Chapter 8

 

 

MAL STAYED downtown for hours after he’d fled from Jory’s apartment, finding an uncomfortable spot on an old fire escape at the end of the alley. He’d dumped most of his clothes in his car, tucking the keys out of sight behind the front tire, and shifted into his wolf form. He had to put on a human skin long enough to climb up the ladder, but it was easier to keep an eye on the back entrance to the Black Cat as a hellhound. That and he wanted a chance to curl up and think.

He’d been surprised when Jory stumbled into work early in the morning, and more surprised still when he didn’t seem to come out again.

Jory seldom left the Black Cat through the front door. His trek home consisted of walking a whole thirty feet down the alley, so there wasn’t much point. But when he hadn’t come out after twelve hours, Mal worried he might have lost him. Mal had gone around to the front to check in with Louise, but she hadn’t seen him leave either.

He went back to his fire escape and told himself that he hadn’t lost his incubus yet. Jory’s routine hadn’t varied once, except for his date with Mal and forced lunches with the girl from the café. It was depressing, realizing that Jory seldom left the building he lived and worked in. Since contact with people hurt him, it made sense that he would become something of a recluse. The only time he spent more than a few minutes outside was when he’d sit on the steps behind the café. He almost always brought food, but never ate it, and after a few minutes he went back inside. Sometimes the food seemed to vanish, and Mal wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He could smell a couple of cats living in the alley, so Jory might have been feeding them.

As he’d watched, Mal had tried to piece together what must have happened to Jory in Minnesota.

If Jory could sense when someone was ill, could determine through mere touch what kind of illness they were suffering from, Jory could be invaluable to Luhmann’s faith healing scam. Or even to someone who was genuinely sick. Eugene had the best doctors that money could buy, but if Luhmann had promised Jory could heal him and had used Jory’s insight as evidence, Eugene’s natural skepticism might have given way to idiotic hope.

Not that it mattered.

Jory was an incubus spawn, but even as weak as he’d been, Jory hadn’t drained anything from him. He’d assumed Jory was a predator looking for his next victim. He’d misread everything. Nothing about the last week had caused any weird incubus-induced lust, just his own desire. Jory hadn’t had any ulterior motives, and Mal had latched on to any excuse that would let Mal justify fucking him.

When Jory finally came out to the steps after working for almost twenty hours straight, Mal couldn’t help leaning forward to drink in the sight of him. Even in a plain white T-shirt and a stained apron, Jory looked so beautiful he left him speechless and fumbling with a single smile. That Jory was actually interested in Mal made it so much worse. Or better.

The taste of copper in the back of his mouth was almost sickening. He leapt from the fire escape, rolling and shifting into his largest form as he hit the ground.

The man from the diner had somehow slipped past him while he was contemplating how to fix things with Jory. His scent was subtle—distinctly human, but also something more. Something that made Mal’s stomach churn.

Mal didn’t hesitate. The taste of copper got stronger as he raced toward the thing stalking Jory, and everything that Mal was kept screaming at him to move faster, to stop him before he got anywhere near Jory.

He leapt from nearly two meters away, wrapping his teeth around the man’s neck and shoulder as he took him down. The man’s flesh tasted of rot and filth. His blood flowed out over Mal’s teeth as he ripped through arteries, muscle, and bone, the scent and taste so putrid that his entire being was repulsed by it. He knew that the thing beneath his jaws had once been a man, but there was almost nothing human left of him now.

When it finally stopped struggling, its blood pooling on the pavement, Mal released it and hurried after Jory. He froze for a moment when he heard the shuffling behind him, however. The thing was up and moving again. Mal growled, knowing that the damn thing should have bled out. He’d taken a huge chunk of flesh from the thing’s shoulder. How the hell could he kill something that could stand up after that?

He could feel Jory fleeing down the alley, more terrified than he’d been before. Louise was circling the building to protect him, but something was very wrong. Something other than the foul-tasting zombie moving toward him.

He ran, panicking when he saw Jory sprawled on the sidewalk. Louise was nudging his hand with her nose, but he wasn’t moving. Mal shifted midrun, scooping Jory up and turning toward his car.

Neal, smiling and scratching the back of his head, stood staring at him. “A random hellhound I can believe, but a hellhound and ghoul? Not a chance is that coincidence. Hand him over.”

“A ghoul? They can infest humans like that? Whatever, I’ve got nothing to do with that thing,” Mal said, watching it lurch toward them from the mouth of the alley.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t! I just ripped its shoulder off!”

Louise ran past him, grabbing his keys with her teeth.

