Demon Night (31 page)

He was just glad to find her there; she disappeared from Caelum for irregular stretches of time. But excepting those absences, he didn't figure she'd stepped out of the temple since the Ascension, with only the Scrolls, books, and the occasional visitor for company.

Though she must have heard him coming, Ethan opened his shields and projected a warm greeting. He and Alice had been transformed around the same time, trained by the same Guardians—and she was one of the few who hadn't ever taken to calling him Drifter.

“Ethan.” Her eyes thawed slightly at his approach. “You look well. Considering what I've heard of your brother, I hope your appearance is not deceptive.”

“It ain't.” He grinned when her mouth turned down with her disapproval. She'd never been a schoolmarm, but he figured if she had been, she'd have used the ruler well and often. “Is yours?”

Her frown disappeared, smoothing into a tiny smile. “No. Is this your usual social call, or are you looking for something?”

“Looking for something. You got anything on the nephilim? The offspring of humans and demons—it may have been recorded as a myth.”

She tilted her head, almost birdlike. “I seem to recall coming across a mention of them about thirty or forty years ago. I believe I can locate it, if you have some time to wait.”

“I do. I'll be in my quarters three, maybe four hours. If you find anything, it'll need to be transcribed.”

Only Michael could vanish the Scrolls, or carry them through a Gate. Nor could they be photocopied or scanned; if a copy was to be made, it had to be written out by hand.

“Would you like me to translate it, as well?” Alice asked with a teasing lift of her brow.

Ethan shook his head. “I'll be taking it to Hugh.” Castleford could easily read the Latin; Ethan still stumbled over his.

Alice nodded. “Very well.”

“I'm much obliged.”

She gave his arm a poke with her bony elbow. “Are you so obliged that when you pick these up, you'll tell me a little about this vampire I've been hearing about?”

Ethan figured he might just talk her ear off; but for now, he dropped a kiss to her cheek and walked away to a sound that was eerily like a cackle.

 

Ethan's quarters were halfway up a large spire at the edge of the city. There weren't any doors; just an arch that opened to a view of the silent, waveless sea surrounding Caelum. Looking out, it was near impossible to tell where sky and water met at the horizon—the sea reflected an image of pure, dizzying blue.

Inside, it was just dizzying white. Ethan had broken it up some with items he'd collected—from other Guardians before he'd gone active duty, and in his own travels after he'd returned to Earth.

Still, it wasn't much to look at. He'd never had much of a hand at decorating, and most everything he needed he kept with him in his cache. It was certainly nothing like Charlie's brightly colored and cozy space.

Thinking of her room, he reckoned maybe he'd take his bed with him this time. He didn't much relish the idea of having his loving interrupted every time his feet became caught between the slats in her footboard.

He vanished his clothes, laid faceup on the mattress. No breeze to tickle his skin. No sound or smell. He closed his eyes, got rid of the white, and let himself drift into the emptiness.

It was vast, and more than capable of taking everything he had to throw into it…until he brushed up against something that was Charlie's. Then she tugged at him, pulled him back in.

Less than ten minutes after he'd lain down, Ethan sat up, frowning out into the blue.

He was missing her—and didn't want to rid himself of the effect of her touch, her smell. Not when he didn't have something to fill him right back up again.

Instinct led him to searching through his cache, looking for something to use. He'd left most of her things with her, but there were towels from her laundry that likely held her scent.

He dropped one onto the bed beside him, tried again.

Not perfect, but better; she was still there, and he could get rid of the fuzz without fearing so much that he was losing something of her.

But everything else…everything else, it could go.

 

When he got back to SI, Ethan paused only long enough to drop off the transcribed Scrolls at Castleford's office before running up the stairs. Sunset was five minutes away, and Charlie would be more comfortable waking up to a familiar face than a strange room.

He frowned walking through the common area; he was still getting those grave looks, and everyone was speaking real quiet-like when he entered a room. They all needed a talking-to, or a solid beating at the poker table. Losing a bundle of money would make them a bit less sympathetic.

Charlie's door was sealed with the spell. Ethan blinked and tried again, fighting the disappointment…and failing.

Well, son of a bitch. He hadn't even considered that she'd lock everyone out while she slept, but she must have been worried about her privacy.

