What a Demon Wants (9 page)

Chapter 9

Jude should have known his ominous words wouldn’t get the response from this woman that he would expect. He’d been worried his opinion would put her on edge again.

Instead she laughed.

“I know this is your job, and you have to look for the worst, but I don’t believe anyone in my family wants to kill me. Maybe give me a good shake every now and then.

But kill? Nah.”

Jude studied her, trying to decide how this woman, a writer, a preternatural—or at least half preternatural—who should be very perceptive, could be this oblivious. This unaware.

“But do they really consider you one of their own?”

Jude instantly regretted his blunt words. Ellina actually blanched, her skin whitening to the point that her eyes look huge as she stared at him.

“I just,” she shook her head, “I just can’t believe that.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t absolutely convinced either. But he did think she had to consider everyone. Even family. Maksim had made interesting observations about many of them. Ellina had rubbed several demons the wrong way, and mostly with her books.

The books essentially outed the demon world. Most of the demon world wouldn’t appreciate that from a full demon, but from a half demon, that could be a real problem.

“Given what you write,” he said, keeping his tone low, calm, “you certainly know how dangerous demons can be. And they cannot be happy with you exposing their secrets.

Their weaknesses. Their strengths for that matter.”

She laughed again. “I write fiction. Fantasy. I’m not exposing anything.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That isn’t what your brother led me to believe.

When we talked, he said you use real spells in your books. Real incantations.”

Her amusement faded into a frown. “I do. But these are fictional books. None of my readers would even consider that they could be real.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well…no,” she admitted, her frown deepening, more with consternation than irritation. “But the stories are so clearly fantasy.”

“Your family knows that not all of it is fiction, don’t they? And maybe other demons have figured it out too. Maybe humans, as well.”

He watched the emotions at war on her face. She really had never considered the fact that someone human or inhuman might have discovered the facts scattered within her fiction.

“Why do you think your father doesn’t approve of your books?” he asked.

Ellina blinked. “I know he doesn’t like the ongoing story-line of a love affair between a demon and a human woman. I thought that he felt that was a little too close to home for him. You know, sort of writing the story of him and my mother, which did not turn out well.”

Jude considered that. If that were the case, it didn’t seem likely her father would want her dead for being a little too candid about his romances.

“Maybe that is all it is. Or maybe it’s more. And we have to assume it is something more.”

“My father wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, her tone adamant, even though her expression was less resolute.

“But I think you really need to start taking the breakins and the other incidents seriously.”

Her gaze was distant and he wasn’t sure if she was even listening to him. He knew she didn’t want to hear any of this, but he had to discuss the possibilities with her. She had to start being cautious.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he said, wishing he didn’t have to upset her so.

She came back from wherever her thoughts had been and met his gaze. “Did Maksim suggest all these possibilities?”

“Yes.”

“Even the human risk?”

“He mentioned it. And I think we should consider it. You do have lots and lots of fans. And fans can be fanatical. Although I realize that a fanatical human doesn’t explain how you ended up in a cat.”

She nodded, looking distracted again.

Did she know something she wasn’t telling?

“Ellina—”

Her eyes met his, but her gaze looked stricken, almost haunted.

“I need to get back to work.”

She tossed the damp dishcloth she still held limply in her hand onto the counter, and moved around him, twisting her body to avoid contact as she passed.

She was doing it again. Jude had, even in this short time, learned one thing. Ellina ran away. When things got too much, she made a break for it and hid in her work. In a world of her own creation.

He understood that. Wasn’t that all he wanted? To run and hide?

He caught her wrist.

“Ellina, wait. I know it’s a lot to comprehend. And it’s scary. But I’m here to help you.”

Ellina’s gaze locked on Jude’s long fingers wrapped around her narrow wrist, his grasp gentle, his skin callused. Her breath caught at the intoxicating contrast, and her desperate, distraught thoughts faded.

His thumb brushed over the sensitive space on the inside of her wrist, just below her palm. She shivered.

Jude frowned, mistaking her tremble for more fear.

“We’ll figure out what’s going on here,” he assured her, his voice low and husky.

Velvety and rough. Another delicious paradox.

His thumb still stroked her, and the tiny caress seemed to reach deep inside her.

Desire swelled and pooled, drifting lower and lower.

Desperation of a different kind filled her.

She tugged her arm away, panic making the action abrupt, anxious. She backed away from him.

“I-I know everything will be okay,” Ellina said, the words rapid and tumbling over each other. “You know—um—I think maybe I’ll just—just go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

He regarded her with that unreadable expression that managed to unnerve her further.

She said, “Make yourself at home, and feel free to move your stuff into the guest bedroom. The sheets are clean, and there are towels in the cabinet in the bath—”

A sudden wave of irritation washed over her as she realized how silly and manic she sounded, so she finished her ramble with, “Well, I’m sure you know where everything is, since you’ve investigated the whole place.”

Okay, that sounded almost petulant. Not that it mattered at this moment. She just had to get away from him.

Her gaze dropped to the hand that had touched her. Long tapered fingers, a broad palm, with traces of scars, pale and white, on his knuckles. Masculine hands.

Hands that would feel so good touching her.

She felt her body reacting and backed away, bumping into the door frame in her hurry to escape.

“Okay. Good night,” she said, keeping her eyes averted from him.

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She simply turned and rushed toward her bedroom.

Once inside her “pretty in pink” bedroom, she closed the door and sagged against it, overcome with so many emotions. Too many.

After a few moments, she forced herself to straighten and cross the room to her bureau. She pulled out shorty pajamas and tossed them on the bed.

She started to tug off her shirt, but stopped and sat heavily on the edge of her bed.