“He can hardly breathe,” Mal said, struggling to force the words out. “How can I help him? I offered him whatever he needed—power, energy, sex—but he won’t take it!”

Neal turned back, focusing on the creature limping toward them. “Yeah, no shit. There’s no time to smack you upside the head, though. You say you’re not with this thing? Prove it. Take Jory someplace safe, look after him until he wakes up, all right? I’ll find you.”

Mal got Jory into the car and then looked back toward Neal. The incubus and the creature were gone, but flashing lights from a police car flickered in the alley. Louise crawled in and he got out of there, trying to check on Jory in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Jory’s skin was paler than usual and his lips were a sickly blue. Wandering into an ER naked, covered in blood, and carrying an unconscious body wasn’t likely to end well, but if it might save Jory’s life, he’d do it anyway. Getting cleaned up would take too damn long.

He ran his fingers over Jory’s neck, desperately checking for a pulse, then stopped when he felt the pull of energy before he managed to feel for Jory’s heartbeat.

Jory hadn’t drained anything from him during sex, but he was an incubus. And even though he might show restraint when he was conscious, his body seemed determined to survive regardless of Jory’s intent.

Mal splayed his fingers across Jory’s collar, trying to replicate the awkward feeling, to push more energy into Jory’s body. It flowed at a trickle, regardless of anything he tried. Desperate, he pulled over and set both hands on Jory’s shoulders, hoping that if he could just wake him up, Mal could help him. Jory didn’t budge, but Mal’s power did. It flowed from both hands into Jory’s skin, no faster than before but twice as strong.

“Surface area,” he muttered. “He needs more skin-to-skin contact.”

He pulled back out on the street and headed straight to his hotel. When he got Jory back to his hotel room, he stripped Jory down to the waist, washed the blood off of his own mouth and neck, pulled on a pair of jeans, and then wrapped himself around Jory, allowing as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. Jory was so skinny that Mal could feel his ribs, and he felt like an ass for not noticing it the night before. Given how much he’d seen Jory eat, it didn’t make a lot of sense, but he added it to the list of shit he’d worry about later.

It happened slowly, the energy draining from his body a drop at a time, eventually leaving him lethargic while the wheeze in Jory’s chest eased and the color returned to his face.

Sometime around ten, the sensation changed. It was a subtle feeling, like the drops of power he’d offered were seeping back into him, still resonating with an energy that was distinctly Jory’s. The way each spark made his pulse race was unexpected but nice. He’d gladly have stayed in bed wrapped around Jory forever to maintain the sensation. But now Jory was awake, and from the way the scent of fear kept ratcheting up, Mal knew there was no chance he was going to come back and let Mal nuzzle against him for a few more hours.

He opened his eyes and saw why Jory was on the verge of screaming. At the foot of the bed was Louise—a stubborn jumble of shadow-drenched fur, fire, claws, teeth, and muscle that was bigger than Jory himself. She was staring at Jory with her head cocked to the side. It was her friendliest expression as a pug, but with canines that could rival a lion’s and burning red eyes, the impact wasn’t quite the same.

“She’s not a pug,” Jory muttered, stumbling back until he hit the nightstand. “And she killed a man behind the café.”

Mal rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. “She’s not a pug, she’s a hellhound. And she didn’t touch the thing in the alley.”

“She feels human too,” Jory said, looking more confused. “Part of her does.”

“She can look human,” Mal admitted. “But she hates it. She was a rottweiler, now she’s a hellhound, and she prefers to be a pug. After last night, though, she refuses to shift back. You should come lie down. You could probably use the rest.”

“She ripped a man apart,” Jory insisted.

“No, she didn’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I saw it!” Jory snapped.

“It wasn’t a man. It wasn’t human. It smelled disgusting and it moved like a puppet, all jerky and uncoordinated. Your guardian said it was a ghoul, but I don’t see how a nasty little scavenger that eats the dead can possess them. And I’m the one who brought it down. Louise’s too gentle for that kind of thing.”

“Gentle? You? What…?” Jory asked.

“Tried to kill it. It smelled pinkish mauve and kind of coppery, like death. Rotting death. It freaked me out enough that instinct just took over. Which I know isn’t helpful, but that’s all I’ve got.”

Jory deflated. “You smell the world in color?”

“Kind of.”

“And she was a pug,” Jory said, watching Louise.

“We’re always hellhounds, no matter what shape we’re in. Sometimes she looks like a Newfoundland, if she wants the bulk but not the teeth. Most of the time she’s happy in the shape of a pug.”

“She can turn into anything?”

