“Where is he, Ros? Where could my brother be?” Mari slammed her hands on the kitchen counter. “How could someone just disappear? We know he came here, to Austin. His trail ends, just flat drops off the face of the Earth here. Your contacts couldn’t find him?”
“I never said that, Mari-girl. I said they hadn’t found him. We’re not giving up. If his magical signature is as strong as yours, we will find him.”
“It’s been seven years, Ros.” She leaned into her husband as he wrapped his arms around her then kissed the top of her head.
“Your father prepared for the two of you to grow into your magic, love. He anticipated, no, predicted your arrival. I’m sure he did the same for Marcus. Augustus Greenlea and I had our differences but I know how powerful he was. So do you. If your father hadn’t been so powerful, he never could have bound me to this house where I was waiting for you to free me. And you did. Magnificently so.”
She laughed then shook her head. Her Demonae husband was incorrigible, not to mention the sexiest man, well, Demonae, she’d ever known. The fact that the only way to release him from the spell her father had cast was for Ros and Mari to have three mutual orgasms was something he frequently joked about…now. At the time it hadn’t been funny. Right now her missing brother wasn’t humorous either.
Mari needed closure. One way or another. She wanted to know if he was dead or alive. If he wasn’t living she wanted some type of ceremony to make sure he was at peace. If he was among the living, maybe just avoiding her for some reason, she might just have to kill him herself.
“Where do we go from here, Ros?”
“Let me contact the Demonae Council again. If they will allow me to do a search in my own world, I will.”
“What if they don’t agree?”
“Let’s not borrow trouble, love. I’ll couch my request in such a way that it will be very difficult for them to refuse. For now let’s get you upstairs. You’re looking a little pale.”
She nodded then walked toward the stairs with him. Marc had to be alive. He just had to…
Marcus lifted his head. Damn. The curse ripped through him when he realized he was still alive. Right now he couldn’t decide which hurt more. His back where the skin had been stripped off in places or the seeping slashes on his arms and legs.
The Demonae who held him captive had a wickedly good aim with the whip. Marcus had learned just how much searing agony he could endure from that length of leather. The demon also liked ripping into Marcus with razor-sharp claws. Now Marcus marked time by agony or unconsciousness. The nightmare never changed.
At first Marcus had tried to fight the pain, to stay alert, to not give in. Then he figured out it was easier to just deal with the hurt by passing out. The torments stopped then—at least until he woke up again.
Silently he cursed himself for letting himself get into this situation. Stupid, naive, he’d fallen for a pretty face and a lie—again. This time it hadn’t ended in heartbreak but in torture and captivity.
Stifling a groan, he pushed to his feet. As soon as the bastard knew he was awake he’d show up again. Marcus had stopped counting how long he’d been here. Oh he’d tried at first. He’d scratched a mark into the wall only to find that it didn’t stay. He guessed that was one of the perks of hell. No. Demonae City was not hell. Hell was probably a vacation spot for the sick bastard who tortured him day in day out.
He snorted then wished he hadn’t. It hurt. He’d named this pit Demonae City in the first part of his captivity, trying to get some sense of place. His demonic captor refused to tell him where he really was.
Time had all eventually run together into an unending pattern of pain, hunger and fear. He didn’t know if he’d been trapped for days, weeks, months or years. The only thing he ever saw was the inside of this holding area. The light never changed. It was always strong, always bright. The temperature never varied, warm on his naked skin.
Sometimes when they were letting him heal he’d fall asleep. Other than those times, sleep came slowly but he always felt alert when he woke, so he must have been getting some deep sleep. Mostly he just tried to remember how he’d wound up here.
The lack of sleep wasn’t the only thing bothering him. He hated what they brought him to eat since the food was mostly tasteless. He’d given up trying to identify most of it, he just ate it. What he wouldn’t give for something more palatable. A slice of pizza, or a steak the size of his head, with a massive baked potato and some chocolate cake.
Shaking his head, he tried to remember exactly how he’d landed in this mess. It hadn’t just been following a good-looking guy. There’d been more to it.
“Spells.” The sound of his own voice surprised him. There’d been no one to talk to—no one who cared to listen. The Demonae holding him wasn’t after information. He’d have given up anything if he’d thought it would stop the pain.
