Chapter Nineteen

Morrigan drifted. It was such a pleasant state to be in that she didn’t fight it. It was like being hugged by a giant feather mattress—cozy, warm, and safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so content.

Something dark and ominous stirred just beyond her. She turned away, refusing to look. Maybe it was cowardly, but she was so tired.

Why am I so tired?

Memories were elusive, flitting just out of reach. Nothing existed beyond this moment.

But the longer she was aware, the less satisfied she became.

Where am I? What am I doing here?

These were questions that needed answers. And there was only one way to get them. She was going to have to move. Sighing, she went to sit upright. None of her muscles or limbs responded. Panic exploded. Was she paralyzed? A captive?

Images flashed through her brain of another time she’d been held immobile. Demons danced and laughed as she screamed. Blood dripped from her body. Fire scorched and ice burned. She shuddered, refusing to give in to the memory.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

But no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, the scene remained the same. It occurred to her that her eyelids were closed. This had to be a dream. All she had to do was open them, and she’d be free.

Like her limbs, her eyes weren’t cooperating. They weighed about two tons each and refused to budge.

Anger bubbled up inside her. Fear fell victim to indignation. Who was doing this to her? A picture of a man appeared in her mind. He was big and dangerous, his features rough. His hair was shaved on the sides, and the rest fell to his shoulders like a curtain of black silk. His dark eyes bore into her soul.

Maccus.

She shook her head to deny what she was seeing. He wouldn’t hurt her. Or would he? He wanted to survive just like she did.

But he would kill her outright. He wouldn’t torture her. Not like this.

Lucifer?

Yes, he’d not only torture her but enjoy every second of it. She had to open her eyes. It was the only way.

Why is it so hard?

She tried again and again, struggling to make her eyelids even flutter. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her temple. A sound penetrated her awareness, and she tried to home in on it, but it was difficult to hear anything beyond the screams of the demons in the nightmarish scene she was trapped in.

She searched for it endlessly but was unable to find the source. Despair threatened to swamp her. It would be so easy to give up, to give in to the inevitable.

Only she wasn’t a quitter—she was a fighter. Her fingers itched to hold her weapons. Since she didn’t have them, she’d have to fight with the only thing she did have—her mind.

Blocking out the howls and macabre laughter, she sought the voice. It was deep and male. There. There it was again.

She followed it, using all her tracking skills. She longed to know what it said, to hear any message of hope in the darkness.

“Wake up, damn it. You’ve been asleep long enough.”

No tender words of encouragement, but a demand. The familiar voice was a lifeline, and she grabbed at it with all her might. If anyone could defeat the demonic dream holding her captive, it was him.

The images and sounds of Hell were lessening the closer she got to his voice.

“It’s been long enough. Wake the fuck up, or I’m going to hand you over to Lucifer personally.”

His promise should have frightened her. It did the opposite, reassuring her far more than kindness would have.

Maybe Hell was the reality and Maccus the dream. Her blood ran cold. What better torture than for Lucifer to let her reach for hope then snatch it away at the last second?

If this was Hell, she could live this scenario over and over and over until she went mad. There was no greater torture than hope.

So be it. If it was a trick, she’d find out, and she would remember. That was another trick the devil used. Sometimes he’d make you forget so everything was fresh and new, the anguish real and immediate. Sometimes he’d let you remember, and you knew how the scene would end but be unable to stop it.

It was a tossup as to which was worse.

“Stop lazing around in the damn bed. Get up.”

He seemed closer, his voice louder. She tried to open her eyes once again, and this time they seemed lighter, like maybe they only weighed a ton each. She put every ounce of her power into moving her eyelids. Inside, she screamed as the pressure in her skull built to enormous proportions. The strain was huge.

Something inside her let go, and her eyes flew open. She expected Maccus to be sitting on the bed beside her, but she was alone. Where was he? How long had it taken her to wake?

…

It had been three damn days, and she still hadn’t stirred. At his wit’s end, Maccus peered out the window at the city beyond. What else could he do? His already nonexistent patience had worn thin.

In pure desperation, he’d logged into the Forgotten Brotherhood website and asked for help. But none of the others had ever dealt with such a situation.

Asher had offered to come to turn her. His reasoning—if she were a vampire, she’d die to her mortal body and reawaken a vampire. That he’d make such an offer, when Maccus knew he’d pledged never to turn any human, meant a lot.

He’d thanked his friend but turned him down, realizing he’d kill Asher if he touched her in such an intimate manner. As soon as he thought about it, two blades appeared in his hands. His fingers caressed the handles, but he had no memory of summoning them.

Yeah, he’d decapitate the vampire if he so much as tried to get near her, let alone sink his teeth into her and drink her blood.

Not happening.

It was the first time he’d ever asked any of them for anything. Okay, the second. He’d asked for information when he and Morrigan had first met. Both times he’d asked for help were because of her.

