Demon Hunt (21 page)

The interior of the truck fell silent for the reminder of the trip as Rhi leaned back again to pretend to nap, hoping she would wake up soon from this final, bizarre nightmare.

Blackthorne stopped the SUV for a moment at Pam’s house to watch the little green truck make its way into the drive. Then he drove up the winding road to Rhi’s driveway. As usual every light blazed and Ellie Mae stood in the middle of her kennel, baying for all she was worth.

“
Thank God she’s okay,” Rhi breathed as they skidded to a stop. She jumped from the vehicle without a backwards glance.

Blackthorne swore and reached for his sword, unsheathing it as he climbed out while Rhi ran across the open ground to the kennel to release the dog.

He caught up to her as she knelt to lavish affectionate hugs and kisses on the dog, both completely ignoring their surroundings. Grimly, he turned on his heel to survey the house, porch and woods. Luckily, his brother had not sent the dragon to lay in wait.

“
Why don’t you let the dog stay in the house all day?” Blackthorne grumbled. “Accidents?”

“
No, she’d make it,” Rhi replied blithely, ignoring his irritation. She rubbed the big dog’s ears so hard they flapped. Ellie Mae groaned and lay down in the snow to roll over and expose her tummy for a rub. Rhi obliged immediately. “But Ellie’s a bloodhound. She’s miserable inside. She wants to smell the wind and watch the woods. When I first moved here, she almost went through the bay window trying to get a look at a raccoon. And any dog in this area has to be kept in a covered kennel when it is outside alone because of the mountain lions.”

He rolled his eyes. “And the heated doghouse? For some reason I doubt the first homesteaders up here offered their hunting dogs this kind of luxury.”

Rhi rubbed noses with the dog. “Nothing’s too good for my girl, is it, baby? Who’s the prettiest bloodhound? Who’s a pretty girl?”

The dog, seeming to understand the compliment, hopped up and jumped in happy circles around the girl.

Rhi stood and stretched. “Time to get inside before we get … er, you know. Will going inside help?”

“
It will help,” Blackthorne replied, staring at the contours of her face in the light of the house’s exterior floodlights. “Pearl is rather good at setting wards. Nothing small can get in and I will know if something big knocks on the door.” He hesitated. “You do know you need to invite me in to get me past Pearl’s wards or this spot is as far as I can go, don’t you?” he asked, a little anxiously. “You’ve brought me this far - you have to invite me the rest of the way.”

“
You mean I can make you stand here in the snow all night if I don’t invite you in?”

Blackthorne grinned, a surprise in the darkness. If Rhi hadn’t known he was centuries old, she would have thought of him as boyish at that moment. “Yes. I’ll have to stand here until I’m a mound of snow - and it
is
going to snow more tonight.”

“
Don’t tempt me.” Rhi grabbed the still wriggling dog by the collar to lead it inside. She paused. “You aren’t
thirsty,
are you? How often do you need to…? Oh crap. I hereby invite you into my home. Please accept my hospitality without drinking my blood - or my dog.”

“
For the last time - I
don’t
drink blood!” He finally approached with his sword in one hand. The other was held out for Ellie Mae’s inspection. Blackthorne was invading the animal’s territory. A formal introduction was important.

Ellie Mae’s sensitive nose bowed over the offered hand for a moment and hesitated. A long tongue lapped at his hand and her tail wagged so hard the dog almost lost her balance and fell over in the snow.

He straightened and Ellie Mae leaned against his leg, begging for more attention. “The first one of you women to get me.”

Rhi stared at him, white lacy bits of the falling snowflakes entangling themselves in his dark hair. Blackthorne raised the hand her dog licked and almost touched her face. She had a strong sense of déjà vu and knew the gesture was one he had performed often in the distant past.

“
You’re beautiful, Rhi.”

She stepped back. “Let’s get inside before I change my mind and let you become an undead Popsicle lawn jockey.”

He fell in behind her as she marched towards the house, continuing his careful survey of the surrounding forest. As Rhi opened the door, Ellie Mae slid around her to search the house, inspecting every corner. The dog returned to his side to watch Blackthorne secure the door with the deadbolt and various movements and mutterings.

“
Are you magiking everything?” Rhi asked, taking off her coat. She wanted to ask him if he liked her house - or if he wanted to snuggle. Did knights snuggle?

“
Yes - as a matter of fact, I am. No insult to your large furry friend, but I’ll rest easier this way. We did see a dragon tonight.”

“
Don’t disrespect the Lady Ellie Mae - Sir or Lord Whatever. Her liking you is a sure sign you are
not
damned in my book. She’s been my best friend for a long time.” She leaned on the counter to check the answering machine before remembering that she had turned it off to avoid calls while she read - in a morning now years away.

She stood for a moment in the kitchen, absorbing the familiar things of her everyday life. The bread maker, useless at this altitude, sat on the counter along with her lifeline - the 12-cup coffee maker. A shaky looking potholder made for her by Pam’s daughter hung from a hook near the stove. All of these bits of life were now meaningless because of one man - who might have made her life both meaningful and meaningless in another time.

The shadows outside the kitchen curtains startled her for a second. She shook her head and sighed. Any monster from the depths of her worst nightmares could be sizing up her house at that moment.

* * * *

Blackthorne stood in the light of the television she snapped on for the dog. He removed his coat and, after leaning the sword against the couch, sank into the recliner to look her house over. It had the comfortable feel of a library. Rhi had resisted the temptation most newcomers to Colorado succumbed to: decorating with mass-produced western décor more suited to an apartment in Cleveland than a true mountain home.