No, the Demonae never asked him questions. He had no clue what the rat bastard wanted from him. The big jackass came in. Marc got hurt. Then the demonic freak left when Marc passed out or when the demon got tired of torturing him. Clearing his throat, Marc tried again.
“Learning spells. My name is Marc—” Propping his fists against the wall, he let his head fall forward between his arms. “Marcus. Marcus Greenlea. I’m a—” He stopped then took a deep breath, something hovered just on the edges of his mind. Something important.
“I’m a…witch. I’m a witch. I was learning spells. I found my—”
Whatever glimmer had come to him faded out, so Marcus turned to gingerly lower himself to the floor, his strength draining as fast as the memories. “Spells.”
“Your spells won’t work here, human.” Zepar’s voice echoed in the tiny room. The angry frustration Marcus felt when he heard the demon nearly made him weep. “You’re stronger than I anticipated. Heartier. I thought all humans were weak.”
“Surprise.” Even in pain, scared out of his wits, he couldn’t resist the sarcasm. Zepar grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back so that their eyes met.
“Maybe I should just kill you now?”
“Why not?” Marcus stared at the face of his captor. Just like looking in a mirror. Zepar often took human form when he came in to torture Marcus. For some reason it seemed to amuse him to take Marcus’ own form.
Light-brown hair, longer than Marc normally wore it—but hey, there weren’t any barbershops in hell—green eyes and a small scar on his chin that he’d gotten falling off his skateboard when he was ten. The thin white line showed clearly through the neat beard the Demonae sported. Marc’s wasn’t nearly that well-groomed. Again, no barbershops or razors either in hell.
Today Zepar had even clothed himself in the jeans and sneakers Marcus preferred. He wondered if the Demonae had gone so far as to choose the same brand of boxer-briefs he liked. That thought made him shudder. At least the Demonae had never raped him though the threat had been ever-present, especially since the bastard got a hard-on every time he beat Marcus to a pulp. Marc had been forced to watch though.
The demon got off fucking another demon in front of Marcus with some sort of demonic magic holding Marc’s eyes open. Marc escaped in his head, mocking the “rough trade” sex the demon seemed to like. It helped him ignore the pants and moans of two “men” having sex. Marcus wasn’t against watching. He even liked to be watched. There was something hot about fucking a man while another man jerked off.
Except when you were being held against your will away from your family—not given a choice. So Marc ruthlessly locked down his own sexual desires. He’d tried to masturbate once but hearing the soft mocking laugh, he’d understood that Zepar could watch him. Privacy was the real fantasy in this particular hell.
Even though Zepar took on Marc’s likeness he usually maintained his own height, which was several inches taller than Marc’s six feet two inches. Zepar let go of his hair then yanked Marcus to his feet. “Because I’m still amused by you, human.”
“Marcus.” The sound from his throat sounded less raspy. He liked that he almost sounded confident.
The way the demon’s green eyes blinked was disconcerting. The eyelids didn’t go up and down like a human’s. Rather they were reptilian in their side-to-side closures. “What?”
“My name,” Marc spoke it more firmly now, “is Marcus Greenlea.”
Whatever response Zepar might have made died unsaid as a different light with a soothing blue tint filled the room. The Demonae shoved Marcus back so hard that he went to his knees. A voice sounded, growing louder as Marcus strained to make out the words. The cadence had the rhythm of a chant. The tune seemed familiar, the voice wasn’t. Marcus lurched to his feet, fear warring equally with hope in his mind. Could this be someone trying to rescue him?
A low growl emanated from the Demonae, who seemed excited. Wanting to warn whomever it was on the other side, Marcus took a step toward the light. So did Zepar. Marcus shouted but was cut off when he felt his body heave forward. It was as if a huge, very powerful vacuum had latched on to his chest. The sucking sensation pulled him forward. He stumbled toward the light that now flickered yellow around the calmer blue.
The air shifted by his head as the Demonae’s claws swept past him, missing him by a narrow margin. He turned his head to see that Zepar seemed to be caught in the same grip. Marcus stopped fighting the pull. Anything had to be better than where he was.
Marcus screamed as he passed the barrier. It felt as if his back were on fire. Zepar must not have missed on that final swing. The feel of wood beneath his knees brought Marcus’ head up. He gasped in pain. A naked, or as his Wiccan training would have it, sky-clad man stood in front of him. Blond hair long enough to reach his waist framed a strong face with piercing blue eyes while a neat mustache graced his upper lip.
