Chapter Fourteen
Evan shook the snow from his silky black hair. “Always with the special effects, that guy. Way to piss him off, Red.”
“’Twas not mine intent to anger him,” Taryn said. “’Twas mine intent to clarify the situation.”
“Oh, you clarified it.” Evan rubbed his hands together in unholy glee. “You clarified the shit out of it. Pulled the honor card and kicked him in the balls. That burned his onions.”
Taryn frowned. “I got nowhere near the captain’s bollocks. Nor do I see what onions, burnt or otherwise, have to do with it.”
“It’s like this, see. Conall’s itching to go after the rogue, but his hands are tied, and he’s mad as fire about it.”
“He may be chafed at present, but the captain is a wise leader. He will realize that mine is the better course, and soon. ’Tis no easy thing to slay a brother.”
Evan’s smiled faded. “Yeah? Guess this is it, and you’ll be taking off.”
Cassie got to her feet. The orange juice had kicked in, and the worst of the dizziness had subsided. “I wouldn’t be in a hurry to go anywhere, if I were you,” she said to the huntress. “If Evan’s right and Hannah is some kind of supernatural magnet, the rogue will be back.”
“Cassandra makes a salient point,” Duncan said. “Whate’er has drawn the rogue here will prompt his return. If he has left at all.”
“That was my thought as well,” Taryn said, a tad too quickly. “I must ascertain he no longer frequents this locale, else I am inefficient.”
Evan leaned against the wall, regarding her with hooded eyes. “So now you’re staying?”
“For a time,” Taryn said, looking away. “Logic dictates I seek the rogue here ere I seek him elsewhere. ’Tis my duty to be thorough.”
He yawned. “Sure. Whatev.”
“I thought you would be pleased, not out of sorts.”
“Who, me? I’m not ticked. Demon hunter’s gotta do what a demon hunter’s gotta do.” He lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “Go. Stay. It’s all the same.”
Something flickered across Taryn’s lovely face but was quickly masked. “Dissembler,” she said, and stalked from the room.
Evan stood motionless for a moment, then cursed and went after her. “Hey, Red, wait up.” He broke into a run. “Godammit, Red. Red.”
“Wow,” Cassie said when they’d gone. “Hard to tell if those two want to fight or hit the sack.”
Duncan’s lips twitched. “The two things are not necessarily mutually exclusive.”
She met his gaze. Suddenly, the room became hot and airless, and the floor tilted beneath her feet.
Breakfast, Cassie thought. I should have eaten breakfast.
Two magical outbursts in less than an hour had sapped her strength. That explained her sudden wooziness. It had nothing to do with the sensual promise in Duncan’s eyes, or the fact that his gaze was setting her skin on fire and heating her blood to a slow simmer.
The demon in her liked the way he looked at her. The demon liked his hella hard body and his oh-so-kissable mouth. The demon wanted to take him up on his unspoken invitation and screw him stupid. Then again, the demon didn’t have a heart to be broken. Sure, Duncan was mouthwateringly delicious, and she wanted him so bad her bones ached, but she had a choice. She could stick her head in that buzz saw—again—or she could walk away.
Being of sound mind and body and possessing a healthy sense of self-preservation, she would walk away.
Cassie considered herself a work in progress. No day was wasted, in her estimation, if she learned something. Today, she’d learned several things. One: Verbena was the genuine article. She really was the enhancer.
Two: when casting an animation spell, it behooved a mage to install a timer . . . unless one enjoyed chasing after a runaway bronze statue.
Three: Duncan was her Achilles’ heel. She could huff and puff and pretend indifference until the cows came home, but she still cared about him.
He’d nearly died, dammit, and that had scared her shitless. Which proved she was right to shy away from him. Only a fool would open herself up to that kind of hurt a second time, and Cassandra Ferguson McKenna was nobody’s fool.
Walk away, she told herself. Wish him well and walk away. Keep body and soul intact.
“Tell you what I think,” Verbena said, glancing between them. “I think if the ferret-mones got any thicker in here, you could cut ’em with a knife and serve ’em like cheese.”
Cassie dragged her gaze from Duncan’s. “What?”
“Plain as the nose on my face you two is sweet on one another.” Verbena sidled like a startled crab for the door. “Think I’ll take a shower, Miz Cassie, if’n it’s all right. I smell like stewed polecat.”
Cassie closed her sagging mouth. “You know where everything is. Make yourself at home. And for God’s sake, call me Cassie.”
“Sure thang, Miz . . . er . . . I mean, Cassie.” Verbena nodded and darted out, leaving Cassie and Duncan alone.
“Sometimes, Verbena says the darndest things,” Cassie mumbled.
Duncan didn’t answer. Stood there looking at her, letting her twist in the wind, damn him. He knew she was flustered.
Gloss over it. Yep, that was the best thing. Glide past the elephant in the room like it wasn’t wearing a sequined thong and stripper heels.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to follow Verbena’s example and shower.” She backed toward the bathroom. “Exploded demon smells like rancid bacon and charred brussels sprouts. Who knew?”
