The Demon Within Page 9

  They made heated love without one single word between them. After Nadir exploded around Denny’s hand in a silent, yet powerful orgasm, she flipped Denny over and proceeded to devour every inch of Denny’s body, her tongue expertly twirling circles around her most sensitive areas as if they had been making love together their whole lives.

  Grabbing two handfuls of sheets, her throbbing grew in such intensity that Denny arched her back and let it rip, her muscles tightening, her body quivering, and a low growl signaling the height of an orgasm she had never experiences with her ghostly lover. And when it was over, when the waves of her orgasm slowly subsided into gentle ripples, they lay together in a sweaty heap, fingers entwined, skin on perspiring skin, hearts banging in sync, breaths slowly calming in unison.

  Their only company was the ticking clock.

  When her heartbeat returned to normal, Denny eased herself out from under Nadir, grabbed her clothes and threw them on quickly. She had almost reached the door when Nadir rolled on her side.

  “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

  Denny lightly brushed her hair off her forehead and looked into Nadir’s soft brown eyes. “No. No you won’t.”

  Denny left, returning to her Prius to start her rounds.

  ****

  Denny was just finishing the first leg of her unusually quiet watch when she decided to drive by Ames Walker’s place. She wasn’t certain why she decided to drive by, since it was really out of her way and, of all people in her demonic world, he needed her the least. Still, she just needed to make sure everything was fine.

  Parking across the street from a house that looked like the haunted mansion in Disneyland, Denny felt her breath catch. Their working relationship was tenuous at best. He was a grumpy instructor who demanded excellence from his students, and yet, she missed his curmudgeony ass.

  Oh, the things he could have taught her.

  Ames Walker was a demonologist of the highest order, and inside the grey, dilapidated house with its crooked shutters and weathered paint was a home fit to be featured in a magazine. It was fabulously updated, impeccably decorated, and had a warehouse-sized basement he used for training demon hunters.

  She had just started her training when the shit hit the fan and the demons came after Rush and her sister. That was when Denny had chosen to go rogue—to protect those who could be hurt by any demon foolish enough to view Denny’s rookie status as a weakness.

  She’d shown them.

  She’d destroyed their leader and thinned their ranks, and when it was all over, it had cost her everything.

  Including small portions of her humanity.

  Without Ames’s brief help, Denny might not have succeeded in turning that attack away, and as much as she hated to admit it, she’d missed the old guy.

  He’d said very little about having worked with her mother—a fact that was beginning to make sense to her after the journal entries she had been reading. Had Ames Walker fallen in love with her mother? Had Gwen fallen in love with him?

  Denny could see how either was possible. Ames was a handsome Southern man with greying temples and a head full of salt and pepper hair. He had these penetrating light blue eyes that had seen a lot of action in the world. He was a great cook, had a flair for design, and had been incredibly kind to her when she’d first arrived. He’d known she hadn’t wanted to be a hunter—had known her reticence in engaging the demonic world, but he’d helped her anyway.

  She missed that...missed sitting in his kitchen and chatting about current events or past history. She missed him barking orders at her about how to stay alive. He was a charming host and yet, he was unattached and aloof.

  Denny understood why.

  This was a lifestyle, this demon hunting, that was ‘round-the-clock’ dangerous. It was a world unto itself where darkness spread like squid ink in the ocean. It was a world with few rules, no boundaries, and little light.

  It was her world now and, for better or worse, it was where she belonged. She was starting to see that more and more. She was also beginning to understand her mother more as well. It was her family that kept Gwen grounded and safe. They were the reason she was able to keep both of her feet in the light even as the darkness threatened to consumed her. But that was still a risk Denny just couldn’t take.

  “I’m so sorry, Ames,” she whispered, pulling away from the house and heading home, her heart full of sadness and regret. “I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be.”

  When she got out in front of the house, it started to sprinkle.

  A light was on next door and Denny found herself walking over to peer in the window––something she never would have done a month ago. Lars and MacKenzie, her neighbors, were slow dancing in the family room, holding each other in a way that said they believed in forever.

  Denny felt her heart ache.

  She wanted to be loved like that—to be held like that. She’d never been hugged by Rush, never felt that warmth of skin on skin with her.

  Not in real life.

  Stepping away from the window, Denny looked at her large, empty Victorian and decided she needed a bit more caffeine before continuing on her way to the other side of town. If she stayed busy enough, she wouldn’t feel the edges of loneliness creeping in.

  Climbing back into her car, she drove to one of her favorite all-nighters in town, slid across the red booth and ordered coffee and some apple pie.

  “You been out in the rain, hon?” The waitress asked when she set the pie in front of Denny.

  “Oh, yeah. A little. It’s starting to really come down.”

  The waitress set cream on the table and left her alone.

  Coffee had become a staple in her diet, and though she preferred tea, to get the tea she wanted, she’d have to see Brianna, and she needed to keep that door closed.

  Sipping the dark roast, Denny watched the television in the corner. The news was so depressing, but it did help her plan much of her nightly surveillance. Go where the shit stinks the most. That was the game plan. So far, it was working.

  As she took her first forkful of pie, a familiar face flashed on the screen.