The chanting stopped abruptly as the nude man dropped his arms. Marcus, hearing a roar behind himself, turned back to see Zepar trying to make his way into the room. He could see the outline of Zepar’s form.
The bastard had returned to his own Demonae form. Huge leathery wings unfurled to highlight the monster. Large horns curling around his head to point forward. Massive razor-sharp claws glinted on the demonic hand reaching through that dimensional plane. Marcus shrieked in terror. Full-blown panic set in. Whirling back to the witch standing in front of him, Marcus shouted.
“Close that portal!”
Trying to impress a sense of urgency on the blond, Marcus grabbed for the man’s hand, meeting nothing but an energy field that kept him from feeling flesh. The naked witch stepped back, eyes wide, his breath coming in short, choppy huffs. Those wide, blue eyes held a mixture of rage and terror. Marcus banged on that energy field as he yelled, “Close the goddamn portal. Now!”
The blond sucked in air as if he were a drowning victim. Shaking his head, he waved one hand toward the claws that seemed to be coming closer. The words he chanted were soft, as though he didn’t want Marcus to hear them. But Marcus heard Zepar’s shout of anger as he was sucked back to his own world.
Falling onto his hands and knees, Marcus heaved a sigh of relief. The witch kneeled in front of him just out of reach but close enough for Marcus to catch the scent of magick. Rosemary, amber and myrrh. Another spell was spoken but this one he could hear. Marcus recognized the basic spell of protection. He’d learned that on his solitary study before ever leaving Idaho.
Marcus looked up slowly. “Who are you?”
“Who are you? You’re not demon, are you human or something else?” The slight Southern accent let Marcus know for sure he was out of the Demonae realm. For some strange reason every Demonae who’d spoken to him sounded like an actor from some BBC show.
“I’m not entirely sure anymore.” Marcus dragged himself to his feet. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my attic in Austin, Texas. Now who the hell are you and how did you get through my spell?” Seeming to ignore the fact that they were both naked, the other man fisted his hands on his hips, feet spread apart as he tossed his head, making that hair swirl around his shoulders.
The action caught Marcus’ attention so that he couldn’t help but look more closely at his savior. A closely trimmed mustache on his strong-boned face. A mole just over the left nipple drew Marcus’ attention—it was almost heart shaped. He had a tribal dragon tattoo on the front of his right hip that seemed to guard the long, thick cock nestled in neatly trimmed pubic hair.
Rescue making him somewhat giddy, Marcus couldn’t help but imagine that cock in his mouth as he cupped the other man’s sac. It had been too long. That was all. That was the only reason he’d be thinking about sex after all the shit he’d endured. Nothing more than reliving all those times he’d had to lock his own desire down.
Then the pain in his back reminded him of everything he’d just escaped. Dragging his attention back to the other man’s face, he swallowed. The expression there let him know this was one pissed-off witch. The happiness Marcus felt at being away from Zepar didn’t seem to be reaching his host.
“My name is Marcus Greenlea. What’s the date?”
“June twentieth. It’s Litha.” The blonde crossed his arms, his agitation coming through loud and clear.
Marcus felt his mouth fall open. “Litha? How is that possible? That Demonae caught me at Samhain. I can’t have been gone for eight months. What the hell? I thought a couple of months at most. Wait.”
He held one hand up trying to grasp what was going on. “Litha? Really? What year is this?”
“It’s June 20, 2013.” The blond ignored Marcus’ protests. “Stop asking questions and start answering them. What the fuck are you? How did you get into my circle? I summoned a demon, not a human!”
Marcus actually felt the blood draining from his face. Either his head or the room was spinning, he couldn’t tell which. He clenched both fists then took a deep, steadying breath. Very slowly he asked. “2013? Seven years. I’ve been gone seven years. That can’t be.”
Dropping to his knees, Marcus tried to take it all in. He remembered everything now. It seemed that returning to his own world released whatever block the Demonae had put on him. He knew he’d come looking for his father, wanting to ask questions. A lot of questions.
He remembered finding his father’s house right here in Austin. Hazy memories from his own childhood, a happier time, had led him to the place he’d called home then. He recalled parking in front of the house and watching a man with dark hair walk out of the house. Marcus had gotten out of his car to start toward the house only to be stopped by the other man.