The fact that she hadn’t noticed the stench until now said a hell of a lot about her day. And it was barely past eight-thirty.
Duncan remained silent. If she was smart, she’d keep going. Curiosity, however, got the better of her, and she darted a glance at him. Big mistake. His gaze was a simmering mixture of amusement, tenderness, and undisguised longing.
It wasn’t fair, Cassie thought with a flash of indignation. One look from Duncan Dalvahni, and she was down for the count.
No. She would not let him do this to her. She was not a schoolgirl to be toyed with. She was a woman grown, seasoned by time and tempests. She’d lived through wars and famines and droughts, hurricanes and cyclones.
Hell with that. She’d learned how to operate the remote control. She would look him in the eye and stand firm.
Or . . . maybe not.
Casting pride to the wind, she turned to flee, but Duncan’s words stopped her.
“I want you, Cassandra.” His voice was liquid silk. “I burn for you. ’Tis a wonder my bones did not turn to ash years ago from longing. But I meant what I said. I will abide, howe’er long it takes. A year. A century. Ten. It matters not. I will wait.”
Cassie was trembling. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. “Let me get this straight. If I don’t take you back, you’ll build a willow cabin at my gate and weave my name in song until I go mad or relent?”
“Strictly speaking, I would be across the river, not at your gate. And while I suppose a willow cabin would do, I had something more substantial in mind. Something with a roof and running water.”
“I noticed.” Cassie pressed her lips together. “Your construction crew’s been at it pretty much nonstop. It must be costing you a fortune.”
“Money is of no moment to the Dal, but my apologies if the noise has disturbed you,” Duncan said. “The work shall be done, and soon.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “I confess, weaving your name in song had not occurred to me. Should you like it?”
“No.” Good Lord, she was shouting. Cassie closed her eyes and opened them again. “I’d like you to see reason and go away. We’re no good for each other.”
“I could go away, I suppose, but I would only return.” His mouth twisted in an expression of self-mockery. “I fear I am a pathetic creature where you are concerned.”
Cassie gazed at him in mingled panic and exasperation. There was nothing pathetic about him. He was wily and clever, and tenacious in the extreme. He would never give up, stubborn Dalvahni that he was. The harder she resisted, the more he would take it as a challenge.
He was confusing love with lust. He didn’t know her, and he sure as hell didn’t love her. He was living in a dream world of yesterday that could never be recreated.
Lust she could relate to; she wanted him, too, something fierce. Oh, she had put up a good fight, but the morning’s unnerving events had laid bare the truth. So, where did that leave them? An affair—an affair was the logical solution to their problem, in a hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-you kind of way. They would get this thing, whatever it was, out of their systems, once and for all. Scratch that maddening itch and move on.
“Attraction has never been the problem,” she said, taking the plunge. “I find you irresistible, too, so why fight it? Let’s have sex.”
He blinked, and Cassie felt a ping of satisfaction. She’d thrown him. Good.
“Friends with benefits, you know?” She gave him a bright smile. “Want to go for a roll in the hay? After I defunk, of course.”
“A roll in the hay?” His gaze grew unfocused, then cleared. “You wish to engage in coitus with me?”
Duncan looked poleaxed, like he couldn’t believe his ears. Served him right. He’d been driving her out of her mind for months. Sitting across the river, taunting her, teasing her with his gorgeous body and his laughing eyes.
“Plain, uncomplicated sex,” she said. “Two consenting adults enjoying one another’s bodies. No mushy stuff. No jealousy or insecurity. Sex, and no strings.”
“In short, you would be my thrall?”
His thrall? Noooo, that wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but . . .
Cassie had a sudden vision of herself naked and at Duncan’s mercy, his big body moving over her, in her. Something hot and achy unfurled inside her.
His gaze was on her throat, on her rapidly beating pulse. He knew his effect on her, damn him.
“Cassandra? You wish to be my thrall?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “And you’ll be mine.”
“For how long?”
Cassie shrugged. “As long as it takes. Then we move on.”
“Agreed, but with one condition.” His eyes, usually filled with so much warmth and laughter, were flinty. “I do not share. I have exclusive use of your body while the agreement holds.”
“Of course,” she said, striving to sound nonchalant, though her stomach was doing a roller-coaster free fall. “On the condition that I have exclusive use of yours. Deal?”
He gazed at her, his expression stoic. “Very well, fornication it shall be. No emotion. No promises.”
It was Cassie’s turn to blink. She hadn’t expected him to agree. He’d called her bluff, damn him, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“But I give you fair warning,” he said. “I mean to ride you hard and often.” He looked her up and down, stripping her. “Until I get bored and move on.”
He turned and strode away.
“Wait,” Cassie said. “Where are you going?”
He stopped in the doorway and looked back. “To the kitchen to prepare a repast.”
“Don’t you want to talk? About . . . you know . . .” Cassie gazed at him in frustration. “Our agreement?”
