Demon from the Dark (Immortals After Dark #10)(34)

And those were merely the detractions that could be seen.

He could neither read nor cipher numbers, and his birth could not be lowlier. I was a slave and ill used . . . .

I killed the only friend I ever had. With a scowl, he hit the water, scattering the reflection.



While he was gone, Carrow peeled off her boots and hose, casting a spell to heal her feet, courtesy of the demon. Once her skin was mended, she wiggled her toes in the fine sand.

And she still had some power left over. If she got enough happiness out of him, she could do some bigger spells, maybe even a three on the Wiccan scale of five. She had a particular one in mind.

Determined to keep some juice on tap, she decided she’d allow herself only one more healing—either the bite on her neck, the bruise on her chest, or her wrist. The wrist was healing on its own, and the bite mark wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. This time he’d pierced her skin cleanly, with no tearing.

As if he’d gotten better at it. She shivered again, recalling how it’d felt. A spike of pain, then warm pleasure.

She gazed down at her chest, cringing at the bruised outline of the demon’s huge hand. The discoloration stretched nearly from shoulder to shoulder. Chest it is.

Another spell, and the bruise disappeared.

Shortly after, