“Lass . . . ,” he tried, lifting a hand to her. Then he hesitated, fearing her vulnerable stance was deceptive, that if he touched her, tried to hold her, she’d snap like a too taut spring and fly away from him. As it was, she pushed to her feet without another word and went to join Jeanie in restoring order.
Damon watched her go. So much had changed since he’d come to Mysteria, and yet so little. He was as much a reason for doubt and second thoughts as he ever was.
An oddly pitched scream tore into his self-pitying thoughts. He saw an O’Cleary child go down under the weight of several angry subdemons, a situation missed by others in the chaos. Subdemons were dark creatures with little power, but enough of them could kill a small human. Could kill a child.
Damon surged to his feet, the pitchfork in hand. A half-dozen strides brought him to where the child’s thin legs kicked. Damon grabbed one beastie by its collar and threw it to the ground. Then he dragged the remaining creatures off the frightened child.
The little girl’s face was without color, her blue eyes wide and tearfilled. “Are you hurt, little one?”
She shook her head, but her lower lip trembled. “Scared?” he asked gently, coming down on one knee.
She nodded, her mouth wobbling. Damon lifted her fist, which was still clamping a plastic water gun. He smiled. “Would ye like to get them back?”
She grinned. “Yeah!”
“Then let’s do it.” He hoisted her under his arm. “Fire away!” With the child pumping water out of the little toy gun, he chased fleeing subdemons to the Hell hole, followed enthusiastically by a wildly barking Bubba and a herd of miniature O’Clearys. When every last one had either melted or vanished into the depths of Hell, Damon lowered the little girl to the ground. Her skinny shoulders felt so delicate under his hands. A sudden rush of emotion threatened to swamp him, a sensation still so new. This child encapsulated all that was fragile and good on this earth; all that he’d hoped to protect, to cherish. “What is your name?”
“Annabelle,” she answered in a tremulous voice.
“Bullies, that’s all they are, Annabelle. Ye canna be afraid. Your goodness, ’twill always win out. Ye are stronger than them. Far stronger. Do ye understand?”
Annabelle nodded, and he touched a fingertip to her little freckled nose before rising to his feet. His breath caught in his throat when he realized Harmony had been watching him the entire time, her face so full of pain that he had to turn away from her horrified gaze.
Damon trudged to the sprinkler timer box to shut off the water, but before he reached the shutoff valve, and as everyone began to come up from the basement and from behind chairs and under tables—just as everyone thought it was safe—little Annabelle O’Cleary fired off one last salvo with the hose, aiming the water at her parents as her brothers and sisters, not appearing a wee bit sorry, fled the scene.
Damon wrested the hose from Annabelle’s little hands. “Off with ye now, little hell-raiser.” With grudging admiration, he sent her on her way. Then he tended to the shaken townspeople, working his charm as best he could to coax assurances that they’d return to church the next week. All the while he felt Harmony’s gaze on him, and his face burned in shame.
Jeanie sauntered up to him. “I’ve seen a lot of unusual goings-on in this town, but not this. What were those animals?”
“Are they not from Mysteria?” Damon tried charming the sheriff with one of his smiles, but her gaze sharpened.
“It won’t work, Damon. Not with me. And just for your information”—she bobbed her chin in Harmony’s direction—“it won’t work with her, either. I want the facts, not the glossed-over version.”
“Aye, I know,” he said with a sigh. “I’d tried to keep it from her so I wouldn’t lose her, but now that I have, secrets do me no good. In Satan’s army, there is a hierarchy. At the apex are the demon high lords, Lucifer’s commanders. Then there are the foot soldiers, the scores of classes of underlords, demon worker-bees, and subdemons. They can take the form of almost any monster, from ant-size on up, and with more ways to intimidate, frighten, and kill than can be counted. New versions are created every day.”
“Like . . . Demon 8.0,” Jeanie joked, jotting down the information.
“That is a way to look at it,” Damon said sadly, gazing over at Harmony, who refused to meet his eyes.
