He lifted his lips in a smile. “Great. Let’s sit down.”
Swallowing past the dry desert in her throat, she followed him to the table and sat, grabbed the glass of wine, and took a long drink. Then another.
She remembered watching Dalton. Then … nothing. No, that’s not right. There had been something. What was it?
“You’re not eating.”
She looked up at Dalton, then down at the plate, not even aware it had been set in front of her. “Oh. I’m sorry. Of course.” She picked up her fork and moved it around the plate.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. This looks wonderful.” She made an attempt to eat. She’d been really hungry earlier. She remembered that much. The fish had smelled so good. What happened to her? Where had she gone in those brief moments that she’d lost time? She lifted the fork to her lips and took a few bites, not even tasting what she ate.
“Isabelle.”
She glanced up again. Dalton was staring at her. “What?”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She didn’t want to. What would she say? But she had to confide in someone, and right now Dalton was all she had. “I lost time just now.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you asked me to pour the wine, I did, then I sat here at the table. I was watching you cook, and next thing I remember I was standing behind you over at the barbecue.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the grill, then back at the wine bottle, then at her. “You don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head.
“That was about ten minutes’ worth of time.”
Damn.
“Is that the first time this has happened?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the first I’m aware of.” She reached for her wineglass and emptied it in one long swallow. Dalton refilled it.
“You need to eat.”
She nodded, scooped up the tender fish with her fork and forced herself to eat at least half of what was on her plate. Dalton was right. She needed to rebuild her strength. Think. Remember.
They finished eating, cleared the plates, and did the dishes, all in silence, then returned outside to sit on the back porch. It was still balmy, but at least a breeze had started to kick up. She lifted her hair, letting the air blow over the back of her neck.
“You want more wine?” Dalton asked.
She shook her head. She was fuzzy enough without too much alcohol muddling her brain. Why couldn’t she remember? She leaned back in the chair and stared out into the night, into the swamp. “I hate not being in control.”
Dalton lifted his lips. “That’s a shocker.”
She glared at him. “What does that mean? You think I’m a control freak?”
“Yeah. But who isn’t? Who doesn’t want to be in charge of their life, their own destiny?”
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive.”
“You have a lot of things to be angry at me about, Isabelle. Don’t be sorry.”
“You mean because of my mother’s diary?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged. “Somehow I think everything would have happened the way it did regardless of you finding the diary or not. In fact, you might have saved my life because you found it.”
“How?”
“The demons would have found me, taken me eventually. If you hadn’t found me when you did, if the Realm and Angie and everyone else hadn’t been there that night …”
“You think the Sons of Darkness would have finished what they started with you.”
“Yes. And we wouldn’t be sitting here right now having this conversation. I wouldn’t still be human.” She’d be wholly demon, one of the Sons of Darkness.
“That’s not what happened. Don’t think about it.”
“How can I not think about it? I was one of them. I am one of them. Their blood runs in me. I …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He stood and came over to her side of the table, straddling the bench. “Isabelle, if we’re going to make any headway, you have to talk to me. You have to tell me everything. What you’re feeling, what you see, what you experience. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
She still didn’t understand how he could help her at all. He was just a man. A human. He had no power. “I appreciate the offer, Dalton. But there’s nothing you can do for me.”
He cocked his head to the side and his lips tilted. “You might be surprised what I can do to help.”
Isabelle frowned. “Like what?”
“This and that.”
“Now who’s being vague and uncommunicative?”
“Okay. Let’s just say there are things I can do to help you.”
“What? Do you practice voodoo like Georgie?”
His lips quirked. “Not really my area. But I have other talents.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how the whole voodoo thing pertains to me and my situation anyway. Blood is blood. It’s in me. I’m a demon. Nothing can change that. No one can take it away.”
“You’ve already changed it. You’re human right now.”
She swung her legs over the bench and stood, feeling cornered, needing space so she could pace back and forth. She wrapped her arms around herself. “For how long, though, Dalton? I don’t feel human.”
He studied her. “How do you feel?”
She didn’t look at him, just kept pacing. “Unsettled. Not myself. I feel like at any time I could revert back to the demon I was. I feel shaky, like I’m barely holding on.”
“Do you have some kind of sensation inside you, some kind of feeling that makes you think that?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped back at him. “It just is. And the dreams.”
“What dreams?”
This time she stopped, looked at him. “Every damn time I try to sleep, even if I drift off for a few seconds … the demons come.”
He stood and came toward her. He reached out, laid his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to pull away. But she also wanted to walk into his arms, wrap herself in the comfort of someone holding her. She needed that. At the same time she feared it, felt if she gave into her emotions, if she let go of the tight string holding herself together, something would snap inside her and the demons would take hold.
“What happens in your dreams, Isabelle?”
