Scorched

Holly’s mouth trembled for a moment and she bit it. Alessandro was half out of the chair, ready to solve this sister problem, before Holly held up her hand. “Stop. Just stop.”

He stopped. He sat.

Ashe looked at her sister, her eyes narrowed. “Stop what?”

Holly’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t come in here and start threatening me and my partner.”

“She doesn’t frighten me,” Alessandro put in.

Ashe’s eyes focused on him like twin crossbows. “Consider it an intervention, Holly. For your own good.”

Holly leaned forward, her words pounding like a nail gun. “You don’t get to stake my boyfriend and don’t ever tell me how to live my life. You have no right.”

Alessandro forced himself not to grin. Ashe looked down at the table, her face like stone.

“Why a vampire slayer?” Holly asked. “What the hell are you trying to prove?”

Ashe answered without emotion. “I’m good at it. It’s something even a broken witch can do.”

“That’s it?”

“I had to support my kid. Roberto was a bullfighter, and that’s not steady work.”

“Bullfighter?” It slipped out before Alessandro could stop himself. “Your—husband, I assume—is a toreador?”

Ashe kept her eyes on the table, but her reply had an edge. “Was. Beefburger one, Roberto zero. So much for hot Latin romance.”

She looked up, but at Holly. Alessandro might have been invisible. “My kid’s in boarding school. It’s monster-proofed. Highest anti-magic tech money can buy. It’s the best way to be safe these days.”

Holly looked at her sister coldly. “For Goddessakes, Ashe.”

Alessandro shifted back in his chair, an uncomfortable prickle running up his spine. He felt the air in the house grow heavy, as if the place itself was roused by the growing tension in the room. But is it for me, or against me? I’m not one of the Carver family. Ashe is.

Ashe folded her arms, mirroring Holly. “I didn’t come here to look at home movies of our childhood. I’ve work to do here whether you like it or not. My concession to your relationship is that I’m giving fair warning. If fang-boy packs his bags, I’ll let him leave in peace.”

He’d had enough. Alessandro got up, reaching for the heaviest textbook to use as a blunt object. One whack with Introduction to Business Law would subdue most humans.

The moment he moved, Holly stood up, taking a step toward Ashe. “Alessandro, I’m sorry, but please go out for a while. My sister and I have to talk.”

Their eyes met. Hers were apologetic, but resolute. Alessandro set the book down, silent and seething. A foul, acidic taste lay heavy on his tongue and coiled, burning hot, all the way down to his gut.

“Give us an hour,” Holly said softly.

He was too angry to reply. Why would they need an hour? It had taken Ashe all of five minutes to get him out of the house.

He grabbed the sword, but the weight of it gave him no comfort.

Alessandro hated problems he couldn’t kill.

Mac dragged himself through the door of his condominium. He closed the door, locked it, and listened, his eyes searching the near-blackness of the front hall. Nothing. He was alone. No vampires with swords. He might even be safe. At least, safe from things outside himself.

Dark, gritty panic backed up like the current in a storm drain. He swore, but no words were equal to the sick feeling in his gut.

I demoned out.

Twice.

Once he’d made the choice to grab at his demon powers, they had come back as naturally as reaching for a bottle opener. That was bad. That wasn’t human. That had to make him less of a man and more of what he feared.

I’m backsliding.

Getting out of the Castle was important, but he’d done it by putting what was left of his humanity at risk. He’d tempted fate. What if choosing to do the dust thing had pushed me over the edge? Suddenly being a half-and-half freak in denial didn’t sound so bad.

Mac didn’t bother hitting the light switch. Time ticked by as he leaned against the door, too stunned to move. Something should happen—divine thunderbolts, perhaps—but nothing came. Just the queasiness of having made a wrong and irrevocable choice.

Hello, dark side. Where’s Yoda when you need him?

He was still holding the sword. Slowly, he set it in the umbrella stand by the door and made his way to the living room. His condo was a corner suite, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. Light from nearby buildings reflected from the white walls, washing everything in pale hues.

Like everything else, his condo—an inheritance from his investment-savvy mother—was in jeopardy. He’d been away for a year. Automatic withdrawals for utilities and all the other day-to-day expenses of keeping a residence had drained Mac’s bank account. Now that he was unemployed, it would be a challenge to make ends meet.

Losing the place would be the last straw, the final break with his human life. I can’t let that happen. I’m not that guy who couldn’t keep it together and ended up living out of a cardboard box.

Suddenly conscious of his messy housekeeping, he picked up a newspaper that he had tossed on the floor earlier, then threw it onto the coffee table. It slid off again. Damn. Mac gave up and fell onto the couch, stretching out and draping his arm over his eyes. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth, but the pain kept him centered. How do I pull the plug on this nightmare?

Mac moved his arm and opened his eyes to the dark room. The low haze of the city lights brushed the edges of wall and chair, shelf and lamp. The room was silent but for the distant rush of water through the building’s pipes. There was nothing to distract him from the one fact he didn’t want to face.

Holly’s magic turned me back—almost—into a human. Now it’s wearing off.

The evidence was in front of him, bagged and tagged. No other entity but one of the demon species could poof into dust. Cold fear seemed to seep out of the couch cushions, chilling him through. Mac sat up and stared out the tall windows at the winking lights of the harbor, too shaken to absorb the sight.

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