Seemingly friendly, he’d asked if he could help Marcus. Only when he’d introduced himself as Augustus Greenlea’s son had he noticed a change in the guy’s behavior. The guy’s attitude grew chilly, his posture rigid.
“You’ve got some nerve coming here, bothering Augustus. I suppose you want to beg him for money?”
“What? No, I just want to see my father. Is he in there?” Marcus looked toward the house. He thought he saw a curtain move on the second floor, but when there was no further movement he turned his attention back to the guy in front of him.
“No. He’s not home right now.” The guy’s attitude changed again as he reached out to touch Marcus’ shoulder. “You’ve got a great deal of natural power. Are you a practitioner?”
“Sort of. That’s why I want to see my father. I want to learn more from him.”
Smiling now, the other man stroked one hand over his own ponytail. “Augustus isn’t taking any new students right now. I doubt he’d make an exception for a son he hasn’t seen in years. However…”
Pausing, he held a hand out toward Marcus. As they shook hands, he continued…”I think I could help you, Marcus. I’ve been studying with Augustus for years. Why don’t we go have a coffee and talk? My name is James, by the way, James LaPierre.”
Remembering, Marcus cursed his own gullibility, wondering how the other man had known his name if his father wanted nothing to do with him, Marcus had followed James to a local coffee shop where they’d talked for hours.
James had filled Marcus in on his father’s studies, his unwillingness to take on any students along with Augustus’ adamant warning to James not to ever allow Marcus into the house. That struck a nerve as well. Why would his father have said such a thing?
Since Augustus had never made any attempt to contact him after his parents had divorced, Marcus had believed James. He’d had no real reason not to. Now however, he could see how the older man had led him on. He’d hooked him then reeled him in as if he were some damn prize fish!
He’d studied with James for months, absorbing spells, chants, magickal workings as though born to them, reinforcing James’ statement about his natural power. Marcus had reveled in his own power, his abilities. He’d been cocky as all hell, invincible. Then James had told him about the Demonae, how they were killing witches. He’d agreed to help James summon the Demonae responsible but had gotten himself trapped instead. That son of a bitch had used him.
“I was trapped in the Demonae realm by another witch. He was supposed to be helping me, teaching me. Instead he hung me out to dry, leaving me with those bastards. Why the hell are you conjuring Demonae?” Getting to his feet, he glowered at the witch in front of him.
“Because I want to find the fucking demon who’s been crossing over and killing my friends!” The flash of anger as the other man raised his voice made him even more attractive to Marcus. He could see the passion flickering in those cerulean-blue eyes. He wryly decided that the blond witch probably looked good laughing too.
“Why, so they can kill you? That’s the dumbest thing I can think of for a solitary witch to attempt. Look where it got me.” Marcus’ strength gave out, so he slumped back down on the floor. “We’re in Austin? My father’s here. I need to try to call him. Tell him what that bastard did. I need to warn my dad.”
A shiver crossed over his body though the room wasn’t cold. The pain made Marcus fuzzy. He tried to argue more but kept running in mental circles. Sleep. He just needed to sleep. Even if it meant oblivion followed immediately by more torture on the other side, he didn’t fight to stay awake.
Praying this was reality, not just some weird torture-induced dream, he let his eyes close as he pillowed his head on his arm. Something told him the man on the other side wouldn’t wake him to cut him or burn him. Still, he opened his eyes once to look up as the other man spoke.
“Okay, look. You’re obviously confused and tired. You’re safe here and so am I. You can’t get out and that bastard can’t cross back. Sleep. We can come back to this in the morning.” The blond sounded almost protective.
Marcus didn’t respond. He didn’t need the other man to tell him about the circle. He could smell the incense. The scratch of salt on his feet told him that the circle had been cast at least twice. He knew the protective circle would keep him safe even if he was still held captive. Just the thought that the circle also kept the Demonae firmly on the other side of the dimensional plane was all he needed. He realized with a start that he knew how the circle had been created. His memory wasn’t gone forever then.
He yawned. It was just too much to deal with. Oblivion would give him freedom for a bit. Plus it would help him recharge. This he could do easily since it had been his only escape from the demon bastard. Marcus just took a deep breath then gave himself over to darkness.
