The Devil's Own Read online

  “Was I right?” he asked, a little too happily. “Did I figure it out?”

  “Wait, you’re happy about this?”

  “A little. I’ve spent a lot of time researching relationships. It’s good to see I’ve learned something.”

  “Research? Are you talking about the romances you read?” I snorted. “I don’t think those count as legitimate research.”

  “Hey, I’m reading for a purpose. And it paid off. Plus, you’re not mad anymore.”

  I tried to find the energy to yell at him, but it was all too ridiculous. I started laughing instead. “Fine. You win. For now.”

  He grinned at me from his spot by the wall. “Glad I got you laughing. But I think it would be a good idea for me to start taking Moose out on runs regularly. Hounds need a chance to burn off excess energy and frankly, you’ve been feeding him a lot. Plus, that should give you some time to yourself when you need it.”

  I stared at him. “You’re joking right? Are you trying to win some award?”

  He played innocent. “All I’m trying to do is my job. Which is to take care of you.” He smiled and nodded at the far wall. “Now, I’m going to get out of your way and let you kill that target a few more times.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Shake it off, Delaney,” I muttered to myself. “You need to know what’s going on.” I picked up my phone, placing the call I’d been delaying. When the line was picked up, I was ready.

  “Hello, Ma’am,” I said sweetly into the phone, not hiding the Texas drawl I’d picked up in my years living there. “I was hoping to speak with one of the men there in your office. Do you think you can help me?” I poured some magic into that question, letting it twine with my words and my voice. My goal was to soften her up, encourage her to share information with me. In the end, she wouldn’t even remember our conversation. Assuming I did this the right way.

  “I hope I can help you, sweetheart. Who’re you looking for?”

  “Detective Bishop. Torren Bishop.”

  I heard the hesitation before she answered. “Oh, I’m sorry. He’s not here.” A significant pause punctuated her next words. “He’s away right now. Vacation.”

  “Oh, no. He said I should call if I needed his help. I don’t know what else to do.” There was a little more push behind that statement, a little more sugar added to the mix with a hint of fear in my voice. I tried not to overdo it, worried she’d get suspicious and my attempt to influence her over the phone wouldn’t work.

  “You all right, honey? If you need some help, we can get someone to you.”

  Damn it. I’d pushed a little too hard and now she was worried. I wanted her sympathy. I didn’t want the cavalry coming.

  I backed off a little bit, draining away some of the magic I’d wrapped into my words. “No, I’m fine. For now. I just needed to talk with him and this was the number I had.”

  “Are you one of his girls?” she asked, cautiously.

  Now, that was interesting. “One of his girls? I’m not sure what you mean.” I let uncertainty creep in, unsure of exactly how much would give me the desired result. Winning someone over when you can’t see them in front of you is harder than you’d think. And this wasn’t something I practiced.

  “The girls he’s been helping. Or trying to help.” She paused again, and when she continued, it was like she was trying to find a way to say things delicately after looking over her shoulder for anyone who might be listening. “He finds ways to get them out of the situations they’re in. Through no fault of their own, of course,” she added hastily at the end. “He gets them back to their families if they want. Or to a safe place.”

  Finally, something I could work with. “Yes, Ma’am, I’m one of those girls he offered to help. I’m safe now but there’s another girl I know. He might be able to help her.” I focused on the worry I felt for this imaginary girl, layering it on top of fear. My throat was going to be sore by the time this phone call was over with.

  “He’d been working too much, he really needed some time off. But he’d want you to have a way to contact him while he’s away.” I heard her rummaging through a drawer before she came back on the line. “Here it is.” I scribbled down the numbers as she read them off.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. I truly appreciate this. My friend really needs his help.”

  “No need to call me Ma’am. Tausha will do just fine, honey. If you ever need anything and can’t reach Torren, you call me. I’ll get a message to him somehow. After the way he lost his sister, he’s really thrown himself into helping other girls like her. I’m glad he got to you before something bad happened.”