Jeanie noted the exchange and put down her notepad. “You’re in deep shit, aren’t you?”
“Deep, really deep, aye.”
“We Mysteria women call it doghouse deep. And there’s only one thing you can do. Go fix it.”
“I dinna know if it’s possible.”
“Her job is to forgive, Damon. That’ll be the easy part. All you have to do is to convince her to put her heart into it.” She chucked him on the arm. “Good luck. I know you can do it.”
Could he?
Damon found Harmony in the barn, washing mud off her hands and face at the work sink. Harmony turned around, wiping her hands on her soiled skirt. Water and tears had smudged the makeup under her wide, expressive brown eyes. She studied him for a moment, as if he were a stranger. Then she blew her nose in a paper towel. “No wonder you didn’t like devil’s food cake.”
His chest hurt. “Yes, I have a past, of which ye know little.”
He told her everything, as best a man could summarize ten thousand years of walking the earth.
“Ten thousand years.” Harmony’s voice came out as a squeak. “A hundred centuries.”
“Aye, but I’ve lived more in these past few months than in all the time before.” He told her the story of the starving settlers of Mysteria, how he’d given them the Will-to-Go-On, how he’d repeated such acts all around the globe until Lucifer found out and captured him. He told her about the torture, his being made mortal, and finally how he’d woken, dazed and naked, in her garden, terminated and pensionless. “I thought he was done with me, then, Lucifer was. But ’tis clear he’s not yet finished. And for that, lass, I am truly sorry . . . for what you’ve suffered as a consequence. And ’tis about you, for the Devil does not want me to have something good, you see. Then I’ll have won. If there’s one thing I know about Lucifer—he does not like to lose.”
“Is everything okay in here?” Jeanie Tortellini poked her head in the barn.
“Fine!” they both shouted a little too quickly.
The sheriff shot Damon a you-poor-bastard wink. “The water’s off, Reverend; I locked up the church. Everyone’s gone home—it’s a ghost town out there.” Jeanie clamped her mouth closed, as if realizing that was a poor choice of words, given Harmony’s profession—and mood. She held up a little gold-trimmed red coat. “But on the plus side, there are enough doll clothes left behind to supply every little girl’s collection in Mysteria.” She sniffed at the garment and grimaced. “Once they’ve been through the wash, that is. Hey, I’ll be down at the jail, so call me if you need me.” Jeanie waved good-bye and slid the door closed.
Damon sighed. It was time to pack up his things, tidy the hayloft, and leave. But there was one last thing he had to say. “I am sorry, lass. I know those words do not come close to making up for all the disasters I’ve wreaked here, but know this: What I did, what I said, I did in hopes it would keep ye close—close to me. Know that. But I see now what I feared most has come to pass. I’ve lost you,” he finished valiantly and turned away.
“Damon, please.”
He stopped.
“You haven’t lost me.”
His head snapped around. “Say it again, lass. I dinna think I heard you.”
The ends of her luscious mouth curved slightly. “You haven’t lost me.”
A harsh breath escaped him. He hadn’t lost her; somehow, he hadn’t chased her away.
What if Lucifer learns of this?
Damon squeezed his eyes shut. Dinna think of it. Like he’d told the child Annabelle, good always triumphs over evil, and he must summon the faith to believe in it.
“I lost sight
of something today, something very important.” Harmony brought her hands together, clasping them tightly as if she were nervous, nervous as he. “The best sermons are lived, not preached. I’ll never forget the day my great-grandmother Eudora said that to my father, when she disagreed with something he’d done. She’d have scolded me today, told me the same thing, when she saw how quickly I wanted to condemn you. Seeing that God’s forgiven you, it might be a little arrogant if I didn’t. Ya think?”
“Only God’s perfect, Harmony,” he said, reminding her of her words to him shortly after he arrived in Mysteria. “The rest of us do the best we can.”
