Demon Inside

“Grey,” a voice boomed. “And you must be Dr. Chase.”

Megan didn’t notice, or pay attention to, Greyson’s power as a rule. It was just there, something humming in the background, much like her own. But she remembered meeting his old Gretneg, Templeton Black, and the easy strength emanating from his stocky frame. Lord Maldon had the same kind of energy, but Megan knew without even having to think about it that Greyson had been right. Maldon wasn’t as strong as Templeton had been, or as strong as Greyson was now. The knowledge made her simultaneously more sympathetic—her presence here really was a threat—and more pissed off. Who did he think he was, sending his minions out to threaten her?

Especially not when he looked like a mangy dog, with his messy dirty blond hair and grizzled face. His entire body, in fact, seemed slight and a little too loose limbed for reality, but she had the distinct impression he could move quickly if he wanted to. Like a ferret.

Greyson towered over him. “Orion,” he said, nodding. Neither man offered his hand to the other.

Maldon glanced at him, then looked back at Megan. His eyes, a vibrant, shocking blue, raked her body from head to toe. “So you’re Greyson’s little human,” he said, his voice—loud and calm—at distinct odds with his meager frame.

“She’s Gretneg of House Io Adflicta,” Greyson corrected. “She’s not my little anything.”

“That’s not the way I hear it.” He reached out to touch her hair, but Megan, moving with a speed she didn’t know she possessed, grabbed his hand before he could. His skin was cool and smooth, hard like an apple.

“Is touching part of this?” she asked i

Greyson’s lips twitched, but he didn’t speak.

Maldon’s eyes darkened. “And I don’t generally allow others to do business in my territory without greeting me.”

“I’m not doing any business. I’m just here for a funeral.”

“Yes, I know about your father. Doubly important, then, that you give me my due.”

“Excuse me?”

“I allowed him to stay here, even after you left. After you defeated the Accuser the first time and handed over your Yezer—some of whom were my Yezer—to him, stealing from me. I allowed your father to run his business, to keep his home, everything he had was due to me.”

“Give it a rest, Orion,” Greyson said. His anger brushed against her skin, then withdrew, but the edge in his voice still seemed to echo in her chest. “Dr. Chase owes you nothing. She’s come here to apologize for not informing you she was coming. She’s done so. That’s all.”

“You know that isn’t true, Greyson.” Maldon’s eyes didn’t leave hers for a long moment, then he blinked and turned away, becoming once again just a wiry little man, vaguely threatening, like a small-time hood but nothing to worry about.

If anyone knew how deceptive appearances could be, it was Megan.

A servant appeared with a tray of drinks. Megan accepted one after Greyson, but did not sip until he’d done so.

“I was just about to sink some putts,” Maldon said, holding out one arm. A servant appeared, or perhaps one of his rubendas, and handed him his coat. “In the yard. Join me.”

Greyson gave her a look that said, I’ll go to the mat on this one if you want. She shook her head. If the demon wanted to play golf at night in the December cold, that was fine. She just wanted to make him happy so she didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

And some of his Yezer? Were the defectors returning to him, as well as to Ktana Leyak?

She wanted to find out. So she followed him, her heels sinking into the tawny carpet, while Greyson rested his hand reassuringly on the small of her back.

Maldon hadn’t been lying about putts. He selected a long, slender steel club from a rack outside the door and trotted off into the yard, where a strip of AstroTurf seemed to glow in the dead brown of the grass.

“This is bizarre,” she whispered to Greyson. “Like Alice in Wonderland.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave the small form now teeing up in his bulky coat. “Just remember the Red Queen, bryaela.”

“So,” Maldon said when they reached him. “What do you propose to offer me?”

“I—” She stopped when Greyson gave a slight shake of his head. “I’ve already offered it. My apology. I’ll be leaving on Thursday.”

“Not good enough.” Maldon watched the little ball roll down the artificial grass. It missed the hole. “Damn!”

“Why don’t you just tell us what you want, Orion.” Greyson sounded bored, lazy, but his arm next to hers was tense.

Maldon glanced at him. “So curt,” he said. “As if you’re the one giving the orders. As if this is your land.”

Greyson didn’t respond.

“What do you think is an apt price to pay, Greyson? For invading another man’s territory?”

Shit.

“That debt’s been paid.”

“And now I’ll take another one. The human shouldn’t be here. She stole my demons and I couldn’t do anything about it because she bound them to the Accuser. Now they’re bound to her. She’ll pay me for them. In cash.”

“Fine.”

Was he crazy? She didn’t have any money, especially now she didn’t even have her practice. Her radio paychecks weren’t that good.

He didn’t know about her practice, she remembered. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him.

“And she’ll pay for her trespass.”

“She apologized.”

“Not enough.” He looked at Megan, his eyes glowing faintly red in the dim light. “I have another form of payment in mind. An hour in my bed.”

“No—” she started to say, but Greyson’s voice sliced through hers like an icicle.

“Do you want to fight me, Orion? To start a war you can’t win?”

“Those are my terms.” But Maldon’s gaze faltered as he spoke.

“You don’t have the authority to make a request like that of a Gretneg and you know it. You could be censured just for suggesting it.”

Maldon glared at them. Anger thrashed around him, hitting Megan, hitting Greyson. She stood firm, her eyes steady. The thought of this demon’s hard little hands on her body made her stomach clench.

“Fine,” he spat. “But I can request blood. You know I can.”

Silence. Megan wanted to speak, to run, but she concentrated on standing perfectly still. Blood…Greyson’s rubenda had asked if he could have it…she herself had wanted it…

“You can have mine,” Greyson said.

Maldon’s face split into a grin. “No. Hers. I’ve had yours.”

Greyson took her arm and led her away, out of earshot. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. The lights from the windows of the house reflected in his dark eyes. “We can try to talk him down further.”

“But you want me to.”

“Hell, no, I don’t want you to. But he’s not lying. It’s an excessive request, but the bastard’s within his rights to make it.”

She looked at the ground, at her shoes disappearing into the shadows made by her legs. “Is he…why does he want it?”

She thought she already knew, and she was right.

“He’s a blood demon. He wants to feed on it.”

“Oh God.” She pressed her hand against her mouth as the Scotch threatened to come back up. Already in her mind she could see it, the sharp knife, her blood flowing into a silver bowl…Orion Maldon lifting the bowl to his lips.

“I’ll talk him down,” Greyson said. He turned away, but she grabbed him.

“Would he touch me?”

“I won’t let him.”

“What will he do if…if we don’t?”

He sighed. “It depends. He could make us stand out here all night—to hurt you, you know, he knows the cold doesn’t bother me much—and eventually just let us go. Or he could stick to his guns, in which case we either give him what he wants or he talks to his boss, who talks to me, and we have to give in or we have a minor war on our hands.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the giving-in type.”