All this because a demon kissed me once. It’s worse than herpes.
Unbidden, the memory of Geneva’s naked body rose like Venus from the sea of his memories. The ride to perdition had almost been worth it. The souls she had fed him from her lips had been intoxicating. She had been terrifying. Insane. Cataclysmic. Sex, murder, power, and hunger had drowned his humanity in one murderous brew. The thought of it made him grow hard. Made his hunger rise, yearning for the taste of souls.
He yanked his mind away. Fantasizing about his demon mistress was like hankering for a shot glass of pure poison. Unfortunately, she’d set the erotic bar to Olympic heights.
He hadn’t touched another woman until today.
Constance had been similar and yet different. She had looked so innocent, like the maiden from some fairy tale waiting for rescue. His inner caveman had approved. Still did. Caveman was not a great thinker.
Oh, yeah, Constance had roused every red-blooded yearning he had, and then some. His mouth would never forget the angle, the texture, the resisting, melting feel of hers. Deadly fruit was always the sweetest.
Remember the fangs. Unfortunately, they were kind of erotic, too.
God, I’m perverse. What is it with me and bad girls?
He wanted Constance even more than he’d ever wanted Geneva. Not good. Constance was far more dangerous because, once safe from her teeth, he wanted to know why she was alone, why she hadn’t bitten anyone before, and why she’d picked him as her first. Curiosity meant getting involved.
Oh, right, as if I have time to get emotionally invested in a hungry vampire.
At moments, she’d seemed so heartbreakingly sad. And then there was that smile. That melancholy smile could slide under any guy’s tough, manly man shell and go straight for the marshmallow center. Once he was vulnerable, he’d lose the edge of cool logic that made him a good detective. Then he’d make mistakes. Like getting his soul sucked out.
Forget it. The job came first. Dead bodies and paperwork...
But that wouldn’t fly as an excuse this time.
I’m not a cop anymore.
The realization hit him afresh.
They’d fired him because he was a freak. Because he’d made that thinking-with-his-dick mistake once already.
Mac buried his face in his hands, an unruly mix of emotions digging a hot ache in his chest. Shame. Despair. Anger. Regret. Disgust. Demons destroy. I used to be the guy with the badge who saved people.
As his emotions raced, he could feel a restless throb of power growing inside him, pounding with every beat of his pulse. He lifted his head, instinctively bracing his hands on the edge of the couch. Heat swept through his body, a sudden, scorching fever. Sweat stung the cuts and scrapes Bran had left on his flesh.
Strong emotion made the demon infection flare up, as if it fed off the extra energy. He lifted one hand and examined it in the dim light. He was solid, not crumbling to demon dust. That was a good sign. It sucked when that happened at random moments, like standing in a supermarket checkout line.
Mac closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, fighting for calm. The throb spread through his blood, following the nerves like a tide. Not painful, not nauseous like it had been during his first infection. Now it was a flush of excitement, as if someone were running through the hallways of his body, flicking on all the lights as they went. As if all his cells were standing at attention.
Why is there no pain?
Last year, when Geneva had Turned him, every organ had hurt like hell. This felt completely different. Mac didn’t know if that was good or bad. He sprang to his feet, pacing the room.
Maybe it’s not the demon at all. Maybe you picked up a whole new monster flu in the Castle. For all he knew, he had giant squid disease and would start sprouting tentacles at any moment.
Crap. He needed a better supernatural immune system.
Geneva and her demon cooties should have been enough to inoculate him against anything else out there. So then what is this? You’re a detective. Detect, already.
The problem was that he’d barely been able to think since the whole demon trip started. It was like his mind was a puddle, and some giant’s boot had stomped in it, scattering his thoughts to the four winds. Pathetic. Think like you’re solving a case.
That meant backing up, starting again from the basics and looking at the evidence with a cool, unemotional eye. A little hard, considering what was at stake. If his demon side got the upper hand, he’d be looking for someone’s life and soul to eat. Many someones. He’d be his own worst nightmare, and he wouldn’t care one little bit.
Grimly, Mac got up and went into the small second bedroom that served as his office. The desk was buried in paper, but he yanked open the drawer and rummaged until he found his notebook and a pen. He missed his partner. He missed the labs and computers and camaraderie that solved cases. He’d been reduced to the simplest tools: paper, pen, and brain. Then make do.
The notebook was black and hinged at the top, the same kind he’d used when he was working a case. Just holding it made him feel better. He walked back into the living room, now turning on a light. He sat on the couch again, flipping the notebook open to a fresh page. He started writing.
1. Return of demon symptoms when in company of hot vampire chick.
2. First instance of dusting was involuntary, under duress.
3. Castle a factor?
4. Not all symptoms same as previous. No pain. Much heat.
It was a halting, stumbling start, but it was something. As he wrote, the throbbing energy running through him sharpened his mind, seemed to help him take control of his ideas. For a moment, he felt like his old self.
5. Not enough data to conclusively determine cause and effect.
He didn’t like the fifth item. It made the whole line of reasoning grind to a halt. Perversely, just because he’d been a demon, that didn’t mean he was an expert—but he refused to believe that Destination: Demonville was inevitable. Time to put on the research shoes.
There was only one person who’d ever tried to help. She had books, resources, and a boatload of magical power. Feeling suddenly hopeful, Mac wrote:
6. Go see Holly Carver.
Then he frowned. It looked good on paper, but that idea sucked. Mac flipped the notebook shut. His stomach felt like a bag of nightcrawlers, writhing with uncertainty. Holly’s stupid magic house had tried to bash him to pulp the last time he’d dropped by. And he really wished he hadn’t tried to eat Holly’s soul the last time they’d met. That made things so awkward. Damn, damn, damn. Bad dates always come back to bite you in the ass.
He sucked in a breath, clenching his teeth again. Once, there had been sparks between him and Holly. A sudden twinge of mirth disrupted his brooding. Caravelli will absolutely hate it if she agrees to help me. Serves him right for chucking me in the Castle.
He pictured the vampire’s unhappy face. Now there was an upside to this whole fiasco.
Hey, if life hands you giant squid disease, make calamari.
Chapter 8
Ashe Carver scowled as the tall, fair-haired vampire stalked away. Slowly, her eyebrows lifted. The view was noteworthy. She could see why Holly was physically attracted, especially from the rear view. What she didn’t get was how her own sister could be so stupid.