MySoultoSave (14 page)

A loud gurgling emanated from his stomach. Sharp pain
accompanied it, as though someone had plunged a blade into his gut and twisted.
He looked down in alarm and lifted the blanket to check for blood. As he did,
it happened again. “What
is
this?” he said. “It hurts!”

Logan stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

He frowned. Was this phantom pain normal for humans to feel?
Hell’s flames, it was miserable being mortal. He could not wait to be restored
to demonhood. “Yes. A joke,” he said—but his gut cramped fiercely, and his
wince betrayed him.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Ah, so that was it. Sustenance. Demons did not require it,
but he could not tell Logan that he had never in his existence consumed food.
“I don’t remember,” he said.

She smirked. “Must’ve been a while, then,” she said. “Stay
put. I’m going to get a few things together for you.”

He managed a nod and let his head fall back against the
couch. Once again, this feeble body was drifting toward sleep, or something
like it—and try as he might, he could not force himself to stay conscious. The
void soon claimed him.

* * * * *

Logan headed for her bedroom, feeling even less confident
that taking this guy in was the right thing to do. There was something off
about him—besides the obvious. People wandering around naked and beat up wasn’t
an everyday occurrence, but at least there was the possibility of a plausible
reason for that.

She couldn’t think of any explanation for a man who
apparently didn’t know what hungry felt like.

One thing she knew for sure was that he couldn’t hang around
naked. Because oh God, that body was distracting, and she hated thinking that
way when the guy was in such bad shape. It was wrong on so many levels, not the
least of which was that she’d sworn off ogling men after the last one led her
down the path of spiraling destruction.

Anyway, he was putting some clothes on. And he wasn’t
staying.

She rifled through her sparsely filled drawers until she
found the only things she owned that might fit him—a worn pair of gray
sweatpants and an oversized night shirt with Tweety Bird on it. At least he
wouldn’t look so damned attractive in this stuff.

When she went back to the living room, the mystery man was
still passed out. Jaeryth, he’d said. No last name—not that she’d expected him
to give one if he was really on the run. She stood in front of the couch and
stared at him, trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar. It wasn’t
because of the two-minute meeting at the thrift store. Even then, she’d felt
this same shiver of recognition, as if he were an old friend dropping into a
hole in her life that she didn’t know had been there.

His eyes opened and fixed on her. “Logan.”

Something in the way he said her name simultaneously
thrilled and terrified her. Standing here suddenly seemed like a bad idea. She
would just give him the clothes and distract herself in the kitchen finding him
something to eat—and despite her intentions, she wasn’t actually moving.

But he was. He straightened slowly, leaned forward and
stood. The blanket fell away. She didn’t even look down. His steady gaze held
hers as he moved toward her, reached for her…

She shoved the clothes at him. “Put these on. I’ll get you
some food.”

For a second she thought he’d keep coming, but he took the
bundle with a slight frown and said, “All right.”

She headed for the kitchen fast. Once again, her heart
slammed a rapid rhythm, and it took several deep breaths to slow it down. This
was absolutely insane. A huge mistake. She should’ve just called 911 outside
and let the cops deal with him. It was their job to serve and protect, right?

A double thud drew her attention. She turned and got an
eyeful of Jaeryth’s very fine ass—he was bent double, and apparently trying to
put the sweatpants on both legs at once.

She watched him struggle and curse and finally straighten
with an exasperated snarl, still pants-less. When he did, she finally noticed
the angry purple-red scars on his back. Two long slashes, each starting from
the outer edge of a shoulder and slanting inward, running down almost to his
hips. There was also a good-sized round mark at the base of his spine that
almost looked like a gunshot wound, though he would’ve been crippled if he’d
been shot there. They were fairly recent injuries—a few weeks old at the most.
And they were obviously warnings.

That sealed it. She wouldn’t call the cops. Anyone capable
of doing that wouldn’t hesitate to kill. This guy was a little strange, but he
wasn’t lying about having someone after him.

He let out a breath, slumped in place and started to bend
over again.