“Yes, we do.” Her eyes were luminous with tears as she walked to him and lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. He pressed his hand over hers as his emotions soared to heaven. “It doesn’t matter what you were before, Damon. It doesn’t. I had a calling to come here, and when I did, nothing was what I’d expected. But I knew God watched over everyone who lived here, whether they chose to see it or not. And then you came, and through you I fulfilled my calling here, through love. You’re so full of love, Damon. What went down before doesn’t matter. You’re a beautiful man with a beautiful soul, and that’s all that counts.”
His mood crashed immediately. A beautiful soul? “Lass, I was a demon, born of shadows. I know you’ve insisted that all humans have a soul, but I was not created as you were. The Devil crafted me, not God.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Is this why you’ve never wanted to step inside the church?”
“I feared holy retribution—plagues, lightning strikes, and the like.”
Harmony snorted. “Oh, puleeze. You’ll have to find another excuse.” She poked him on the chest with her index finger. “You can’t fool me when it comes to souls, sir. I’m a Faithfull. Knowing souls is in our blood. I saw what you did to help little Annabelle O’Cleary. A man with no soul never would have done that, alleviated a little girl’s fear, or have run around afterward, convincing everyone they needed to come back to church next week, and not to be scared—and they believed you, Damon. A man with no soul never would exude the zest for life that you do, or the energy, your ability to make people laugh and feel comfortable. A man with no soul never would have . . . never would have . . .” Her finger trailed down his stomach, and she blushed deeply.
“Never would have what, lass?” he coaxed.
“Never would have made me fall in love with him.” She smiled softly. “With you.”
Damon’s heart crashed against his ribs. She loved him! ’Twas everything he’d ever wanted, for so many hundreds of years, to know love, to experience the pure and simple joy of it, the giving and receiving. To be human enough to share himself with someone else, to sacrifice. And now that it was placed before him, this miracle, he was all but paralyzed for fear of breaking the spell.
“Oh, lass,” he managed stupidly. “Are ye sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Slinging an arm low around her waist, he drew her close. “Never been more sure,” she whispered against his lips. In the next instant, he was kissing her, falling head over heels into the well of joy that was this woman, who said she loved him. Loved him! Who said he had a soul.
From the conviction in her voice, he believed her. He remembered the feeling that had surged into him the moment he’d defied Lucifer. But even that explosion of joy and rightness dimmed with the knowledge that Harmony Faithfull loved him. Wanted him.
Then something Harmony had said earlier came crashing back into his mind. “Lass, forgive me if I misunderstood you out there on the lawn, but didn’t you mention you’d wanted to make love with me?”
“Yeah, I did.” She grabbed his butt and hauled him close. “And if I don’t do it soon, I might explode!”
“Hell’s bells, so will I.” Grinning eagerly, he swept her off her feet and carried her swiftly to the bedchamber in her house.
Thirteen
Together they fell onto the bed. Harmony laughed, exhilarated; being with Damon was like riding a roller coaster, and now it was perched precariously on the highest hill.
Damon’s weight pressed her deep into the mattress. It felt delicious. He was delicious! Her hands slid everywhere, his muscled back, his abs, the thickly muscled arms. That amazing body, she had it all to herself—and everything else that came with it. Yes, everything else, and God forgive her for going after it so greedily.
“Kiss me,” she told Damon, her fingers curling in the damp fabric of his shirt. She dragged him down to her mouth and kissed him, hard and deep. Dark, sweet heat. Slick and wet. The rasp of his whiskers as she explored with her tongue. He was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and she was hungry for more.
A deep sound rumbled in his chest in reaction to her eagerness. Shyness hadn’t entered her mind, only that she’d wanted him like this for so many weeks.
A beautiful man. A beautiful soul.
But he was a demon! Satan’s helper.
He’s starting over. A new life. He’s clean, real clean, remember?
As for his kiss? Hoo boy, it burned so hot it made Hell look cold. She’d gladly pay penance for that decidedly unholy thought—but tomorrow. Not now.
“Mmm,” she murmured as they kissed. “Mmm.” Smiling, she tore through the buttons on his shirt.
