Another flash: her eyes opening, a face looming inches from hers. “About damn time,” the male voice muttered. He cushioned her skull from the ground with a hand buried in her soaked hair. Water fell nearby, misting, gurgling, soothing in contrast to the agony hammering inside her skull. “Thought I was going to have to call the coroner,” he growled. “You saved me the trouble, but don’t get me wrong, lady, you’re still a pain in the ass.”
Her vision cleared, and the face came into focus: handsome, raw-featured, and eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. The color of cold, deep water that all but begged a probing of their bottomless depths. She knew that face and those eyes. “Swift River . . .”
“River?” His laugh was quick, derisive. “You landed in the damn fountain.”
She tried to make sense of his modern speech. And his apparent anger. “What happened to the snow?” Her speech sounded a bit slurred to her ears. “All the pretty white snow . . .”
He muttered what sounded like an exasperated curse. “You damn well better not go into hypothermic shock. That’ll really piss me off. Here, put this on.” She was as limp as a rag as he jostled her, lifting her gently to wrap her in a coat—his coat. That’s when she realized she was shivering, her teeth clattering together.
“It’s b-been so long.” She soaked in the sight of the man she never thought she’d see again. Centuries hadn’t erased the memory of his eyes that could alternately turn dark with passion or shine with intelligence, cruelty, or mischief. Lucifer took you from me. He made me hurt you.
How could she have done what she did? Her throat ached. Tears welled up in her eyes. Real tears, not the ones she was so good at simulating. “I made the avalanche,” she confessed in a whisper. “I buried you. I destroyed the settlement.”
Swift River bent forward, coming closer. To kiss her, she thought. She hungered for the touch of his lips. Her entire aching body strained upward to meet him halfway.
He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even touch her. He sniffed the air as if trying to detect an odor.
“I like your smell, woman,” Swift River used to tell her. He told her so many things; “I love you,” even, although she’d implanted that thought in his mind. Still, a part of her sensed, hoped, he may have meant it.
She brushed her fingers across his warm jaw. “I’m so sorry . . .”
Sighing, he took hold of her hand, removing it from his face. For a second, she thought there might have been a softening of his hard expression; then he spoke, spoiling the illusion. “I’d be sorry, too, lady. Someone’s going to be mighty pissed you wrecked their pretty red Porsche.”
A siren wailed in the background, piercing her head with pain and bringing her back to her senses. The snow was gone. People had gathered around, murmuring in hushed, concerned voices. The man crouched next to her wasn’t Swift River, though the resemblance was strong. This wasn’t the Ice Age; this was Mysteria, and this angry, modern-day man wasn’t her lover. Not even close. By now Swift River would have had her out of her clothes and under the furs with him, hot skin, cold nights. Bliss.
The blue-eyed stranger observed her with a curious expression on his face. He shifted his weight, his boots creaking, his narrowed eyes darker. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts?
“I thought you were someone else,” she explained.
He gave the air another sniff. “That makes two of us, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. An endearment, but spoken without any obvious tenderness.
You love me. You adore me. She planted the thought in his mind. She’d rather face a simpering love slave than this man’s indifference. His expression, however, remained unchanged.
What, was he immune to her powers of persuasion? She didn’t sense dark powers in him. Bat bugger, she didn’t sense anything at all. Something wasn’t right. An uneasy glance around made her aware of the gathering crowd. Why was she still here in the human’s world, anyway? It made no sense. She’d died—or at least she’d experienced a demon’s version of dying. Except for the haunting vision of the snow, and all the white light.
It was so beautiful . . .
Shay gave her head a small shake. Mistake—the sharp pain nearly blinded her. She moaned. Maybe she was back in Hell, and Lucifer was playing with her, teasing her with images of her Ice Age lover. More than any other demon, Lucifer liked to torment her. She’d eventually learned never to reveal partiality to anything—or anyone—because he’d force her to give them up.
The blue-eyed man stood as the ambulance pulled up and stopped. Doors slammed. A man with tousled brown hair and glasses, a wrinkled shirt, and loosened tie elbowed his way to where she lay on the pavement.