Donal Graves studied the guy curled up on the floor, one who had dropped off just like turning out a light. There was definitely something otherworldly about him. His aura was…off. He’d just willed himself to sleep. That was weird. Just checked out while Donal stood there.
Marcus Greenlea. Where had he heard that name before? Speaking softly but distinctly, he strengthened the spell around Marcus then quietly opened the outer circle before he stepped out of the room. The chill of the air conditioner hit him as he moved into the short hallway.
Picking his shorts up off the floor just outside the door, he pulled them on then went down two flights of stairs to the kitchen. Booting up his computer took moments, finding the information he was looking for just a little longer.
“Of course! Greenlea. Professor Augustus Greenlea. I knew I’d heard that name before. His texts on magick are legendary. Oh shit. Obituary.” Talking to himself was a habit he’d had for years. Drove some people crazy. Donal grimaced knowing he’d have to be the one to break the news of Augustus Greenlea’s passing to the man sleeping upstairs. Further reading revealed that both of Marcus’ parents were dead.
The obit was clear. Professor Greenlea was preceded in death by his ex-wife. He’d left one heir, a daughter—no mention of a son. But he seemed to remember one of the members of his old coven talking about a lecture Greenlea had given. Snatching his cell phone off the counter, he thumbed through the contacts list until he found the number he’d been looking for.
“Robbie? It’s Donal. Hope I didn’t interrupt your dinner. Listen, when you went to that Greenlea lecture a few years ago, did he mention his family at all?” Frowning at the answer his friend gave, Donal thanked him but ended the call without their customary small talk. “A daughter and a missing son.”
Donal poured himself a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge while he thought about his unwelcome guest. With a soft, “huh”, he turned back to the computer and started hitting every research site he could think of. Somehow he had to figure out how to tell Marcus he was being held captive by a spell formulated to hold a demon, not a human. Had Marcus been fully human he should have been able to touch Donal or step out of the circle any number of times since appearing in the attic.
The fact that Marcus couldn’t step through the wards led Donal to believe Marcus wasn’t fully demon or fully human but some mixture of both. Now to track down some ideas on what to do with the very handsome stranger before he released a demon hybrid on his hometown. Though the city slogan was “Keep Austin Weird” he didn’t believe that’s quite what the people who’d coined that particular phrase meant.
An hour or more later he stretched. Sleep. He had to have sleep first. With that thought he remembered that Marcus was curled up on nothing more than the hardwood floor of his attic. What harm would it do to take him a pillow and lightweight blanket?
Pulling a quilt and pillow out of his linen closet, he moved quietly up the stairs and opened the door as stealthily as he could. Marcus hadn’t moved at all. Crossing the charmed circle sent a wash of warmth through him but the heat he felt wasn’t only from that. Marcus was truly gorgeous. Donal draped the cover over Marcus, watching as he stretched slightly but didn’t quite uncurl his defensive pose.
As much as he wanted to stay and watch over Marcus, Donal knew he needed rest as much as the man trapped in his circle. So he forced himself to go to his own bed. Lying in his cozy bed, Donal stroked his cock imagining a dark head sucking him off. He fell asleep right after wiping himself off.
The hunger that pulled him from the bed was fierce. Donal headed into his kitchen first. He grabbed some provisions from the fridge, some utensils and plates from a cabinet then dumped everything into one of his canvas shopping bags. If he was hungry, chances were that Marcus was too. Donal felt a bit more comfortable now in dealing with the other man. Besides, he wanted to get another look at him. The shaggy hair and unkempt beard hadn’t detracted from his looks at all.
Even though he was something other than human, Marcus was exactly the kind of guy Donal usually went for. Tall, lean, light-brown hair with those gorgeous but tortured green eyes. Yeah, Donal had a “thing” for finding slightly damaged guys. One of his friends called it his “cray-cray magnet” because he always seemed to attract guys with some issue or other. He laughed. Being demon or something close to it certainly counted as an issue.
Taking the familiar back stairs to the second floor of his combination home and shop, he stopped in his bedroom long enough to pull on a shirt then gathered his hair into a ponytail. He moved quietly back up the second flight of back stairs to the attic.
