Demon Night (44 page)

Ethan paused. “How's that?”

She couldn't think of anything beyond his fingers against her nipple. “Until tonight, I didn't know you needed anything from me so much that you'd lose control and take it.”

He paled, and she caught his face between her hands. “That came out wrong,” she said. “I loved every second of it. Loved that you used me to get what you needed. I was with you the whole way; it just took me a while to realize what you were looking for. And even then, I was hoping it really was something you wanted, not a burden.”

“It ain't.” His voice was thick. “I want it, Miss Charlie. And you already know I'll provide you anything you need, give you everything you want.”

She didn't let her gaze move from his. Anything above a whisper was impossible, and she pulled his face to hers, said against his lips, “I know.”

Ethan gave up trying to drift half an hour after sunrise. Charlie lay unmoving in his arms, her heart barely beating. He'd hoped that their hours together in bed would prevent the terror of the previous night from touching her dreams—and judging by the soft yearning in her psychic scent, the faint arousal, she'd escaped it.

But he thought the yearning might tear him apart faster than terror would. Even the fierce pleasure of having her love didn't cut the agony that she was still needing something—and that she was still not asking him for it.

With a sigh, he forced himself out of bed, scrubbed his hands over his face and hair. He wasn't overly fuzzy; having his brain smashed had gotten rid of most of it. Then he'd steeled himself against his rage and fear, focusing on Sammael, and not much else had gotten in.

Leastwise, not until Charlie had said something about letting Sammael provide her blood.

He hadn't done right by her. He'd known she'd been trying to put him at ease, but the thought had provoked such a cold dread, he hadn't seen much beyond making certain she admitted her need for
him
.

And she hadn't spooked, though he'd pushed her awful hard. Harder than he ought to have. He couldn't regret it, not when it had drawn such a sweet declaration from her—but he also couldn't shake the feeling that as far as she'd gone, he'd somehow ended up in the same place he'd started, and now he was flying to catch up.

He sure as hell wished he knew what she needed—and if pushing again would just shove her farther away.

Dressing took longer than normal; there was plenty of blood to vanish into his cache, all of it his. Forming his wings so as they could heal was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.

But he did, and then groaned his way downstairs. No one was in the house to hear him, and when he saw Jake waiting on the deck outside, he was tempted to just turn around and lay next to Charlie until the novice went away.

He sucked up his groans and lowered the shield instead. “Her eyes are more hazel-like,” he drawled. “Her teeth ain't so straight, and her bosom's not inflated like one of your video girls. She wouldn't ever wear a skirt that short. You forgot the scar on her throat, and her natural hair color is darkish brown.”

Jake tore his wide-eyed gaze from Ethan's wings, opened his mouth.

Ethan shook his head, silently cursing Lilith and Castleford, Mark Brandt, the nephilim, Sammael, and the damn sun. Charlie would like to have enjoyed taking a few hits at Jake right then. “Before you say some fool thing that'll have me setting those teeth crooked for you, I'm talking about the hair at her scalp.”

A wry smile curved Jake's pretty lips. The novice's expressions were his own; there was no mistaking him for Charlie if someone knew her well. Mark Brandt didn't, so Ethan figured that'd be all right. Sending Jake in wasn't altogether a bad plan, just mostly one.

“I think this is the first time I've seen you pissy, Drifter.”

“I ain't pissy,” Ethan bit out. “Just a mite disturbed.”

Jake's gaze rose to his wings again. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Shucks, no.” Ethan turned away. His left wingtip dragged on the floor, and the arch still showed raw flesh; his right had been mangled pretty bad when he'd landed on it, and bent a couple of ways that it shouldn't be bending. “This ain't nothing but an itty bitty scratch. Hurting is what'll happen to you if you decide to take a look-see around that body while you're in this house.”

“I wouldn't.”

Ethan looked at him.

“…anywhere that you can hear me.” Jake's grin showed fangs.

“You ought to get rid of those, too,” Ethan said. “You ain't a vampire tonight. You'll play her a little scared—knowing about us, but not being one of us.”