“I’m Dr. Fogg,” he greeted. He immediately took out a flashlight and shined it in her eyes. Grumbling, she tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. If she hadn’t been hurting as much as she was, she would have gotten up and left the scene, leaving them to practice their mortal medicine on someone else.
The blue-eyed man watched the doctor’s every action—and hers. His glare was intent, unwavering. A rifle hung from one hand. “You’d better take a good look at her, Doc. She’s been babbling. She thinks it’s snowing.”
Babbling? Suck a frog, mortal. She shot him a glare, but it made her head spin. He seemed to notice, his mouth twitching ever so slightly in amusement, almost as if he’d provoked her on purpose. Then he sobered, sniffing the air again and frowning. She was tempted to conjure up some exotic perfume—the Egyptians were quite good at crafting it—but she didn’t want to call notice to her identity. She was here undercover.
A dark-haired woman wearing a khaki uniform and a star pinned to her chest showed up, jotting notes on a pad. She had a pretty face and a boyish way about her. “Sheriff,” the blue-eyed man said, nodding.
“Laredo,” she greeted back. Surveying the Porsche with its front end submerged in the fountain, she sent Shay a withering look. “A dead-on dunk by a drop-down drunk. Now, this is a new one on me.”
“I’m not drunk,” Shay said.
“High, then.”
“No.”
The sheriff made a quiet snort. “Miss, how fast were you going? Was there a reason you were in such a hurry?”
The doctor removed his glasses to frown at the sheriff. “She’s in shock and probably has a concussion. Save your strong-arm tactics. I’ll give her a blood test at the hospital. In the meantime, no more questioning until she’s stabilized.”
That suited Shay just fine. With her powers of persuasion apparently on the fritz, she’d be forced to make up a story. Mortals were basically smart; they wouldn’t believe just anything. Whatever she fabricated had to be convincing.
“Can you touch your right finger to your nose?” the doctor requested.
“Of course.” Shay’s finger landed on her upper lip.
“Must be that alcohol she’s not drinking, or the drugs she’s not taking,” the sheriff muttered.
Blue eyes—Laredo—chuckled. Shay’s temper burned. No one laughed at her. She’d show him the consequences of his error. You fall to your knees, sobbing as you beg forgiveness. She blinked, implanting the thought. Nothing. It bounced right off his mind. Fuming, she turned to the sheriff. You itch terribly between your legs.
The woman continued to scribble notes on her notepad. Shay felt the first tingles of fear. What had happened to her powers? She felt as disoriented and defenseless as a gladiator standing in the middle of the arena who just realized he’d left his weapons behind.
“Hey, Laredo,” the sheriff said. “Doc Fogg says you pulled her out of the wreck and resuscitated her. That’s hero stuff.”
Laredo shrugged off the sheriff’s compliment.
“Just doing your job, I know. Consider me impressed. When I hired a demon hunter, I thought I was getting a killer not a lifesaver.”
Shay’s gaze whipped back to Laredo. Satan’s stones! He was a demon hunter? How could she have let him get this close without sensing what he was? Then it h
it her that he didn’t recognize what she was, either. If he had, he would have killed her, not revived her.
He wasn’t completely fooled, though. He acted suspicious but not certain—but to a demon hunter, a demon of her caliber should have been obvious. It was clear something had neutralized her dark powers.
“You landed in the damn fountain.”
She remembered Laredo’s words with sudden unease. Lucifer had warned her to stay away from Mysteria’s wishing fountain. This was why. The “damn fountain” had stolen her powers and rendered her helpless. Well, if not quite helpless then very much human.
Human . . . Something inside her leaped at the thought. All her long existence had she not fantasized about being human? Mortal. Craved the thrill of feeling real emotion, of knowing she walked along a finite road of destiny under the constant threat of death? How exhilarating it was to pretend; doing it for real was another thing entirely. The vulnerability was breathtaking.
Terrifying.
And most certainly terminal.
