Chapter Four
Fyra huffed and a puff of smoke escaped. She took another sip of ice water to cool herself before she set the small five-bed hospital on fire. Her other arm was secured with cuffs to the side of the hospital bed.
A doctor in her late forties had listened dubiously to the deputy’s description of her injuries. Fyra’s bones had been well on the way to completely mended before the ambulance had arrived at the tiny ER.
She still had the bandage on her face. Dried blood and debris covered the healed flesh underneath. Fyra had smiled and refused treatment. As a second-tier demon doing the Circle’s bidding on Earth, she was well acquainted with many human laws and quirks, and in America, humans could refuse anything they wanted to.
“I already read you your rights, Kim.” The officer shot her a surprised look when she snorted. “Rights” was not a word in the underworld. “It’s time to take you to jail so we can have a nice long talk.”
Fyra shoved her breasts out and jiggled her arm. “Why, Deputy, whatever are we going to talk about?”
He pinned her with his steely gaze. “Lady, I’m a happily married man. Been that way for twenty-five years. Don’t bother.”
Her shoulders dropped. Seduction was out of the question. She could fight him, and would no doubt win, but the fool would kill himself to keep her from escaping. Then she’d have more law enforcement after her. No, she needed a better opening to run.
He cuffed her wrists together in front of her and led her out to his patrol car. She used the opportunity to search for a clothing store, but this place was so small it didn’t even have a Walmart.
She needed to escape, but she was getting to the point where she’d kill for women’s clothing in her size. Unfortunately, women’s big and tall stores weren’t plentiful.
The deputy pulled up to a square brick building that was as small as the town. He led her inside.
“Is, like, a shower in my future, Detective?”
“Sheriff, and we have to interview you first.”
Her luck on earth sucked as much as in the underworld. A sheriff had arrested her. On the bright side, maybe this rinky-dink county had a deputy or two for her to dupe.
Her big vampire would find her before too long. Bishop was smarter than he looked and a tanker explosion would earn news time.
Inside the building, she received the saucer-eyed attention of an older woman sitting behind a wall of monitors. The woman slid a laptop case across the top of the desk.
“Gail.” The sheriff snatched it up. “Ready a cell for Kim here while I speak with her for a bit.”
“Will do.” Gail’s attention was glued to Fyra’s bandages and road rash, then her bloodstained clothing, and her expression turned concerned. “I’ll grab a men’s jail uniform for you, dear,” she spoke to Fyra.
The sheriff grunted a reply. Fyra’s lips twitched. Ol’ Gail, jailer/dispatcher combo, probably mothered every detainee that walked through the place. A human weakness.
So why did a big, bad demon want to sit and pour her heart out to Gail? Because Fyra missed her own mother, and a genuinely caring person like Gail was a rarity in Fyra’s world.
Chatting with Bishop, witnessing his reaction to her real appearance, didn’t help. Through the haze of the dream world, the interest in his gaze had been noticeable.
Fyra’s thoughts remained on Bishop as the sheriff plopped her down. Her cuffs jingled when she rested her hands on the tabletop.
Sitting across from her, the sheriff opened the laptop. “Spell your last name for me.”
She didn’t have one of her own, so she used Bishop’s. “L-a-u-r-e-n-t.”
Suck it, vampire. He’d given her a human name, so she’d take his last name and ignore the flutter it caused in her belly.
“Kim Laurent. Why don’t you have identification?”
Stifling a laugh, she imagined the information on her driver’s license. Address: underworld. Hair color: flame. Eye color: candlelight. Weight: depends on the time of day. Height: hella tall.
“Ms. Laurent?” His fingers tapped the table.
A knock on the door interrupted them.
Fyra looked at the door with interest. Opportunity knocking?
The sheriff opened it with a scowl to reveal a frumpy deputy with thinning blond hair.
“Sheriff, the mayor’s house was broken into, some jewelry stolen. Thought you’d want to take lead.”
Fyra narrowed her eyes on the deputy. Not all was as it seemed. He wore something bulky under his shirt that made him look bigger than he was. A bulletproof vest, but that wasn’t what prodded her intuition.
A faint whiff of brimstone teased her.
The sheriff started to rush past the deputy but stopped, then turned back to her.
“Go ahead,” the deputy encouraged. “I’ll finish here.”
Yes, go on. Fyra straightened.
