Where Demons Fear to Tread (11 page)

She looked up at the dress and almost felt herself salivating. Yes, it would’ve looked lovely on her, she thought wistfully. But she didn’t need it, and she didn’t want to become indebted to him because of a silly piece of clothing.

“Let’s go try it on,” he coaxed. “You need something to wear to dinner tonight.”

“I have the dress I wore last night. And there are other dresses in my closet,” she said stubbornly.

“Not like
that
dress.”

She knew he was right, but she remained firmly on the sidewalk as he walked toward the entrance of the boutique.

“If you won’t try anything on, I’ll simply have to send the personal shopper out again,” he said. “You’ll be deprived of the pleasure of choosing your own clothes, and you’ll end up with things that make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not keeping the clothes you buy me.”

“Suit yourself. Give them away to charity when you leave. But while you’re with me, you’ll do as I say,” he said, taking her hand and finally pulling her into the shop.

The dress fit like it had been made for her. In the change room, she lowered the delicate layers of chiffon over her head, letting the airy fabric settle around her. It flowed around her as she walked out shyly to show Julian. He nodded appreciatively, coming to stand behind her in the three-way mirror. His hand settled on her hip in a gesture of possession; she made no attempt to move it. If he’d thought they were a striking couple before, there was no doubting it now.

“Wear this to dinner tonight,” he said. “I want to show you off.”

In the end, he bought her the dress and a dozen other outfits. He left directions for the clothes to be delivered to the hotel, and they left the shop.

“I plan to spoil you rotten, so you might as well enjoy it,” he said as they walked back to their hotel.

“Thank you, but I don’t need or want anything else,” she protested. “Honestly, I’m happy leading a simple life.”

“In relative poverty? There’s nothing wrong with being wealthy. A person with more resources can do greater good in the world than someone without resources.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but not necessarily.”

“Why would there be all this wealth on earth if humans weren’t supposed to enjoy it? Those who are good are rewarded, sometimes with material prosperity. That’s what you believe, isn’t it? Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Don’t tease me,” she said. But it was hard to pretend she was angry.

“If
I’m
good, will you reward
me?
” he said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to pull her against him.

A shiver ran through her. He was about to kiss her right there, in front of all those tourists.

For a moment, she wished he wasn’t a demon and that she wasn’t an angel. She wished they were just like the rest of the crowd, normal people who came to Vegas for a bit of fun. People who could meet each other as human beings and not worry about the responsibility of lost souls or the consequences of falling from divine grace.

“But you’re not,” she said, more to herself than to him. She pulled away and continued to walk.

He strode beside her, the same little half smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. What he didn’t seem to realize was that nothing could ever happen between them. She would never allow it.

Julian felt giddy, like a youth in the first blushes of love. As he readied himself for dinner, he stood before the gilt-edged mirror in his dressing room.

What a surprise today had been. In the shop, he’d felt genuine pleasure in choosing clothes to offset Serena’s exquisite beauty. He also took pleasure in dressing well himself. He whistled a little as he admired the fine cut of the black, French-cuffed dress shirt he buttoned now. Appreciated the exceptional tailoring of his bespoke suit as he slipped on the jacket, made to measure on London’s Savile Row.

He considered his reflection in the mirror, wondered what he looked like through her eyes. If they’d still been human, would she have found him attractive? Either way, human or not, he would never have had the chance to find out if he hadn’t coerced her, threatened her brother’s life. The thought of it depressed him somewhat. But no matter. She was here now, and for the next six days, she was his.

He wandered out into the living room to wait for her. Harry was there, arranging Julian’s business correspondence neatly on a side table.

“How was your flight from L.A.?” Julian said jovially, sauntering over to the wet bar to peruse the selection. He poured himself a finger of single-malt Scotch, tossed in a few cubes of ice.

Harry frowned at him, blinking a little before he returned to the mail. “Uneventful, sir. I brought Nick Ramirez as you asked and checked him into a suite two floors down.”