His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was gentle. She took a deep breath. “I don’t really know. By the time I’m fully awake I’ve forgotten what happens. I can only grab hold of remnants. I just know they come for me when I fall asleep.”
“They?”
“The demons.”
“Are you having the same dream every time?”
She shrugged. “I think so.”
“But you don’t know in what way.”
She shook her head again. “I wish I could remember all of it. Most times I want to shake it off as soon as I wake up.”
“Maybe it’s time you start to remember.”
She tilted her head back to look at his face. “Why?”
“Because it might help unlock this mystery about the hold they have on you.”
“Do you think they know where I am?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful. If they knew they’d have come for you already. For us. I don’t think they do. I think you’re blocking them.”
Despite the heat of the night, she shivered. “Then why would I want to remember? Isn’t it better if I forget, to keep forgetting?”
“I don’t think so. The more we know about what you’re dreaming, where it’s coming from, the better armed we’ll be when they do show up.”
She backed away from him. “They’ll come for me, won’t they?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
Honesty was supposed to be refreshing. Maybe it would be better if
he lied to her. “When will they come? When I remember? When I stop blocking them?”
Dalton inhaled, let it out. “That depends on you. You’re in charge of more than you think, Isabelle.” He slid his hand in hers, pulled her back to the table, and sat them both down on the bench.
He didn’t let go of her hand. This time, she didn’t mind. It felt good. His hand was so big, like the rest of him, and calloused from hard work. It signaled strength. She needed to draw on some strength right now. She’d always been independent, strong on her own, never needed anyone else.
Not right now, though. She felt weak and she hated it.
“I know you’re afraid,” he said. “I know you’re confused. There’s a lot unsettled right now, a lot we both don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, Isabelle. I won’t let the Sons of Darkness take you. Not again.”
For the first time in a long while, she felt hope. Maybe it was lame to take that hope from Dalton’s words alone, but she’d always been on her own, and now she felt like she had an ally. She had to believe he’d protect her, that he’d do whatever it took to keep the Sons of Darkness away from her.
“Thank you. I’m not used to … needing anyone. This isn’t easy for me. But I do need you.”
“We need each other.”
“You need me? How?” What could she possibly offer him?
He looked away for a second, then back at her. “What I meant was that I feel like I owe you after stealing your mother’s diary, setting all this in motion. Let’s just say this is my chance at redemption.”
Somehow she didn’t think that’s what he meant. But as long as he was on her side this time, it was a start.
Dalton mentally cursed himself. He was going to have to watch what he said. He’d slipped a couple times tonight with Isabelle. He couldn’t let her know that he needed her, what his plans were for her. She wouldn’t understand. Not right now. Maybe never. It was best that she just believe he was trying to help her, that he’d brought her here because he thought Georgie could assist her.
They’d talked for a while, then she’d started to yawn, her eyelids drooping. He could tell she fought it, but she eventually gave in and went to bed. He waited an hour or so, slipping her door open to make sure she was asleep.
He went up to the main house and found Georgie sitting out front in her great-grandmother’s old white rocking chair.
He’d had a few conversations with Georgie’s great-grandmother while she rocked in that chair.
It had been so long ago.
“Thought you might come by tonight,” she said.
Dalton smiled and leaned against the railing. “You psychic, too?”
“Oh, I have many gifts, Dalton. I know what you’re about.”
“Do you.”
She nodded. “You have big plans for that girl down there,” Georgie said, her palms flat on the wide arms of the rocker as she rode it gently back and forth. “She know about them?”
“Not yet. She’s had a bad time of it.”
Georgie’s gaze drifted down the path toward the cabin. “She’s got a lot of darkness in her.”
Dalton stared down the road. He wished he could see the cabin from here. He shouldn’t have left Isabelle alone. The urge to go back there grew stronger. “Yeah, she does.”
“So do you.”
He snapped his gaze back to Georgie. “What are you talking about?”
“My grandmother filled me in from what she knew, what my great-grandmother told her. The rest I can sense.”
“What can you sense?”
“There’s conflict in you, Dalton. And within me.”
He frowned. “What are you conflicted about?”
“Whether to help your Isabelle or not.”
She wasn’t his Isabelle. He’d need to make sure Georgie understood that. “Why wouldn’t you help her? Help me? Your great-grandmother did.”
“Those were different circumstances, and you know why. We owed you. Now you want help for Isabelle. Why?”
“Because what happened to her isn’t her fault.”
Georgie studied him. “But maybe her destiny. And something you shouldn’t interfere in.”
Dalton sucked in a breath. He’d interfered before, and it had cost him dearly. “I’m right about this, Georgie. I know I am. Isabelle doesn’t deserve this.”
Georgie folded her hands in her lap, seeming to contemplate while rocking. Dalton knew better than to push it, so he waited for her to speak. When she looked up, her gaze was penetrating.