“I will find you, and end you.” Lucifer’s threat strangled her silly daydreams and dragged her back to her senses. “You cannot hide.” Panic gnawed away at her composure, worsening her all-too-human headache. This condition had better be transitory, or she was history. Literally. How could she complete her mission if she was weak and had—she cringed—emotions? Hell’s bells, she’d been bawling only moments ago, thinking Laredo was Swift River. Ugh—how weak! How human. Even now her heart—or what passed for a heart—leaped every time their eyes met. Which was every damn time she glanced his way.
Even as she formed the thought, Laredo was watching her, hard—and not because his heart was leaping (or any other part of him) with the sight of her, she’d bet. He wanted to kill her, not kiss her, and wouldn’t hesitate if she gave any hint of being a demon. In her weakened state, he might very well finish the job.
A woman squeezed past the people surrounding the scene. “Hello, honey.” The woman dropped to a crouch next to Shay and took her hand in hers. She had creamy brown skin, black curly hair shot through with copper highlights, and a smile that could melt glaciers. “I’m Reverend Harmony Faithfull. How can I help?”
Shay’s gloom vanished in a poof. Harmony Faithfull. The mother of the child Lucifer wanted destroyed had walked right into her clutches. What a stroke of devil’s fortune, she thought with a slow smile. Suddenly, things were not as bleak as they seemed. “You already have helped, Reverend. More than you know.” Yet, the thought of hurting Harmony or anyone else gathered around left her feeling sick to her stomach.
Once she got away from the damn fountain, she’d be fine. By morning she’d be able to commence her mission.
As the doctor checked Shay’s blood pressure and other vital signs, Harmony took out a cell phone. “Is there someone I can call for you? Your family? A husband?”
At the mention of a husband, Shay felt Laredo’s stare sharpen. Jealous, was he? She ignored him, trying to project instead a quiet sadness as she shook her head. She needed to throw her whole being and many millennia of lying into convincing Harmony to trust her around the babe. The thought made her stomach clench and her mouth go dry.
Before she had a chance to answer, the sheriff returned. “I ran your plates, Miss Shay d’Mon.” Shay cringed at the surname she’d chosen. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Now she regretted it. Laredo’s suspicious stare was fierce. She didn’t want that man making any connections between her and the underworld, especially not while her demon powers were down. “Your record’s clean. Nothing on you at all. Yet, here’s your car, swimming in our fountain. What did you do? Fall asleep at the wheel?”
Shay’s gaze shot to Harmony’s. She couldn’t have the woman thinking she was irresponsible. I’m hardworking, honest. I’m the perfect woman to trust around your son. She blinked, planting the thought in Harmony’s head.
The minister’s expression remained exactly the same. Serpent’s breath! Without her legendary powers of mental persuasion, she’d have to rely on her wits. She was sure she had some; she’d just never had to rely on them before.
“Aw, honey. It’ll be all right.” Harmony took her hand, squeezing it. Her gaze intensified as she held fast to Shay’s fingers, conjuring the unsettling feeling that the minister saw much more than she let on. Shay’s instinct was to pull her hand away, yet there was something so compelling about the reverend’s regard that it kept Shay in place. In Harmony’s gaze, she felt accepted, forgiven . . . good. Yes, good. In that breathless moment that seemed to hang still in time, Shay was no longer evil.
No longer a monster.
Then Harmony patted her hand, breaking the spell. Her eyes were moist; a sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead. She appeared almost as unsettled as Shay. “You have a soul,” she murmured. “A good and sweet soul.”
Shay covered her appalled snort with a fake coughing attack.
“Leave her be, Reverend Faithfull,” Dr. Fogg scolded. “This young woman needs to rest. She’s in shock.”
If she wasn’t in shock before, she sure was now. Shay hoped Lucifer wasn’t eavesdropping on any of this. Withering warts, a soul! And not just any soul, a “good and sweet” soul. Bat bugger. She hoped to hell the condition wasn’t permanent, merely a trick of the fountain.
Some trick. If it could implant souls in demons, the fountain was more dangerous than she’d thought. Lucifer should have been more specific. Unless he didn’t know. If he didn’t, and these mortals did, it could prove the undoing of the entire dark empire.