The only homage to her Colorado address was a black and white nature photo of the front-range on the wall and a few well-chosen pieces of pottery. A large stack of books about Cripple Creek lay in a haphazard pile beside the chair partially hidden underneath a flannel blanket. He picked one up to browse through. The dog ignored both of them and climbed on the couch to lie at her full length along it. The animal gave a deep sigh of contentment.

“
Pardon a stupid question - but do you sleep? I don’t have a silk-lined coffin handy,” Rhi called as she rummaged through the house, banging objects and stomping on the hardwood floors.

He kicked back in the chair and flipped up the footrest. “Yes, I sleep. And I do
not
need a coffin.”

A sleeping bag hit him in the chest, followed by a fluffy pillow that smacked him in the face with undue force.

“
Then there’s your spot, because Ellie has the couch and I don’t have a spare bed,” she said, standing at the top of the staircase against the wall.

He suppressed a smile. She’d dressed for bed in a knee length t-shirt announcing the Cripple Creek Donkey Derby Days festival, her bare feet white against the wood floor.

“
This has been the weirdest, longest day of my life. Uh -
this
life, anyway.”

“
This chair will be lovely, thank you, ma’am.”

She sat down on the staircase, pulling the shirt down over her knees and examining him. Ellie Mae rumbled and rose from the couch to totter past, up the stairs to lie at the top of the landing behind her mistress. The hound’s ears flowed over the first step. Rhi ran her hands down Ellie Mae’s soft ears, a habitual gesture.

“
What does a crusader and a madam do to entertain themselves for decades on end while waiting for the proverbial crap to hit the fan? Play poker? Pearl would win.”

Blackthorne leaned back in the chair, his joints popping with the stretch. “Members of the Brotherhood are problem solvers in our spare time. The gates have a tendency to influence events, cause problems, and we have to solve them while safeguarding the very things influencing the bad guys in the first place. We have fun sometimes - go out to dinner, vacations, and yes, play poker. Constant war would drive us mad after a few decades.”

“
And how do you ‘solve’ big problems?”

“
We’re knights, Rhi, we live by the sword … you figure it out.”

* * * *

His voice was cold. There was no mistaking this man. He took lives regularly and would not hesitate to do so again. But if he was doing the cold macho man for her benefit, he was wasting oxygen, Rhi decided. “What about Pearl? She seems quite content.”

“
Pearl lives near her assigned gate in the Far East and has a bitter hatred for the child slavers who prostitute children near her home. She has a nasty habit of hunting them down and killing the slavers. Negotiating isn’t her specialty.”

“
No surprise there. What about the gates? Aren’t you responsible for this one?”

“
When the gate’s being messed with - I know. And I can be here in seconds. They aren’t easy to open.” He shifted in the chair. “Do you think I could have the remote?”

The very normal male question startled her for a moment. She pointed to the remote sitting on the arm of the chair. “If this is real - you should make me a member of your club
now
so I can have a fighting chance. I know it gives you extra abilities. Like your flying tonight.”

“
Absolutely not. It isn’t like in the movies. Becoming a Changeling is painful. And our needs can be … disturbing. You know what I did before I met you this evening? I stopped at one of the casinos and charmed one of those mean-as-a-snake, blousy old ladies from the Springs to walk outside with me for enough of a moment to take a pinch of her aura.” He flipped through one of her books as he spoke. He could have been discussing the weather. “I sent her back in with no memory of me but a wobble in her knees and the implanted knowledge to not talk to strangers. Our priests claim we’re not damned for using demon blood as we do, but I’m not so sure.”

The man looked almost normal except for talking about a little theft of soul. Then there were the extra long incisors that showed every time he opened his mouth a bit too much. He could become a blood drinker if he wanted to. Did he think about what it would be like, to not drink the aura but instead the actual essence of life?

Continuing to pet Ellie Mae, Rhi concealed a flinch. Rubbing the bruises on her arm where he’d clutched her earlier, she rose to go to bed. “Well, goodnight.”

His face inscrutable, he flipped through the channel, not glancing up. “Goodnight, Rhiannon.”

Finally snug in her bed, she felt surprisingly sleepy and fell asleep almost at once. And the dreams followed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In the living room, Blackthorne stared at the television screen, seeing nothing but the laughing face of a girl with waist length, blue-black hair and dancing green gaze that never left his face.

In Manitou, they walked together in the kitchen garden under the watchful eye of Raven’s mother.

The older woman, who was dressed in full mystic regalia, stood at attention by the kitchen window looking like a black widow spider on the verge of descending upon him any moment. Blackthorne was careful to keep his expressions neutral when calling upon Mrs. Brennan’s magical daughter. It wouldn’t do to have the mother of the girl who entranced him so see the hint of fangs mixed in among his otherwise normal white teeth. The woman was, after all, one of the most powerful witches he’d ever met except for her daughter.

The morning dew lingered in the cobwebs among the herbs and tomato plants. Shy with him even though she was aware of some of his deepest secrets, Raven strolled silently beside him, dwarfed by his height. Every few moments she would make a valiant effort to suppress a cough rising from her diseased lungs.

With a quick glance at the window where her mother stood - she wrapped her tiny fingers around the smallest finger on his hand. Her shyness enchanted him and her illness broke his heart. Then there were those marvelous flashes of spirit and mischievousness Raven showed such as when she told her mother the tall well-dressed man at the door was calling on her, not her healthy, blonde older sister. Jack Blackthorne never believed he was capable of falling in love. The war of good verses evil was his calling, not the soft attentions of a woman. But he had been doomed to love Raven from the moment he first saw her in the meadow at a society picnic, a pale-faced flower in a sea of blankets and skirts, looking forlorn and lonely.

“
Raven,” he whispered aloud.