She dropped her head into her hands.

This was all too much.

Why hadn’t she thought of what Jude mentioned tonight?

What if humans were reading her books and attempting the spells? Once he’d pointed out that possibility, most of his other concerns about her safety had fallen on deaf ears.

What if her books were actually causing harm? She’d changed her whole career path just to avoid something like this. That’s why she’d stopped writing her “encyclopedias” of demons—because she realized they could be dangerous. Fortunately, her nonfiction books had been printed by a small press and the books didn’t get the kind of circulation they needed to become big sellers. Now most of them were out of print.

So she’d stopped writing those and focused on the adventures of Jenny Bell. The fictitious adventures. And those her readers had to believe were all fiction, didn’t they?

After all, humans didn’t attempt the spells in Harry Potter, did they? Or any other fantasy fiction?

Of course, how would she know? Maybe they did. And that didn’t matter, because she’d bet money that J. K. Rowling’s spells really were fictitious.

But hers…

She sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. She rose and paced her room.

“It is unlikely, right?” she said aloud.

The very idea terrified her. Some of the spells she’d included in her books were pretty powerful magic.

“You idiot,” Ellina muttered. Why had she included real incantations? There was no point, really, but she just hadn’t thought anyone would think they were real.

She hadn’t really believed anything would happen either with her nonfiction books, but at least that seemed more likely.

She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the agitation that had her heart skipping and her blood humming in her ears.

This day was too much. She pulled in another breath and realized she honestly was drained.

She didn’t have much hope she would sleep, but crawling into bed and covering her head seemed pretty damn appealing at the moment.

Stress, she told herself. Among other things.

Her mind moved from her worries about humans to Jude. He’d been almost—kind.

He’d seemed genuinely concerned about her bout of nerves and also about discussing his trepidation about her family.

And when he’d touched her. His hands had been so big—so strong. The feeling she’d experienced when he’d defended her against her brothers warmed her inside again. The appeal of having someone on her side. Someone to watch out for her.

Then her thoughts turned to what it would be like to really be with a man like that. A protective man. A strong man.

She shivered, desire returning with burning force.

She peeled off her T-shirt, feeling every brush of the soft worn material against her stomach and even through the sheer material of her bra.

Almost reluctantly, she walked over to her bureau, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her face, aside from the strain around her mouth and the tiredness in her eyes, looked normal. Her eyes had shifted back to normal. But her bared torso was another matter.

The scales were back. Red and iridescent in the low lamplight. A stark contrast to her pale ivory bra. She touched them, and they seemed to vibrate under her fingers.

She pictured Jude’s hands moving over them. Not being distressed or repulsed by them. More scales appeared as she imagined him here with her.

She groaned. She was disgusted with her abnormality. Disgusted that even with her knowledge that her books had the possibility of harming someone, she was still thinking about her attraction to Jude.

Ellina strode to her bed and threw on her pajamas, covering most of the evidence of her utter lack of self-control.

She crawled into bed, determined to ignore her desire.

And she’d been so pleased with herself earlier in the evening. She’d stayed in her tiny kitchen and helped clean up the remnants of dinner. She’d been aware of him, attracted to him, but she’d kept her demon self in check.

She’d actually believed she could be around him and be fine. Be normal.

But, as always, that state was yet again elusive.

In the end, the only thing she’d managed to do with any success was keep her reaction from Jude. She felt confident he hadn’t noticed any of her odd changes. She’d kept her eyes, which she knew had to have been glowing, averted from him.

The scales were a bit like hives. They tended to appear first on the warmest parts of her body.

She shifted her legs under the sheets, feeling scales in places that were…most embarrassing.

Groaning, she whipped the covers over her head.

This day needed to be over.

Jude heard Ellina’s bedroom door slam shut, but he didn’t bother to follow and tell her she should keep her door open. She was too upset, and he got the feeling she wouldn’t comply anyway.

And frankly he needed time to regroup.

He turned back to the sink and started washing the last pan. The hot water on his skin only seemed to feed the need in him like pouring water on a grease fire. The need spread, intensified.

Just a mere touch. The innocuous skin of her wrist and he was practically mad with lust for this woman. What was wrong with him?

Was there something strange with this full moon? Was there an eclipse? An unusual alignment of the planets?

He finished cleaning the pan with quick, agitated strokes and left it to dry in the drainer. He dried his hands, then wandered out of the kitchen, trying to decide what he should do now.

Jude felt restless. After wandering around the house, he opted to go to Ellina’s room.

He stood outside her door and listened.

The room was silent, but he could sense she was in there. He could smell her, feel her. That touch, brief as it was, seemed to have created a link to her that wasn’t easily fading. The electrical vibration pulsated through the air, through the door, the walls, reaching him.

Did she feel it too?

He gritted his teeth, biting back a groan.

Why had he touched her? Especially then when he’d been feeling so—so protective of her.

There was no avoiding that realization now. He was feeling protective of her—more so than normal for a client.

As they’d talked about his notes and his concerns about who could want to hurt her, he’d been worried about her reaction, but that concern had gone beyond the usual apprehension for a client in potential danger. His protectiveness was tinged with something else. Something far more worrisome.

He’d felt possessive. That feeling had only intensified when he’d touched her. Even now his desire, still there, was charged with that possessiveness. Like the electrical vibration in the air was a bond that somehow placed a claim on her.

He left her doorway, afraid of what he might do if he stayed. This had never happened with other jobs. He was a master of detachment. He did jobs. That was his focus.

Not the actual individuals. Just the work and doing the work right.

Even when the full moon drew closer, in the past, he’d just gotten more aggressive, more aware, more willing to fight.