Demon Possessed (20 page)

But she felt him watching her just the same.

Chapter Twenty-one

The view out her window wasn’t anywhere near as lovely as the one from the fourteenth-floor balcony she’d been on the night before, but she didn’t give a shit. She looked out the window but didn’t really see; through the glass more buildings sat silent, watching her right back, their edges blurred.

Everything was blurred. After that hideous meal had finally ended, she’d grabbed Nick and two bottles of bourbon from the bar and hauled all three back to her room. Her puny, lonely little room.

Greyson had left with Leora. She’d put her hand on his arm, and they’d left together. The fact tore at her like a flesh-eating virus.

She could have called Tera. Maybe she should have. But somehow thinking of Tera’s sympathy—damn, Megan had always known there were genuine feelings under there somewhere—combined with her bluntness and . . . whatever. No, if she were honest, the way she was always trying to get her patients to be, she’d admit she didn’t want Tera because she wanted someone more connected to Greyson. She wanted a man who wouldn’t try to make her talk.

And hell, she had to be with Nick anyway, because he apparently still wanted to guard her. So why bring Tera in, so they could snipe at each other and flirt while she watched? If there was a worse way to spend an evening than nursing a broken heart while two very attractive people threatened to have angry sex in front of her at any moment, she had no idea what it could be.

“So what do you think?” he asked. “Think the Yezer will be able to track down the angel?”

“I imagine so.” She looked out the window again. This time the view seemed colder; she pictured the angel out there, watching her. Saw it again falling over the edge of the roof, relived the moment when she’d thought she killed it and couldn’t remember how it felt. It was all overshadowed now; she had much darker memories taking up space. It didn’t seem right that Greyson loomed so much larger, so much higher, but she couldn’t change it; she’d thought she killed a man, yes, but she’d done it to save her own life. And, as much as she tried not to think of it, he hadn’t been the first person—or whatever—she’d killed, had he? She’d killed the Accuser. She’d killed Ktana Leyak.

Had Greyson killed Templeton Black? Or ordered him killed? He’d been ready to ask Winston for the death of Orion Maldon, because Maldon had threatened them—had conspired against them and tried to end their lives.

But why would he openly discuss having Maldon killed with her and not tell her about Templeton?

She hadn’t asked either. Well, why would she? The man was found dead in a Vergadering prison cell with a suicide note. Was she supposed to guess that was murder?

Nick sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Megan.”

Not a topic she wanted to get into. “Don’t say anything. Just pour me another, okay?”

He did, topping up both their glasses. “I never thought this would happen. I always thought you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Sorry. I just thought you might want—”

“I don’t.”

He smiled. “Okay, so you don’t. What do you want to talk about?”

His straight dark hair fell over his brow; below his strong chin the top couple of buttons of his tuxedo shirt hung open, the bowtie long discarded and the pants exchanged for jeans.

Megan hadn’t bothered to change. They both sat in the middle of the bed, with the bottles between them. She’d tugged the skirt up so she could sit cross-legged. It felt like a naughty picnic.

She smiled back. “Read any good books lately?”

“Tons. Let’s discuss them all, in detail.”

So they did. They talked about books for an hour or so, while the level of bourbon in the bottles steadily dropped and her mood grew giddier and giddier, the kind of manic joy that signaled a huge crash waiting in the wings. They moved around on the bed, finally ending up shoulder-to-shoulder against the headboard, giggling at the TV and everything else.

Nick emptied another glass. “So have you heard anything from your family? Since the funeral and everything, I mean.”

“No. I didn’t expect to, and they didn’t disappoint me.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and she meant it. Would have meant it even if she hadn’t been drunk enough not to care. Greyson, the lying bastard, really had had the right idea; this was much better than trying to sit through that hideous meal feeling as if she’d swallowed a paperweight.

He’d left with Leora.
Shit.
“Really. I mean, maybe it would have been different if all this demon stuff hadn’t happened to me. But I have people now, I mean, I have . . . I have the Yezer. And Tera and Brian. You know?”

He nodded. “It really makes a difference. I didn’t have anybody for a long time after—after my parents died. Then I met Grey, and he didn’t care what had happened or what I was.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated, and her question, which she’d asked in genuine curiosity and nothing more, took on new meaning. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean, if there’s something you’re not comfortable—”

“No, it’s okay.” He poured another glass, downed it. She wondered if he was as drunk as she was. Probably not, but she figured he was close; he’d finished his bottle and was sharing hers. “Well. You know I’m half incubus.”

She smiled, raised her eyebrows a little. “Yeah, I kind of remember that about you.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

He was so close to her; she reached out and stroked his knee. “It’s okay. Really. Go on.”