“Wait,” she said. When he glanced over his shoulder,
eyebrows raised, she pointed to the couch. “Maybe you should sit down and put
them on.”

His lips firmed. “Ah…yes. I should.” With a slight cough, he
turned away and lowered himself slowly onto the couch, then proceeded to dress
just as slowly.

Smothering a smile, Logan moved to the cabinets in search of
something quick and edible.

She found a can of SpaghettiOs, dumped them in a bowl and
warmed them in the microwave. Not exactly gourmet, but it would put something
in his stomach. While that was going, she filled a glass with water and grabbed
the small bottle of Motrin she’d picked up the other day for a headache. Maybe
it would help take the edge off.

When she brought everything out, Jaeryth only had the pants
on. She set the bowl and cup on the end table, opened the pills and motioned at
the shirt, which he’d put at the far end of the couch. “You don’t like Tweety
Bird?”

He followed her gesture. “That is a woman’s shirt.”

“Yes.” She smirked at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m
a woman.”

“But in the…thrift store, you were choosing men’s shirts.”

The fact that he remembered such a small detail about their
first meeting touched her. Even though she wasn’t the slightest bit interested,
because that would be crazy. “Yes, I was,” she said. “But I wear a men’s small.
No way they’d fit you. That’s the only thing I have that might be big enough.”

He shook his head. “I will pass.”

“Suit yourself. You’ll probably have to wear it in the
morning, though.” She shook two Motrin out, then reconsidered and added
another. “Here. Get these down you. They might help.”

“With what?”

“The pain.”

“Ah. That.” He held a hand out and stared dubiously at the
small brown pills she deposited into it. When she moved over to the table for
the water, something crunched, and Jaeryth made an awful gagging sound. “These
are terrible!”

“Oh my God.” She turned to stare at him, water in hand. “Did
you just…chew those?”

His brow furrowed. “Yes. Was that not right?”

“You’re supposed to—” She thrust the glass at him and
sighed. “Drink. If you know how to do that.”

He took it as though she’d offered him poison.

“It’s just water. It’ll wash the bitterness out.”

“I see.”

At least he didn’t have too many problems working a cup. But
that didn’t explain all the other weirdness. Even if he was from a foreign
country or something, shouldn’t he at least know how to put on a pair of pants?

Well, he’d be gone in the morning. She just wouldn’t think
about it until then.

He finished the water. She gave him the SpaghettiOs, and he ate
without another word—practically wolfed it down after the first few bites. It
wouldn’t have surprised her if he licked the bowl clean. But he put it back on
the table, shuddered all over and leaned back with his eyes closed. “Tired,” he
said hoarsely. “Need to rest.”

“I’ll bet.” She couldn’t help a faint smile. “You can lay
down, you know. It might be more comfortable.”

He murmured something indistinct and slumped to one side,
then drew his legs up. And promptly fell asleep.

Logan gathered the dishes and brought them to the kitchen,
trying to clear her muddled thoughts. This guy was something else. She
definitely felt sorry for him, but sympathy wasn’t enough to justify the
familiarity or the unwanted attraction—and it sure as hell didn’t explain his strange
behavior.

She came back, retrieved the blanket from the floor and
covered him with it. He let out a soft sigh, but didn’t wake.

Though she was exhausted herself, her mind raced and
churned. She probably wouldn’t sleep for a while yet. Instead of going straight
to bed, she settled in the easy chair angled next to the couch. She’d just sit
here and keep an eye on him for a few minutes.

Sleep claimed her almost as soon as she stopped moving.

Chapter Twelve

Logan woke to soft light and not-so-soft pain. It didn’t
take long to remember that she’d fallen asleep in the chair—the aching
stiffness in her neck and the dead block of the foot she’d tucked under her leg
attested to that. Moving was going to be a bitch.

She managed to straighten her head, groaning as tendons
creaked and popped. Her sleep-blurred gaze wandered to the couch and her breath
caught when she noticed what wasn’t there.
Jaeryth.
The possibilities
that occurred to her weren’t all pleasant. One of them was him standing behind
her with a kitchen knife.

