Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) (13 page)

SIXTEEN

The house where the party is supposed to be is huge, set against the bluff of a small cliff overlooking the ocean. As we get out of the car, the salt and brine cling instantly to my skin. I breathe deep, taking it in, feeling lighter now that I’m away from the city, away from the smog and the sin.

A cypress tree hangs over the main entrance, darkening the shadows. The lights along the path are bluish green, and they give Kara’s skin a haunted look as she walks beside me. Music spills out into the night as we head up the walkway. I didn’t tell her that the reason I’m here is a demon. I probably should’ve. But then she wouldn’t have brought me.

“You can wait in the car, you know,” I say.

“And miss this?” She slips her keys into her back pocket. “Anyway, I need a drink.”

“No drinks.” I reach out and open the front door.

Kara sighs. “Sure, Dad.”

We walk into the pulsing air, pausing in the barely lit entry. The smells of sex and drugs and alcohol hit me like a rolling wave, pungent and thick. I push it back the best I can as we move past bodies dancing in the center of the living room, a mass of sweat and urgency. Couples twist together, pressed against the walls, tangled limbs on the couch, in sync with the music, like some strange, erotic symphony.

I turn away. There’s no demon in there.

“Wow,” Kara yells over the music. “Rebecca’s quite the girl to invite you to a party like this.”

I steel myself and follow her deeper into the house through an archway into the kitchen. The marble counter is covered in spilled bags of chips and M&M’s, red cups tipped over next to pools of liquid. There’s a large glass bowl filled with pills in all shapes and colors—rich kids collecting their parents’ prescription drugs from the bathroom cabinets and pooling them together for a form of LA roulette. The sight of the bowl makes me tense up more, wondering if Rebecca’s taken any yet.

Kara sticks her hand in an open bag of chips and then pops one in her mouth. “What now?”

“I need to find Rebecca.”

She eyes me. “Now that we’re here, you don’t sound like you want to.”

I lean on the counter and stare at my new shoes. I’m here for the demon, not for Rebecca. But thinking about her makes my insides twist. What if she’s with someone? I really don’t want to see that. I don’t even want to think of her that way—I shouldn’t. There’s a list of a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea.

Those damn
if only
thoughts roll through my head like thorny tumbleweeds, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold them back.

“It’s not my business what she does,” I say, mostly to myself.

“Or who.” Kara pops another chip in her mouth and winks at me.

“Don’t be a bitch, Kara.”

A spark of pain comes from her skin, and I realize I may have said the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have called her that.

She moves within an inch of me. I can smell the salt on her lips and that candy-sweet taste of her soul. “But, honey, I’m so damn good at it.” She gives me a forced smile. “You know what else I’m good at?”

I shiver a little, feeling her energy bite at my skin.

“Parties,” she says. “I’m really, really good at parties.” She moves back and unzips her hoodie, then slips it off her shoulders and tosses it aside. “I think I’m feeling a little smothered.” She pulls her rocker T-shirt over her head and drops it, too. “I need some air.”

I swallow and stare at her bare stomach, her purple bra, not sure what to say.

She smirks and pulls the keys from her jeans pocket, dangling them in my face. Then she shoves them at my chest. They stab through my T-shirt.

“You just won yourself designated driver, jackass. Congrats.”

My mouth opens to tell her to get dressed, that I’m sorry, to calm down, but none of it shapes into actual words. All I seem to be able to do is reach up to catch the keys.

“Have fun finding your virgin earth angel.” She reaches over and snatches up a full red cup. Then she sticks her fingers into the bowl of pills, grabbing a handful. “Better hope she’s not wrapped around a chunk of frat meat.” She slides past me.

I catch her by the arm, her skin buzzing against my palm on contact. This has gone way too far. She’s off the rails.

She turns and glares at me. “Let. Go.”

“Kara, don’t be stupid.”

Her nostrils flare.

I reach for the fist of pills, but she tosses them in my face. “You’re not my father, asshole, even if you are just as big a dick as he was.”

I let go of her arm, stung. “I’m sorry,” I practically yell. I obviously hit a nerve.

“You’re worse than all of them, you know that?” she says through gritted teeth. “You pretend to be so pure and kind, but I can see right through you. You’re a shit. A faux hero. I can’t believe I almost fell for the show.”

She turns away, leaving me behind before I can try to talk her down—even though I’m not sure what I’d say. I’m not exactly sure what just happened. I do know I didn’t handle it very well, though.