“Drifter.”

Ethan swung around, suddenly uneasy. He couldn't mistake the concern in Jake's psychic scent.

“Is Charlie all right?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “And, no. I had to put up the spell about thirty minutes after sunrise because she was projecting so hard that we couldn't block it out. I went back inside around noon, but there's been no change.”

Jake swung the door open.

Everything looked just fine. Two new throws lay over the foot of the bed; she must have knitted both after he'd left. She'd taken the time to dress in her pajama bottoms and a—

Jake lowered the spell, and the psychic wave hit Ethan hard, left him struggling for breath.
God Almighty
. Fear, despair, and loss were pouring from her, choking him under their weight.

He went in; Charlie was sleeping curled up on her side. She clutched the ragged feather beneath her chin, and her grip on it didn't loosen when he pulled her up into his arms.

But there was nothing to do but hold her. A vampire's daysleep—and the dreams that came with them—was solid, unbreakable.

“Jake.” His voice was rough. “Get the spell up.”

Jake drew in a sharp breath. “She's skinny again.”

Ethan couldn't answer for a long minute. “Yes,” he finally said hoarsely, and brushed her hair back from her cheek. Almost as bad as the previous night, but she'd fed enough she shouldn't have lost any weight. A healthy vampire might go two, three days without looking so emaciated, even if the bloodlust was tearing at them. “You go on out now.”

Jake hesitated. “Milliken didn't feed much, but when he did, he still woke up looking starved like that—”

“
Go on out, Jake
.”

Ethan waited for the click of the door before rolling onto the bed and tucking Charlie against him. She wasn't breathing, didn't react, couldn't respond.

And a vampire's daysleep had never seemed so much like death to him.

Charlie gasped herself awake, clawing her way out of darkness and frigid blood—into Ethan's strong embrace and the warmth of his voice murmuring her name over and over.

The lights in the room were off, but she clearly saw his face, his cheek against the pillow and only inches from hers. And she saw the worry in his eyes, even before he said, “Bad dreams again?”

Charlie nodded, pressing her lips tight. Did every vampire go through this?

His gaze was direct. “What are they about?”

“Jane,” she rasped. “Blood.”

He trailed his fingers along her jaw. “I saw her this morning. They're staying at the Marriott, downtown. Separate rooms.”

She couldn't halt her smile. “She'll make him pay, at least a little. Although I guess for a demon, it wouldn't be punishment.”

“I reckon it is. It may be he began sharing her bed to strengthen his hold on her, so as she wouldn't leave him—but he loves her, so it's likely it also gives him some measure of satisfaction when he pleases her. Denying him that opportunity would be punishment.” The corner of Ethan's mouth tilted up, but the lines beside his eyes didn't echo his smile. “He sure did look awful sorry. And I didn't speak with her, but she seemed all right, Charlie.”

“That's good.” She couldn't come up with a better response; he was so close, and she was so, so tired. She cleared her throat. “Did I sleep the whole day?”

“Yes. It's half past eight.”

She blinked. Sunset was at seven thirty, and she'd woken just after it the night before. “That late?”

“Yes.” His eyes closed for a long second before he met hers again. “You hungry?”

“No. A little, maybe—but not like last time.” She sighed, rose up onto her elbow. “I should probably call Old Matthew before it gets too—”

“It can wait a spell, Charlie.” Ethan's palm smoothed over her shoulder, brought her closer to him. “And if you feed now, when you're not too hungry, we can see if that's why it was hurting last night.”

“Oh.” Her gaze fell to his neck, and her thirst swelled, a mild ache in her fangs.

Mild…
not
uncontrollable. She scooted toward him; he was on his side, but she was leaning so far over she was almost on her stomach, her thigh against the front of his trousers.

Sexual excitement was threading through her veins now, almost indistinguishable from the thirst—but Ethan wasn't hard.

She touched his throat, his skin like rough satin beneath her fingers. “Just feeding again?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

There was an odd, hollow note in his voice. She studied his face, looking for evidence of whatever was causing it, but didn't see anything except an expressionless mask.

“Ethan…is everything okay?”

His only response was to cup the back of her head, draw her gently down to his neck. Her fingers rose to unbutton his shirt.