“Very good, Harry. Care for a drink?”

“No, thank you, sir.” The assistant paused, obviously distressed by something as he looked more carefully at Julian. Then he said, “There’s something different about you today, sir. You seem almost…”

“What is it, man? Spit it out.”

Harry swallowed, paused, before he finally said, “Happy.”

Julian could not remember the last time someone had said such a thing to him. Over the past two centuries, he had felt things in the vicinity of happiness. Pleasure,
certainly.
Gloating,
yes.
Superiority,
of course.
However, he had kept even those feelings under tight rein, within rigorously controlled limits. True happiness,
no. Never.
The suggestion came almost as an insult to him, and brought a frown to his own face.

“Never mind, sir,” Harry said, clearly relieved to see his boss frown. “For a moment there, it did seem like there was something different about you. Like you were becoming less demonic.”

Both men laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Julian took a swallow of whisky to cover his shock. With a wry smile, he told Harry, “When pigs fly.”

The damage was done, though. Silence fell between them, and then Harry left quickly, as though he didn’t want to risk seeing any more happiness. As he shut the door, Julian knew that what his assistant had sensed was correct.

Serena was changing him.

“Play fair,”
she’d said last night.
“Don’t lie, don’t cheat.”
He’d thought it impossible when she’d spoken those words last night. Strangely, this afternoon, he’d felt no desire to use his usual manipulative tactics. What a delight it had been watching her wide-eyed response to the delights of Las Vegas. Although she had tried to pretend they didn’t, the gimcrack facades and the glittering lights had impressed her. Watching her experience the Strip was like seeing it himself for the first time.

Every moment he spent with her, he was a little more honest, a little less demonic. Even though she’d denied it, she was making him
good,
without even trying.

Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, everything had changed.

She had triggered something in him. Had reached the slivers of memory that had lain dormant in the deepest recesses of his mind. Had sent his thoughts reeling back to his human life, to a far-distant past that was at once satisfying and disturbing to remember.

It was terrifying. It was wholly unacceptable. It had to stop.

He must destroy her immediately. By doing so, he would destroy the last vestiges of his own humanity, would lay to rest the part of him that still yearned for the goodness of his human life. The part that still hoped. Still dreamed.

That was still vulnerable.

He would seduce her at last. He would do it slowly, taking care over the next few days to melt her reserve, to weaken her defenses. He would enjoy watching her struggle to maintain her cherished self-control. Then he would pounce, finishing the task with all the skill he’d honed in these two centuries of devilry and debauchery.

Serena entered the room, jarring him out of his thoughts.

Time seemed to stall, as it had the first moment he’d touched her a week ago in his club. Instantaneously, he forgot the worries that had surfaced during his brief discussion with Harry.

All he could see was her.

What surprised him was how casually she wore her beauty. He’d known so many beautiful women, but many of them had been vain and affected. They’d been worse by the time he was done with them, grasping and desperate after they’d ruined themselves through gluttony and greed.

But not Serena. He was struck by the realization that she wouldn’t change, not even if he plied her with a king’s ransom in gold and jewels. Now, as she stood before him in that beautiful dress, it was not the gown he noticed so much as the woman in it. She was ethereal, angelic. Magnificent. And yet, she held her graceful body with a sense of humility he had never witnessed in another being still incarnated in flesh and blood.

It humbled him. For an instant, he actually considered letting her go, sending her back to Los Angeles to tend to her lost souls and her task of spreading divine love.

But now, especially after what Harry had said, he knew he could not.

There was no way he would ever let her go. Not in a week.

Not ever.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the gruffness of his own voice surprising him. He struggled to find words to express the pride he felt at having her by his side. Even if he had to trap her into staying there. He gave up attempting to search for a compliment that would not sound patronizing or irreverent. Knew that any further appreciation would just send her defenses up and make things even more awkward.