He shook his head. “Hellhounds can shift into any type of canine. She wasn’t originally a hellhound at all, just a dog. I can command most canines, and I tried to use my powers to help her to get herself out of a fighting pit. But she’s actually got a smidge of hellhound blood in her, and bonding with me turned her completely. I never thought she’d be able to shift into a human, but since the humans I turn into hellhounds can shift into canines, it makes sense that it’d go the other way too.”

“So you’re talking about… making were-dogs? Out of people? And people out of were-dogs? Burning, shadowy were-dogs?” Despite the circumstances, Mal saw a spark of excitement in Jory’s expression. He stepped closer to the bed again, sitting down near Mal. “Can I see it? Can you turn me into a dog?”

“Hellhound,” he tried again. “And of course I can’t. With normal humans, it just takes sacrificing some power, but you’re not human. I can’t turn you into anything, but I can show you, if you want.”

“Ah… let’s come back to the not human thing,” Jory said, his tone more eager than frightened. “Show me. And remember, I ran a psychic surgery gig for five years. If you’re going to show me some mystical shape-shifting thing, go for it. But I know deflection and bullshit when I see it.”

Mal winced. “I should warn you, it’s either going to be messy or intimidating. And I know that sounds like an excuse, but it’s not. Shifting into something smaller leaves excess matter behind. It makes a mess.”

“So change into something the same size.”

“I’m a bit over two hundred pounds. There are dogs out there that weigh the same, but they’re usually fat, happy mastiffs who think they’re lapdogs.”

“You can’t tell me she weighs less than that. She’s huge.”

“She’s overprotective.” He turned to Louise, who glanced toward him but didn’t move. “And it’s getting old. Do you mind?” He gestured to the floor.

She grumbled but obligingly hopped off the bed.

“She understands us both, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does. It’s been about seventy years since I found her, and she’s just as… well, half the time I think she’s smarter than me.”

She cocked her head to the side, huffed, and padded into the bathroom.

Jory’s gaze followed her, and he only relaxed when it was obvious she had no intention of coming out.

“So… a demonstration. Like I was saying, I’m not little. I’d rather make a mess than freak you out, but I’d rather not get charged for cleaning the carpets when I check out.”

Jory considered him critically. “Are you going to go nuts and attack me like you did to that guy in the alley?”

He didn’t know if he should feel insulted or not. “I don’t lose myself just because I change my shape. I’m a hellhound, even when I look human.”

“You said that was instinct.”

“It was a ghoul walking around in a human corpse. Can you tell me that if you’d had a gun you wouldn’t have shot it?”

“No,” Jory said immediately, shaking his head. “There was a giant hellhound growling down at me from the fire escape, and at the time, that seemed like the bigger threat.”

Mal considered that. “I’m glad you weren’t armed, then. No freaking out.”

“If you’re still rational, the fact that you’ll look like a two-hundred-pound monster shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Jory had a point.

“And do you really think there’s anything you could do to this carpet that would make it worse than it already is?”

He glanced down at the dingy brown shag. “Yeah, that’s fair. Do you want to touch me while I shift? You know what I feel like, and you might trust your own powers more than your eyes.”

Jory shook his head, inching back automatically. He moved toward the headboard, giving Mal room.

“Suit yourself. I was thinking you might want to, since your kind’s powers are based on touch.”

“My kind?”

“Jory, I’m a demon, just like you. Well, not just like you, obviously. Tell you what, I’ll change, and you can touch me and see for yourself that I’m still me.” Mal slowly began to shove his boxer briefs down.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t have a limitless supply of clothes. I know in movies werewolves always somehow manage to keep their pants and keep their asses covered, but in real life, I end up with my tail and hind legs stuck in a shredded tangle of underwear.”

Mal refused to let himself dwell on the way Jory’s scent changed as he stood in front of him. They’d already slept together, but the arousal emanating from Jory, the way Jory tried not to let his gaze fall to Mal’s cock, was difficult to ignore.

“Watch,” Mal said, striding toward him, then stopping when his shins hit the edge of the bed.

Jory swallowed hard and stared.

“Of course, you don’t have to just watch,” Mal said again. “You can touch any part of me you’d like.”

He focused on his own power, mapping out the shape of a German shepherd in his mind. Jory flinched when Mal’s shoulders cracked—not the muted pop of joints aligning but a loud, painful snap. Mal didn’t even react, knowing the pain would be over in a moment. His skin rippled, shrank, and twisted. He tried to keep his gaze locked on Jory’s eyes, but as his body morphed beneath his flesh and thick dark hair erupted from every part of his skin, Mal couldn’t focus.

