Seduced by Shadows (16 page)

“What do you wish, Ecco?” she asked.

The gray light of day was pearl soft on her skin when she lifted her face to meet the other man’s gaze squarely. Her hazel eyes reflected only bright compassion.

Ecco recoiled. “I wish it were quiet in here.”

He got his wish. Archer drove on in silence.

CHAPTER 10

On the stairs to her apartment, flanked by three large, dangerous men—well, two large, dangerous men and one nice guy—Sera realized she hadn’t had this much social life since . . . ever. And all it took was giving up everything and succumbing to demonic possession.

She might have laughed, except she opened the door, flicked on the lights, and saw the devastation.

She had only a second to gape at the smashed dishes and shredded pillows spewed down the hall before Archer yanked her back.

“Ecco, Zane, check it out.”

“But—” She stumbled aside as the two talyan shouldered past her.

When she would have followed, Archer gripped her elbow. “You locked the door when you left yesterday?”

“Of course.”

“You sure? The demon’s coils were tightening around you—”

She hissed out an impatient breath. “I set the latch to lock when it closes.”

He examined the lock. “It wasn’t forced. Who else has a key? Family? Ex-boyfriend?”

And she’d just been thinking about her nonexistent social life. “No one.”

“It wasn’t anything Niall ordered. He leaves a place neater than he found it.”

Zane returned. “No one here. Judging from the crust on the spilled yogurt, it’s been a few hours.”

Archer urged her inside. “Pack what you need. We’re going back to my place.”

Ah, the downside of said social life with an immortal man suffering from supernatural possession. Always thinking he knew best. “This is my home.”

Zane backed away. “Uh . . . I’ll go see what Ecco’s doing.”

They ignored him.

Archer scowled. “You think you’re a badass part of the gang now. But this isn’t a malice or even a thug feralis. Breaking and entering is a human trick, and you’re no match for a djinn-man. No teshuva is.”

“Any crook could have done this,” she argued. “At the hospital, they’ve been swamped with addicts on some new drug, which always means a surge in burglaries. Why would one of these djinn-men toss my apartment?”

“I don’t know.” His jaw flexed, as if the admission pained him. “They’ve never bothered with us before. We don’t matter enough.”

“Then why now?” She reached up to tangle her fingers in the pendant cord. “This? But it hasn’t shot out a single laser beam or anything.”

He didn’t crack a smile. “You’d rather believe this is a random act? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Well, I don’t believe in running away from a challenge.” She pushed past him.

The carnage hit her as if the sharp instrument that had ripped through the curtains—why the curtains, for God’s sake?—had ended its downward stroke in her belly. Where were the demon’s healing powers to protect her?

She pulled the garbage can out from under the sink.
“No point in calling the cops, I suppose. Can’t exactly tell them a demon tossed my place.”

The pickle jar she snatched off the floor shattered in her hand. She gasped. Archer grabbed her and led her back to the sink to thrust her palm beneath the streaming water.

She stiffened against the urge to lean into the hard strength of him. “It’s just a little cut. My demon will take care of it, right?”

“This will numb the sting at least.” Even as he spoke, the crimson flow vanished.

She turned off the water and stared at the raw diagonal bisecting her palm. Then she glanced at Archer, her apartment in shambles behind him. “It still hurts.”

He followed her gaze to the gutted couch. “Yeah.”

Ecco appeared from the hallway. “They went through the whole place. Feels a little personal to me.” He flashed his teeth at Sera. “Only been one of us a few hours and already you have enemies. Way to go.”

Way to cheer her up. She headed to the bedroom, where dresser drawers had been upended on the floor and gutted pillows sprouted white tufts of stuffing like mold. In the bathroom, the mingled fragrances of smashed toiletries made her stomach heave. Broken mirror crunched under her shoes, and the pretty patterned scarf she’d used to dim the lights was draped in tatters over the toilet.

She rejoined the men in the living room. “It wasn’t a drug burglary. My prescriptions are scattered, but they’re still here.”