The scrape of Damon’s teeth on the side of her throat made her shiver as he fumbled with the waistband of her skirt. His hand slid up her inner thigh, and she could feel him tremble. When he touched her between her legs, the spasm of pleasure was so intense that her body gave an involuntary little jerk. If that was what his fingers could do, then she could only imagine—
“Too many clothes on ye, lass.” Her panties came off next, and the rest of their clothes went every which way.
Damon flipped her over, kissed her behind her knees and made her giggle. “’Tis my first time, ye know,” he told her as he trailed kisses up her spine, pausing to lick a sensitive little place between her shoulder blades that she never knew existed.
“First time what?” she gasped, delighted with his creativity with all the places he found to touch with his tongue and his lips.
“My first time making love.”
Harmony rolled over to stare at him. Sometimes lip reading helped with communication, especially when the messages were garbled. “You’re not a virgin.”
“Aye, I am.”
“Listen, if this is something you’ve come up with to make up for the whole demon thing—”
“Hush.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “’Tis the truth. Ye are my first.” He didn’t seem bothered by the fact in the least, nor hindered by any lack of confidence, she thought, as he pulled one bra strap down, then the other, lowering the lace until he found her nipples, lavishing each with attention as if they were made of the finest, most delectable chocolate. “No need to worry, lass. I know exactly what to do.”
She tipped her head back to the pillow and moaned. “I can’t argue that, baby.” Her sexy Scottish hunk was a virgin! She nearly whooped with delight. “You don’t act like it’s your first time.”
“I’ve experienced little, aye, but have seen much,” he murmured as he concentrated on pleasuring her. “Pagan lovers mating inside stone circles on Midsummer Eves . . . Viking wedding nights, the harems of Arabia . . . Roman orgies.”
Pagan mating rituals? Harems? Roman orgies? “Damon, honey, I don’t know if we’re on the same page.”
“I know the difference, love, between what I saw and this. Trust me. My instincts are good.” His arms bulged with muscles as he did a push-up over her, dipping his head to kiss her neck. Then he flipped her over and bit her on the butt. She squealed, and he laughed, soothing where he’d nipped her with kisses, then tossing her over again only to enter her, thickly, deeply. Her breath caught as her back arched, and she made a little gasp of surprise. Damon’s expression shifted from astonishment to tenderness to hunger; his eyelids fell half-closed, and the softest groan of plea
sure slipped out after he breathed her name. Although she could feel the intensity of Damon’s emotions pressing on her mind, all she needed to know was right here, written on his face, everything he felt being with her, out in the open.
Her belly squeezed as he pushed slowly deeper, filling her, stretching her. She was glad he was going slow. It had been a long time for her, and she hadn’t expected he’d take her this quickly. But maybe foreplay wasn’t as popular in ancient times as it was now. Then again, she hadn’t been waiting ten thousand years to “do it.” Only since college, which had sometimes felt as long.
Yet, her body was ready for him—whoa, more than ready. The mere weight of his body pressing her into the mattress had her panting in anticipation.
“Ye are my first,” he squeezed out in a harsh breath. “My first, aye, my only, and my last.” Clutching her hips possessively, he pushed all the way home, sending shockwaves clear down to her toes.
He moved slowly, at first, not hesitant but most definitely reined in. She drew her knees higher on his hips, squeezing him with her thighs, to hold him there, to hold him close. Gradually, he gained confidence with her moans of delight. And when he finally found his rhythm, it was all she could do to hold on and ride the storm.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, somehow remaining deep inside her.
She straddled him, astonished, her hair tumbling over his chest. But he moved her backward so his hand could slip between their bodies. And watched her, as she’d watched his reactions earlier, his fingers dipping between her legs where she was so wet, teasing, circling, as he thrust faster and deeper. Her head fell back. “Damon . . .”
Tremors fluttered in her stomach, sharpening, hot, so hot. The quivering built to an ache that swelled until it was almost unbearable. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Heaven help her, she never knew it could be like this. Never knew it could be this good.