Jake's fangs shortened into human teeth. “What if he knows she's been turned?”

“Even if he's heard rumors, Brandt hasn't seen her close up. Maybe it'll unsettle him a bit, make him realize he doesn't know as much as he thinks.” And if Brandt hadn't heard—if he thought that Charlie was still human—then there wouldn't be any fangs to frighten him. It wouldn't do for the boy to bolt before he'd talked.

Ethan carefully maneuvered through the door to the tech room. Hopefully Savi would have come up with something more on the Brandts or Legion; his instincts were still saying he was missing something big, and he sure didn't like going in without finding what it was. With luck, they'd get it from young Brandt.

“Should I let him mention the demons first?”

“Yes.” Ethan glanced over at Jake, wished he hadn't yet again. “Charlie ain't the type to flutter her lashes like that. You plan on being in that form all day?”

Jake's eyes widened, all innocent-like. “It's good practice for later.”

Ethan couldn't rightly argue with that, but he wasn't going to stay around and watch. “Then you'd best practice being
her
. You go online, check if we've got anything from SI. I'll be scoping out that restaurant, seeing where our best vantage point is. Most likely, you'll have to listen for Charlie to give you answers to personal questions.”

“You're leaving with your wings like that?”

“I reckon I'll swim.”

“I must look hot in this skirt.”

Ethan shook his head and kept on walking. The worst part of this whole plan, he reckoned, was that Jake wore a shape Ethan just didn't feel comfortable hitting.

 

Mark had remembered that she liked sushi; he'd chosen a small, trendy restaurant in Madison Park.

Sitting on the roof of the real estate office across the street, Charlie watched Jake contain his grimace as he looked over the menu, and tried to decide if the food or the prices had produced that expression—then decided she didn't want to think about it too much. The sight of someone else filling out her skin held the same surreal disbelief as watching a home video.
That's how I move, how I sound?

Jake looked up as Mark spoke to him, and coyly pushed his hair back behind his ear. Good Lord. Did she do that as much as Jake apparently thought she did?

Judging by Ethan's deep sigh, probably not. She glanced over at his face; his focus on the scene before them was intent, but she read impatience there, too. From the little Charlie could hear and the questions Ethan had relayed to her, Mark hadn't moved beyond small talk, asking about her job and classes.

And from the little of Mark's psyche that she could sense, he hadn't been surprised when Jake had smiled the first time.

Ethan squinted his eyes and turned his head as a diesel truck rolled by, trying to hear over the rumbling engine. His gaze met hers for a moment, softened.

She couldn't suppress her smile, or the heavy thump of her heart. Jesus. In the middle of a stakeout—or whatever this was—and one look had her chest swelling, leaving her speechless with love and wonder.

She'd woken just after sunset, and Ethan's expression had been soft then, too—and it had been the first time she'd seen him drifting. He'd lain motionless except for the rapid movement of his eyes behind his lids, and when they'd slowed, when each of his breaths hadn't been so deep and even, she'd slipped down his body to find the only other soft part of him.

She hadn't had many opportunities to love him with her mouth, and she'd watched his face, her nails digging into his hips, silently asking his straining form to remain still beneath her tongue—until her burgeoning excitement and an accidental scrape of her fangs had stolen her control. But she'd seen what she'd been looking for: his need, the tension between holding back and reaching out.

Had it always been there, and she was just now recognizing it? Perhaps feeding had prevented her from witnessing such a vulnerable moment; once the bloodlust gripped her, she rarely saw Ethan's face. Or maybe he'd been hiding it, and like her, simply couldn't hold it in anymore.

Whatever the answer, she thought it must be love, or a step away from it—and desperately hoped she wasn't just projecting her need onto him, mistaking the desire and affection she knew he felt for something more.

Everything he did seemed to say it
was
much more, but she wished she could trust herself, and be certain of it.

