megan turned, ready to say who she was and why she was here, but the words died on her lips.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome, though he definitely was. Straight dark hair fell casually over his smooth brow, and the candlelight bronzed his tawny skin.

It was the way his eyes glowed, faintly red at first, then when he picked up her hand and bent to give it a presumptuous kiss, brighter still.

At first Megan thought it was some sort of Pavlov-ian reaction. She’d grown so accustomed to seeing a man’s eyes go red before…well, in the bedroom, or whatever place they happened to be substituting for a bedroom, that the mere sight of it often sent a shiver up her spine.

This was different. This man’s gleaming eyes caught her, held her as surely as he still held her hand in his strong grasp, and before she knew what was happening her breasts were straining against her gown and her insides were turning to molten liquid and she wanted him, wanted him so bad she was ready to tackle him then and there and she didn’t care about Greyson or anyone else in the restaurant—

Something slammed down hard, a shield of some kind, and another hand joined hers and the man’s in midair.

“Hey, Nick, you want to give my girl a break?”

Greyson’s tone was light, his smile easy, but the tightness of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes told her, and the man now dropping her hand as if it burned him, how far from amused he was.

My girl?

The man—Nick—glanced quickly from her, to Greyson, and back again. “This—this is Megan? Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry. Megan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—he didn’t tell me you were coming, so I didn’t think—”

What was she supposed to say? “That’s okay”? What was he apologizing for, anyway? What had just happened?

Nick’s embarrassed grin seemed to mollify Greyson. He shrugged. “No problem.” But he didn’t usually grip Megan’s shoulder quite so tightly, or pull her quite so close to his side. “Meg, this is Nick Xao-teng. Nick, Megan Chase.”

“Great to meet you.” Nick nodded and smiled, but didn’t touch her again.

“You too,” she managed, distressed to realize her voice was shaking a little.

“We were playing cards until you got here; you don’t mind if I finish, do you?” Greyson followed Nick toward the back of the room, then, as Nick turned down a hall, pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?” His dark gaze searched her face, his hands tight on her upper arms.

“Yeah, I just…what happened?” My girl?

“Nick is half incubus.”

“And…” Her blush had started to fade. Now it came back with a vengeance. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have any reason to be.”

“But I—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” But his jaw was still tight. He looked away.

“I’m glad you came when you did,” she said. He might say she’d done nothing wrong and he might even believe it, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty for her last thoughts in that dizzying minute. She had no idea if he was dating anyone else or if he cared if she did, but being absolutely ready to have sex with one man while out with another was fairly sleazy no matter how casual the relationship was or what sort of demon-sex thrall one was under. “How did you know—I mean—”

“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” he said, and then he was kissing her, pressing her back against the wall, his body looming hot in front of her.

His hands roamed from her arms to her waist and around to her back, pulling her closer, while he urged her mouth open with his lips so his tongue could slide inside. He tasted of Scotch and cigars and lust, and she wanted more.

Megan gasped and wrapped her arms around him while heat burst in her body, the flames of his desire and hers mingling in her chest to make her movements almost frantic, to make her wrap her right leg around him in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.

It went on for only a minute, maybe two, but when he pulled away they were both panting.

“That look,” he said with satisfaction, and took her hand to lead her down the dark hallway while she used the other to smooth her dress.

The cheery, tingly feeling lasted while they entered a dim, smoke-filled room in the back where several men sat around a table piled high with bills. It lasted while he introduced her to everyone, sat her in his lap, and picked up his cards—and faded abruptly when she saw them.

Greyson was holding aces and eights—a dead man’s hand.

The waiter set her plate in front of her and stepped smoothly away, leaving them alone again in the shadowy corner. She tried to let the fragrance of the steak soothe her, to let the excellent wine seep into her muscles and relax her, but it didn’t.

“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” he said, watching her.

She shrugged. She hadn’t thought she was either. “Just considering everything that’s been going on…”