Then she caught sight of the blanket on the floor and
Jaeryth tangled in it like seaweed in a fishing net. Apparently, it hadn’t been
a comfortable night for either of them.

She straightened with caution and lowered her leg slowly.
Wiggling her toes sent bright, hungry sparkles of pain through her foot. Teeth
clenched, she kept moving it until the aching surges settled into the normal
pinpricks of waking flesh—and made a mental note to never sleep in a chair
again. Christ, that hurt.

When she felt nominally human again, she leaned forward and
tried to stretch some of the kinks out of her back. A shower would probably
help. She’d grab one while her unexpected guest was still asleep, and then
she’d have to wake him up. And kick him out.

The thought twanged hard against her conscience. His
twisted, half-covered position showcased the long, jagged scars on his back and
the weird round mark that no bullet could’ve made without putting him in a
wheelchair. He obviously needed help. But she couldn’t be the one to give it to
him. She had enough problems of her own.

That’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?

She jumped at the voice in her head. Definitely not Fred. It
didn’t sound anything like him, and it sure as hell wasn’t something Fred would
suggest. If Fred was real—which he wasn’t, damn it.

“No,” she murmured aloud, suddenly angry with herself for
buying into the voice thing again. “Not selfish. Smart.”

He needs you.

She managed not to shout at the voice. Better to just ignore
it. Stifling a sigh, she rose and headed for the bathroom, determined to
outsmart her own mind. It was just some bizarre manifestation of her
conscience. But regardless of her sympathy for Jaeryth, he had to go. She
couldn’t help him any more.

She could barely help herself.

* * * * *

Jaeryth waited to open his eyes until he heard a door closed
somewhere in the house, followed a few moments later by the muted whisper of
running water. She was showering, then. He had heard Logan stirring and was
fully awake by the time she had begun talking to herself.

“Not selfish. Smart.”
Strange words, spoken as if in
response to an accusation. But he did not see anyone else here, and surely she
would have made mention to a visitor of the unfamiliar man asleep on her floor.
Perhaps she’d been talking to him. But that made no sense, either.

He shifted, and at once realized that an aching stiffness
had threaded itself through yesterday’s pain. Damn this mortal body. Being
stuck in flesh was proving nearly as torturous as the upper levels of Hell. How
could humans tolerate their lives in such conditions?

With their suffering comes great reward.

The voice was a bright ribbon in his head. He scrambled
upright, seeking its source, suddenly knowing he would see nothing. When he was
proven correct, he eased onto the couch and scowled at the empty air, daring it
to speak again.

Something like laughter responded.

So there was someone here after all. But it was no human.

Though Jaeryth had nothing at his disposal in this miserable
shell, he should at least still be able to perceive Shade. And, unfortunately,
Citadel. Humans would not see it, but most had the capacity to, if they so
chose. He also had the advantage of knowing the realms existed. If he
concentrated, he could find this unseen tormentor.

Every muscle in him tensed as he focused, willing his eyes
to recognize what he knew was right in front of him, all around him. Slowly,
wisps and streaks of shadows coalesced, gaining bulk and shape, until he made
out pale blue robes and a face from which solid blue eyes blazed.

A Shepherd. Oh rapture.

This was not the same one he’d attacked in the city. The
genderless creature before him was shorter, rounder of face and stature—more
cherubic than ethereal. Its grin lacked the condescension of its colleague. But
it was a Shepherd all the same, and therefore unwelcome.

“Heavenly bastard,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Get away
from me.”

The Shepherd’s cheerful smile annoyed him. “So you do not
want my help, then?”

“What are you blathering about? You’re not helping me.”

“The human.” It gestured in the direction Logan had gone.
“You need someone to care for you. I’m helping her to realize that.”

Fury sizzled through him. When she spoke a few moments ago,
she’d been talking to it—the vermin was trying to influence her. “She’s mine.”
He kept his voice low so she would not hear, though he longed to shout the
words. “Don’t speak to her.”