“Are you sure?” She smoothed his collar back until it folded over his suspender, and she had to stifle her soft moan of anticipation when she revealed the muscle bunched atop his shoulder. Almost of their own volition, her hips rolled against the mattress. “Because I could probably find a rat or something. That was how I earned my extra spending money when I was in New York. I used to steal my roommate's flute, and head on down to the subway—”

Her lips touched his throat. Ethan tensed beside her. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, but his scent, so masculine, almost undetectable, was filling her head. She hadn't known it was there, but now that she'd inhaled it, she didn't think she'd ever get enough.

She eased into him, his skin parting beneath her fangs with the faintest pressure. His hands clenched on her hips, his pleasured groan an echo of hers, a hum against her tongue. And then there was
Ethan
, heated and liquid, a symphony of strings and reeds, all rising together in a strong, steady beat.

So incredible. She memorized the sound, tried to tease out the notes. The agonizing scream was there, but she barely heard it beneath the luscious tones that made up his lifeblood, beneath Ethan's harsh breathing in her ear. She pushed him onto his back and slung her leg over his stomach.

And because she
could
stop, she did, licking across the already-healing punctures.

Ethan's hands settled on her waist. “Was it hurting you, Charlie?”

“No.” She kissed his jaw, his chin. “I could feel it, but it's not so painful this time.”

“It shouldn't be painful at all.”

She lifted her head, met his eyes. “Maybe not, but it's not
so
bad.” She paused, studied him. His features were still unreadable. “And you're okay?”

A smile broke the flat line of his mouth. “Even though I don't mean to, Charlie, you take just one little bite and I'm stretching out my britches and feeling mighty fine.” His hands caught her cheeks, prevented her from sitting up. “Now, don't you go looking or touching, or this won't be just a feeding.”

She nodded breathlessly. “What about later tonight?”

“I'd like that, Miss Charlie.” His gaze fell to her lips, and his throat worked before he repeated softly, “I'd like that an awful lot.”

“Me, too.” She smiled, dropped a kiss to his mouth before trailing her tongue down to his throat. “I'm going to bite you again, Ethan.”

“All right. I reckon I'll just lay here and moan.”

She was laughing when her fangs pierced him. Could he feel her emotions when she fed from him? The erotic pleasure of it, obviously—but did she send anything else, or did he have to deliberately look into her? And could she get into him?

But even if she could, it wouldn't be right to go in without asking; and if he'd wanted her to know, he'd have projected as he had before.

And the blood told her some: grief, arousal, and determination sang louder than anything else, and all of them ran deep.

As deep as her own. Lust and love and thirst…

Thirst. It struck quick, hard, disguised and gathering below her sexual need, then tearing its way through. She'd been feeding softly, leisurely, but now she was sucking down great drafts, her fingers digging into Ethan's shoulders, and she had to have him in her
in her
—

“Charlie.” Ethan panted her name. “You're all right. I swear I won't—”

But the rest was lost beneath the shriek that ripped into her mind.

She couldn't scream. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she tried to brush them away before Ethan felt them, but her hands were tugging her pajamas, tearing them, her fingers fanning and flaming the cold fire burning inside her.

Until she came apart, ecstasy splintering and flinging her wide—and agony followed every sharp piece.

When she pulled herself together, she was soft and dull, with Ethan ebbing into her. His palms ran gently over her hair, down the damp skin of her lower back. Her shirt was gone again. She slid her fingers from the wetness between her legs, her fangs from his throat, and licked the puncture wounds as they closed. Only a few crimson drops marred the pillowcase.

“Ethan.” She couldn't look at him. “Are you all right?”

His hands found hers, clasped them tight. A now-familiar harmony vanished from her mind; she hadn't noticed his psychic presence until he slipped away.

“No, Miss Charlie.” His voice was ragged around the edges. “I don't reckon I am.”

 

Ethan waited until he heard the spray of the shower before slipping out of the room. He didn't like leaving her alone, but he couldn't put this off—and he wasn't going to feed her again until he had some answers.

Charlie had called whatever she'd been hearing painful.

Ethan hadn't
heard
it, but he'd felt it when he'd pushed his way into her head—and it hadn't been anything like what he'd expected. “Painful” was the stab of a knife, a gunshot wound.