It was mere seconds before the tug of bone, skin, hair, teeth, and claws solidified and Mal felt like himself again. He wasn’t sure if Jory was grinning or about to scream, but he spun around, making a few quick circles to drive away the temporary vertigo, then hopped up onto the bed, stopping between Jory’s legs, where he sat down and stared at Jory patiently. After a tense moment when Jory didn’t breathe, Mal leaned closer and nudged Jory’s hand with his nose.

Mal saw the confusion in Jory’s expression. The touch was electrifying and warm and everything that Jory’s skin had been a few moments ago. Jory’s fingers moved along his muzzle, his hand trembling as he stroked the fur running down Mal’s neck and chest.

“You’re real.” Jory ran his left hand through his hair and turned away, his breath coming quickly as the smell of adrenaline spiked again.

Mal whined, hoping to get his attention.

“You’re….” Jory swallowed hard. “All this time, I thought if I just looked long enough, if I searched everywhere, I’d find some easy explanation for my own existence and everything would make sense.”

Another whine. He inched forward, nosing Jory’s free hand up, then shoved his head onto Jory’s thigh so Jory could sink his fingers into his thick fur. As if on instinct, Jory tugged at his fur, gently rubbing the back of his head.

Jory shook his head. “A demon. With all the little evils I’ve turned a blind eye to, the ethical questions I’ve always refused to ask, I figured my gift was the one good thing about me. I know the world is unfair and doesn’t make sense, but how can it be evil? I admit, it’s never brought me anything except pain, but….”

Mal sat up and, for lack of a better way to communicate, shoved his forehead against Jory’s chest.

“How can the universe actually be this fucked-up? How can people like Adam be right? You said you’re a demon, like me. After all the shit he did, the shit he tried to make me do, I thought I was a little better because I actually managed to help people. But I’m the demon? And I suppose the zombie guy from the diner is some kind of avenging angel?”

Mal moved backward off the bed. Jory closed his eyes this time, and he was a bit grateful for that. He was confident as a man or hellhound, but he knew damn well that the shapes in between looked like reanimated roadkill. But even with a tongue and lips capable of forming words, Mal didn’t know what to say.

Instead he sat down and ran his fingers through Jory’s hair.

“I’m okay,” Jory insisted. “I suppose if I thought of demons as something other than crushed chicken livers, this might be less weird.”

He sighed. “You never knew that you’re a demon.”

“Of all the likely explanations for my gifts, the devil was pretty far down my list,” Jory insisted.

“Uh, there’s no devil, per se. There’s never been a single ruler of Hel. There’s angelic propaganda out there that likes to claim that their civil war was responsible for creating the entire dimension, but the demon clans existed long before any rebel angel decided to apply for refugee status.”

“Demon clans? God, you’ve got to be kidding me….”

“Nope. They’re all pretty isolationist. Most of them never want to mix with any demon who’s a different species, or the same species but from a different kingdom, so there are all kinds of little factions and political bullshit governing how they interact. Exile to earth is supposed to be a punishment, even for the human hybrids who are born here, but trust me, it’s better.”

“But I’m not evil.”

“Evil doesn’t have anything to do with it. Being a demon doesn’t have anything to do with being good or evil. Being a guy doesn’t automatically make you a sexist, right? Being white doesn’t mean you’re born a racist. What you do is what defines who you are, not your blood. Being a pastry chef seems to be just as deeply ingrained in you as being a demon, but whatever else you are is up to you.”

Jory slumped backward, looking dejected.

“How did you find your way here if you didn’t know what you are? I admit, I didn’t plan on wandering into some kind of incubus haven when I stopped. With the haze hanging over this place, my first instinct was to get as far away as possible. Then I saw you, and, well, I changed my mind. But you must have sensed the others, whether you knew what you were feeling or not.”

“Missoula was the farthest I could afford to go on a Greyhound bus. And what do you mean by incubus?”

Mal scratched the back of his neck. “You’re an incubus. And one of the strongest demons I’ve ever come across.”

“An incubus? Is that your excuse?” Jory asked, pointedly glancing down at Mal’s erection.

“Maybe I should grab my pants,” he said, getting off the bed quickly.

“Are you saying the fact that you can’t control yourself makes me an incubus?”

“Control? I’m not doing anything but standing here. My senses are balanced differently when I’m a canine, and I told you that your smell is….” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the scent making him shudder. “Spiked with fear and illness, even after the last few hours. But underneath that, you smell amazing. Just because it makes my dick want to come out and play doesn’t mean that I can’t control myself.”

“You tried to crawl into my lap a second ago.”