Well, no matter. If a soul got in, she could get it out. She’d worry about that tomorrow. As long as her master didn’t know anything was wrong, she was fine.
Harmony stood. “I’ll be out of the good doctor’s hair now, but if you need anything, call.” She smiled once more before disappearing in the crowd.
At the doctor’s direction, the ambulance crew transferred Shay to a stretcher. Going to a hospital was a delay she couldn’t afford. What choice did she have? She didn’t know how severe her injuries were. Without her demon powers, she’d have to rely on the mortals to repair her. Then again, Harmony Faithfull was coming to her hospital room in the morning to see how she was doing. Shay didn’t have to lift a finger to lure her there.
A soul, a good and sweet soul. The woman’s pronouncement haunted her. On the bright side, a soul would throw Laredo off her scent. She stole another glance at the man working so hard to figure her out. Her heart gave another little leap.
He walked alongside the stretcher as they wheeled her to the ambulance. His gait was deceptively casual. There was banked power in that walk. Killing power. He was impressively built, though his frame tended toward leanness rather than bulk. She imagined he hadn’t an ounce of fat on that body. He didn’t seem to be a man who tolerated overindulgence in himself or in anyone else. Shay, on the other hand, loved to indulge, which, of course, underscored the fact that they’d never get along.
Much to her annoyance, Laredo stayed close as she was loaded into the rear of the ambulance. Was he that worried she’d escape? She could hardly lift her aching head much less sit up or walk.
With his rifle cradled in his arms, the demon hunter waited in silence until the doctor and medics had settled her in. “Your coat, Mr. Laredo.” A medic handed Laredo the coat he’d draped over her. It left her top half uncovered. Her soaking-wet pink T-shirt was molded to every curve and contour of her breasts.
Laredo read the slogan scrawled across her chest. “Angel?” His smile was slow, feral. “We’ll see about that, Miss d’Mon.” To her disgust, her heart leaped with the heat and the challenge of his dark stare. Slamming the door closed, he walked away, shoving his rifle back in his holster.
Shay glowered after him. Let him see if he was as arrogant once her powers of persuasion returned!
Four
The morning Shay d’Mon was released from Mysteria General, Quel blended in with the crowd gathered in the town square for the weekl
y farmers’ market. He bought an apple from a vendor and leaned back against a light post, biting into the fruit while keeping an eye on the Faithfull family: Harmony, Damon, and their boy. The couple had picked up Shay the moment she was discharged. Now, after taking her to lunch, they were giving her the grand tour, including introducing her to what townspeople hadn’t witnessed her infamous crash into the fountain.
They exited an ice cream shop. Shay ran a pointed tongue around the base of the ice cream. It was just a damn ice cream cone, but the woman put her whole focus into indulging in it . . . licking . . . savoring. It was probably the thousandth time she’d eaten ice cream, but she made it look like it was the first time and the best damn thing she’d ever tasted. Swearing, he forced his eyes away from that mouth. He’d been all about resuscitating her the night of the crash, but he hadn’t forgotten the way those lips felt. She was dressed in the same clothes. Laundered, they fit just right on her tight, toned little body. “Angel,” he muttered, shaking his head as he read that damn pink shirt of hers. “We’ll see . . .”
As if she’d sensed his attention, Shay turned his way. Quel touched the brim of his hat and nodded. Yeah, darlin’, I’m keeping an eye on you. There it was again, always that look of surprise chased by sadness and unmistakable heat. Just like the other night, it got to him, and he didn’t like it, not one frickin’ bit. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she missed him. But, hell, she didn’t know him—and probably didn’t want to, based on his record with women. He probably reminded her of someone who’d done her wrong. Or maybe his little “angel” had done the man wrong.
Then she was whisked away by the Faithfulls without another glance in his direction. Quel narrowed his eyes and took a sniff. One taste of the air brought the unmistakable scent of her.
Not, he acceded stubbornly, a demon.
Bullshit. He took a brutal bite of the apple, frowning as he chewed. He’d smelled that she-demon the moment it came down the hill. If it wasn’t Shay, then somewhere, somehow, a demon had done a bait and switch. All he could do was lay in wait for it to make a mistake.