Not sure why he was being so stealthy in his own house, he took a deep breath before opening the door. His old Victorian house had been a blast to renovate but he’d mostly left the attic alone, using it for magickal workings as well as storage. Marcus lay just where he’d left him and he’d tossed the quilt off. On his side facing the door. Now Donal noticed what had escaped him earlier. Marcus had scratches and cuts all over his lower body as though he’d walked naked through bramble bushes or tangled with a barbed-wire fence.
Setting his bag down, Donal stepped out of the room to head back to the second-floor bathroom for some medical supplies. He’d need some soap along with water, bandages, probably some antiseptic ointment. Though Marcus didn’t appear to be in any distress at present, Donal couldn’t imagine what he might have gone through in the last seven years.
Waking with a start, Marcus scrabbled to a sitting position fast while looking for the Demonae. But the surroundings were wrong. Boxes stacked in a corner, an altar near the middle of the room, a blanket and pillow that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep, the circle he sat in. A weak light streamed in through a dormer window. Attic. He was in an attic in June in Texas. He wondered if he’d finally gone over the edge.
Something else was different in the room. That was what had awakened him. Being in the demon’s prison, he’d learned to be hyperaware of any small change to his environment. Rubbing a hand over his face, he glanced around again.
A blue-and-purple canvas bag sat on the floor just inside the door. He could see something sticking out of the top. As he took a deep breath he could smell bread accompanied by something sweet, maybe fruit. Suddenly his mouth was watering. He couldn’t remember ever being this hungry. Odd that the Demonae hadn’t used that as part of his torture. Then again, the blandness of the food there was its own form of pain.
Catching a flare of color, he tensed until the blond witch—Donal—strode into the room wearing baggy jean shorts with a faded tie-dyed t-shirt. His feet were bare. Marcus let his gaze follow the long, lean lines of the other man. He liked the way Donal had pulled his wheat-colored hair back into a ponytail.
“Shoot! I forgot! Hang on.” With that cryptic statement Donal spun on one heel then left abruptly. Now that he was awake Marcus concentrated on his surroundings. The room he was in was mostly bare except for those boxes stacked against the far wall. Studying the altar from a distance, he could see a small cauldron, several candles as well as other items he recognized as being those of a working witch.
Though his own education with that bastard James had been cut short, Marcus knew himself to be pretty damn powerful. Zepar had commented on it many times. Marcus’ own youthful explorations with friends in high school had led him to believe it. He’d also done research on his father’s family. Though Mom never wanted to talk about it, Marcus knew his father’s side of the family was all magically inclined.
Since he’d done so much research on his paternal relatives, he wanted to reach out to his dad to find out why he and Mom had split up. It was painfully obvious to Marcus that his mother had never stopped loving his father. She’d never explained exactly why they’d divorced. He knew his mom hadn’t really approved of his more esoteric studies because she’d flatly refused to allow him to bring any magickal texts home. He’d managed to sneak a few crystals into their house in Idaho but nothing else.
She’d tried to interest him in other things, but magick had a stronger hold on him than pleasing his mother. He’d made the trip to Texas without her knowledge, wanting to find out more about his father’s vocation before letting his mom know what he was doing.
Thinking of his mother led to thoughts of his sister Mari. Marcus ran his hands through his hair, speaking softly to himself. “They must be worried sick. I need to get word to Mom and Marielle that I’m okay. I wonder what time it is.”
“It’s about seven thirty a.m.” Donal’s voice had Marcus’ focus back in the present. He watched as the guy bit his lip. “Yeah, about your family.” Donal’s voice reached him. Something in his tone had Marcus looking at him through narrowed eyes.
“You know something about my family? My sister?”
“Not exactly.” Donal moved farther into the room. Marcus saw that he carried a pair of sweatpants. “Here, these should fit you. They’re my older brother’s. You’re about his size.”
Donal tossed the pants to him. Marcus easily caught them. He reached out with his free hand only to encounter the barrier again.
“How did you do that?”
“The barrier is designed to contain demons, not humans. I can move freely between here and there.”
“But I can’t? I’m not one of those bastards!” Hearing the slightly hysterical edge to his own voice, Marcus swallowed hard.
“But you’re not entirely human anymore either.” Donal picked up the bag by the door then dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Marcus. Seemingly unconcerned about the bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of their conversation, Donal started pulling food out of the bag.