Mal shrugged sheepishly. “I’m tactile by nature and you’re….” He couldn’t say mine. He shouldn’t even think it. “Besides, my reaction to you has nothing to do with you being an incubus. I want you because you’re fucking gorgeous, you’re fun to hang out with, and you’re a nice guy even though I can’t think straight around you. Plus, you let me paint you. That’s all me. You needing to drain the vitality of other beings is what makes you an incubus.”

“I don’t need to do that.”

He shook his head. “You have to. You couldn’t have survived this long if you didn’t.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong,” Jory said again.

“Maybe you’re not consciously aware of it,” he suggested. “I know you didn’t do it with me, but most people tend to get caught up in the moment, so you must have at some point.”

“During sex?” Jory narrowed his eyes. “Not me.”

He pulled on his shorts and smirked at Jory. “You’ve never lost control during sex?”

“No.”

“Damn, I’m going to have to do better.”

Even in the dim hotel room, Mal could see the color flooding Jory’s cheeks. “You did fine, but that doesn’t count. Usually pain keeps me pretty grounded.”

He dragged on his pants and sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. “You haven’t ever… enjoyed sex before?”

“Everybody enjoys sex. It hurts, but it’s still fun. Look, you turn into a wolf thing. I heal people, and I get whatever I take from them. I don’t know anything about being an incubus, but I know what I do.”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking about Eugene. “You heal people?”

“Yeah. Or do you think I just magically manifested lung cancer?”

“Fuck, I never imagined that sex might actually hurt an incubus. I guess that explains why they always go after young, sexy people.”

“Do they?”

Mal shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Like I said, the clans don’t mix. Why the hell did you heal someone with lung cancer if you knew it would cause you this much damage?”

Jory shrugged. “Adam. He was thrilled to use my gift in his show, or to hawk it to whoever would pay him enough. He never particularly cared if I survived. He forced me to heal some old prick with lung cancer and then dumped me behind a building to die.”

Mal stumbled backward as Jory’s words sank in. He hadn’t been hired to track down Luhmann’s partner in a faith healing grift—he been sent to retrieve a slave. He wasn’t clear on how an incubus could be forced to do anything, but the evidence proved Jory was telling the truth.

Eugene’s health hadn’t changed too much when Mal saw him at New Life Ministries. He’d smelled healthier than he had years before, but Mal hadn’t given it much thought. They’d forced Jory to heal him, used his power until Jory was barely clinging to life, and then thrown him away, just like someone might throw away an empty pill bottle. But Eugene hadn’t succeeded in taking everything from Jory, not yet, and so Mal had been summoned so they could finish what they’d started.

Mal felt like he was going to throw up. His erection deflated in an instant, and Louise stomped out of the bathroom, growling. Jory scrambled away from her, but she ignored him, facing Mal. The look of censure in her burning eyes was painful, and he knew he deserved all of her scorn.

“I didn’t know!” Mal shouted at her. “I was already going to fix it. Somehow.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She tends to reflect my emotions. What you’re describing—it’s an uncomfortable thing to imagine, much less to hear about.” Mal shook his head and folded his arms.

Jory looked annoyed. “Sorry if me nearly getting killed makes you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It just makes me angry, and my anger feeds into hers, so….” Mal waved his hand at the spot where she stood on the floor. “Homicidal hellhound. And it’s worse because you didn’t know you’re an incubus. You didn’t know you could feed to get your strength back, or that you could kill them.”

“Feed? Like some kind of vampire?”

“Where do you think vampire legends came from? Granted, my clan are responsible for our fair share of myths.”

“And there are others?” Jory asked incredulously. “Other types of demons?”

“A fair number,” Mal said carefully. “The thing that attacked you last night, the one that was at the restaurant, apparently was a ghoul—at least that’s what some random old incubus who smelled like a urinal said.”

“Blond hair, green jacket?” Jory asked.

“That’s him. In Hel they’re little scavengers, like vultures but not quite as physical. I’ve never heard of a ghoul leaving Hel without orders, and I didn’t know they could take over a corpse instead of eating it, so that’s… weird. It wasn’t looking for food, it was looking for you.”

“Weird sums up my entire life,” Jory insisted.

“I mean that it doesn’t happen. There are always wars in Hel. The cardinal kingdoms all fight each other, and the little tiny kingdoms that haven’t been crushed yet vie for position among themselves. But it doesn’t usually spill over to earth because it takes a lot of power to open a gateway. A demon lord can do it. I chased my brother through one that he opened. But a ghoul is almost incorporeal. They don’t cross over. They don’t attack. They don’t do anything on earth—unless they’re ordered to.”

