Sin Eater (9 page)

He’d laughed when he read that. Like he needed her car. He could just buy one with her cash anyway. Which, of course, he did.

Now, the next day, as he stood on the sidewalk outside the building, he paced. Dammit, he was too early. That schmuck wouldn’t be here for another hour and a half. What was with all this urgency?

He hoped to see her, of course. Just her, on her own, not gazing up at someone else with girlish adoration. He couldn’t take that.

And yes, hypocrisy
was
something he excelled at.

By some miracle of miracles, the front door of the building opened and
she
stepped out into the dying sunlight of the evening, her hair arranged in gorgeous waves that fell just past her shoulders, looking a bit much for the jeans and T-shirt she wore. A tall, attractive woman was with her, and he recognized her as the woman that was in the apartment the other night, the one he used to kiss Iola, just to see what it was like.

They headed towards him, crossing the stree
t at an angle, and he turned into the shadows to avoid being seen, ducking behind the alley’s dumpster. They were talking quickly as they passed.

“I never usually wear mascara, Claudia.”

“I know, but let’s get sexy, all right? Ricardo’s is very romantic, you should look like you fit in there.”

The drug store, he’d spotted it on his way over. It was right on the corner.

“And while we’re there, pick up a few rubbers.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“No! And what if I’m just tempted to use them then?”

They were in the drugstore, and he punched the brick wall, feeling the bones in the back of his hand snap as they made impact. He swallowed a curse, jammed a few of the broken bones in place where they’d knit back together properly, then flexed his hand. As he watched, all was restored.

“This one’s really good. And here’s a great blush colour for you.”

Who knew a lesbian friend would be helpful picking out makeup?

Iola took everything Claudia handed to her. Blush, eye liner, mascara, lip stick, eye shadow. She was wondering if asking Claudia to help would be awkward, now she found it overwhelming.

“And I’m serious. Get some condoms.”

“What makes you think I don’t have any already? You know, kept around for spontaneous situations?”

Claudia looked skeptical. “Do you?”

Iola shrugged. “No.”

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t embarrassing picking out condoms; it was embarrassing to buy them, especially since the drug store had shifted an 18-year-old stoner to work the cash register that day. He scanned the box last, looking up at her and nodding. “Excellent choice,” he said quietly, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“Thanks,” she said wryly, handing him her debit card.

Everything was stashed in a bag, and they made their way to the door and out on to the street again. She was turning to ask Claudia a question when she ran headlong into a man on the street, on his way into the store.

Hands caught her by the arms, steadying her.

“I’m so sorry,” she was saying, and she looked up … and up ... into pale lavender eyes.

The man from the subway.

She must have looked surprised, and he looked just as shocked as she was. “I’m …
I’m
sorry,” he insisted, tucking his tie into place under his jacket. “I keep meeting you by accident.”

That strange yet incredibly sexy accent suited him so perfectly.
Iola had to blink to get herself to respond. “Yeah, I’m … a klutz.”

Claudia was standing to the side, looking back and forth between them. It wouldn’t be surprising if she was getting a tan from the heat Iola was throwing off instantly, just at the very sight of him.

“You rushed off so quickly in the subway yesterday, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I am Damien, Damien Talon.” He took her shaking hand, kissing the back of it. The touch of his lips made her heart flutter in a totally ridiculous manner. His large hand was so warm. She didn’t want him to let go of her. But of course he did.

“Iola,” she returned. “Iola Day. You remember me from yesterday?”

His chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she felt it vibrate through her entire body. Especially the parts that were already extra sensitive. “I do,” he admitted. “I thought I might have scared you.”

She couldn’t tear her attention from his eyes. “No, no. You didn’t scare me. I was … I was running late. I had to go.”

“I see. And your stunning friend is ..?” He held a hand out to Claudia, and to Iola’s shock Claudia took his hand. At his touch, Claudia’s lips parted, and she look a breath so her voice sounded too whispery to really be coming from Claudia.

“Claudia Bauer,” her friend said.

Well, holy shit. Apparently the reaction wasn’t just happening to her.