She was making him weak, but it was too late to change the situation. Better to accept it and find a way to minimize the damage.

Kill her.

The voice wouldn’t leave him alone. It was louder now, ever since he’d given up some of the remaining grace in his soul to heal her.

There was no sound behind him, but he turned away from the window, sensing a change in the energy of the room.

Morrigan was lying on the bed where she’d been the past three days and nights, her body as still as death.

Her eyes were open.

In two steps, he was beside her. Her eyes tracked his movement. “Morrigan.” She blinked twice. Something was still very wrong. “Can you move?”

Panic filled her gaze.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. We’ll figure this out.” We. Such a tiny word, but the implications were huge. He’d been alone for thousands upon thousands of years until she’d walked into his life.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple and disappeared into her vibrant hair. She swallowed, and her lips moved.

Even though he didn’t need to, he leaned forward to hear her better. Just to be closer.

“Wha…”

“What happened?” She blinked in reply to his question. A lie would be easier, but he’d promised to always tell her the truth.

“Do you remember the alley?”

A frown marred her forehead. After a brief moment, her chin tipped the tiniest bit.

“Do you want to sit up?” It was a ploy to put off the discussion a little longer. That wasn’t like him. He was blunt to a fault, didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. And he still didn’t. Except with Morrigan. For some unfathomable reason, she mattered.

When her eyes widened, he took that for a yes. He put his arm behind her and eased her into a seated position, stacking several pillows behind her. When there was no longer any reason to delay, he continued.

“We fought demons. Lucifer stabbed you.” He lifted the dagger off the nightstand and held it so she could see it.

She lowered her head and peered down at her chest.

“You’re healed,” he assured her.

She raised her eyebrows. As expressive as her features were, he wouldn’t fully relax until he heard her voice. “Can you talk yet?” The longer she was awake, the more mobility she seemed to have.

Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She swallowed and cleared her throat before trying again. “Yes.” It was a hoarse whisper, but it was her voice.

Relief melted some of the knots in his shoulder muscles. “There was a fight. I retaliated, and one of my knives hit your sister. She’s dead.”

He waited for her condemnation, waited for her to take back the love she’d offered. It had never really been his to begin with. It was nothing more than emotion, brought on by their situation. It wasn’t real.

The emptiness in his chest, the ache in his soul, was very real. He buried it and ignored it. Eventually, it would go away, or he would get so used to it the pain would no longer bother him. It would become a part of him.

A lone tear slipped from the corner of one of her eyes and slid down her cheek. That tiny drop of salty water was worse than any wound he’d ever been dealt in battle.

Damn her for doing this to him. His fingers tightened on the knife. The blade began to glow. He should just kill her and put himself out of his misery. She was going back to Hell anyway. It was inevitable.

“Maccus.” Her low voice whispering his name broke him away from the dark thoughts, ones that weren’t his own but remnants from whatever had been infused into the blade. With a mighty roar, he slammed the knife into the nightstand, snapping the blade off completely. Then he tossed the handle aside.

“What have you done to me?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. There was no fear in her green eyes, only compassion and understanding.

Hating himself and her, he jumped from the bed and paced. “It has to stop.” He paused at the end of the bed to glare at her. “Do you understand?”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. Panic blasted through him when she remained still.

“Wake up,” he demanded, hurrying to her side. “Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes.” Fear was a living, breathing entity inside him.

Hatred burned inside him. Damn Lucifer and Gabriel for getting him into this situation in the first place. Why hadn’t they all left him alone? He’d been fine. Living his life. Hurting only those who’d earned it. No threat to either Heaven or Hell.

She pressed her hand against his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was stronger now. Whatever had been keeping her locked away in her own body for the past three days was loosening its grip.

He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled her sweet scent. “I killed your sister.” That fact had to be clear. No way could he allow her to touch him and then withdraw in anger later.

“She killed herself.”

Unable to believe what he was hearing, he sat back. There were tears in her eyes, but she appeared calm.

“It was my knife,” he reminded her, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to shut the fuck up.

“She’s the one who summoned Lucifer and started us all down this road to where we are now. I’m not sure if she regretted it at the end. Maybe Lucifer was somehow controlling or manipulating her.” She plucked at the blankets, averting her gaze. “It doesn’t really matter. The girl I knew was gone.”

It was so tempting to believe her.

“Maybe Kayley could have been saved, but I’m realistic enough to know better.” She closed her eyes and sighed. Before he could panic, she opened them again. “You were trying to hit Lucifer, not my sister.”

He nodded, still waiting for her to sling accusations at him, to call him a murderer.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days.” An eternity.

“So long.” Lowering the blanket, she pressed her fingers where the wound had been. “There’s no sign at all.”