  Denny set her fork down and slowly rose.

  As the news report beneath the young girl’s face came on the screen, Denny slowly walked over to where the television hung, her eyes never leaving the girl’s face.

  It was Iris.

  “No. Oh God.” Denny’s hand went to her mouth. “No.”

  “You okay, hon?”

  Shaking her head, Denny tossed a ten on the table, ran outside and hopped in the Prius. ‘“No, no, no” she said, pulling onto the nearly deserted street, the words “victim of a mugging and possible rape,” burned into her mind’s eye.

  Flooring it, Denny raced to the hospital.

  ****

  It was a little after two in the morning when Denny put a choke hold on an intern so she could steal his scrubs. Leaving him naked in the staff lounge, Denny made her way through the hospital corridors to the ICU where Iris was.

  Standing in front of a large window, Denny gazed in at the young girl who looked nothing like the girl who’d come to her home. Her face was swollen and bruised—one eye was purple and closed. Her lip was torn and she had several cuts on her petite face.

  Closing her eyes, Denny felt shame wash over her. Shame mixed with regret. Iris had come to her for help...and she’d callously turned her away. Turned her away for no good reason other than that she didn’t want to be bothered.

  “Took quite a beating,” a young nurse said standing next to Denny.

  “I can see that.” The voice was low and deep, and Denny struggled to contain the emotional Hanta.

  The nurse, all five foot two of her, looked Denny up and down before nodding. “Your lover?”

  Denny slowly turned. “Excuse me?”

  The woman, whose name tag read Jennifer, barely smiled. “The shoes always give it away. Though I’m a fan of Doc Martens, no doctor or intern here would be
caught dead wearing them. Too heavy for the amount of time spent on their feet.” The woman held her hand up. “No worries. I won’t tell. So...are you her lover? She came in with no ID.”

  Denny returned her attention to Iris. She looked like a doll sitting in that big, white bed. “No. Just a...a friend.”

  Jennifer chuffed. “Friends come during normal visiting hours.”

  Denny turned back to Jennifer. “Has she had any?”

  Jennifer cocked her head, bluer than blue eyes reappraising Denny. “She’s only been here a couple of hours, so no. So...you’re a cop? P.I.? What? If you’re not her lover and not family, who are you to her?”

  Denny opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out. It was a fair question.

  What was she, exactly?

  Was she a woman on a mission to prove her brother’s innocence? Was she a creature of the night seeking some sort of vengeance for the state of her family? Or was she just an irrevocably lost soul delivering her own pain to others?

  Who was Golden Silver these days?

  “I’m sorry. Was that a tough question?”

  Denny stepped up to the window. “Was she...you know—”

  “Raped? I’m not at liberty to share that with a stranger who has stolen scrubs and scooted by security to get in here.” The sparkle in Jennifer’s eyes told Denny she was joking.

  Denny watched Iris’s chest rise and fall. “But she’ll be all right? She’ll live?”

  “Two different questions. Yes, she’ll live. As for being alright, well, only time will tell.”

  Closing her eyes, Denny let regret wash over her.

  “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  Slowly opening her eyes, Denny looked down at Jennifer. “Her family is from Boston.”

  “Is there anything more specific?”

  Denny nodded. “Her name is Iris.”

  “Iris what?”

  Denny closed her eyes and tried to bring up the last name. She hadn’t really been paying attention. “I…I don’t know.”

  Jennifer stared into Denny’s face. “You sure you’re okay? You’re really pale. You want to take a seat? I can get you some water.”

  Shaking her head, Denny started for the exit, tears threatening to burn her eyes.

  “Where are you going?”

  With her back against the door, Denny said, “I’m going to the only person who can help me be what I need to be.”

  “Which is what?”

  “A demon hunter.”

  ****

  She ran all the way to Ames’s house in the rain, though she didn’t know why. The car had felt claustrophobic. Maybe she just needed to clear her head—maybe she couldn’t stand the thought of being in a confined space with herself—she who had turned her back on someone who needed her help, just so she could cruise around the city delivering death and mayhem.

  That poor girl.

  Beaten to within an inch of her life, possibly raped, and all because Denny was too...how had Brianna put it? Too self-absorbed to lend a hand.

  What an asshole.

  What an utter jerk.

  Arms and legs churning, Denny leapt over fences and took two shortcuts to Ames Walker’s ghost house, and when she arrived, she leaned over, her hands on her knees, and sucked in gulps of air.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d been sobbing.

  She cried for the loss of her mother now in a bizarre catatonic state—for the false imprisonment of her brother—for the disappearance of Rush, and for sending Pure away. She cried for the position she’d put her friends in, for the loss of her college life, for the new darkness in which she now lived. She cried for the death of her father, a man she realized she barely knew and rarely understood.

  Most importantly, she cried for a young girl who had come to her for help, who she’d blown off.

  Blown off.

  Now...now Iris fought for her very life and all because Denny couldn’t be bothered?

  Who was the demon now?

  As she raised her fist to knock on the door, it opened.

  There stood Ames Walker, a huge towel in one hand, the door in the other. “Goldy?”