“You are going to tell me why you think I’m not human, right?” Marcus’ mouth watered as he stepped into the sweats. The thought of food won out over the thought of him not being fully human—for now. He watched as Donal set out apples—he’d been right about the fruit—a loaf of French bread, some cheese and a small glass container with a lid. Seeing Marcus eyeing the container, Donal smiled.
“Homemade hummus. Want water or tea?”
“Water.” Marcus sat down, his focus completely on Donal’s hands as he deftly cut the apples, tore the bread apart then sliced some cheese. After spooning a generous helping of hummus onto a plate, he passed it through the barrier to Marcus.
“So I hope you don’t mind the food. It’s not really breakfast fare but I didn’t want to stop to cook. I’m a vegetarian. If you’re absolutely a carnivore I can get some flesh for you. I’ve been doing some research. You said your father’s name was Augustus Greenlea, right?”
There went his dreams of a huge steak or a slice of pepperoni pizza. Marcus wouldn’t push for meat around anyone who referred to it as “flesh”. Then one word Donal had spoken made his radar ping. “Was?”
Donal swallowed, looking down at his own plate then lifted his head. “Marcus, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but your father passed nearly three years ago. And that’s not all.”
Marcus realized he was holding his breath as Donal reached through the barrier to touch his hand. “Marcus, I’m sorry, but your mother is gone too.”
The food he’d already eaten turned to ash in his mouth and threatened to leave his stomach. Jerking to his feet, Marcus screamed out his denial. True he hadn’t had much to do with his father in years but…to have lost his mother? What about Mari? He didn’t know what he’d do if something had happened to his sister too.
He vowed then and there that he would hunt down LaPierre to beat him into a bloody pulp. Without knowing where James was right now though, he unleashed his pain on the nearest flat surface.
Tears streamed unchecked down his face as Marcus beat his fists against the wall. Sudden warmth at his back from strong arms coming around him had him turning to hold tight to Donal as he let the grief, the unfettered anger consume him. Marcus didn’t care that it was Donal, his captor, who now held him so gently. He took the comfort for what it was—just one man letting another grieve.
Donal’s hand stroked over his hair, his shoulders then down his back. When the shock had worn off a little Marcus took a deep breath, raising his head to meet Donal’s gaze. Donal handed him a cloth napkin but kept one arm around him as Marcus brought himself back together.
“How’d you get through the barrier?” The hoarseness in his voice reflected his anguish.
“I told you, it was made to hold demons. Humans can cross at will.”
“What if I was Demonae? I could have killed you.” Marcus felt a different type of anger that this man would be so casual about personal safety.
Donal’s blue eyes crinkled with his grin. “Then you’d be trapped in this little circle with my corpse.”
Marcus couldn’t stop the snort of laughter. He’d finally met someone with as sick a sense of humor as his own. Of course the circumstances couldn’t have been worse. He was still captive. He’d just learned that possibly his entire family was dead. Topping it all off, he might not even be fully human anymore.
“Sucks to be me.” He moved away from Donal’s arms. The other man, he felt sure, was gay but that didn’t mean instant intimacy. Besides, he had bigger fish to fry. He had to find LaPierre.
As he sat back down he picked up his plate but knew nothing could fill the hole in his heart at the news of his mother’s death. He, his mother and his sister had been a close-knit family who’d learned to depend on one another after his parents’ divorce. He had to know if Marielle was okay.
Mentally he began a list of everything he had to accomplish. He watched the blond move past the barrier. Something furrowed Donal’s brow for a moment then he left the room without a word.
Choking down what was probably better-than-average hummus, Marcus scanned the room again, paying more attention to what was in there with him. He grinned at the ungainly scrawl on one of the boxes stacked against the wall that proclaimed “Stuff Left By Fuckhead Ted”. Apparently his host was too kind to just dump his ex’s stuff on the curb but mean enough to call names.
He shivered when he saw the full-length mirror reflecting his own image back at him. Nothing as scary as a demon but he definitely needed a shower and shave not to mention a haircut. But the mirror was dangerous. Did the man not know a thing about the Demonae?
“Hey, Donal!” His voice cracked but he shouted again. “Hey!”
Heavy tread on the stairs told him he’d been heard. Donal stuck his head in the door. “You bellowed?”
With a shrug Marcus nodded. “Yeah. You need to turn that mirror around. And cover all your other mirrors. That’s how these scum spy on us. They use mirrors. It’s some kind of a weird Demonae web thing.”