I follow her into the mass of bodies, but the energy slams against me, clouding my head with muck. My feet stop and my stomach rises. I knew I should’ve come alone. I spot Kara across the room; she’s climbing the stairs. Her bare back moves through the crowd, a flower tattoo I never noticed before winding up her side. She grabs some guy’s hand—a slick-looking boy in a pink polo shirt—and leads him up the steps to the bedrooms.

I consider pushing my way through the crowd to go pound the pink bastard’s face in and drag her ass back home. How is sleeping with some dickhead going to make her feel better? I stare and seethe and wonder why I even give a damn.

Someone grips my arm and I spin, every muscle in my body full of tension.

“You came!” It’s Samantha—the one who slipped me the card. “Ohmygod! I was so excited when you texted me!” She pulls me toward the back of the house.

We come to a glass sliding door and she pauses. “You have to save her. She’s being all gloomy and needs a pep-me-up. Can I count on you?”

I have no idea what to say.

She slides open the door, and I glance back at the stairs inside, thinking of Kara.

But she made her choice.

“She’s there, on the shore.” Samantha points.

I look away from the party and follow her finger and the sound of the waves to a white figure standing beside the moving darkness of the ocean.

My pulse picks up.

Rebecca.

I can’t sense anything from this far away, but I don’t see the demon anywhere. That doesn’t mean it isn’t close, though. It seems to have a way of sneaking up on me.

I walk out onto the deck, heading toward the shore. The wind hits me, erasing the sticky energy of the party. I let it clear my head as I walk past a couple making out on a lounge chair. It’s about thirty yards to the water’s edge where Rebecca’s standing. The walk finishes cleaning my insides, and I’m surrounded by the salt smell and the soothing rhythm of the tide. She doesn’t turn as I come closer. She hugs herself, staring out at the dark ocean, allowing its reaching white fingers to touch her bare toes.

I pause, watching her.

Wrapped in a white sweater and white lacy shorts, she’s almost a ghost against the colors of the night. She turns a little and spots me, her hand going to her throat.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

She steps closer, and a tiny shiver fills the space between us: anticipation. “You came . . .” Her hair moves with the breeze, covering her lips and chin, shadowing her curious eyes. I clench my fingers into a fist to keep from touching her. She tucks the copper strands of her hair behind her ear, saving me.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, glancing around. There’s no sign of the demon—not that I can feel in the air, not that I can see. All I smell is the brine of the ocean.

“I don’t even know who you are, your name . . .”

“My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Linn.” I study her face, wondering how to begin, wondering whether to say anything at all.

“Aidan,” she says, like she’s testing the feel of it.

“I need to ask you something.”

She looks at me curiously.

“I’m sorry, so sorry I have to ask this . . . but . . . what happened to your brother?”

Her eyes turn glassy. She shakes her head, terror growing on her face.

“Don’t be scared,” I say.

“Why are you asking me that?”

I need to find out what kind of demon I’m dealing with here. I shore up my courage and ask, “How did your brother die?”

She lets out a small whimper and shakes her head again. “He . . . he drowned.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Went out surfing at night.”

My chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” I say, but it’s so quiet I’m not sure she hears.

The fact that her brother drowned means the demon managed to kill him and make it look like an accident. A high-ranking soldier for sure, but likely not a body-hopper—that would’ve been messier, and a possessed Charlie would’ve taken others with him.

I think of the low-level creeper in the alley that was encouraging the guys to rape Rebecca. Probably the higher-ranking demon that killed Charlie is working on her now, sending minions to do its dirty work. But why go to so much trouble for just one family?

She moves a little closer. “I should have stopped him, but I wasn’t thinking.” Her eyes are pleading, like she’s asking me to take away the pain.

“I’m so sorry, Rebecca. It’s not your fault.”

She looks away, back out at the water. “I was thinking just now of walking into the waves. Maybe I’d find him again out there.” Her sorrow spills out, feeling like a tide all its own.

“I know it hurts. I know . . . but . . . your brother would want you to live.” The words feel useless as they leave my mouth. But I need to pull her back somehow. Despair thickens the air; it’s obvious the demon is winning this battle.

“I thought you were him,” she says. “That night you brought me home, I thought you were Charlie. You were so gentle, so kind. I thought he’d come back to me.” Our eyes lock. “Maybe he sent you.” She reaches out and takes my fingers in hers. “To watch over me.”

My skin burns where we touch. My lungs freeze up. It’s almost unreal how quick my body reacts to something so small, as if she’s right and it’s all falling into place. But it’s not, and I know that. It’s chemical, physical. Hormones. Not a good reason to give in to the feeling.