“Well. My mom was a succubus. She was . . . she was great. I mean, she was strict, but she was great. And my dad was part psyche demon—a
vershet,
you don’t really find a lot of them in America—and part water demon. He’d really wanted me to take after his side more than hers, but I’m pretty balanced. Anyway. His family didn’t really approve of her, and they didn’t want them to get married, and that didn’t change after I was born.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. So things seemed okay, he found work finally—the family business wouldn’t hire him, and they talked him down all over so nobody else would either—and I remember things being okay. I mean, I remember being pretty happy. And then . . . I came home one day, I was six, and Vergadering was there, and they wouldn’t let me go inside.”

“They were dead?” Megan asked softly.

He nodded. “They’d had a fight, I guess. I mean, I assume; nobody ever told me or let me see the files or anything. And he killed her, and then he killed himself.”

“Oh my God.” Her right hand tightened on his knee; her left flew to her throat. “Nick . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it pretty much sucks.” He gave her a rueful smile, sad around the edges. “And then her family wouldn’t take me because they, um, they thought it was my fault. And his family wouldn’t take me because I was part incubus and they thought she’d corrupted him and I was unclean or something. I don’t know. So I went into a Vergadering school, a boarding school for orphan demons or those of us whose parents were threats or just . . .

whatever.”

She thought about his energy, so angry and so hurt. And about his comments to Tera. “I guess it wasn’t a very good place to be.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah. You could say that. You could definitely say that.”

“Weren’t there demon schools? Places for the orphan demons?”

“Things were pretty different then, Meg. I mean, it was only thirty years or so ago, but a lot has changed in that time. Back then, because of what my father did, it wasn’t just my mother’s family who considered me tainted. It was demon society as a whole. My father’s dishonor reflected on me. It wasn’t until I turned sixteen and won a scholarship that things changed, really, at least for me. I met Greyson, and . . . well, like I said, he didn’t care.”

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, ducking her head in hopes he wouldn’t see. “Yeah. I guess he wouldn’t, would he?”

“Megan . . . what happened?”

Shit. She didn’t want to do this. “You’d have to ask him.”

“I did.”

“So you know what happened.”

“I know his side of it.”

“What did—no. Never mind. I don’t want to know. Tell me something else. Tell me what exactly it is you do in Miami. You never would tell me before.”

“I’m a male stripper.”

Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

“No. But it sure would be interesting if I was, wouldn’t it?”

It wasn’t that funny, but Megan found herself laughing anyway, laughing way too hard. The room blurred around the edges and tilted gently like a rowboat on a breezy lake, not enough to make her sick but enough to remind her that she was sitting on a hell of a lot of alcohol.

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend, Nick, when you’re so funny?” It came out “sho funny.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Do they have anything to do with each other?”

“They do to me. And to any woman with a brain.”

“Maybe I just haven’t met any women with brains, then. Or maybe they don’t think I’m funny. Or they just don’t like me.”

“How can they not like you?” Shit, that came out a little loud. “I like you.”

“I think you’re drunk.”

She giggled again. “I think so too. Are you drunk?”

He considered it. “I think so, yeah.”

“Good. I don’t want you to be sober when I’m drunk.”

“Right. That would be rude. Of me. I would be rude, if I were sober.”

“Yes, you would.”

This struck them both as funny, and they laughed until Megan started to feel a little sick from it and shook her head slowly. “But seriously. Why no, no girlfriend? The whole time I’ve known you, you never dated anyone, did you?”

“No. Don’t date much. I just—”

“But you’re . . . you’re an incubus. How does that work? Don’t you need—oops. I shouldn’t ask that, should I?”

She wanted to know, though. And she was drunk enough to ask. Drunk enough to sit up and face him, with her palm on his chest. Beneath it his heart pumped steadily, vibrations rising into her hand.

“I don’t mind,” he said. He patted her hand, paused, patted again, with great solemnity. “Yes, I do need, as you put it. But long-term . . . I couldn’t date a human, could I, and keep everything secret? And demon women don’t really want much to do with me. They think—let’s just say I have a reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?”

His raised his eyebrows. “Not a good one. That whole thing with my father? Passes down to me, remember?”

“Ohhh, right. So you date humans, then. For a short period of time.”

“You could say that. One night is a short period of time, isn’t it?”

“So you sleep with a lot of women,” she said, and saying it shocked her. What was she doing? Her hand was still on his chest; her legs were bare, her long skirt pushed up almost to her hips. She was alone in a hotel room, drunk, nursing one hell of a broken heart, with a very sexy man. Whom she genuinely liked. Genuinely cared about.

Which was why she shouldn’t even be considering what she was pretending not to be considering.

Greyson had left with Leora. What were they doing now? Talking? Laughing? Other things? Was he looking at her the way he’d always looked at Megan?

Nick either hadn’t caught on to her drunken calculations or was ignoring the way the air had just stilled around them. Or he was too drunk; her voice wasn’t the only one beginning to slur a little.