He took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm. As they walked to the door and mounted the elevator, he began to ramble. It was odd for him, as he was usually so firmly in command of language. But he found himself unable to stop. He talked the whole way down, describing the construction of his new nightclub in an overabundance of detail that made her gorgeous periwinkle eyes start to glaze over. He talked as they crossed the lobby of the hotel, through the casino, past the shouts of the winners and the cries of the losers, the calls of the blackjack dealers. He talked as they approached the hotel’s premier restaurant, pausing only to speak to the maître d’ so that the waitstaff could locate their host.

“Corbin Ranulfson’s table, please,” he said.

Serena looked up, her blue eyes enormous with shock. She recognized the name.
Of course.

“Didn’t I mention we would be dining with Corbin? He’s my business partner,” Julian said, frowning down at her. On his arm, he felt her fingers tremble.

Corbin had a reputation for a brutality that had only been sharpened in the several centuries since his human life had ended. A descendant of Norman warriors, Corbin had a streak of pure cruelty that other demons feared and envied. He had no regard for mortal authority and answered to only one creature in all of existence: the devil himself. Julian had thought it wiser to cultivate him as an ally, rather than an enemy. So far, their business partnership had been problem-free, but Julian sometimes felt that dealing with the older Archdemon was like walking on a field of land mines waiting to explode.

Serena bit her lower lip as the waiter guided them through the sumptuous open space of the restaurant. They walked in silence through the dramatic room, past velvet draperies in deep blood-red and gold that hung from the ceiling. Past tables full of other diners, who turned to stare with envy and undisguised lust. Finally, they stopped at a large booth that overlooked the rest of the room.

In the booth sat the hotel owner, chatting with a dark-haired woman who had her back turned to them. As they approached, Julian wondered who Corbin’s latest companion was, glancing at the glossy black curls cascading over the slender curve of the woman’s exposed back. He thought idly that there was no way her beauty could match Serena’s.

“Julian, m’boy,” Corbin called, raising a hand in greeting. His companion turned.

She was every bit as gorgeous as she had been the first day Julian had seen her, sauntering beside a canal in Venice, over two hundred years ago. And he was willing to bet she was every bit as evil.

“Chila,” he said, blurting out the nickname he’d used when they’d been lovers.

“I don’t answer to that anymore,” she said, pursing her mouth just like she’d always done when she was displeased.

She’d lost almost all trace of her Italian accent, just as he’d lost his English one, many years ago. Like him, she’d become an American at heart. But her homeland was still there in her voice, if only in the slight musical inflection that was not quite native to these parts.

“Call me Lucy, if you must, but you know I prefer Luciana,” she said, fluttering inky lashes over pale green eyes. “How long has it been,
amore mio?
Ten years? A dozen?”

He’d spent so long trying to forget the last time he’d seen her. But it was still branded into his memory, there along with all the other times she’d betrayed him over the centuries. His stomach jolted, threatening to toss its contents. He held it down and smiled urbanely, forced himself to bend and kiss her hand.

“Luciana, Corbin, allow me to introduce my dear friend, Serena St. Clair.”

No longer focused on fearing Corbin, Serena’s shocked gaze shifted to Luciana. Julian watched Serena’s dazed smile as he made the introductions; she was less adept at hiding her shock than he was. But as they took their seats in the plush booth, she tilted her head, interrogating him without uttering a single word. With a mere look, he knew she wanted answers.

Chapter Seven

S
erena had been brought to dinner with three powerful demons. But was she a guest, or was she the main course?

What flashed through her mind was the image of a serpent coiled on a tree branch, along with the sound of a slither and a hiss. She was aware of the very distinct possibility that this might well be her last meal, if she were indeed allowed to survive. She reminded herself of the rules when dealing with dangerous animals:
no sudden movements, and never let them sense your fear.

She forced herself to switch her attention away from her own terror. Tried to distract herself by thinking about the brief interaction that had occurred between the demons.