With a sigh, Charlie focused on the scene in front of her again, and wanted to whack her head against the rooftop when Ethan told her Mark and Jake had begun discussing the menu. She'd already briefed Jake on her preferences; there was nothing to do but sit and watch them chat.

This was the most boring dinner date she'd ever had. Ethan must have been thinking the same; he slid a deck of cards her way, and caught each of her attempts to cheat without ever appearing to glance away from the restaurant.

After he'd won her small pile of chips, Ethan finally said, “All right, Jake—give him a little nudge. Let's mention Jane and Legion. Play it modest; just say what you've been doing doesn't compare to the goings-on in Washington, or Jane's research.”

Jake did, and Charlie practiced feeling out Mark's psychic response. A stuttering note of uncertainty combined with the sweet tones of affection, and Mark hesitated before he replied.

Poor guy. He really had it bad for her sister.

But Ethan was shaking his head, his lips tight. “He's too damn good at blocking,” he muttered.

A vibration in her sweatshirt pocket kept her from answering him. She glanced at the incoming number, whispered, “Old Matthew,” and scrambled across the roof so her voice wouldn't interfere with Ethan's hearing.

It was her first night off since she'd reorganized the office; Old Matthew was likely just wondering where she'd put one of the files.

But a few moments later, fear was crawling in her belly. Ethan was on his feet before she'd returned to his side.

“He says Cora and Angie are in his office, asking for you,” Charlie said, her eyes wide. “The nephil murdered Manny.”

Ethan's lips tightened, and he half-turned. “We've got trouble, Jake. You all right to keep this up?”

Jake gave no indication that he'd heard except for the movement of his hand against the table, signing his assent.

Ethan looked back at Charlie. “Tell Cole we'll be there directly.”

She'd barely relayed the message when Ethan lifted her, ran to the rear of the building, and jumped into the air.

 

As leaky as Angie and Cora were, Ethan would have thought they'd just seen Manny killed—but it had happened almost a week previously.

Hearing that they'd holed up all that time had him staring down at his boots, containing his frustration. Theirs was the only sighting of the nephil since Ethan's return to Seattle, and the trail would be damn cold by now.

And he sure as hell couldn't summon much grief for Manny, no matter how many tears Angie and Cora were shedding.

He looked up as Charlie offered the ladies a box of tissues she'd retrieved from the office's supply cabinet. Her eyes met his before she asked softly, “Angie, you're sure he had black
feathered
wings? Not just black, like a bat's?”

Angie wiped her eyes, nodding. “We were over at the Seattle Center, out in front of that ugly-ass museum, waiting for Manny to come pick us up. And it was crouching up on the monorail, and the feathers were resting against the track. I saw them, told Cora we had to run.”

“Because Drifter warned us about it,” Cora said, blowing her nose—though Ethan hadn't ever known of a vampire getting leaky there.

Charlie slanted a glance at him, but if she was amused by their antics or disgusted, he couldn't read it in her face.

Angie lowered her tissue, and her eyes hardened. “Then Manny drove up, but we didn't think we'd make it to the car.”

“It was right behind us,” Cora put in. She'd dropped the pretense, too. “And Manny could have driven away, but he got out.”

Angie cupped her hands together, like she was holding a weapon. “And he had that sword he'd used when he was enforcing—”

Cora muttered, “Goddamn Katya and Vladimir.”

“—and he ran past us, and that demon just caught him up. Started cutting,” Angie said. This time Ethan thought the moisture shining in her eyes was real. “We heard him scream once, but then we got in the trunk.”

“Manny always said it was big enough for both of us to hide in. So we put up the spell for as long as we could stand being cooped up in there, because we didn't know if it would be waiting for us.”

“He wasn't,” Angie said with a shrug and a bit of embarrassment. “We'd been towed sometime during the week. Scared the shit out of the lot attendant, too, when we kicked open the trunk.”

“Then we went back to the museum, where we saw Manny last.” Cora's full lips flattened and paled. “And we finally found his clothes, stuck way back on top of the monorail station. I guess the ash must have washed away in the rain. There were streaks, but nothing else.”