“So nice you meet you
both. I don’t want to keep you.” He looked down at the bag she held, and Iola wished the plastic wasn’t so see-through, because Damien raised his eyebrows then gave her a brilliant smile. “I unfortunately seem to run into you when you’re in a hurry.”

“Iola’s getting ready for a date,” Claudia offered.

He smiled at Claudia, then turned it back to Iola. “What a lucky man. I’ll let you ladies continue on your way.”

“Right.” Iola said, lost on the way his lips were moving.

He stepped around them and went into the drugstore. A sleek black Beamer sat at the curb, and Claudia let out a low whistle. “Holy shit, the X6-M. That would be fun to drive.”

Iola looked at her friend, confused. After the reaction Claudia had to that stranger, now … let’s discuss the car?

“Did you see that guy?”

Claudia looked to her, frowning. “Yeah, I saw how he was looking at
you
and how
you
were looking at
him
.” Then her tone went teasing. “Didn’t take long for you to forget the good doctor, did it?”

Iola was totally confused. Had Claudia totally forgotten how she’d been staring at him like a chocolate soufflé? Apparently she had a case of amnesia.

“Let’s go back. I have to finish getting ready.”

“Okay.”

They crossed the street once a van drove by, and headed back up to Iola’s apartment. Claudia had assured her that the dress was perfect, and she was lending her a long, chunky gold chain to wear with it. And she’d volunteered to do Iola’s makeup.

Iola was glad Claudia was taking this all so well, and that the kiss the other night was no longer bothering her. She was really helping her relax … and after seeing that stranger, Damien, again … she needed the help relaxing.

“You know what?” She decided as they entered her apartment and she tossed the grocery bag onto the counter of the kitchen.

“What?”

“I think I’d like a glass of wine.”

“You sure you want to do that?”

“I’ve had lunch. I should be fine.”

“Well,” Claudia said, cracking the fridge open, “let’s get to it then.”

Charles was jittery, more jittery than usual. He’d changed his clothes, but he still felt like everyone was staring at him because he was covered in blood.

He couldn’t go back to his apartment; he had no idea
where
the hell he was going to go now. Maybe if he went back after dark he could find a way to get rid of her … as long as no one got in there before then. But he wanted to distance himself from it during the daytime.

He was pacing up and down a street in the downtown core, people giving him a wide berth, and hopefully that was just because of his twitching. He kept checking his fingernails to make sure he’d gotten all the blood out from under them.

Maybe he should cut her up and throw her out in the trash. Wouldn’t draw so much attention to himself. He’s just … taking out the garbage.

But could he do that? Cut her up in smaller pieces?

Probably not. He wasn’t that tough in most instances. The only time his stomach manned up was when the other voice took over.

He was well and truly fucked.

Before long his mindless meandering took him to the block where that lesbian woman lived; next to the woman that first caught his attention on the subway. That’s right … he meant to come here before, but got distracted. That woman was supposed to be the next one he did in. Well, he still had time, right?

He stood, looking down at his reflection in the glossy paint of a sharp black sports car. He looked crazy, even to his own muddled eyes. He needed to pull it together or someone was going to call the cops on him, just for looking so damn wild.

A male throat was cleared behind him, and he spun around quickly, ready to be hit. The man was well-dressed and was just saying “May I help you?” when he froze. And Charles froze, too.

He felt … immediate and irrational fea
r. Dread. He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. And yet he had a connection with the man, like he was staring at the inevitable.

This man in the nice suit was totally
evil
. He was a danger to Charles, how Charles knew this, he had no idea. But he knew it.

He swallowed, and shook his head, backing away. He most certainly did
not
need help from this man. He had no idea what the man meant to do with him, but he didn’t want to hang around and find out. And when he felt the pressure on his mind, pressing on it, trying to dig into it, pull something from it, his instinct was to turn and run. He yanked his mind back to himself, and took off at a dead sprint, cutting through the crowd of people that were just starting to mill about, finding somewhere to eat supper.

And he never looked back to see if he was being chased.

The Sin Eater was rooted in one spot, not sure he’d seen what he thought he might have. The man had recognized him, maybe not necessarily for what he was, but more from a sense that he was a threat to him. And the Sin Eater sure recognized him from the subway.

