Bound by Light (6 page)

Jake nodded. "Yes, I am."

Definitely wary now. Almost outright suspicious. "I never heard of a demon cop."

"I’m the first demon cop ever hired on purpose." Jake smiled at her, hoping it would help her relax. "The NYPD’s had a few before, but they were strictly off the record. I want you to know I owe you, okay? If you ever need anything, you come to me."

Delilah’s face sharpened to that of a savvy old criminal so quickly Jake almost stepped back from her in surprise. "All right, Mr. Demon Cop," she said in a low, teasing voice that probably hooked and destroyed many a mark, back in her younger days. "That I’ll be rememberin’, and you might be hearin’ from me. For now, though, I’ve got to get to the library."

She flashed him what could only be described as a wicked grin, then hurried off down the hall toward the steps.

Jake watched her go for a moment, wondering what in the living hell he had just gotten himself into.

Then he started back toward the conference room, turned the last corner—and there she was.

Not Delilah Moses.

His mother.

She lounged in one of the corridor’s heavy oak chairs, her ash blond hair loose about her thin shoulders, shrouding her face as she read a book of spells and rituals.

Jake’s gut lurched.

In life, Jake’s mother had been a brilliant biosentient, always studying, always learning—and thanks to her elemental talent, capable of exploding cells, of murdering human life-forms with a single, focused thought.

He slowed down and pressed his fists against his jeans, closed his eyes, then opened them.

Now his mother’s image shimmered beside him, dressed in a red silk dress like she had been the night . . .

The night I died.

The night she killed my human body and transformed me into an Astaroth.

Jake couldn’t walk any farther. He stared more directly at her, at the ceremonial dagger now visible in her long, merciless fingers.

"Why?" he asked aloud, battling a childish urge to disarm her and throw the knife away before it could do its damage, like that would somehow turn back time and spare him his fate.

Of course, the phantasm beside him didn’t answer. His mother’s empty blue eyes gazed at his blue sleeveless T-shirt, at the spot right over his heart. The place where she jammed the dagger through tissue to complete his ritual slaying, scraping bone, piercing his heart, ending Jake’s world.

The searing pain of that moment was etched through every molecule of his being.

Jake’s biggest scar ached. He raised both hands to his torso and pressed against that wound—healed. It was healed now. And the other scars, too, reminders of where his mother had vented her wrath with belts and canes, and at times cut him open to harvest blood for some of her darker activities.

It was a wonder she had never turned the brunt of her biosentient talents on him. If she had, he’d be moldering in the family crypt instead of reliving the worst moment of his existence.

"Go away," he whispered, but his mother remained, dagger raised, gaze unfocused.

Jake realized his mother’s memory had grown beyond his own consciousness until she had become a vestigial image. Through their collective recall and shared history, every Astaroth evermore would recognize this person, Jake’s mother—or rather, the meaning of her presence. She represented the threat from within, the beloved betrayer, the traitor in the fold.

Why was she here, now? There were no traitorous, murdering bitches in the townhouse, not now that she was dead.

Not real. Not a portent. Just a personal memory.

"The snake in the gift box," Jake said aloud, wishing he could summon wind energy to blow away the ghostly figure.

"Excuse me?" asked a lightly accented woman’s voice from behind him.

Jake startled so badly his fingers almost dug holes in his own sides. He bared his teeth, felt the punch of his fangs as they tried to form. His Astaroth body tried to rip itself out of his human shell. He’d fight this time. He’d tear off his mother’s head if he had to—but his mother had vanished to nothing.

In her place stood Merilee Alexander.

The air Sibyl held up her dangerous, beautiful hands like
Down, boy
.

Jake shook his head and snarled, then tried to make himself breathe. Even half crazy, he could see that Merilee’s pretty face was tense and worried, and he hated that, and despised himself for causing it. She didn’t attack or even take a more aggressive posture. Instead, she let off a soft wind, and the warm breeze wrapped itself around Jake like a caress.

"Take it easy." She lowered her hands. "Just relax. I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Sorry," he mumbled as the calm touch of her elemental energy put his demon instincts to rest. His fangs stopped trying to form. The push and tear of wings against his back—finished. His claws hadn’t even grown—well, not over an inch, anyway.

Why couldn’t he control these idiotic memories? He had learned all sorts of mental focusing techniques during his travels and at the Motherhouses, but they had failed him every day since he came back to New York. Now he had made an ass of himself in front of the one woman he would rather impress.

Merilee gradually took back her wind energy and studied Jake. Her light, sweet fragrance teased his nose. He focused on her blond hair, her blue eyes, nothing like his mother’s. Brighter and more vibrant. So much more alive. Merilee’s form-fitting jeans, the way her soft-looking tan shirt hugged the curve of her breasts—her presence engraved itself on his senses. The fantasy of her, that had been one thing.

The reality of her was quite another.

Jake felt the power of Merilee’s personality and ventsentience—her elemental control over the wind and air—like a storm in his own soul. He was close enough to really see her. Close enough to touch her if he wanted to. His mind went completely and suddenly quiet, but the rest of him started to roar instead. Just the sight of her was enough to make his blood burn, make his chest tighten.

I want to taste you,
his mind whispered to the beautiful woman he had once vowed never to touch.
I want to take my time with each slow, delicious bite
.

The roller coaster inside Jake made him physically sick and completely aroused all at the same time. He didn’t need to be here in this place. He didn’t need to be so close to Merilee—but what the fuck was he supposed to do? The war against the Legion was here, now, and she was part of it. He couldn’t avoid her completely. And damn, he didn’t want to, even though he knew he should.

"Where
were
you when I scared you?" she asked, her voice warm with concern.