  “Oh,” I said. The shock of this revelation raced through me. “Did she die?”

  “Poor thing was murdered. When he found out, I was so worried about him. Didn’t think he’d ever find a way to get over it. Cassie was all he had, you know.”

  I didn’t have to fake the shock that colored my voice now. “I didn’t know that. He never mentioned it.”

  Tausha continued. “Since then, he’s been helping girls like her when he can, trying to make something good out of this awfulness. He checks in with me every once in a while. Do you want me to give him a message?”

  This I absolutely had to get right. I closed my eyes, replacing my sweet drawl with a heavy dose of steely intent. “No Tausha. I don’t want you to give him a message. I want you to forget this phone call. Completely. Go to your car, get some lunch and when you return to your desk, you won’t remember we ever spoke.” I ended the call with those instructions.

  Stunned, I sat at my desk, phone in my hand while my mind whirled through the details. He’d lost a sister, tried to help other women like her. I started biting at the rough edge of one of my fingernails, then forced myself to stop. Chewing on my nails was a bad habit that always showed itself when I was nervous or trying to solve a problem. With the additional women showing up dead after I’d supposedly killed the murderer, Torren was not going away. Newt’s most recent message was that he hadn’t found anything to reverse the binding we’d accidently created. Torren had tried calling me multiple times, but I refused to speak with him. Having learned this information, though, I knew that Torren would never leave if he thought I was at risk, Bound or not.

  Chapter Twenty·One

  I hate to run. It’s painful and I can never seem to get enough oxygen. Watching Moose and Cal lope off together made me wish I could revel in it the way they did. But the time alone would be nice, and I appreciated Callum suggesting it. Having the house to myself for even a little while felt freeing.

  I was going over my notes on the final items that needed to be done for the foundation’s next event when I heard something outside. Sometimes, if the wind blew just right, tree branches would scrape against the wood shakes on the roof. I always tried to keep the trees trimmed because that sound grated on my nerves, making me think of claws scraping bones clean. An old childhood nightmare. I ignored it and kept working. A tickling itch tripped across my stomach, and I scratched at the skin, irritated by the distraction.

  Focused on everything I had to get done, I jumped when I heard the back door slam shut. My arm jerked in surprise and knocked the paperwork I’d been reviewing off the desk. I was scrambling around on the floor, trying to put everything back in the right order when I heard the scraping sound again. Louder. From my kitchen.

  I stayed on my knees, willing my heart to slow its sudden racing and calm my pulse.

  I tried to reason with myself, to remember that my wards were strong enough to keep anything unwanted out. Then I froze. I couldn’t remember when I’d last charged the stones. I should’ve checked them when I watched Moose and Cal take off on their run. But with the security of their company, I’d grown lazy and made myself an obvious target.

  Dirty feet appeared in my line of sight. Long nails tapped against the floor’s wood planks with each step and the muscled calves I could see were hairless, covered only by mot
tled gray skin. There was a rusty laugh that made my stomach twist with fear. It was a laugh that had tasted pain before and found it delicious.

  “Come out, come out pretty girl. Come on out and play.” The voice was gravelly, neither male nor female. It grated on me, rubbed my ears raw. “Come out, come out little one. Daddy’s gone away.”

  Sudden realization hit me. I knew I was in trouble. The sing-song rhyme told me I had a Proles Demon in my house. They preferred to dine on children, using simple songs to lead their prey away until they could snatch them up with no one to see. They enjoyed causing fear, liking the flavor it added to the meat. But the reality was, they’d eat anything. Even me.

  On the plus side, I wasn’t a child. I knew what I was dealing with and I wasn’t too afraid to fight back. I stood up, determined to face this threat head on. Long, snarled brown hair with streaks of rust hung in lank layers around a face dominated by perfectly round coal dark eyes. Cold and hungry. Those eyes were trained on me, unblinking. Lips pulled back from sharp teeth in a mockery of a smile as a hand with long claws reached out to me.