It helped that the other man didn’t question. He just turned the mirror around. “Will there be anything else? Or do you mind if I go get some work done now?”
It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it that irritated Marcus. As if Donal wanted to be away from the place where he held another human captive. Marcus shot back, “Yeah. There’s one other thing. I need you to let me out of here. If you won’t do that can you at least find out if my sister is alive?”
When the other man didn’t respond Marcus felt his temper snap. He lunged at the barrier suddenly, hoping he could break through but the energy wall held. The blond took a step back. Marcus’ body temperature rose as he felt the anger rising as well.
“Let. Me. Out!”
His shout fell on deaf ears as Donal abruptly left the room. Marcus savagely hoped he tripped on the stairs. Then he laughed at himself as his anger passed as suddenly as it had come. That was a great idea. Then he’d be not only trapped but he’d starve to death as well.
But Marcus comforted himself with the knowledge that he hadn’t been completely changed by his time with the Demonae. He still had a hair-trigger temper even if that wasn’t really something to be proud of. Seeing as how it had gotten him left alone again, he supposed he needed to work on controlling it. But at least he wasn’t where Zepar could hurt him.
Zepar shrieked in fury. How had that witch stolen his captive? Not to mention half of his soul that now resided in the puny human known as Marcus Greenlea! He had to get him back. Zepar had to retrieve his soul or be weakened forever. Pacing his lair, he raked gouges into the walls, not caring that his staff would have to repair them later. They were lucky he didn’t rip their heads off. Even if they weren’t the cause he needed to relieve his anger somehow. What the fuck had just happened?
Talons scraped outside his door. “Master?” The voice belonged to his oldest retainer. Apparently the others were too frightened to enter or thought he might spare the one he’d trained the longest. With that thought he allowed a smile to cross his face. Maybe some of that training would come in handy right about now. He could ease his anger that way. He barked for the servant to come in. The terror in his face soothed Zepar.
“You’re right to be scared, little one. I’m going to have to hurt you. You know I can’t think when I’m like this.” The servant slipped out of his robe. He didn’t say a word even though fear tinged his blue skin to a darker hue. Zepar pointed to the wall. The servant faced it, placing his hands and feet where his master could fasten him to the wall.
Zepar took pleasure in the screams of anguish he ripped from the servant with his whip then his claws. It wasn’t as good as what he’d gotten from the human but it would do. For now. When the other Demonae’s skin dripped with blood Zepar released him. “Suck my cock. Make it good and I might not hurt you again.”
They both knew it for the lie it was. Zepar enjoyed the way his servants always tried to believe though. It was hope that kept the servant alive. When his servants lost hope they lost that beautiful, sweet-tasting shock when the whip or his claws ripped into them again.
Once satisfaction had soothed his cock he pierced the other Demonae’s nipples with his claws. The screams were music to his ears. Then he forced the servant down on his knees so he could thrust into his ass. He did wish there was a spell to tighten him back up. He’d fucked him so much it wasn’t the sweet grip he liked. Then he remembered the human. He’d been saving up to rip his ass open.
He screamed in fury as he drove into his servant harder. It wasn’t until the servant’s sphincter tightened in a most satisfying but unusual way that he realized he’d driven into him so hard he’d snapped his servant’s neck against the wall. Growling in disgust, he shoved the body away. Now he would have to train one of the others and hope they had the resilience this one had had.
He marked the loss of his servant down on the mental tab he held against Marcus Greenlea. That human had a lot to pay for. Not the least of which was the theft of his soul. But to get at Marcus he would have to cross into the human world. He went to his mirror but the opening that had the human’s energy signal was blocked. So at least he knew enough to cut off access from the Demonae side.
But Zepar had heard of other humans who were willing to work with his kind. Willing to deal in the energy of magicks too dark for their side to produce.
He opened the door, shouting for one of the others to come clean up. He didn’t warn them that they would be removing one of their compatriots. That shock would feed Zepar as well. Energy fed him as much as meat or blood—he had a preference for fear, for pain. It was like a sweet addiction to him. He didn’t have to worry about breaking that habit as long as there were weaker Demonaes as well as ineffectual humans.
Stupid humans. He needed to find one soon. Licking blood off one claw, he smiled, he knew just where to look.