The Devil Inside by Jenna Black
Shit!
The heat told me I didn’t dare open the bedroom door, so I lunged for the window. I shoved it open, only to find a neat little bonfire blazing beneath it.
I went cold. Somebody had disabled my smoke alarm and cut off my escape route.
Someone wanted me dead.
The smoke in my room was now thick enough to make me cough, so I dropped to the floor and considered my options while my heart hammered.
There were only two options available—the door or the window. I didn’t think I was getting through either one without getting burned. But better a few burns than death, right?
Flames licked under my door, drawn by the steady draft from my window. I had to get out of here, and fast!
I chose the window escape route, but before I leapt out, it occurred to me that I might need a little extra protection. My feet propelled me toward the bathroom before my brain caught up with me. Holding my breath, I turned the shower on and hopped in, soaking my PJ’s with freezing cold water.
I hopped out, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen, then sprinted to the window.
The bonfire had grown, but I had no choice. I ducked my head down into the sopping wetness of my pajama top and jumped, trying for as much horizontal distance as possible.
Intense heat surrounded me, tried to eat me alive. I landed on the ground on my hands and knees, my feet still in the fire. I rolled away as fast as humanly possible.
I pulled the pajama top away from my face, trying to see if I was on fire anywhere. Nothing seemed to be burning. Nothing except my house, that is.
Panting, coughing, dazed, I watched the flames spread through my beautiful English cottage.
Chapter 12
I escaped the fire with nothing worse than a few second-degree burns on my feet. My house, however, burned to the ground. Everything I owned, my books, my clothes, my furniture, even my car…gone. One of the neighbors called the fire department, but by the time they started pumping water on it, it had a life of its own. The good news was they got to it before it spread to any of the neighboring houses. When the shock wore off, I’d try to be grateful for that.
The police followed soon after the fire department. Having escaped out my back window, I hadn’t seen the burning cross on my lawn. God’s Wrath and the KKK both agreed that the burning cross made for a neat calling card.
Now why, you might ask, would God’s Wrath burn down the house of an exorcist? We’re supposed to be on the same side, right?
Wrong, according to God’s Wrath. They think that exorcists are soft on demons because we don’t target the demon hosts. They’re really, really into burning people alive, and we spoil their fun. Plus, they feel the human host is just as deserving of death as the demon—even hosts who were taken against their will. Because in the World According to God’s Wrath, only the Wicked can be Possessed by Satan’s Minions. They were the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, and the Salem Witch Trials all rolled into one.
The neighbors poured out of their houses to watch the show as I sat with the EMS folks, sucking down oxygen and wishing my burned feet would do me a favor and drop off the ends of my legs so I wouldn’t have to feel them. When the paramedics finally let me take the oxygen mask off, Mrs. Moore, my next door neighbor, brought me a cell phone so I could call Brian.
If I’d had a choice, I’d have spent the night in a hotel. Not because I didn’t want to be with Brian, but because I was scared to death I’d be endangering him. You see, although this had all the classic makings of a God’s Wrath attack, it was just too damn coincidental. I mean, really, what were the chances my best friend would try to Taser me, armed men would invade my house in the middle of the night, I’d be framed for murder, and God’s Wrath would just happen to pick that moment to burn down my house with me in it?
I hoped like hell whoever was out to get me only had one murder attempt in them for the night, because without a wallet, I wasn’t getting a hotel room. Reluctantly, I called Brian. I let him think the police were right and it was a God’s Wrath attack. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’d tell him my fears that someone was seriously out to kill me and that I didn’t want him caught in the cross fire. I figured that would be a really unpleasant discussion, especially since I wasn’t willing to admit why I thought it was happening. Honestly, I didn’t think he would turn me in as an illegal demon host, but after his performance at the police station the other day, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
I borrowed something that looked like a moomoo—yes, I know that’s not how you spell it, but I defy you to wear one and not feel like Bessie the milk cow—from Mrs. Moore. It was better than my wet pajamas, but not by much. It hung almost to the ankles on her, but it barely skimmed my knees. And there was no way I was getting my size-nine feet into her size-six shoes, even without all the bandages.
I looked like the Mummy’s grandma when Brian arrived to pick me up. My knight in shining armor scooped me into his arms anyway and carried me to his car so I wouldn’t have to walk on my raw, bandaged feet. He held my hand for the entire drive. We hardly spoke a word. I stared out the window at the first hints of dawn, trying not to think, as tears leaked out of my eyes and cooled my cheeks.
When we got to his condo, Brian carried me again. If I’d been anything like my normal self, I would have objected. Once inside, he got me out of the muumuu in record time, but for once seemed oblivious to the fact that I wore nothing underneath. He tucked me lovingly into his bed, then climbed in beside me, still fully clothed. I laid my head on his lap and fell asleep to the feel of his gentle fingers stroking my hair.
Annoyingly, Lugh didn’t fix my French-fried feet during my sleep. I guess he’d learned his lesson, but when I finally woke up around noon, I wished he hadn’t. Every step I took made my feet blaze. I had to keep reminding myself how much worse it could have been.