Jory looked pale. “Ordered?”

“Yeah. Your crazy strong incubus in the green coat is one of the nobility, and he seemed pretty convinced that me and the ghoul were both sent here by someone in Hel to hunt you down.”

“I may have pissed a few people off, but no one from a different dimension.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Neal. Or whatever his real name is. The servant of Asmodeus.”

“Who?”

“The incubus who’s been popping up around your place,” Mal said simply. “He said he’s a servant of Asmodeus…. Well, I don’t want to say Asmodeus is a king of Hel, since most of it comes down to bloodlines and there are rumors that his mother was human. But he’s as powerful as a king and has been for a long time. Most lords in Hel still work on a wonky feudal system enforced by magic and soul bonds. But no lord can bind an incubus. It’s practically suicide, since the bond can go both ways. Asmodeus is the only one who’s ever really been able to command them, partly because his territory in Hel was a giant brothel and casino.”

“Work is work, even if it’s someplace you’d enjoy hanging out.”

“He also gave them the freedom to come and go as they please, along with a paycheck,” Mal added. “When every other place in the world is filled with a few nobles and a lot of slaves, that’s more tempting than you can imagine. Without his partner, Astaroth, he might never have amounted to anything. Astaroth has been around forever, and his origins are almost as convoluted as Asmodeus, but he was the one who first suggested that the incubi might like to get paid. With Asmodeus’s magic and Astaroth’s charm, they were always able to stay in power no matter what wars were raging outside their territory, but apparently that changed sometime in the last century. Neal said that he thinks Asmodeus is dead, but I don’t see how he could be. Deposed, maybe, but if he was easy to kill, someone would have taken him out ages ago—if nothing else, to get out of paying whatever debts they owed him.”

“So there are… actual demon wars? Insurrections, politics, all that?”

“Unfortunately. Honestly, if the wars ever stopped, the entire political system would break down. But I’m just complaining. You spend your entire life on the bottom of that heap, it’s easy to bitch about it.”

“Why would you be on the bottom—” Jory clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks turning crimson.

Mal smirked. “I’m usually more of a top, but I don’t mind being versatile.”

“You know damn well what I meant,” Jory snapped. “But if you want to try this whole thing again, without the crazy, that’s tempting.”

“Hellhounds are treated like animals,” Mal said, trying not to grumble. “There are dozens of types of demons. Lots of them look like animals: they evolved along similar lines, or were created when a bunch of bastards who called themselves gods experimented on lesser demons. Each court has tried creating their own elemental warriors and their own unique shape-shifters. The more willpower a demon can dredge up, the better they live. With hellhounds, well, we’d play follow-the-leader for eternity regardless of who was in charge. Most of us can’t shake that pack mentality, and the ones that can are killed or exiled.”

“But you’re massive. You’re terrifying. How can….” Jory shook his head, giving Mal an expression that clearly suggested he thought Mal was fucking with him. “You can’t be telling me that a demon that can shift into a gigantic, ferocious animal would put up with being treated like a thing instead of a person.”

Mal shrugged miserably.

Jory pursed his lips. “You’re one of those exiles? Or are you here because some demon lord ordered you to be?”

“You really don’t trust anything at all, do you?” he asked, a little hurt.

Jory rolled his eyes. “I thought we’d established that.”

“Fine. I’m here because I want to be. On earth and in bed with you. I never fit in when I was in Hel anyway. Happy?”

Jory grinned.

“What about the wheezing?” he asked, sitting down. “Is it better?”

Jory cocked his head to the side, then took an easy deep breath, his expression shocked. “How’d you know about that?”

“I could hear it,” he explained.

“I meant, how did you know it hurt less?”

Mal shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“What did you do?”

“You weren’t waking up. You needed help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Just power,” Mal insisted. “I’m not an incubus, so I didn’t have much solid information to go on. I knew from the night before last that it wasn’t a sex thing, so I figured it might work with skin-to-skin contact. I just took off your shirt and lay down with you.”

“The sex thing?”

“When we slept together, you didn’t take anything from me at all, even though I thought it was pretty obvious that I was offering.” He trailed off, struck by the accusatory look in Jory’s eyes. “You needed help.”

“So this,” Jory said, glancing at the blankets that still held the imprints of his form and Mal’s. “The other night… was to make me feel better? To heal me?”

“Last night, you couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want you to die.”

“And the night before?”

Mal bit the inside of his cheek, trying to gauge Jory’s mood. “I figured you were desperate to feed off someone who wouldn’t hurt you, and the risk was worth getting a chance to sleep with you.”