She’s close enough now that I can smell dryer sheets on her clothes, mingling with her sorrow . . . woven with a slight thread of hope?

Her fingers grip me tighter, like I’m a lifeline. She moves even closer, and her chest presses against mine.

I know she wants me to kiss her, to comfort her. My skin aches with the urgency to give in, but I—

She licks her bottom lip.

God, help me.

The tide comes in fast, drenching my shoes, an instant jolt back to reality.

I pull away, just a little, but I don’t let go of her hand. I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to. And I really don’t want to stop touching her.

“Rebecca.” I swallow, trying to form words. “It’s important that you—you need to realize how important it is that you live.” A demon would only be working overtime on her and her family if she was important. Vital in some way for the endgame. A threat to the darkness.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re important. You need to be strong.”

Her eyes fill and spill over, tears streaking her cheeks.

I start to pull back, but she grips my hand tighter and won’t let go. “Please. Tell me I’ll see you again.”

I stare at her, not sure what to say. Then I reach up to my chest and touch the
hamsa
charm I got from Hanna. Pulling it over my head, I realize I’m not supposed to save it for my sister like I thought. Rebecca needs the protection more than Ava right now.

I press it into Rebecca’s palm as I slip my other hand from hers. “Take this. Wear it. And don’t let go. Please . . .”

She studies the gift, rolling it with her fingers. After a second or two she nods, agreeing to live. At least for one more day.

Relief washes through me, a rush of hope, and before I can stop myself, I pull her close and kiss her forehead. But I release her in almost the same breath, stepping back, allowing space between us.

“Good,” I say. “I’ll be around.” I’m not sure it’s true, but I want it to be. God, help me. I want to be a part of her redemption.

I turn and walk away before I can say it out loud.

SEVENTEEN

I don’t look behind me as I return to the house to find Kara. Rebecca will be okay for tonight. I tell myself I’ve done what I could. All I could.

But I’m full of shit. I could have told her the truth. I could’ve warned her about the demon, about what it’s trying to do to her. Maybe she would’ve listened . . .

No. No, she wouldn’t have. The news would’ve gone over like a ton of bricks.

Keep it hidden, keep it safe
.

It’s time to go back to reality. I need to find Kara and get her home before she does anything too stupid because of my big mouth.

I step onto the deck, which is abandoned now; the couple that was making out on the lounge chair is gone. I’m about to grab the door handle when something moves in the corner of my vision.

The scent of sulfur hits me, forcing a cough as I choke on the sudden strength of it. It’s here. My pulse races. I grip the door handle, staring at the glass, trying to decide if I should face it. My reflection stares back at me, jaw clenched, fear in my eyes.

Why bother pretending I’m not aware of its presence? It knows I see. I know it knows.

There’s a scratching at the deck. I look down. A cat-sized demon with a warped spine emerges from the house
through
the glass door. It glances up at me, pointed ears perking in my direction. A necklace of tiny bones clinks around its neck—it’s the demon from the alley, from the night Rebecca was almost raped. It hisses through dagger teeth that drip with saliva, back hair bristling.

My muscles tense, ready to act, but the demon turns and crawls over to the other side of the deck, resting at the hooves of a ten-foot creature three yards away.

Holy shit.

The larger demon stares at me with red eyes—stares through me, as if trying to burn me to a crisp by mere will.

All I can do is gape back. Thick horns sprout from its head, at least a foot and a half high, and its feet are cloven like a goat’s. Muscles wrap each limb, strong as iron. The body is a man’s, except for the places where bone juts through the black skin and takes the shape of thorns and prongs.

“Seer,” it growls in a low rumble that shakes the air.

My insides turn liquid. This thing could crush me into nothing.

I slide my hand into my pocket, gripping a pouch of sacred dirt, and recite Psalm 91 in my head:
With His feathers He will cover you, and under His wings you will trust; His truth is an encompassing shield . . .

The small demon climbs up the larger demon’s leg and up its side to perch on its shoulder. It tips its oversized head at me curiously.

I take a step back. The chill of the large demon surrounds me, forcing my breath out in quick white puffs. “Stay back.”

“How are you here?” the large demon asks, and I wonder why its words don’t sound garbled. I can understand it.

Still, I have no idea what it means.
How am I here?
What?

“The father,” it says. “It is the father’s magic. The others claim you are not possible. You should not exist, Seer. You have no father in this world—I have searched.”

My mind spins. What the hell’s it talking about? How does it know these things about me? And what does it mean that it
searched
and found no father?