When the Sin Eater had reached out to take a taste of what this evil vessel possessed, the man had felt it. And he hid it all from him.

Plus, the man had a touch of mental illness. The Sin Eater hated pulling the sins from the mentally ill, it was unpredictable. Trying to use the sinner’s point of view to find the memories was paramount, but when that person wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t, it all got muddled and confused. The few times he’d done it before had left him almost ill, probably what humans felt when they had a severe flu. And he was weak, unable to use the abilities he depended on daily. He felt ridiculously vulnerable the entire time. He tried to avoid the trouble whenever possible. Even now as he’d just touched the surface, he felt a slight wave of nausea. He had to close his eyes to let it roll past.

That’s why he let the man run away and didn’t give chase. He’d try to protect Iola if he could from the man, because obviously she had caught his eye. But he was not going to attempt to consume his sins. Not yet, anyway. He had to be sharp, especially if this guy really had it in for the object of the Sin Eater’s current obsession.

But why did he have to save her if she needed him? That wasn’t in his
nature. The only thing he should ever want from humans was to devour their foul tendencies and have sex with them. Well, he wasn’t sure if the drive for sex was par for the course, but that’s pretty much the only other thing he had to amuse himself with.

Although, from what he could remember from when there were many more just like him wandering around, every single one of them had the same obsession with sex that he had. They’d nail anything that had a pulse.

Maybe the reason was obvious. On their Other Side , there was no sexual function necessary. There was no creation. So … no sex. And when they were assigned to this world with a functioning human body, with no consequences for their actions, and add in the fact that most humans were inexplicably attracted to them … well, just guess what might happen.

But that didn’t explain why he had this protective instinct towards a human female.  Looking down at his hand, he frowned at a reddish spot that marred the inside of his palm. He couldn’t remember burning himself, but … as he watched, it cleared away, leaving him unblemished as before.

That was odd. And the crazy person aside, he had to get Iola alone and figure out what there was to her that held him in check like this.

Blackness … utter blackness.  He tried to blink it away, like trying to clear motor oil from his eyes. But it wouldn’t budge for all his efforts. What the hell?

He’d dozed off on his sofa, and even though he knew his eyes were open, he still couldn’t see. He was vaguely aware of the slant of the sun coming through the patio doors off the living room. But he still couldn’t see.

He stumbled to his feet, irritation making him quite pissy. He stubbed his toe on the coffee table, swore loudly, his anger and frustration building in his head, pushing down his neck. Fuck, he wanted to kill something. But first, he had to get this shit out of his eyes.

He leaned over the bathroom sink, managing to get down the hall and to the bathroom door without hurting himself further. He cranked both ta
ps on, scooping the water up into his face, rubbing his eyes furiously. They burned like crazy, and he might be blinding himself, but what was the difference? He was blind now.

Through his watery blinking, the black was diluting, and he could make out the sink, the water, and his hands.

Oh, thank God,
he breathed, wanting to weep in relief. Then he looked at his hands.

They were coated in a deep, inky almost black residue. Well, not quite black. It was the deepest red he’d ever seen. It was washing off, but it had the consistency of sap. He used the soap from the pump bottle on the counter, and it came off with that. Then he looked
up into the mirror.

His eyes were rimmed with the stuff. It was now running down his face, mingling with the water. As he blinked, more of it got pushed out of the way. He kept washing his eyes out with the water, until all the crap was gone. Then he looked to see if he was actually bleeding from somewhere.

As his panic subsided he noticed the smell. It was like … garbage. Rotting meat and vegetation. Rotten eggs. All at once.

He made a face, then took off his clothes and turned on the shower. Immediately as his underwear hit the floor, he felt pain shoot through his penis, and he looked down in shock. It was rock-hard, even though he wasn’t sure what had happened to make it that way. It hurt, his balls hurt, and he had to wince at the movement of it as
he climbed into the shower over the edge of the tub. The world’s worst case of blue balls ever.

He washed his hair, ran soap all over himself, and knew the stink was going away. He felt better, himself again. But what the hell was doing down below?