“The risk?”

Mal lowered his gaze, not wanting to admit just how much Jory’s attention had meant to him.

“You thought I was going to kill you,” Jory said, hesitantly reaching out to touch Mal’s hair. “You were willing to let me do it. Why would you do that? Why did you think I would?”

“You should have,” Mal whispered. “Your body’s so starved for energy that you’re skin and bones. You’ve lived with damage to your lungs for months. I wanted to help you. Plus, no incubus would ever lower themselves by sleeping with a hellhound, so I convinced myself you were desperate and you’d leap at the chance to… well, to take my invitation.”

“How am I supposed to respond to that? You’re saying that fucking me was some form of warped demonic charity, but it’s okay because you”—Jory gestured at Mal’s body—“thought that I couldn’t actually be into you? You’re telling me that you were offended because I didn’t kill you?” He took a deep breath and sighed, then scrambled off the bed and grabbed his shirt. “You know what? I wasn’t up for crazy yesterday, and that hasn’t changed.”

Mal winced at the accusing tone in Jory’s voice. “You saw me shift. How can you still think this is bullshit?”

“I didn’t say it was bullshit, just that it’s not shit I want to deal with right now.”

“You can’t just leave. The ghoul that was waiting for you outside of the café wasn’t acting on its own. They can’t. I took a chunk out of it that should have ripped open an artery, but it got up again. I didn’t really pay attention after that because your incubus babysitter showed up and, well… I was naked and covered in blood, you were turning blue, and the police were coming. Even if it’s dead, whatever ordered it to come after you is still out there. It found you at the restaurant, it figured out where you work.”

“A ghoul?” Jory asked, stopping with his shirt in his hands. “You attacked it?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Jory pulled his shirt on and folded his arms. “Not risk your life to save me. Trust me, I’m not worth it. I’ve got to get back to the café so I can apologize to my boss; then I’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“What good is keeping your job if you’re dead?”

A look of surprise and confusion flashed across Jory’s face. “I’d give almost anything to keep my job.”

He knew Jory wanted to say more—he could feel it.

“Thanks, for whatever this was,” Jory said, heading out the door. Mal watched him walk away, trying to make up a plan B quickly. He cursed and started looking for his boots and jacket. “Go after him while I get the car?” he asked Louise.

She growled.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying not to panic as he thought about Jory walking around the streets unprotected. “He’s breathing better, but he’s still an easy target.”

The growl got louder, a more severe rebuke than he expected.

“I know!” he shouted. “I know I shouldn’t have slept with him, but I don’t care. When there’s not a ghoul tailing his ass, I’ll walk away, but nothing is going to hurt him while I’m still around.”

She huffed and hurried out the door.

He grabbed his keys and wallet and followed in his car, letting his bond with Louise guide him. Louise and Jory were moving toward the highway, so he parked in front of them and hopped out.

“The least I can do is give you a ride to work,” he said, nodding toward the car.

Jory seemed to consider it for a moment. “I think you’ve helped me enough.”

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he promised, hitting the key fob to lock his car. “Please?”

He reached for Jory’s waist, hoping that he might still be allowed to touch him. Jory shivered beneath Mal’s fingers, but he didn’t flinch or shove him away. Mal said, “If you went out with someone who made you feel amazing and you find out that there’s something wrong with their car that you can easily fix, you’d help them, right?”

“Helping someone by fixing their car doesn’t drain your life. And it isn’t the same as deciding to go out with them just so you can help with their car.”

“Jory, I wanted you. I figured you would feed off me, but I didn’t care.” Feeling bolder than he had any right to be, Mal leaned in close and nuzzled Jory’s neck, brushing his lips along the skin just beneath Jory’s ear. “And when you didn’t—when I realized that this wasn’t just a one-time thing where you decided to lower yourself to my level because you had no other choice—that was crazy enough that I needed some time to wrap my head around it, to figure out how to make this last.”

“You know that we’re in public, right?” Jory murmured, tilting his head a little to give Mal more access to his neck.

“I warned you I’m not good at being subtle.”

Jory closed his eyes for a moment, finally smiling again. “Try for my sake? You might be a badass hellhound in disguise, but I’d rather not get the shit beaten out of me by some random redneck.”

Mal slipped his hands off Jory. “Fine.”

Jory glanced at him as they headed for the car, quietly laughing. “You are basically a giant puppy, aren’t you?”

“Am not.”

Mal held the door open so Louise could climb over the seat and Jory could get in. He got behind the wheel, reaching for Jory again just to have his hand gently shoved away. He huffed but took Jory’s cue and pulled into traffic.