  Denny collapsed in his arms, weeping for all her losses and bad decisions, crying for the choice she made to turn Iris away. “Please help me, Mr. Walker...I am so...lost.”

  Wrapping the towel around her, Ames pulled her into the house. “There are sweats in the guest room. Take a hot shower and throw those on. I’ll meet you in the kitchen where you’re going to sit and eat before you tell me what the hell is going on. You’re a bag of bones.”

  Clutching the towel, Denny nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Goldy, until you hear me out. I’m not very pleased with you, but right now, get out of those wet clothes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Denny entered the kitchen to the scent of biscuits baking and bacon frying. Ames was always cooking for company.

  She slid onto the stool at the enormous black marble island facing a high-end kitchen while Ames stirred eggs in a cast iron skillet.

  “There’s this girl—”

  Ames shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not talking to you about anything until you eat. That’s the deal. You look like death on a cracker. What did I tell you about the Hanta?” Ames’s voice was peppered with anger—a teacher disappointed in his student.

  “Not to let the Hanta’s hunger come before my own.” Denny wrapped her hands around a mug of hot chicory coffee. She inhaled the aroma with eyes closed and let it fill her lungs. Oh, how she had missed sitting at this counter and chatting with him.

  “Well, I can see that fell on deaf ears. You look twenty pounds lighter than when I last saw you.” Ames sprinkled shredded cheddar cheese onto the eggs and then turned the bacon over.

  “I’ve been too busy to eat.”

  “Bullshit.” Ames spun around, wielding a spatula. “You’ve let it get too much control. Don’t try to snow the snowman, Goldy. I know a possession when I see it. You think I don’t read about your handiwork? You think I don’t know that you’ve fallen into the dark abyss? Well I do. You’re going around practically picking fights with any demon who looks cross eyed at you. You’re looking for a fight around every corner, and for every death you feed it, it gets stronger…more in control. Does that about sum it up?”

  Bowing her head, Denny nodded. “In a nutshell, yeah.”

  “Bullshit, Goldy. It’s way more than a nutshell’s worth. And for what? At the end of the day, what has this cost you? You shipped your sister away, quit school, dumped your friends, let your health go south, and for what?”

  Denny did not answer the rhetorical question.

  “That’s what I thought.” Spooning eggs and bacon onto a plate, he shoved it in front of her. “Eat. And I mean all of it. What have you been living on? Caffeine and blood?”

  Denny picked up a fork and nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “You’re lucky the damned thing hasn’t taken you over completely. Damn it, Goldy, the Hanta Raya isn’t something you fuck around with.”

  Denny thought about Tony’s wrist back at the bar…about the bald guy’s kneecap in the alleyway. The Hanta had not wanted to stop there. It would have incapacitated him completely. Maybe even killed him.

  She was losing control.

  “I know. It just—”

  “Uh-uh. Eat. Don’t say another word until you clean that plate.”

  Denny had no problem accomplishing that task. Once she started eating, and actually enjoying it, it went down rather quickly.

  When she finished the last bite of bacon, she gently pushed her empty plate away. “Damn, you can cook.”

  “You’d have said as much if I’d served you fried turds.”

  “It was delicious, thank you. So this gi—”

  “You’re not done.” Pulling his trademark banana nut bread from the oven, Ames poured her a glass of milk and gave her a small piece of the bread. A pat of butter slid off the side when he set th
e plate down. “Finish that, and then meet me downstairs.”

  Denny stuffed the whole thing in her mouth and followed him downstairs to an ordinary basement room with a leather recliner, a television set, and a few odds and ends scattered about.

  It wasn’t until he pointed the TV remote at a blank wall that the room transformed.

  As the blank wall slowly lowered into the floor, a bank of fluorescent lights lit up a room the size of a three-bay warehouse. On the left wall hung various weapons, from graphite crossbows to pikes and swords.

  In the center lay a twenty by thirty-foot blue mat used for hand-to-hand training. Along the right side were countertops with drawers and two stools. Ames slid onto one and motioned for Denny to follow suit.

  “Now, I’m almost done busting your chops. You know I don’t take just anyone here, and if you weren’t Gwen’s kid, I’d have punted your ass down my stairs. But you are, and I gave her my word I’d train her legacy kid to the best of my ability. But I can’t do that if you’re going to pull this disappearing stunt of yours.”

  “I’m really sor—”

  Ames held his hand up. “Not done. The very fact that you’re still alive tells me how huge a role the Hanta has played in your hunts. While not altogether a bad thing, it’s not great, either. It means it became too powerful, too controlling, too fast. This is never good. You’ve fed it, making it strong, while under-nourishing yourself. So there are only a few options right now. First, you need to get vitamin supplements, cases of water, and on some sort of special protein diet. Secondly, and this is the part you aren’t going to like, you need to not feed it.”

  “Uh-uh. No way.”

  Ames held his hand up again. “Let me finish. If you had stayed under my tutelage, you would have already learned that minor demonic spirits are like junk food to a Hanta—yeah, it fills it for a moment, but the nutrients are negligible and the Hanta becomes hungry again soon enough. Have you been noticing its hunger?”