“I think you need to take some time while you’re here. Search your heart, Dalton, and determine whether you’re really out to save Isabelle’s soul. Or your own.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Isabelle knew she had slept some, but it wasn’t a good, deep sleep. She felt ragged and cranky when she woke near dawn, gray light filtering through the blinds in her bedroom. The nightmare that always seemed to latch on to her evaporated almost immediately, its fuzzy edges still attached like tentacles to the shadows of her mind. Despite Dalton’s advice to remember, she wanted to shake it loose permanently, so she slid out of bed and got dressed, brushed her teeth and wound her hair up in a ponytail, then went out into the kitchen to make coffee.
Dalton was already up, coffee made. She inhaled the scent of caffeine and picked up her step. Coffee would banish the demons.
Dalton sat at the table, drinking in the still-dark kitchen.
“Don’t you sleep?” she asked, filling a cup and sitting.
“Not much. I’m used to being on a hunt. I can do with just a few hours.”
“So this is like vacation for you.”
He arched a brow. “Uh, yeah.”
“I’ll bet you hate downtime.”
“I’m not used to it.”
“Me, either.” She took a long sip of coffee and waited for the caffeine to surge. “I’m used to starting digs before dawn and working until sunset. Doing nothing is going to make me crazy.”
He nodded. “You’re not here to do nothing.”
“Good. What am I here to do?”
“First thing is to get you strong again.”
She practically inhaled the first cup of coffee and went to pour another. “And you’re going to help me with that.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Battle exercises for the physical. You’re not a demon hunter.”
“You planning to make me one?”
“When the Sons of Darkness show up, I want you prepared. But not just physically.”
She took a seat across the table from him and cupped the mug of steaming coffee. “How else?”
“Mentally. Working on your psychic skills. Try to get you to clear the cobwebs.”
“What am I supposed to do—sit around and channel my inner demon?”
“That would be helpful.”
She laughed. “I don’t think you really want me doing that. I thought the idea was to keep the demon away.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Which means what exactly?” She hated when he got vague and mysterious like this.
“It means that the more we know about what’s going on with you and the Sons of Darkness—what kind of hold they have on you—the better prepared we’ll be to fight them.”
Why did she feel like a guinea pig here? She didn’t like this. “So you want me to bring out the demon?”
He shrugged. “We’ll just take it as it comes, one day at a time.”
She rolled her eyes. “So not helpful. A plan of attack would be better.”
“You can’t plan for what you don’t know, Isabelle.” He pushed back from the chair, refilled his cup, and started dragging bowls, pots, and pans out of cabinets. She rose and went to the refrigerator for eggs, bacon, and butter, working silently alongside him fixing breakfast.
It felt … good. Normal. Cooking and eating together. They even did the dishes side by side. And she found it all enjoya
ble, which was strange since she hated all this domestic stuff. A few months back she’d dreamed of being successful enough to have servants to do all this for her, or to live out of hotels and eat in the finest restaurants. Now she just wanted a chance at having a normal life where she could cook and do dishes. Funny how one’s outlook could change so drastically. What used to be so important to her wasn’t anymore. She’d once wanted to be rich, famous, a successful archaeologist.
Now she just wanted to be human. And alive. She wanted to do dishes.
“So when do we start?”
Dalton wiped his hands on the dish towel. “Feel strong enough today?”
She nodded. “Definitely. Anything’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”
“You’d better change clothes.” He glanced down at her khaki shorts and white tank. “You’re going to get dirty.”
“I can handle getting dirty. Clothes are washable.” Besides, none of these were her clothes anyway. Every thing she wore now Dalton had bought for her along the way from Sicily.
He shrugged. “Okay. Put on boots and I’ll meet you in the back.”
After putting on socks and her boots, she met him outside. He’d changed into camo pants and a muscle shirt, along with those heavy shit-kicker boots he liked to wear. Those things must have weighed ten pounds each. Isabelle didn’t know how he walked in them, let alone managed to sneak around like a ghost.
“So what are we going to do today?” she asked.
“See those woods back there? We’re going to hike.”
She tilted her head. “Hike? That’s it?”
His lips curled. “Yeah. That’s it. Come on.”
They set out down the walkway from the front of the house, side by side along the path leading east. Away from the main house, into the dense trees and foliage of the woods where there was no path, where it looked like no one had been before.
Isabelle found herself behind Dalton, stepping wherever he stepped, because soon they were in the thick of overhanging cypress and gnarled bushes with thorns, and she suddenly wished she’d worn long sleeves. Though the thought of it made her sweat even more than she already was. She was thoroughly drenched through her bra and tank top, and her shorts clung to her. The humidity was unbearable, and the sun had long ago disappeared from under the canopy of treetops bunched close together overhead. She couldn’t imagine how bad it would be if the light and heat were blasting down on them from above.