Amore mio
.
My love.
That’s what Luciana had called Julian. She had the looks of an Italian super-model, tall, slender and gorgeous as she rose to greet him. The raven-haired beauty gazed at him with an unveiled hunger as she perused his powerful physique. He leaned in to press a kiss against each of her alabaster cheeks. Jealousy simmered inside of Serena.

The demoness held out a hand to Serena. “
Buona sera,
my dear. How pleased I am to meet you. Any friend of Julian’s is a friend of mind,” she said. Her hand was cool and delicate, and as soft as the famous silk from the shores of Lake Como. Those hands had once stroked Julian’s muscled body, urging him to heights of pleasure as she, Serena, would never dare to do. Serena’s jealousy almost bubbled over.

Apparently Luciana felt equally as jealous, because as Serena met the other woman’s stare, she saw the cold calculation a rabbit might see in the eyes of a viper waiting to strike.

Shivering, Serena withdrew her hand and backed unconsciously into Julian, seeking the reassurance of his strength. Then she recoiled immediately, realizing that she might as well have been backing away from a viper and into the grip of a king cobra.

“My dear, you’re lovely,” Corbin said. Serena forced herself to hold her stance and the smile that was frozen on her face. If not for Julian, she would have bolted. By all appearances, Corbin Ranulfson, with his fair hair and amber-colored eyes, was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. By now she knew that when it came to demons, a deceptive appearance was not just a possibility, but a general rule.

Corbin was famous. Or rather, he was
in
famous. His name was whispered in hushed tones by the angels, and every new Guardian, including Serena, had been specifically warned to avoid him. He was classically handsome, like Julian was. She might have taken a second look if she had seen him on the street. But he was infinitely more malevolent than Julian would ever be. And now, here she was, in the midst of his domain. With Julian as her only lifeline.

Serena tried to hide her dismay as Corbin bent low over her hand, mimicking Julian’s continental manners. Vapors of alcohol wafted from him as he kissed her hand. As he rose, his gaze ran appreciatively over her curves. She could not control the shudder of fear that ran through her body.

He smiled a rattlesnake’s smile. “Welcome to Firebrand. Won’t you have an aperitif, m’dear? We’ve opened the evening with absinthe, as a tribute to Luciana’s lovely eyes,” Corbin said. He beamed at Luciana, whose chilling peridot gaze still rested, unwavering, on Serena.

She’d heard of absinthe before, vaguely remembered its rumored effects. Blindness, hallucinations, convulsions. If the demons insisted on maintaining this veneer of normality, she had no choice but to play along. She mustered a forced confidence and smiled. “No, thanks.”

“What, not an absinthe drinker?” Corbin boomed. “How about a Cinzano, then? In honor of my dear lady’s homeland.”

“I don’t drink,” Serena said flatly.

“Come now,” Julian said. “Surely you’ll raise a glass on this one special occasion. You wouldn’t want to disrespect our esteemed host’s hospitality. Why don’t you have the Cinzano—we both will,” he said. “Unless you prefer champagne, my dear.”

He spoke the words, but there was something rather hollow about his teasing. Something was simmering behind that debonair facade of his. It had slipped, only for a brief second, no more. But was it lust she’d seen flash in his eyes when he’d seen Luciana? For the first time since Serena had met him, his attention had wandered from her. She should be grateful. But it frightened her beyond words.

The other couple resumed their seats in the semi-circular booth. Luciana sat on one end, with Corbin beside her. It seemed expected that Serena should take the place between him and Julian. She hesitated for a moment, until Julian nudged her forward, leaving her no option but to sit, sandwiched between the two men.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, to sit quietly without fidgeting. Julian’s arm rested along the back of the booth, encircling her shoulders. His fingers skimmed her shoulder with a touch that was light, yet unmistakably proprietary. She was sure he could feel her trembling.

“Glad you could join us, old friend,” Corbin said, leaning against her as he addressed Julian. “Construction’s almost finished on the nightclub. The tradesmen are just putting the finishing touches on the painting and construction. Have you seen it yet?”