Brian was downright incredible. During the time I’d slept, he’d gotten me a new bank card, ordered me a new credit card, and had me added to his own credit card account to tide me over. Not only that, he brought me breakfast in bed.
I was ravenous, so I scarfed down the syrupy, delicious waffles in record time. Brian watched me eat with a satisfied little smile on his face. My heart swelled, and I came close to crying for the second time in twenty-four hours. How could I have allowed myself to have even the most fleeting lustful thought about Adam or Lugh when I had Brian? I was ashamed of myself, and when Brian tried to take the empty dishes back to the kitchen, I wouldn’t let him.
“Just leave them on the nightstand,” I said, my voice gone husky.
His eyes darkened with desire, but a concerned frown puckered his forehead. “Are you sure this is a good time? You’ve had a really rough night.”
I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to me. He has the softest, smoothest lips I’ve ever felt. They tasted like home and heaven.
It didn’t take much to banish his concern for my welfare. At the first brush of my tongue, he toed off his shoes and climbed all the way onto the bed, cupping my face in his hands as our tongues danced.
He came up for air, licking his lips and grinning wickedly. “You taste like maple syrup.”
“And how do you feel about maple syrup?” My voice was little more than a breathy whisper.
He pulled the covers down to expose my breasts. Still looking like quite the naughty boy, he dipped his index finger in a pool of leftover syrup on my plate, then rubbed that finger lightly over one nipple. My back arched uncontrollably and I moaned. He repeated the process with the other nipple, then gave me his finger so I could suck off the excess.
Our eyes were locked on each other as I took his whole finger into the wet heat of my mouth. The darkness of his eyes, the flush of his face, told me he felt the caresses of my tongue somewhere other than his finger. I imagined dribbling maple syrup over his hot, hard cock, then filling my mouth with him. Moisture dewed my core, and I wanted him inside me now.
For one brief moment, I t
Unlike a lot of men I’d known, Brian loves the foreplay almost as much as he loves the main event. He could spend an hour, easy, on the sensual torture, so that when we finally gave in, the immense relief of it made the pleasure that much more precious.
Now, though, I didn’t want the foreplay. This wasn’t about physical gratification. This was that primal, life-affirming sex you have after a close brush with your own mortality. Brian, lover-extraordinaire, figured that out without me having to tell him. See why I’m selfishly holding on to him even when I think he’d be better off without me?
He played with me only long enough to get the worst of the stickiness off my nipples, then got down to business. Straddling my legs, he sat back on his haunches to open his belt and unzip his fly. He didn’t bother to take anything off, just shoved his pants and shorts down far enough to be out of the way, then kneed my legs apart.
Normally, I would have insisted on a condom. I’m on the Pill, but I believe in practicing at least two forms of birth control at a time, just in case one fails. But after last night, I wanted no barrier between us—wanted to feel nothing but him, stroking me deep inside, loving me with his body and his heart.
When he slid into me, it felt so right I couldn’t contain my moan. I pulled his head back down to mine and devoured his mouth. His hips started to pump—hard, jarring thrusts. I wrapped my legs around him and moaned.
He didn’t make love to me, not this time. He fucked me. And it was perfect. I came so hard I screamed myself hoarse. I hope the neighbors weren’t home.
When it was over, he was embarrassed by what he termed his lack of finesse. Still breathing hard, I reached up to stroke his sweaty cheek.
“There’s a time and place for finesse. This wasn’t it.”
“Yeah,” he said, and rolled off me. I don’t know if he was convinced or not. But at that moment, the afterglow was so wonderful I didn’t much care.
The problems started when I asked if I could borrow a pair of Brian’s sneakers. He’s bigger than me, but my feet are real gunboats, especially when wrapped in bandages, so I figured I’d be able to keep them in his shoes. He hadn’t minded when I’d insisted on getting out of bed and getting dressed. This, he minded.
“What do you need shoes for?” he asked me suspiciously. “You need to stay off your feet.”
I needed shoes because I had to visit Adam and see if he could exorcize my hidden demon. I planned to keep that little tidbit to myself. Not that I thought what I was about to say would go over any better.
I wished I could have gotten by without having this conversation, but it was inevitable. I sighed and patted the bed beside me. He crossed his arms and glared down at me stubbornly.
“You’re not going anywhere, Morgan.”
I begged to differ. “I have to.”
“Bullshit!”
I jumped. I’m not used to him getting angry so quickly and easily. It made me think I was having a bad influence on him.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “I think someone’s really trying to kill me, and I’m putting you in danger by staying here.”
That got his attention. Color drained from his face. He didn’t sit on the bed beside me, but he pulled over a chair and leaned his butt on its arm so his eyes were closer to my level.
“You mean someone other than God’s Wrath.”
I nodded.
“Who? Why?”
I sighed. “If I knew that, my life would be a hell of a lot easier.”
