“All the same, I shouldn’t have put my hands on you without permission.” He murmured, not reacting to my touch.
“Or sniff me without my permission,” I added.
Hart's orange eyes flared before he looked away.
“Its—” I opened my mouth to assure him that I really was okay. I didn’t want to spend too much time around someone who was suspicious already. Hugo had already raised the subject with Davenport.
Hart's brow crinkled as I frowned and looked down at my outstretched hands. I was seeing double.
My mind felt fine, but my body had dropped. The ground raced forward. My tongue was too big. My vision died. Large arms cradled me, but everything went black.
All I could think about was how my bottled water had tasted metallic. Some fucker had poisoned me.
Chapter 7
I dreamt of the red sands of Wrath as they shifted in a breeze that would never touch my skin. I was a shadow without form. Our 'Cluster' had thrived in every circle of Hell. From the bustle of the City of Dis, with its flapping fabric storefronts and shouting vendors, to the stripped forests of Gluttony, hiding between the trees as the skeletal Purgers sought food for the King.
Drudes were little more than rodents, in the grand hierarchy of the Seven Circles. Twirling dust in dark alleys, and listening shadows.
My Cluster, my family, were hundreds.
Before they cracked through the surface.
An ancient evil, long since locked away, broke through the Second Circle. Wrath. They ate the smallest first. The weakest. The Drudes.
I dreamt of our screams.
I howled my brother’s names. An echo in the wind. My kin became solid as their magic was stripped and consumed by the Bhakshi, hideous wyrm-like monsters—and the Shayati, their puppet masters.
The Queen of Wrath took arms and rose up to defeat them.
But it was too late.
Everyone was gone.
Their immortality stripped away and fed on without care.
No one mourned the Drudes.
No one, but for me.
For the first time in two weeks, I was completely and utterly alone. Frankie Gardiner and her memories had left the building.
The world came back slowly. The veil peeled from my eyes and sensation returned to my toes first, and then gradually spread to the rest of my body.
I blinked, taking stock of my surroundings. I was laid on a bed that wasn’t mine. The room looked the same, with mint green walls and a cream comforter, but there was an open door across the room, which showed a connecting suite.
I groaned, feeling worse than I had when I woke up. Every tick of Frankie's heartbeat pressed against my skull.
“You’re awake.” A male voice, rough around the edges as if he didn’t use it often, jerked me from the perusal of my surroundings.
Hart sat in the corner; he had been reading. He carefully folded his book shut and placed it on the small table to his right. “Do you need a glass of water? An Advil?”
“Did we have sex?” I moaned, pressing my hand against my head. “Damn, I wanted to remember my first time.”
Hart ignored my ramblings. “You blacked out, your pulse was steady and breathing fine—Davenport asked me to take you to my suite and keep an eye on you.”
I hummed, to indicate that I was listening. “I think I was poisoned,” I said. “It must be the person that tried to kill Frankie the first time.”
Hart squinted, but if he thought my referral to myself in the third person was strange—he didn't say anything about it.
“Your brother came by earlier to take some blood. He said he will run an analysis to see if any poisons come up.” Hart stood up, his steps faltered, but I saw the moment that his decision was made, and he crossed the room to me. The large man sat at the end of the bed. He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure you don’t have a temperature.”
“Oh.” I felt like an idiot, but to be fair, Demons did not get sick.
“Do you remember anything strange from before you passed out?” Hart asked, distracted by his hand on my head. He moved his fingers through my hair, feeling the wavy strands. I was too curious about what he was doing to move.
“My water tasted funny. It was sealed when I got it. Gary handed the bottle over when I got my food as there were none in the fridge.”
Hart nodded as he continued to pet me with intense concentration. His touch felt nice.
“What are you doing?” I asked when he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
He froze, his orange eyes wide. “I don’t know.” His brow furrowed as he looked to the side, questioning his actions. Somehow, it just made sense for him to be close to me. Like another limb.
“I'll let Davenport know about Gary.” Hart stood abruptly. The absence of his touch made me shiver.
He left the room, with a straight back and determination not to look back at me.
I flipped back on the bed and fell asleep. The sheets smelt like him. Like the forest.
Night had fallen when I woke again. My skin tingled with electricity, and the echoes of screams played in my ears like a symphony. The nightmares danced in the air.
Hart's room was empty. I was alone.
I sat up. Gliding, as if pulled by the sweet siren song of human terror. Darkness laid coiled under the surface. Flashes of images flickered through my mind. A vast gaping chasm, broken concrete, and tumbling rocks. Thousands of teeth, curved inwards—rows after rows. Monsters. Demons. Beings that I did not fear, as they had been created by the same primordial soup that had birthed me.
Hell.
I closed the door, pressing my hand flat as the latch clicked shut quietly. The hallway was dark, save for two strips of glow-in-the-dark paint that highlighted the nearest fire exit.
I followed the pained grunts and the sound of twisted bedsheets being kicked off.
Two doors down, the scent of fear and sweat grew stronger. I placed my hand against the fingerprint sensor, unsure if it would let me through. When the small electronic pad glowed red, I concentrated on pushing a small amount of my magic through it. Clouding the reading.
It took an immense amount of power, but the elicit taste of what promised to be a filling meal told me that it would be worth it.
The door clicked open, I crept inside. My hunger to sate my magic overrode all sense. The male figure tossed and turned in the bed. His room was bitter with the tang of his sweat as he shivered and thrashed among his night terrors.
Warren Davenport.
How unexpected.
My hand hovered over his body, all of the darkness drifted away from his skin like smoke, and I sucked it up. I kept going until I felt almost too full to move. Davenport stopped thrashing. His breathing grew even, and his heavyset brow relaxed into a peaceful expression.
I stared down at his hard angular face. The scruff on his chin and neck, the prominent Roman nose. In sleep, Warren Davenport looked less severe but no less beautiful.
He will kill you if he finds out what you are.
I needed to be more careful. I needed to wear Frankie like a second skin—to become her. To find whatever had tried to kill her the first time and then the second.
I was determined, but Warren Davenport made me lose all sense. His hidden trauma was a delicacy, and I was a starving Demon. My hands hovered over his body as I drew his darkness to me. Feeding. Taking his pain and making it my own. When I was done, my hands dropped, and I stepped away.