“Get what you can out of her,” the sheriff growled as he took off.
The deputy stepped in. Fyra peered at his name tag. Johnson. How totally plain, just like the guy himself.
The demon inside was anything but plain.
Throwing her shoulders back to jut her breasts out, she gave the new arrival a charming smile while cursing her bandages.
He pulled out the chair the sheriff had vacated and plunked down. “Save it, Fyra. But I should leave you in those cuffs for a while for throwing me under the bus with Rancor.”
“Hellfire, Stryke, I’m impressed. I can barely detect you in the skin bag. I didn’t know a broker was in the area, but he bagged you quite a human.”
In rural areas, it could be impossibly difficult—or ridiculously easy—to find a human who could summon demons and recruit other humans as hosts.
His expression remained unreadable except for a touch of irritation with her. “Rancor’s sent other second-tiers after you besides me and you’ve cut a wide path through the Midwest, so here’s the deal.”
“Why would I need a deal?” Her true feelings didn’t match her cavalier tone. As far as Stryke’s deal went, he held all the cards. “I can get away easy enough. I just didn’t want to create a scene.”
He leveled her with a grim stare. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” she snapped. “A swath of human carnage would be as much of a beacon as the fires.”
“Defensive much?”
She flipped him off. Such a satisfying human gesture.
“Fyra, I don’t have centuries to wait for you to get control of your fire-starting abilities, but I do need some extra time in this realm so I’m going to get you out of here.” He punched a few buttons on the computer. “There. You were never arrested. Your records have already been cleared at the hospital, and the staff won’t recall who you are or what you look like. I ensured that Gail’s forgotten about seeing you, but the sheriff will worry he’s got dementia.”
With each statement, her brows rose higher and higher. Stryke could do all that? With spells or internal power? She shifted her gaze to the tabletop. “What do you want from me in return?”
Demons didn’t do things out of the goodness of their black hearts.
“Look at me.”
She did. The ordinary human was the furthest thing from Stryke’s real appearance. Swarthy looks, powerful physique, intense gaze—Stryke was the demon young females like her would hang posters of on their cave walls. Only, he didn’t put out, as far as she knew. Not an easy feat in their home realm.
“How do you control your emotions?” When she didn’t answer, he shook his head. “Why didn’t your parents teach you?”
“My mom did what she could”—not that it helped—“before the Circle slaughtered her. Do you think I volunteered to be a second-tier demon?” Anonymity would’ve suited her just fine. “I was volun-told, and I don’t know who my sperm donor is.” Her mother hadn’t even said whether it’d been consensual or not. In the underworld, it could go either way.
Stryke’s mouth was flat and he didn’t speak for a moment. “You’ll owe me a favor, and don’t worry, I’m not after your body.”
“I’d be insulted, but I know you’re not after anyone’s body.”
He made a noncommittal sound. “Don’t be so sure. At some point, I’ll want into Bishop’s inner circle, and you’ll get me in there.”
A flutter of laughter escaped. “Okay. Well, I plan to use Bishop to destroy Rancor. If he survives that and somehow catches me to bring me in—as a prisoner, by the way—then, yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”
Stryke’s stare remained hard. “I don’t care if you have to stroll into Demetrius’s compound with your wrists pre-cuffed, you’ll do it when I tell you.”
All that assuming Bishop didn’t just kill her first. “Fine.”
“Here’s a tip. When your heat builds, think of icebergs. Ice baths. Polar bears. Pretend you’ve just dunked yourself in a fishing hole in the middle of the Arctic. Think of cold, and calm yourself the fuck down.”
He pulled a key ring off his belt and beckoned for her wrists. She was unlocked in seconds and rubbing her skin. Next off were the bandages.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“From the guy in the sexy-as-hell human,” she teased.
“The other deputy is a married woman with small children. Call me stupid, but I didn’t think the sheriff would buy that you could seduce her. And I’m not sure you’d be willing to hurt her.”
“Of course I’d be willing,” she snapped, more irritated that he read her so well. “How old are you, anyway, to be dispensing sage advice?”
“Older than that vampire you’re crushing on.”
With startling clarity, she realized two things. Stryke had more on her than all thirteen of the Circle combined. And she was lucky to have him on her side. Her behavior would be scorned as severe weakness by most others of her kind.