  “Found you, found you pretty girl. Now it’s time to play. Found you, found you, now your Daddy’s gone away.” The song was intended to lure children, trick them into trusting the image in front of them. But the glamour this demon could wear didn’t appear to me. I could see the truth of what this creature was. Dirty and whipcord thin, unblinking eyes locked on me. Hungry, ready to rip me apart and swallow me down piece by piece. Clammy sweat trickled down my back, but if I was going to die, I had no intention of going quietly.

  When the Proles Demon decided to strike, it came at me shockingly fast. One moment we faced each other across my living room, the couch a barrier that gave me some small sense of security. The next, it had crossed the space in a weird scuttling crouch that seemed impossible and slashed at my stomach in an instant. I dodged away from the claws, sliding to the left and swinging a haymaker at its jaw before it could change direction and come at me again. My fist connected, and I felt the satisfying vibration travel up my arm. The Proles snarled as it shook its head, turning toward me and moving more cautiously as it reevaluated me and my ability to cause it pain.

  I backpedaled, keeping just the right distance between us, knowing I wouldn’t be able to box my way out of this fight. But I could buy myself a little time. When it crouched to come at me again, I feinted with my right and caught it when it tried to shrink away from the punch, my left hook shocking it again, knocking it off balance. I wanted to create more room to maneuver so I kicked out, my right foot catching it square in the midsection and pushing it back. I was starting to breathe harder now, though, the adrenaline rushing through me. I knew I couldn’t keep this up so when it came at me again, I dove to the right, letting my momentum carry me forward in a roll and then back to my feet, snatching the fireplace poker as I came up and swinging it at my attacker. I was rewarded by a meaty thump and a shrill shriek as I connected with its rib cage this time. I backed away, wanting to move toward escape or at least the basement where I would have a real weapon at hand. If I survived this battle, I promised myself I would start hiding the damn things everywhere, just in case. I might even consider listening to my father and start carrying them on me all the time.

  The creature followed my every move, staying just out of reach and regarding me with a little more respect than it had before. There was a distinct hunger in its eyes. Blood lingered at the corner of its mouth and it smacked its lips. The weapons I’d been training with weren’t at hand and I’d happily sent my guardians off on a run, probably with this demon outside watching. I’m sure I looked like an easy meal. The idea that it thought I was a simple snack waiting to happen made me mad. So, I poked the demon. With the poker.

  I followed that up with a little more bravado, which I was willing to fake. “You want to eat, you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”

  The Proles circled me, and I followed, never exposing my back, both of us looking for the right opportunity to strike. I kept the poker primed, ready to block and attack, so when the demon tried to drive toward me, I was ready and swung it. Connected again. This time on its left wrist, which twisted at a painful angle with an audible crack. The creature hissed and drew back, drawing its hand up to its mouth and sucking at the blood that welled up through the broken skin. A stone gray tongue bobbed out, cleaning up the viscous fluid. Licking its wound. I swallowed against the revulsion I felt and stepped further back toward the kitchen, to a doorway I could slam and lock, precious moments where I could make a run for a real weapon.

  The unexpected knock at my front door caught my attention for only a brief second. But the small break in concentration was enough for the Proles and it grabbed for me in that instant of distraction. I darted back to avoid being caught, but strong fingers wrapped around my arm, the sharp claws digging in at my wrist, peeling off the skin as I was yanked toward the demon. I screamed and pulled back, losing my footing on the rug and tumbling to the ground. The Proles fell on top of me and it shrieked, sounding triumphant. I held the snapping mouth away from me, shoving up against the bony chin, ignoring the pain that blazed up my arm, the blood trickling from it as the talons dug in again.

  Baring its teeth, fetid breath hitting me full on, the Proles giggled and began to sing again. “Have you, have you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gonna pay. Have you, have you little one, now Daddy’s gone away. Eat you, eat you, pretty girl, then Daddy cannot stay. Eat you, eat you, Daddy’s got to pay.”