I lean on the sliding door to keep myself up.

“Don’t say it,” I plead. But I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Don’t say what? The truth? I’ve both wanted and feared the answers for so long.

In a flash, the beast is close enough to touch me, a breath away.

I press into the glass at my back, positive it’s about to crack from the pressure.

The monster hovers over me, its sulfur breath stinging my lungs. “I will be watching you, Seer,” it says. “Your flesh is mine if you meddle in my task. Hordes of my kind will chase after you, tormenting you until you break. They will strip the flesh from your bones and tear the heart from your chest.” It licks its cracked lips, tongue slick grey. “I will make sure of it. It should not be so difficult to destroy a boy who should not exist.”

Then it backs away a little. “But your presence will not be known to the dark prince of these lands if you stay away.”

All I feel is the thunder in my chest.

The beast turns to the smaller demon on its shoulder. “How is the seer’s companion?”

The small demon rises up and whispers in its lord’s ear. The large demon’s sneer grows, and it looks over at me, face turning smug. It takes a deep breath, filling its lungs. “Yes, I smell it now. She bleeds.”

And I know who they mean.

Kara.

“What have you done?” I ask.

The smaller demon hisses, baring its teeth.

The large one laughs with a low rumble. “Merely a little insurance for your cooperation, Seer-boy. I’ll find you again. Soon.”

With a suck of air, both of them are gone, leaving only the reek of death behind.

I fumble for the door handle, rattling the glass in my urgency.

Images of blood and bits and horror flash through my head . . . the sound of my voice calling her a bitch . . . me caught up with Rebecca while Kara was in trouble.

I crash into the crowd, pushing back at the thick, dark energy, reaching out, searching,
searching
. The scent of copper and pain fills my chest.

Breathe, just breathe
. That’s not the smell of blood. It’s not.

But it is . . .

I scramble up the stairs, stepping on a passed-out body, nearly tripping on a bong, sending it crashing into the wall with a crack. I grab the first doorknob I come to—burst in on two couples tangled together—move on to the next, and the next. By the third I’m nearly coming out of my skin.

The knob won’t budge. My fist pounds on the wood. “Let me in!” I growl. “Let me the fuck in!”

I hear a moan.

“Kara? Is that you?”

Another moan. Not of pleasure but of pain.

My skin catches fire, and I kick, cracking the doorjamb. One more kick and the door swings open.

I take in the shape of a couch on the far wall, a TV on the other. An end table knocked over, a lamp on the floor. A bloody handprint near the window.

My throat clenches tight. “Kara . . .”

Another moan comes from somewhere in the room, and there’s movement behind the door. An arm. A bloody-knuckled hand. The smell of dagger-sharp fear.

I rush over, pulling her from the shadows, lifting her up. “I’m so sorry,” I say, gathering her into my arms.

Please be okay. God, please let her be okay.

I look her over, her arms, her legs. Nothing looks broken. Her face is swollen and bloody, one eye already purple, a cheek puffed up and split.

“Hey, that’s mine,” comes a slurred voice behind me.

I turn to see Pink Polo Boy. He’s swaying a little.

I set Kara back down gently. “What’d you do to her, you little shit?”

“Nothing yet.” He sounds pissed. “The bitch’s playing Fort Knox.” He waves at his face, pointing out something I hadn’t noticed before. Scratches. And his jaw looks a little swollen, like she hit him. “You can have at her if you want.” He smiles, all twisted and wrong, like he’d be thrilled to watch me use her.

My vision turns red, and I lunge, pummeling him before he can move. A left to the gut, bending him to knee him in the face. Then I lift him back up, his nose gushing blood, and thud him in the side of the head with my fist.

He falls over in a heap.

I go back to Kara, lifting her into my arms. She moans, curling into my chest. “I’ll kick his ass,” she mumbles.

I release a small laugh, relieved to hear her voice. “Yeah,” I say. “He’ll be down for the count any second now.”

I carry her from the room. A small group of onlookers stands outside the door now. I pass them and walk down the stairs. They follow, whispering to each other, craning their necks to see the damage done. Rebecca’s one of the faces, her mouth open in shock as she watches me pass by with Kara in my arms.

When I’m back in the night air at the front of the house, I have to gasp to breathe. My head is fogged with all my lingering rage, the mess of what just happened, and what it might mean.

Pink Polo Boy was so drunk he won’t remember me or Kara. But the demon made itself very clear: it’s planning on keeping tabs now.

I never should have come.