Julian shook his head no. Corbin looked at him quizzically. “What? You mean to say that you haven’t had a chance to look at your coup de grâce?”

“I’ve had more important things to do,” Julian said lightly.

“But your work has always come first,” Corbin insisted. Then he eyed Serena and nodded knowingly. “Ah. I see.”

“Perhaps they spent the afternoon indoors,” Luciana said waspishly.

“I was showing Serena the Strip,” Julian said, his tone still mild.

Luciana frowned, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “I bet you were watching
her
strip.”

Serena’s cheeks flushed with heat, but she ignored their banter, picking up the menu. She flipped through it, trying to think of a way to change the subject. “What do you recommend?”

“Spring lamb, skewered and charbroiled,” Luciana said. “That would make a nice
antipasto
for you, Julian—an appetizer to whet your taste buds. You seem to have a taste for young and tender things these days. For the next course, perhaps the
capelli d’angelo
. Angel hair. How appropriate.” She gave Serena a superior little smile. In the flicker of the candlelight, Luciana’s smile seemed to contort into a demonic grin. For a moment, Serena thought she saw horns.

“Luciana, stop,” Corbin chided. “You’ll frighten the poor child.”

But Luciana continued, unabated. “Pity there’s no angel food cake on the menu. Julian will have to find another sweet for dessert,” she taunted.

Serena had held her tongue long enough. She leaned forward and met Luciana’s green gaze straight on. “It seems he’s lost his taste for devil’s food cake. All that darkness can become cloying after a while, don’t you think?”

Luciana gasped. From the glare she shot across the table, it was clear that if Corbin had not been sitting between them, they would have had the beginnings of a catfight. Although Serena had never hit anyone in her life, she certainly wasn’t going to hold back if Luciana attacked her.

Julian chuckled near Serena’s ear. One of his hands still rested on her shoulder. Beneath the table, his other hand skimmed up her leg, skating beneath the hem of her dress and to brush the bare skin of her thigh. She tried to ignore the shiver of pleasure that tingled through her body.

Just then the drinks arrived, providing a momentary distraction. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, too low for the others to hear, “Better the devil you know.”

While Julian whispered, Serena could have sworn she saw the demoness reach across the table, her pale hand hovering over his glass for an instant. But when she looked back, Luciana was fingering a pendant that hung around her neck.

The demoness raised her glass with an unexpectedly sweet smile, and said, “Cin, Cin!”

Serena had not intended to drink her Cinzano, but now she took a large swallow, letting the vermouth trickle down her throat. The liquor was delicate and sweet, an unexpected flavor among this gathering of demons. Then she noticed Corbin frowning, his gaze fixed on Julian’s drink.

“Is that a crack?” the older demon asked, leaning across her. The nearness of him made her recoil as she followed his stare to the object of his disapproval. To her eye, Julian’s glass was perfectly intact, without even a hairline fracture visible.

Nonetheless, Corbin called the waiter. The poor man sidled up to the table, his face as white as the pristine tablecloth. Corbin looked pointedly at Luciana as he handed the glass to the waiter.

“There’s a crack in this glass,” said the hotelier.

The waiter blinked, perplexed as he examined the glass. His face blanched even whiter. “I don’t see one, but I’m sorry if there is a crack, sir.”

“Leave it here,” Luciana insisted. “Let Julian enjoy his Cinzano.”

“Take it away,” Corbin said. His tone remained neutral, but his mouth compressed into a bloodless line as he continued to look at Luciana.

The waiter cowered. “Yes, sir. Please accept my most sincere apologies, sir. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again. I’m aware that there are consequences of breakage.”

“Go,” Corbin ordered, cutting him off with a warning glance.

“Here, Julian, have my glass,” Luciana offered.

Corbin reached forward and knocked it out of her hand. In that same toneless voice, he drawled, “Excuse my clumsiness, my dear.”