“You’re totally a giant puppy. You get so excited I can imagine you bouncing around with your tail wagging. And you’re adorable when you pout,” Jory said.

“I don’t pout.”

“Uh-huh. It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me—I do—but there are more than a few homophobic jocks and cowboys running around this city.”

“Either of us could kill them in an instant,” Mal pointed out. “Besides, a lot of guys are so far in the closet they lash out because they’re desperate. Get them away from the friends they’re showing off for and they want to get physical in a whole other way.”

“Maybe that’s how it works for you, but most people aren’t that lucky.”

“Well, I cheat. It’s easy to smell when someone is turned-on, so I don’t have to risk being wrong. I always thought an incubus would be able to tell when someone wants them, though.”

Jory shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

“You kept flirting with me at the café,” Mal reminded him. “I figured you could tell I was interested from the moment I walked in.”

“You kept glaring at me. I wasn’t flirting, I was trying to figure out what I’d done to piss you off.”

“I can smell when you’re lying,” Mal reminded him. “You were totally flirting. But I did glare. I’m not used to losing control of myself, and this has been weird for me,” he admitted. He passed the café and circled the block, driving until he found parking a few blocks away. “You’re not really going to work, are you? After what happened?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Neal said I should think about leaving. If this is how he warns me about people trying to kill me, I’d hate to see something that actually makes him worry.”

“Believe me, I doubt there’s anything in this world that can make Neal worry.” Mal bit back the flare of jealousy at the soft way Jory said the other demon’s name. “You know, I don’t have any reason to stay, aside from you. If you want to leave, I can take you someplace else. Wherever you want.” Putting some distance between Jory and Neal couldn’t hurt either.

Jory stared at him, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I thought you were here for work?”

He caught himself before he swore out loud. “This trail was a dead end long before I came into town. I should have doubled back, or even started over, weeks ago. But I can always get another case.”

“I might take you up on that. Either way, I’ve got to let Selma know I’m leaving.” Jory slipped away from him with a soft smile. “Then I’d have to grab some stuff from my place too.”

“I can help you pack.”

“I don’t have anything to pack, but I have stuff at work I have to take care of. I suppose I could call you when I’m done, if you’d like?”

“I don’t mind waiting. Give me a second to grab a sketchbook and I’ll catch up,” Mal promised, going to dig through the trunk.

He moved his bags aside, reaching for the black wire-bound sketchbook with Jory’s portrait in it. So far he’d avoided the duct-tape-bound cookbook he’d carefully hidden beneath the rest of his belongings. It had been lurking in the back of his thoughts before the ghoul attacked. It was one of the few things that Jory had ever grown attached to, and Mal knew he had no right to keep it. But even knowing how much it meant to Jory, Mal couldn’t bring himself to hand it over, because he knew it would mean watching Jory walk out of his life.

But he’d have to give it back sooner or later. If he took Jory away, ran as far from the Barnetts and Luhmann as possible, it would only make things worse. He could all too easily imagine Jory rummaging in the trunk somewhere along the side of the road and finding out that Mal had been working with them when this entire mess began. If he told Jory the truth, at least it would come from him. Having a chance to explain would be better than letting Jory assume the worst.

Across the parking lot, along the sidewalk, was a row of garbage cans. He stared at them, clutching at the cookbook. Jory already thought the cookbook was lost. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the trash cans, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just throw it away, to pretend that he hadn’t heard of Luhmann until Jory mentioned him.

“I’m being stupid,” he muttered to himself.

Even if they could escape the demon lord hunting Jory, staying off Eugene’s radar wouldn’t be possible. Eugene knew him—his home address, his bank accounts, and every name and social security number he’d used for the past five decades. Trying to keep Jory by his side would just lead Eugene to him sooner. And the old bastard would probably tell Jory that Mal had been working for him, just to rub it in.

The best choice was to tuck the cookbook away, drop Jory off someplace safe, hand it over, and drive away. He’d have to help Jory learn how to use his powers first, and how to defend himself, but it was the ethical choice.

His bond with Louise burned, commanding his attention. He could feel her pain, an echo of his own, and this didn’t feel like an injury. She was nervous about something and quickly becoming frightened.

He jogged back to the car and tossed the book inside, slamming the trunk before running after her toward a modern office building. A man in a security guard uniform was sprawled on the ground, his neck twisted at an impossible angle.

A familiar snarl and a squeal echoed from around the corner, and Mal ran faster. The ghoul from the night before had found them again. There was no mistaking the sickening copper scent. But this time it wasn’t alone.