“Talking is overrated, and I would have you rebuild your strength. It has been a long time since I slaked my lust in the House of Pleasure. A very long time. I mean to make the most of our bargain.”
He walked out, leaving Cassie rooted to the spot.
She started at an alarming thought. “Hey,” she shouted after him, “the stove is electric. Don’t even think about building a fire in my kitchen. I mean it.”
There was no answer. She should probably go after him, make sure he didn’t burn the house down, but she needed to cool off.
I give you fair warning. I mean to ride you hard and often . . .
Sweet Blessed Holy Mother of God, what had she done? Had she lost her mind? She’d agreed to a fling with Duncan. On what planet had she thought that was a good idea?
Planet I-Wanna-Tap-That? the squeam said. You’ve been drooling over the guy for months. Screw him stupid and move on. Think of it as a purge.
“Yeah.” Cassie took a deep breath. “I’m doing it for my health.”
Exactly.
Having momentarily set at least part of her mind at ease, Cassie’s thoughts circled back to the waiting shower. As she turned to head for the bathroom, a short, blond woman materialized on a blast of lemony perfume. She was Safari Jane on the prowl in a khaki mini-dress with a plunging neckline, gold cord lacing, and short, cuffed sleeves. A chin-length bob swung beneath the brim of her straw safari hat, and its leopard-print band matched the wide belt at her hips. Short leopard-print boots with five-inch heels adorned her tiny feet.
The woman looked solid enough, but upon closer inspection, a faint, glowing outline betrayed her true nature. With a ripple of shock, Cassie realized she was looking at a ghost—a bitchy one, if appearances did not deceive. The ghost had the spare, stretched look of an exercise fanatic and perpetual dieter, and there was a nasty sparkle in her blue eyes.
The ghost’s belligerent gaze roved over Cassie, taking in her unkempt condition. “Who are you, and why are you covered in pot roast?”
“It’s not pot roast,” Cassie said. “It’s demon goo, and you don’t want to know.”
“You got that right,” the ghost said. “I don’t give a shit about your sorry excuse for a life. What I am interested in is answers. Like, who are you?” She glanced at the white gold Cartier watch on her wrist. “Make it snappy, sister. I’m on the clock, and time is money.”
Cassie stared at the waspish specter. She was no expert on ghosts, but this one clearly had issues. Unresolved issues that made her cranky and unpredictable. The monstrous, egg-laying queen of the parasitoids in Alien had a sunnier disposition than this chick.
“I’m Cassandra Ferguson, and this is my house.” Cassie was tired, and she really wanted a shower—or three. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Meredith Starr Peterson. Of the Petersons.” The ghost whipped out a business card that briefly read Bitchin’ Banshee Services: We’re Scary Good in glowing letters before it disappeared. “The Randall alpha has lost something.”
“Zeb hired you to find Mac? Oh, dear. I tried to call him last night, but I couldn’t get through. I asked Toby to let Zeb know that Mac . . .” She swallowed, belatedly remembering the beheaded carcass marinating in her truck. “That Mac is . . . um . . . here.”
“Mac?” Meredith made a noise like a leaky radiator. “Who the hell’s Mac?”
“Zeb’s nephew.”
“A twat goblin?” The ghost sneered. “Are you freaking kidding me? I’m not here to find some stupid brat.”
“Mac isn’t a child.” Thinking of Mac made Cassie sad. He’d had a lot of years ahead of him, and possibilities, and now he was dead. “He is—was—a young man.”
“Was?” Meredith’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you mean, was?”
Cassie drew herself up. “That’s between me and Zeb. If you’re not here about Mac, why did Zeb hire you?”
“I never said he hired me. I said he was looking for something. Something very special. Heard about it on the network, and I mean to find it.”
“You mean like the Internet?”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “No, dimwad. The Ghost Network. I find the alpha’s missing article, and my rep as a Finder is made.” She dug her manicured nails into the palms of her hands. “I need this case.”
Cassie eyed the ghost curiously. “Why? You’re a ghost.”
“You breathers are all alike. You think because we’re dead, we don’t have needs. You try staring eternity in the face with nothing to do. See how you like it.”
“Go haunt something,” Cassie suggested. “That’s what ghosts do, right? That should keep you busy for a few centuries.”
Meredith’s face stretched in a ghoulish mask. “I’ve been banished from my haunt, Slop Bucket. Bitchin’ Banshee’s all I’ve got.” Her neck stretched like taffy, and she shoved her hideous face closer to Cassie. “Enough talk. Where is it? I know it was here. The damn thing leaves a trail a blind beagle with a head cold could follow.”
“Sorry. No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Gonna play dumb, huh?” The ghost’s neck retracted with the metallic snap of an industrial measuring tape. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. I’ll be back.”
“This is my house,” Cassie objected. “You can’t come and go as you please.”
“Oh, yeah? Try and stop me.” Meredith’s eyes glittered with malice. “Mer-Mer is on the job. I’ll be watching you.”
The ghost dissolved with an audible pop, leaving a citrus cloud in her wake.