Original Sin

It was now or never. If Rafe wasn’t here, she had two other places to check.

The dozen French doors were impossible to pick, and if people were inside she didn’t want them alerted by breaking glass. The kitchen door at the side of the house had a spell cast over it and it took Moira nearly three minutes to get the lock open.

The rich scent of Irish stew lingered in the kitchen, and for a moment, she stopped and breathed deeply, her eyes stinging. There had been some good times in her childhood. Before she knew what was planned for her. Like when her grandmother cooked stew that smelled exactly like this kitchen.

The good memories were too few and far between.

Moira methodically, silently, walked through the first floor, checking each room quickly. She didn’t sense anything other than magic.

Frustrated, she reached the back of the house and as she put her hand on a pair of double doors, a jolt of energy hit her. For a second she thought someone was inside the room attacking her with witchcraft, but as she pushed open the doors into what was obviously a library, she realized no one was inside.

This was where Fiona and her people created the bulk of their spells. Compared to the magic outside, the energy in here was a hundred times stronger.

She stopped in the middle of the towering room, her dagger in one hand and her last bottle of holy water in the other. Her senses were practically screaming caution, she was on edge and agitated, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

More than at any time in her life since she’d renounced it, in the last forty-eight hours she’d been immersed in dark magic energy. More magic in a short period than at any time in her life. It was no wonder she was weirded out: Moira was walking around the house of her mother, who’d sworn to torture and kill her.

She released a pent-up breath and focused. Opening her senses to the emotions imprinted here, trying to feel Rafe’s presence. Relax. Breathe. As soon as she calmed, she realized that it wasn’t just the magic that was stronger in here. There was a demon nearby.

She cautiously approached a set of double doors in an alcove to the side of the vast space. An unfamiliar sigil was posted on one of the doors, instead of above it. She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Moira stared at Rafe, clad in jeans and nothing else, unconscious in the center of a spirit trap. Claw marks across his chest were barely dry. Her heart nearly stopped at the thought that it was too late, that Rafe was dead, but then she saw the slight rise in his chest.

She started toward him, but her instincts saved her at the last moment.

Demon!

It came for her, and she realized belatedly what the symbol outside this door was. It trapped the demon inside with Rafe, to guard him. If he left, the demon would devour him. Like a Cerberus, with teeth and fangs and an insatiable appetite for human souls.

She splashed holy water on it, its scream piercing her ears, as she jumped into the spirit trap with Rafe. The pea-brained Cerberus, for it looked like one of Satan’s guard dogs with one head instead of three, growled and barked at her but couldn’t breech the trap. It saved her … and trapped her.

Well, fuck.

She felt Rafe’s pulse. Strong and steady. The Cerberus yelped, and she turned to the animal and shouted, “Yahweh!”

The animal bucked and foamed at the mouth, enraged, and physically grew in size.

“Oh, that’s showing him,” she mumbled to herself. “Piss off the demon dog and see him grow.” She knelt by Rafe, brushing his hair off his face. “Rafe, I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

Right. You promise. How are you going to defeat Fiona’s demonic pit bull?

The poisoned dart had worked with the fierce demon Serena sicced on her this morning, giving Moira confidence. She took out another dart, willed herself to stop shaking. She didn’t know what was worse, facing the demon now or facing Fiona when she returned.

She didn’t have time to compare. She stepped to the edge of the trap and, with an ancient prayer and a “pretty please,” she extended her hand outside the circle.

The demon attacked, ran right into the poisoned dart and screamed, but didn’t disintegrate like the other demon. Before Moira had time to react, the demon bit her forearm and she fell to her knees. Acidlike pain ravaged her body. She heard nothing but her own agonized scream, which sounded as if it were pulled out of her lungs by force. Quickly, she jerked her arm back into the spirit trap and held it close to her chest.

Rafe sat up and reached for her, pulling her toward him. He groaned in pain, but held her tight. Tears streamed down her face, but she said, “Glad you’re alive.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“You’re being a baby.”

“Damn straight. It hurts.” She took a deep breath and let Rafe pry her arm from her chest.

Two deep holes from the demon’s canines and a hundred pin pricks between them pierced her skin. The blood that poured from the wounds burned and bubbled with the acid of the demonic bite. Her entire body was on fire and she cried out when Rafe touched near the bite, as if yelling would rid her body of the pain.

Rafe frowned and inspected the wound. She turned away, willing the pain to subside, and she realized that the dog was no longer growling at her, no longer pacing. She looked around, where did it go?

Then she spotted it, lying in the corner, its mouth a bloody mess. Its eyes were wide and unfocused. Its legs, with impossibly long claws at the end of each of its six paws, were stiff and unmoving.

She stared, unbelieving. This couldn’t have happened. She shook her head. Of course it had. A belated reaction to the poisoned dart. She breathed easier, though she was still nervous. The Cerberus was too dumb to play opossum … she hoped.

“It’s dead,” Rafe said in disbelief.

“Appears so.”

“How?”

“Poison dart.”

“That’s how it works? I thought demons couldn’t be killed.”

“Not, um, usually.” Two dead in one night. That had to be a record. “But we can’t be sure. Let me check.”

She jumped up, but he pulled her back down. “No. You’re not going to risk your life.”

“I already did,” she replied, “and we can’t stay. Fiona could be back any minute. We need to get out of here.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He held out his hand and helped her up. She gently touched the claw marks on his chest.

She had a sudden urge to kiss him, to soothe the pain he was in, but instead she turned away, heat rising to her face.

“Moira.”

She looked back at Rafe. The dim light coming in from the library made his dark eyes fathomless as they locked on to her face. He reached up and touched her cheek, firmly turning her to face him. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came out because she couldn’t think of any words. His dark hair was damp with sweat and fell forward, partly obscuring his eyes. Her uninjured hand shot up, as if it had a mind of its own, to brush the loose strands out of his face, but he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her to him.

He kissed her. One hand held her face, the other her wrist, and he kissed her. Too passionate for a good luck kiss; too long for a friendly good-bye. Too … good. All pain slipped away, just for that moment. The weight of Moira’s responsibilities eased, just a fraction. As if one kiss, one oh-so-hot kiss, could take away some of her misery, claim a share of her obligations.

His unshaven jaw rubbed against her skin erotically. She could scarcely breathe, sinking into Rafe’s passion, her need for him growing not unexpectedly. From the moment she’d found him in the abandoned cabin, she’d felt