Zane looked up from where he was tossing wreckage into the trash. “Couldn’t be that easy.”

“If they didn’t get what they wanted,” Archer said flatly, “they’ll be back.”

Sera pushed down the prickle of fear his words conjured. “All the more reason to lie in wait for them. Whoever ‘they’ are.”

Ecco shrugged. “Niall said to keep an eye out for horde-tenebrae sniffing around. Makes no never-mind to me where I do that. And if it is a djinn-man . . . ,” he said, trailing off with another threatening smile. “Maybe it’s time to get real personal.”

Sera didn’t look at Archer. “I’m staying.” She marched back to the bathroom. The place where it all had started.

A fragment of mirror clung to the medicine cabinet, just enough to reflect her incredulity at the wanton destruction. Not that she could have hidden anything—say, a pendant—inside the mirror. It was as if the invader had wanted to break all the connections to her old life. Like there’d been so damn many.

She knocked out the last piece of glass with her fist.

For a while, she heard the men talking in the outer rooms. She moved on to the bedroom. Knowing someone had pawed through her things, she tossed all her clothes into the closet and slammed the door, then stared at the fist-sized hole in the cheap pressboard. Somebody had wanted to put a hole in her.

Well, the feeling was mutual. Frustration welled up, prickling in the backs of her eyes. She headed for the living room to continue her work, glad the men had left her alone.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Archer wielding a broom in the kitchen. “You’re still here. I didn’t hear anyone.”

He straightened from the dust pan. “You wouldn’t have heard a dozen rampaging ferales over the commotion you were making.”

She grimaced and cast her eye over the bare, gleaming counters and the four bulging bags of trash. “Thanks for the help.”

Archer nodded once. “Zane said the smell of the food got to him and went to find something to eat. Ecco said he doesn’t do windows and headed down to the Coil.
The club owner is a sometime associate of the league and keeps an ear out for us.”

Sera sunk down on the slashed couch, trying not to feel the missing stuffing under her. Archer emptied his last load of trash and came to lean in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms crossed over his chest.

She stared at him.

Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything except make it better. All of it.”

“You have a generous spirit, Sera Littlejohn.”

“If you want to believe that, don’t put me in a room alone with the creep who did this.” She thought for another moment. “Alone with a carving knife about the size of what did my curtains.”

He smiled. “A generous spirit and a lively temper.” He stepped back into the kitchen, then returned with a coffee mug, minus the handle, filled with orange juice.

“Missed the freezer, did he?” she asked sourly. “Unlike my dishes.”

“No. Everything’s a loss. But this was still sealed. I figured you’d take a break eventually. How are you feeling?”

The broken handle jabbed into her palm, and she raised her hand to study the almost invisible white scar. “A little achy.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t mean just your hand.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “A little achy everywhere, I guess.”

A quick glance up, and she was surprised to see the answering color in his face.“If you’re worried about what we did last night, you won’t suffer any consequences. No diseases. And you won’t get pregnant.”

No consequences beyond semi-eternal damnation. “Another demon side effect?”

“The mingling of human soul and demon possession leaves males sterile. I imagine the same holds true for women, although I can’t be sure, since you’re the only one we know. Maybe Bookie could do some tests. . . .”

“Let’s not even go there. I don’t want to explain why we’re wondering.” She paralleled her arms across her belly. “Anyway, after my accident, the doctors told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”

“That must’ve been hard to hear.”

“At the time, they weren’t even sure I’d walk again. I’ve wondered, with my mother’s depression and delusions and my father’s early-onset dementia, if having kids was a good idea. Sometimes, after a night at someone’s vigil, it all seemed so vain and futile anyway. . . .”

He settled at the other end of the couch. “Life isn’t always madness and death.”

“Said the immortal man who kills demons for a living.” She quirked her lips at him to show him she appreciated his attempt—transparently halfhearted as it was.