Embarrassment made Jake stare at his feet.

"Hey, look, getting spooked in this creepy place is nothing to be ashamed of." Merilee brushed her fingers against his wrist, and Jake felt the contact like an electric buzz. "I was raised in a Motherhouse with a bunch of adepts who liked to tell horror stories about death spirits—and I still have nightmares about them."

Jake managed to raise his head in time to see Merilee’s smile fade away. Her expression grew more serious, mixed with a dash of shame and regret. "What am I saying? It’s not like I had any real trauma growing up. Not like—damn, Jake. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make a joke out of anything." Her fingers remained on his arm, holding him in place, rooting him where he stood, and he couldn’t look away from her, even though he knew he needed to.

"It’s got to be hard for you, being in this place," she said. "Do you remember it all? Your childhood and . . . what happened?"

Not sure he wanted to try speaking, Jake just nodded, feeling every last one of his scars throb.

"Shit," Merilee whispered. "The memories, all that pain, it must be suffocating. Why did you come back here?"

Jake tested his throat with a swallow before he gave the best response he could under the circumstances. "We have to fight.
I
have to fight."

Merilee’s eyes flashed.

Was that approval? Understanding?

"You’re . . . special, aren’t you?" she murmured, her subtle Greek accent pleasing to his senses, her voice stroking him like her fingers. "I think I need to get to know you better."

Mesmerized, Jake stood staring at Merilee as she moved closer to him, only a few inches away, near enough that her presence blew through every inch of his body. His muscles ached from containing the urge to grab her and pull her closer, until he
could
taste her face, her ear, her neck. Maybe he’d unbutton that soft shirt and taste her nipples, too.

Footsteps and voices broke the mood and moment, but Merilee kept her gaze on Jake as Sibyls and other OCU officers approached, heading for evening meeting. When she slid her fingers lower and took his hand, the silky press of her palm against his skin made his cock ache so badly Jake was sure the damned thing would crack in two.

He could get lost in those eyes forever.

Maybe he would, right now. Or later tonight.

"Come on," she said, and her voice barely registered in his jumbled mind. "Only two minutes, thirty seconds left. We’ll be late."

Jake blinked at her.

Even after hanging out at Motherhouse Greece, he had never gotten used to how exact their time sense was. All Sibyls could do that, keep time in their head, but air Sibyls were just . . . better at it.

Merilee led him forward, steering him toward the evening meeting. Through the door into the chaos of conversations and clattering chairs, all the way to the front row where her triad sisters waited, already seated.

Before her Sibyl family saw her holding Jake’s hand, Merilee let him go and gestured to the chair at the head of the row. He took it without protest. She sat beside him as Sibyls and OCU officers filled the large conference room behind them. More folding metal chairs rattled against the wood floor. Dozens of different smells and colors and conversations assaulted his acute senses.

Growling softly to himself to fight the pain of so much stimulation, Jake shifted in his seat to steal another glance at Merilee. She had turned away from him, speaking in low, soothing tones to Riana and Cynda, her pregnant triad sisters. Andy, who called herself the triad’s "extra," sat closest to Merilee, now wearing wet jeans and a water-streaked NYPD jacket over her damp blouse. Riana, the earth Sibyl next to Andy, had her dark hair pulled behind her head, giving her exotic face a sharp, determined look. Cynda, the fire Sibyl, was sitting closest to the wall. She seemed larger with child and more miserable than Riana. Sweat plastered her red hair to her head, and her black jeans gave off a steady stream of white smoke.

Jake concentrated on the musical sound of Merilee’s voice, let it lift over the incessant babble and float through his very existence. Next, he isolated her tempting scent from the attack of so many others, and centered his focus on that delicious strand of white tea and honey. It kept him sane, seeing her, feeling her so close—but he knew he shouldn’t let himself dwell on Merilee. No matter what Mother Anemone said about his light needing to shine, about him being a good enough man for this Sibyl, the truth remained firmly locked in Jake’s unhappy mind.

He wouldn’t ask any woman, especially one so beautiful and talented, to risk her future and her safety to be with a demon.

(4)

At the front of the room, a few feet away from Jake, Freeman moved behind a long metal table, scratching new shift assignments on the chalkboard covering the main wall. The veins in his neck stood out. Circles as dark as his hair ringed both eyes, and somehow he looked twice as tired as he did when Jake saw him, what, half an hour earlier?

The slate where Sal Freeman was writing had lots of cracks. From heat, no doubt. Jake’s brothers, who had taken afternoon patrol, had told him that the room had once been furnished with wood and plastic, but fire Sibyls had made short work of all combustibles. Pyrosentients, or those with deep mental and emotional connection to fire, were notoriously unstable and poorly controlled. Now the whole place was decked out in elementally locked iron, fire-resistant cloth, and flameproof hardwood laminate.

Not exactly an aesthetic improvement, but functional.

Freeman turned and held up both hands, and the thunder of voices gave way to whispers, murmurs, and finally, to silence. Jake’s ears ached from relief. Once more, he glanced at Merilee. Her blue eyes were fixed on Freeman. She had a pad and pencil now, ready to take notes, as all air Sibyls tended to do in almost any situation.

Damn, her hands were close to his.

Jake envisioned running his fingers over hers, holding her delicate wrists, lifting them to his mouth, and—

Concentrate, Lowell.
Not
on her.

"We’ve got serious shit happening," Freeman boomed in the now-quiet room.

Jake immediately caught Andy Myles’s reaction to the captain. The way she sat forward when he spoke, the way her eyes brightened as they followed Freeman’s every move. Freeman responded to her just as deeply, staring at her, then forcing his attention back to the room at large.