Not his skin slowly being flayed from his flesh; that was more like torture.

And it had worsened—not when the bloodlust had grabbed hold of her, as he'd half-expected, but when he'd begun actively resisting the need tearing through him.

The previous night, she'd said it wasn't hers—and now he figured she was correct.

It was his.

Had it been hindering her transformation? She'd been adjusting in every other way, but feeding was central to a vampire's existence. And there hadn't been much good to come out of living as one yet—only loss and pain.

He stepped into one of the soundproofed communications rooms adjacent to the main offices to make the call, and he'd spoken just a few words when Selah was suddenly in the room with him, her cell phone against her ear.

“This is so much easier,” she said as she lowered the phone. “What's the problem?”

This was about as uncomfortable a topic as he could imagine, but there wasn't anyone who knew more about being with a vampire than Selah. “Feeding,” he said quietly. “It's hurting Charlie.”

A line formed between Selah's brows. “Are you forcing yourself to submit to her?”

“No. I'm more than willing.” He drew a deep breath, and he focused on a point over her head. “I've heard that when you first fed Marsden, you kept him from…well, from—”

“Yes,” Selah said, and he felt her studying him. “You're giving her time.”

Ethan nodded. “Was it painful for Marsden—you resisting him?”

“I didn't resist him,” Selah said. “I kept us from having sex.”

Ethan frowned and leaned back against a desk, crossing his arms. Most times, he had no trouble understanding Selah. But when feelings and the bed came into a conversation, he figured some women just started speaking a different language. “You want to explain the difference to me? Because I sure ain't following.”

“If you resist what the bloodlust is doing to you, you're going to hurt her.”

“And if I don't resist, I'll hurt her another way.” If not physically, then by destroying the trust between them, breaking the promise he'd made. He couldn't determine if that would be worse than what his resistance was already doing to her.

Selah's eyebrows winged upward. “You already want her. The bloodlust only increases the intensity of it.”

“That it does. Makes it near impossible not to—”

“
Near
impossible. But if your reaction to her is anything like mine to Lucas, I'd bet that even without the bloodlust, it's near impossible, too,” Selah said.

He scrubbed his hand over his hair, feeling damned awkward as he admitted, “That's true enough.”

“Yet you're able to stop, no matter how badly you want to keep going.” A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Have a bit of faith in yourself, Drifter. The bloodlust takes their choice, not yours—and you won't hurt someone you mean to protect. You aren't an Enthralled novice anymore.”

And he wasn't—but he sure hadn't trusted himself any more than if he still had been one.

Well, hell. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “In the past twenty-four hours, I've said something similar to Jake about faith, and told Charlie the same thing about not being a novice.”

“Funny how that happens. I find myself quoting Hugh about once a day,” she said, then added wryly, “And, depending on the situation I find myself in, I change the wording about ten times a day.”

Adapting, adjusting. Selah vanished, and Ethan walked back to Charlie's room. He'd be doing his own adjusting now. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference, but he wouldn't be resisting Charlie again.

And if it
didn't
make a difference…he simply didn't know what he'd do.

 

Ethan was quiet when he returned, and he stood watching her as she finished getting ready—but Charlie couldn't find much to say, either. And her attempts to reassure him, tell him that she was okay only seemed to deepen his silence.

It continued as she walked with him to the tech room and endured a searching glance from Jake. Even seeing the e-mail from Jane did little to lighten her mood. And though Jane had included a personal reference to let Charlie know it truly was her sister, the bulk of the message wasn't for her.

After she'd read halfway through, she turned in her chair. Ethan was frowning down at the new cell phone Jake had placed in his hand.

“Drifter,” she said, and he looked up. “Jane says that Sammael let the vampires go, and gave each of her colleagues the option to stay or leave—although those who left couldn't take any of their research with them. Five of the scientists—and all of the vampires—stayed.”

Jake frowned. “All of them? How'd Legion manage that?”

“Because a demon could likely convince a wolf to shed its fur in the middle of a blizzard,” Ethan said dryly, then released a heavy breath. “Or he's lying. I ought to contact those who left, then, and see if they want any help from us.”