Demon Inside

It was the way his eyes glowed, faintly red at first, then when he picked up her hand and bent to give it a presumptuous kiss, brighter still.

At first Megan thought it was some sort of Pavlov-ian reaction. She’d grown so accustomed to seeing a man’s eyes go red before…well, in the bedroom, or whatever place they happened to be substituting for a bedroom, that the mere sight of it often sent a shiver up her spine.

This was different. This man’s gleaming eyes caught her, held her as surely as he still held her hand in his strong grasp, and before she knew what was happening her breasts were straining against her gown and her insides were turning to molten liquid and she wanted him, wanted him so bad she was ready to tackle him then and there and she didn’t care about Greyson or anyone else in the restaurant—

Something slammed down hard, a shield of some kind, and another hand joined hers and the man’s in midair.

“Hey, Nick, you want to give my girl a break?”

Greyson’s tone was light, his smile easy, but the tightness of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes told her, and the man now dropping her hand as if it burned him, how far from amused he was.

My girl?

The man—Nick—glanced quickly from her, to Greyson, and back again. “This—this is Megan? Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry. Megan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—he didn’t tell me you were coming, so I didn’t think—”

What was she supposed to say? “That’s okay”? What was he apologizing for, anyway? What had just happened?

Nick’s embarrassed grin seemed to mollify Greyson. He shrugged. “No problem.” But he didn’t usually grip Megan’s shoulder quite so tightly, or pull her quite so close to his side. “Meg, this is Nick Xao-teng. Nick, Megan Chase.”

“Great to meet you.” Nick nodded and smiled, but didn’t touch her again.

“You too,” she managed, distressed to realize her voice was shaking a little.

“We were playing cards until you got here; you don’t mind if I finish, do you?” Greyson followed Nick toward the back of the room, then, as Nick turned down a hall, pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?” His dark gaze searched her face, his hands tight on her upper arms.

“Yeah, I just…what happened?” My girl?

“Nick is half incubus.”

“And…” Her blush had started to fade. Now it came back with a vengeance. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have any reason to be.”

“But I—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” But his jaw was still tight. He looked away.

“I’m glad you came when you did,” she said. He might say she’d done nothing wrong and he might even believe it, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty for her last thoughts in that dizzying minute. She had no idea if he was dating anyone else or if he cared if she did, but being absolutely ready to have sex with one man while out with another was fairly sleazy no matter how casual the relationship was or what sort of demon-sex thrall one was under. “How did you know—I mean—”

“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” he said, and then he was kissing her, pressing her back against the wall, his body looming hot in front of her.

His hands roamed from her arms to her waist and around to her back, pulling her closer, while he urged her mouth open with his lips so his tongue could slide inside. He tasted of Scotch and cigars and lust, and she wanted more.

Megan gasped and wrapped her arms around him while heat burst in her body, the flames of his desire and hers mingling in her chest to make her movements almost frantic, to make her wrap her right leg around him in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.

It went on for only a minute, maybe two, but when he pulled away they were both panting.

“That look,” he said with satisfaction, and took her hand to lead her down the dark hallway while she used the other to smooth her dress.

The cheery, tingly feeling lasted while they entered a dim, smoke-filled room in the back where several men sat around a table piled high with bills. It lasted while he introduced her to everyone, sat her in his lap, and picked up his cards—and faded abruptly when she saw them.

Greyson was holding aces and eights—a dead man’s hand.

The waiter set her plate in front of her and stepped smoothly away, leaving them alone again in the shadowy corner. She tried to let the fragrance of the steak soothe her, to let the excellent wine seep into her muscles and relax her, but it didn’t.

“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” he said, watching her.

She shrugged. She hadn’t thought she was either. “Just considering everything that’s been going on…”

“Stop worrying. I’m not worried.”

“How can I not be worried? The—the police are coming to my office tomorrow. To meet me. They want to see Gerald’s file. I guess they think he might have killed himself.”

“They can’t make you—”

“They’re bringing his sister. I do have to release it to her, or at least copies of it.”

“I’ll call Hunter. You should have a lawyer with you. Just in case.”

“I thought you were my lawyer.”

“Trust me, darling, the last thing you want when you’re dealing with the boys in blue is me at your side. Don’t give them more ammunition, not when you have a public image to protect.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to answering outright a question she’d asked when they first met: “Are you in the Mafia?”

Strange as it seemed, she hadn’t given the matter much thought since. She’d started compartmentalizing it, thinking of it simply as “demon business” and so not anything that involved her. Even her experience at the mall with Tera hadn’t really concerned her, aside from the embarrassment.

But she hadn’t thought about how it might affect her career. Obviously he had.

“Is that why you had Hunter come to the jail?”

“In part. But he wouldn’t have been able to convince those homeowners to drop charges as easily as I could either, and that needed to be done. Although it wasn’t exactly easy—that lady was tough. I thought for a minute I might actually have to pay her off.”

“How nice that you didn’t.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It spoils the digestion.”

She raised her eyebrows, but couldn’t help smiling. The steak was delicious too, although something seemed off about it.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s overdone.”

“Really? I told them medium.”

She cut a new piece and fed it to him off her heavy silver fork.

“Tastes like medium to me, Meg. That’s the way you usually have it, so—”

Oh God. She did usually have her steak medium, he was right. And this was perfectly cooked.

So why then did she suddenly wish it wasn’t? That it was bloody rare and red, the way he ate his?

“Must just have been the piece I had.” She shoved another forkful into her mouth. “Yep, that’s perfect.”

“We can get you another one if—”

“No, no, it’s great. Thanks. I think I’m just tired.” Desperate to change the subject, she said, “So when will you be back?”

“Hmm? Late Wednesday, maybe, or Thursday, depending. Shall I just pick you up Saturday afternoon? Cart you off to my lair?”

“Your lair?”

“Oh, it’s a lair. It qualifies. It’s secluded, it’s secret, and I do private things there.”

She blushed. “Will you have your car back?”

“We’re taking the truck anyway. In case it snows.”

They were spending the entire week of Christmas at his Meegra’s cabin in the woods outside the city. Greyson didn’t actually celebrate Christmas, of course, but most demons treated it as a winter holiday just the same.

The first time he’d taken her onto the land she hadn’t even known the cabin was there, but it was, and she loved it. Almost as much as she loved the fact that, for the first time in years, she actually had plans at Christmas, real plans that didn’t involve her tagging along at Althea’s family celebration or watching movies by herself at home.