He wished she’d cover up. Seeing her bare breasts made him want to climb on top of her and fuck her until she screamed his name in pleasure. His cock surged to life, the organ having been silent these past few days.

She was alive and awake, and he wanted her.

But she was still recovering. A bastard he might be, but not even he was bad enough to push her when she was recovering from near death. He shifted position on the bed, hoping she didn’t notice his erection.

“It’s been quiet?”

“Too quiet. They’re waiting to see if you die.”

“How am I still alive?” The question was tentative.

“You just are.” And he was damn grateful for it. “You want a shower?”

“God, yes.” Her fervent answer almost made him smile. He yanked back the covers and lifted her into his arms, still not quite able to believe she’d forgiven him so easily. She’d given up her very soul for her sister. Was this just a ploy? Something to lull him into complacency so she could strike?

He was past caring.

Once they were in the bathroom, he gathered some towels while she used the facilities in relative privacy. Then he stripped off his clothes and helped her shower and brush her teeth.

By the time she was clean, he was sporting an erection that was hard enough to drive nails, although he’d rather pound into her much sweeter and softer flesh.

He carried her back to the bed. “I’ll get you something to wear.” Better for both of them if she covered up.

“Stay.” She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, or at least as far as they could go. Her hands were strong, callused from wielding weapons and fighting.

Something had been bothering him for quite some time. “You didn’t know your father?”

The change of subject startled her, and she pulled the covers over her before replying. Unconcerned about his own nudity, he sat beside her.

“I told you—he left after my mom got pregnant with me.”

“But he came back,” he reminded her. “And got pregnant with Kayley.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You know why you could become a demon hunter, don’t you?”

“Because I signed over my soul for a specified amount of time to Lucifer.” Her brow furrowed, and her lips turned down in a frown.

She honestly had no idea. It was too late to backtrack now. Best to just get it done. “Only humans with demon blood can become demon hunters. Only they can be trained in Hell and then come back to live in the human realm and not go crazy eventually. That’s the reason demons have limited time on Earth. If they’re here too long, they get power hungry and go on killing sprees, which isn’t good for anyone.”

She shook her head, her mouth open, jaw slack. “No. That’s impossible.”

He pressed his hands on the mattress to keep from touching her. If he did, he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened. Best not to test his resolve.

“Your father was a demon. It’s why he left and then came back. He would have been on leave from Hell with a limited amount of time. Some demons are drawn to a particular human, and the urge to procreate is overwhelming.”

She was still shaking her head. “No. I won’t believe it. I’m not part demon. And neither was Kayley.” Horror filled her eyes. He longed to put her fears to rest, but that would be a lie.

“Demon hunters are part human and part demon. It’s why Lucifer offered you the contract rather than just taking you straight to Hell in exchange for your sister’s life. It’s why Kayley was so easily led to the darkness.”

“Stop it. Just stop it.” She put her hands over her ears and rocked back and forth.

He’d been accused of being an unfeeling brute many times in his life. It had never bothered him. But right now, he was acutely aware of the accuracy of the claim. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, only to give her the truth.

“Morrigan.” He reached out for her, but she pulled away, curling her knees to her chest as though to make herself smaller. She’d always been so brash and brave. Now she was broken.

And it was his fault.

He started to leave. She wouldn’t want him around now, but he couldn’t make himself abandon her.

It was up to him to fix her. If he could heal her from a life-threatening wound, he could find a way to repair the emotional damage he’d done.

Killing, he was good at. Ruthless, cold, calculating, and single-minded, he knew a thousand ways to dispatch a human, demon, or other paranormal.

He had no idea how to comfort his demon hunter.

She made no sound as she cried, but he could smell the salt from her tears, see the silent shaking of her shoulders.

Unable to bear it any longer, he dragged her into his arms. As soon as he touched her, she began to struggle. “Let me go.”

“No.” It was the one thing he could not, would not, do.

She pounded her fists against his shoulders and back. “I’m not a demon. My sister wasn’t a demon. My mother would never have had sex with a demon.”

That was the heart of it for her.

“Demons are sly and can have quite pleasing forms. You know that. It was likely she had no idea what he truly was.” Again, it was a truth he could give her. “It’s why you always had more acute senses than most, are stronger than normal, why you never got sick. All that was enhanced when you became a hunter.”

Her clenched fists beat down on his arms and shoulders, hammered at his chest. This woman knew how to fight, and her efforts were halfhearted at best. He barely felt the blows. No, it was her anguish that nearly brought him down.

He pulled her closer and pushed her head against his shoulder. “You are not a demon. You have demon blood. That’s not at all the same thing. Unlike a demon, you have human blood, you have a choice, and you made it.”

“To become a demon hunter.” Defeat was heavy in her voice.

“No.” He tilted her back until he could see her face. “No,” he repeated. “You chose to protect your sister.”