  I struggled, keeping my arms locked to hold the Proles away from me. I fought to pull my legs up to get some leverage, but the demon kept them pinned down, the weight of its body hard to combat. I screamed my frustration as the muscles in my arms started to shake. Vaguely, I heard the sound of wood shattering in the background but didn’t look away from the snarling mouth above me. A thunderous growl shook the air and Moose came barreling into the room, sliding on the wood floors until he could regain control of himself. His launch forward propelled him onto the back of the Proles, the weight of his landing crushing down on me, driving the air from my lungs. The demon shrieked, its shrill voice drilling through my ears as my Hound’s teeth sank in deep. He dragged the demon backwards. Claws cut even deeper into me as the creature futilely tried to keep its hold on my arm.

  Callum came running into the room, Torren right behind him. Cal pointed at me and I dimly heard him say, “Stop her bleeding.” Then he turned away from me to face the Proles, which struggled to get away from my Hound, whose jaws were locked tight on it. “You will tell me why you’re here!” The command magic in his voice was unmistakable.

  Torren reappeared in front of me, towels clutched in his hands, eyes wide and wary. He helped me up enough that I could lean back against the wall and then began to apply pressure to the wounds on my arm. I bit my lip, battling against the pain and the dizziness washing over me. It felt like I was burning from the inside, shards of glass lodged under my skin, intent on carving their way out of me. I wanted to drift off into a haze, so I wouldn’t see or feel what was happening, but then the pain would spike and pull me back to awareness. I began to be afraid, really for the first time, that this is how my end would come. Taken down by a demon that hunted children. I didn’t have the energy to stop the shaky laughter that worked its way out of me at the thought.

  “Hells. Angus is really going to kill me after this.” I started to shake, every muscle in me quaking, out of my control.

  Torren looked at me, concern written clearly on his face. He looked back at Cal and Moose, in his full Hell Hound form, and the captive writhing on the floor. His breath caught, and I heard him whisper, “What the hell is that thing?” A simple question but I couldn’t answer him. It took everything I had to hold myself together.

  Cal was standing straight, taller than he’d ever seemed before, and his voice boomed in the small space. “You will tell me why you are here and who sent you!”

  The Prole
s froze in its effort to claw at my Hound, the words pouring from Callum’s mouth holding it in place. I heard the sing-song I’d come to hate reply. “Pretty girl, little girl, Daddy’s gone away. Pretty girl, lonely girl, her Daddy’s got to pay. Pretty girl, little girl, His power’s gone away. Pretty girl, tasty girl, Man’s given me to play.”

  The scene before me slowly faded, shades of black filtering around the edges. It happened in slow motion, the darkness seeping into my vision, narrowing it down until the only thing I could see was the bone gray of the demon’s naked leg, shining like moonlight was hitting it. The brightness of it hurt my eyes and I closed them against it. I gave in to the darkness and let it lift me away, the pain dimming to nothingness.

  Until it flared again and I was forced to open my eyes. Cal was above me, fear flashing in his eyes. They stood out to me, surrounded by a halo of rosy gold hair. If I looked closely, I could see the gold of his hair mirrored in the center of his eyes, eyes that I was sure would burn with flame if he let them. He was fiercely beautiful, like a warrior and angel were mixed up together into this one person. He called my name, loud in the suddenly strange silence. Something in me recognized it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name, trying to pull me back to consciousness. I closed my eyes again and Cal pushed against my wrist, digging his fingers into the open wound, forcing me even further back to awareness.

  I couldn’t scream, but a groan escaped me, and I made a feeble attempt to pull away from his touch. He held on tight, a bleak smile on his face, confirmation he was intent on me being conscious even though I knew he hated to do it this way.

  “Good. You’re back,” he said, so softly I could barely make out the words. Or maybe that was my brain processing things too slowly.

  “You’re pretty, you know.” Hearing myself, I giggled a little, wondering at the things I was thinking and saying.