He leaned forward, clenched hands dangling between elbows propped on his knees.

She watched him knead his thumb over the
reven
. “How did the demon come to you?”

His restless hands froze, and she regretted the impulsive question.

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “That was rude. I could see everyone got very uptight when Zane shared what happened to him.”

“It’s awkward,” he said softly.

“Right. Just because we—”

“It’s awkward to have your deepest flaw inked in demon stain on your skin.”

She nibbled at her lip. “I thought the demon entered through a physical wound, that the mark appeared over that injury when the demon healed it.”

“The wound is just an outward manifestation.” He
took a breath, then said bluntly, “Zane was a coward. He tried to run away, not because he condemned the war, not because he thought he could fight for what he believed in somewhere else. He was afraid, and rather than confront his fear, he ran.”

“Then the snare caught him,” she murmured. “And the demon offered to let him go.”

Archer nodded. “Only to conscript him into a war that will never end. I’ve seen Zane hold his leg, where the wire must have cut him to the bone. I see him wondering if it was really so bad. And there’s the damn
reven
flashing neon purple, a reminder he didn’t have the courage to find out.”

She swore she felt her own mark shift beneath her, upsetting her balance. “It takes no special bravery to die.”

“You say that after all you’ve experienced in your work?”

She bristled. “I helped people die more peacefully, but it’s not like they had a choice in the end. Zane did. We did. Sometimes it’s harder to live.”

“Thanks to the demon, now you’ll find out how much harder it is to live forever, if a life of endless killing can be called living.”

She put her hands over her ears and pushed to her feet. “This night has been bad enough. No reflection on your lovemaking skills, really.”

Before she made it out of the room—and, dramatic exits aside, where exactly did she think she was going?—he said, “I tried to kill myself.”

She stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around.

His weary voice sounded close, though she knew he hadn’t gotten up. “I wouldn’t have told you since your mother . . . But I think that’s why I resonated with your demon crossing over, that echo of self-inflicted violence. I tried to shoot myself. One simple shot to the head.”

She turned slowly. “The demon mark isn’t on your head.”

“I missed.” He didn’t look up. “Top rifleman in my company, and I missed.”

“I wish my mother had failed too,” she said.

This time he did look up, dark eyes bleak. “The pistol misfired, exploded in my hand.”

“Thus the
reven
.”

His chin jerked once in a reluctant nod.

“What . . .” She wanted to continue,
Rifleman in what company? When was your day?
but her historical curiosity seemed irrelevant in the face of the pain that plagued him still. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“I’d been wounded in one of the last battles of the war. Most of the men I’d fought beside moldered in unmarked graves. My father’s farm was gone forever. My sister had remarried and moved away, taking my mother with her. My fiancée . . .” He stared down at his flexing hand. “After what happened, I didn’t go back to find her again.”

He opened his fist, as if he could drop the sinuous black lines that marred his skin.

“Everything slipped from my grasp. Just like my exploding pistol.” A faint violet haze moved in the tarnished depths of his eyes. “The demon came to me and promised I’d have the power to hold on to something and never let it go. What it meant was, I could spend eternity throttling rampant horde-tenebrae and never erase the stain on my soul.”

He shook his head. “Demons don’t lie. They’re fallen angels, after all. They drop just enough tidbits of the truth for you to lead yourself into damnation.”

Sera leaned in the doorway, buffeted by gusts of outrage at the choice he’d tried to make. She wanted to scream at him, curse, as she hadn’t been able to when she was thirteen, flailing in the water with the bubbles of the sinking car churning around her.

She struggled to keep her voice even. “Time was,
suicides weren’t even buried in the churchyard. Some might say you were damned anyway.”

“I didn’t care. Unlike your mother, I wasn’t driven by voices. There was no one left to speak.” He took a long breath. “But if I’d known about your mother before last night when you told me, I would’ve had Niall send someone else to talk you through possession.”

“Talk? How about sleep with me? Or kill me if my demon was djinn?”