Once I started talking about it, it wasn’t hard to convince Brian that I was right. He had to admit it was unlikely all this shit was suddenly raining down on my head by sheer coincidence. I didn’t even have to tell him about the mess with Val, which was a good thing, because I couldn’t imagine how I could explain it without telling him I was possessed.
Brian is in many ways the quintessential modern, sensitive man. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the same primitive instincts as other men buried deep under his civilized veneer. You can just imagine how much a man likes hearing that his woman is in danger and she’s going to keep away from him for his own safety.
I don’t actually remember much of the argument. I think my subconscious is protecting me from the pain, because it got pretty nasty toward the end. Brian bellowed at me, his face red with rage. This from a man who almost never raises his voice. I, of course, bellowed right back. We were so angry at each other it was lucky we didn’t resort to fisticuffs.
I slammed out of there, hardly feeling the pain in my tortured feet, at a little after three in the afternoon. I had a duffel bag with a change of clothes in it, Brian’s credit card, and two hundred dollars of Brian’s cash. He’d literally flung it at me when he realized that nothing he said or did short of tying me up was going to make me stay. Pride insisted I couldn’t possibly take his money after this. Practicality told me my other options were limited.
Practicality won out, and I spent the next few minutes picking scattered twenties off the floor while Brian just stood there and glared. I expected him to say something like “and don’t come back” when I walked out the door, but he didn’t.
For a while, I thought I’d have yet another crying jag, but I managed to keep the tears inside. He’d taken it about how I thought he would, and I was just going to have to suck it up.
I checked into the Marriott at the convention center because it was conveniently located. Despite my agonizingly painful feet, I had to stop by the mall and buy some replacement shoes and clothing. I didn’t try anything on. Somehow, I just wasn’t in the mood for shopping. Go figure.
I couldn’t get over the image of Brian yelling at me like that, of the raw pain that shone through his anger. Every time I thought of it, my eyes prickled again.
He was brought up in a world surrounded by loving, supportive family. They’d taught him that there was no problem too great to be solved, that love conquers all, that virtue shall be rewarded. It’s not that he believes we live in a utopia, but he thinks it’s worth reaching for.
Me, I was raised in a world full of anger, resentment, and bitterness. I’d learned how not to compromise from some of the best teachers in the world. I’d learned cynicism by the age of thirteen, and it was a lesson that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
I could never be a part of Brian’s world. Once you’ve come over to the dark side, there’s no going back to the light. But I could drag Brian down to my world without breaking a sweat. Today’s fight showed me he was already starting to skid down that slope.
I couldn’t let that happen. It would be like destroying a priceless work of art. I had to let him go before it was too late. Even if doing it would destroy a piece of myself.
At the hotel, I pinched my nose and forced down a rum and Coke on the off chance a little alcohol would make me feel better. It didn’t. But whoever was after me wasn’t going to call it quits just because I was feeling depressed, so I called Adam’s office. Naturally, he wasn’t there. I tried to convince the guy who answered the phone to give me Adam’s cell phone number, but he flatly refused. My charm was slipping. I left an urgent message for him to call my hotel room, then lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
After fifteen minutes of that, I felt even worse than I had before and was seriously considering trying a little more booze. Lucky for me, the phone rang. I think if I’d drunk anything, I would have puked.
I refused to tell Adam what I wanted over the phone—you never know who might be listening in—but he didn’t press too hard. He’d heard about the fire, so I guess he was being considerate of my frazzled mental state.
He was at my door in twenty minutes. It occurred to me then that asking a good-looking guy to meet you in a hotel room might be considered a come-on in some circles. I hoped like hell that wasn’t why Adam had agreed to come without asking any more questions.
“You look like shit,” he said.
I opened the door wider to let him in. “Thanks for the pep talk.” I turned to look at him, remembering how I’d had impure thoughts about him yesterday, then remembering how I’d torn Brian’s heart out of his chest earlier this afternoon. It was all too much, and I felt my eyes welling up yet again.
Adam’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was insensitive of me.”
The last thing I needed was a good-looking, sadistic demon being nice to me for no earthly reason. Niceness could eat through my armor faster than anything.
I rudely ignored his apology, stomping over to the other end of the room to the pair of uncomfortable chairs. Well, I didn’t really stomp, because my feet hurt too much, but I did a passable imitation. Adam must have noticed what the effort cost me.
“You haven’t healed the burns?” he inquired as he sat.
I shook my head, not quite trusting my voice yet.
“Why on earth not?”
“Do you have an open mind?”
He made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “More open than yours, that’s for sure.”
I let that one slide, and told him about my hitchhiker. I watched his face closely as I talked, looking for any sign as to whether he believed me or not. I couldn’t tell, but I saw something else, something very interesting indeed. When I said Lugh’s name for the first time, Adam started.
It was very slight. If I hadn’t been watching so intently, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
Lugh’s name meant something to Adam. It remained to be seen whether I could find out what.
He was silent for a long time after I’d finished. Deep in thought. At least, that’s how I interpreted the faraway look in his eyes. He could have been wondering what to eat for dinner for all I knew.