She stood. “What do you need me to do until then?”
“Stay on the run and stay hidden. I’ve got some things to do here while Rancor thinks I’m looking for you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “There’s a bag of clothing outside in the rental car I used to get down here.”
“Wait. You used another body to get to this town, then switched to the detective’s?” All without the help of a human broker?
“Deputy, and let me worry about what I did.”
Okay. Stryke had more than a few secrets. Did she care? She tucked the money into her cleavage. He led her to a tiny blue sedan, which she eyed dubiously. “Big girl in a little car.”
His deep chuckle ripped her attention off the clown car. He quit laughing, but his smile remained in place. “I like you, Fyra. Until you came along, I didn’t know other demons could use their own brain, much less have a personality.”
Her hand touched her heart as a foreign feeling assailed it. Was that a compliment, and from someone she wasn’t trying to seduce? From someone she kinda respected, someone she could call—if she weren’t from the underworld—a friend?
The keys jangled from his fingers. “Go on now.”
***
Stryke maneuvered into the gas station lot and killed the engine. The patrol vehicle drew attention from a few people. He ignored them and grabbed his bag of clothing. The stuff he’d gathered for Fyra would look atrocious on her. Served her right for ratting him out to Rancor about his unsanctioned trips to the human realm.
His bag of clothing would both fit him and help him blend in. He walked through the gas station, glad to be able to shed the bulky bulletproof vest and weapons belt that dug into his hips. How did cops roam in this gear all day and chase down criminals?
Locking himself into a bathroom stall, he sat on the toilet and waited until he was alone. Once he heard no one else, he closed his eyes, concentrated, and stepped out of the human’s body.
No broker necessary. No host death required. A special skill no one knew he had, all thanks to a bond a certain vampire didn’t know she had.
He hefted his duffel and stepped out of the stall and into another one to dress. Deputy Johnson next to him groaned and slumped against the wall.
Dude would have some major questions, like how he’d driven to another town without any memory.
Not Stryke’s issue. He finished pulling his clothes on and jerked his ball cap down low on his head. The hat covered his horns and shaded his eyes. His real eye color usually attracted too much attention when paired with his normal looks. Females of any species found him attractive, which was only a drawback for a guy who preferred to fly under the radar.
He walked out of the convenience store and kept going. In a few blocks, he’d take a taxi to the car rental place and make his way back to Freemont.
***
“He’s coming!” Zoey cried, her climax sweeping through her.
“What?” Creed grunted underneath her.
As usual when she was with Creed, memories of intimate moments with her deceased mate filled her head. Except instead of her mate’s red, passion-infused eyes, he had deep violet irises.
Fucked up in so many ways.
She waited until Creed’s orgasm finished before she crawled off him to throw on her clothes. Poor guy. He’d been hinting at things getting more serious between them. Outside the bedroom, Creed was her teammate and a most respected friend. In the bedroom, he was a living vibrator she used to keep lonely depression at bay.
“You can stay for a while, you know.” He reached to the floor for his board shorts.
“No, I can’t.” She readied herself for what she had to say and faced him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Creed’s expression grew troubled. “Was it something I did?”
“Not at all.” She feathered the tendrils that had escaped her tight bun out of her eyes. Her hair had literally and figuratively never been let down around Creed. A major sign she hadn’t truly moved on after Mitchell’s death. And one that meant she couldn’t keep using Creed for a few minutes of not feeling so hopeless.
She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve been really good to me, but I just can’t. Mitchell…”
“I understand.” He blew out a breath. “Sort of.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “We good?”
He nodded, but his face didn’t say yes. Her heart broke for him. He seemed almost as sad as she was, and she wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Probably what had drawn them together.
She was almost out the door when he asked, “What’d you mean ‘he’s coming’?”
Pausing, she glanced back, keeping her expression plain. “What?”
“Nothing. See ya tomorrow.”
Heading back to her room, she buried herself in those two words.
Not I’m coming, but he’s coming. Did it have to do with that feeling that someone was after her? Why shout it during orgasm? Like the thought that an unknown someone after her turned her on?
A warm glow spread along her center, a feeling that had nothing to do with her last few minutes with Creed. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since her last night with Mitchell, before the fire had claimed him. How she missed that glow. Many times, she weighed what she’d give to feel it again.
She was fucked up. No more males until she straightened her shit out.