A wordless exchange passed between the demon couple. Between them, an amber stain was spreading on the tablecloth. Serena could feel it crawling toward her. Just before the liquid reached her, Julian interceded, reaching over to toss a napkin on top of the stain.

“Let’s forget about it,” he said, echoing Corbin’s mild tone. “I’ll have a Scotch instead.”

Then, as if the incident had never occurred, Corbin’s demeanor shifted and he resumed the conversation.

Serena sat very still, trying not to look at any of them. What exactly had the waiter meant when he’d referred to the consequences of breakage? She was hardly stupid enough to ask aloud, but she could only guess how Corbin treated his employees. Nor had she missed the tension between the three demons, an uneasy truce between them that seemed as though it might break at any moment. If they caught her gaze now, they would certainly see the fear in her eyes. She could feel Julian’s eyes boring into her, probing. “Everything all right?” he asked.

Forcing herself to look at him, she smiled. “Perfect.” But everything was far from perfect. She prayed that the evening would end quickly, and wondered how she was going to survive a week of this peculiar kind of hell.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Julian perused his dinner companions as he sipped the Scotch that arrived to replace his glass of Cinzano. Julian knew, as the other two demons knew, that the glass was not cracked.

Luciana had just tried to poison him.

From the corner of his eye, Julian had seen the subtle flick of her fingertips as she slipped a few drops of some undoubtedly lethal toxin into his glass.

Now, across the table, the she-demon simpered at him with an unapologetic smile.

Was he surprised? Not really. Attempted murder at the dinner table was practically
de rigueur
in his circles. He hadn’t thrived in the demon world for this long without learning to watch his own back.

Luciana was one enemy he knew inside and out, quite literally. She was dangerous. Fiercely independent, she’d managed to whore and trick her way to the status of Rogue demon, wandering among humans and leaving devastation in her path. On the outside, she was all alabaster skin and mist-green eyes. On the inside lurked a malevolent and unpredictable killer.

Julian could defend himself against her transparent rage. But the she-demon had clearly set her sights on Serena. Lord, if Luciana managed to get even a single strand of
real
angel hair between those teeth of hers, he would tear her limb from limb, and damn the consequences.

As for Corbin, Julian trusted him.
As far as he could throw him.
The waiter’s face told a story of punishments and brutality. Of Corbin’s ruthless methods of management.

He sensed Serena shift beneath his touch, shaken by the demons’ behavior. The latent violence underlying their actions had clearly terrified her. She excused herself to use the ladies’ room, and as she rose from the table he wished they were alone. So he could hold her and protect her. So he could tell her that he would never let them harm her.

But Luciana rose, as well. “I think I’ll join you, my dear.”

The angel’s eyes widened with fear, but she went anyway. He had to hand it to Serena—she was a tough little cookie. He half rose from his seat, ready to follow them into the ladies’ room to ensure that Luciana didn’t harm Serena.

Corbin stopped him. “Luciana wouldn’t dare hurt your little friend. Not here. This is my territory, and she’s not supposed to act without my permission. If she steps out of line, I will fricassee her longer than the chef’s special.”

Julian settled back into his seat, but kept his gaze on the women as they receded. “Did she have your permission for that little stunt with the poison?”

“Old chap, I had no idea,” he said blandly. Julian studied the other man’s face, trying to decide if he was lying. But Corbin’s icy gaze was as impenetrable as he said, “I would never have let her go through with it.”

Perhaps,
Julian thought,
but only because she didn’t have your blessing.
Out loud he said, “Luciana’s a handful, isn’t she?”

“I vaguely recollected there was some harpy in your past, but I didn’t realize it was Luciana,” the older Archdemon said. “I only understood when you walked in tonight. Trust me, my good man, I’d never have taken up with her if I’d known. Golden rule, you know.”

Julian doubted that Corbin heeded any human rules, much less the understanding between men that his friend’s former lovers were off-limits. Yet, there was something oddly genuine in the other man’s demeanor.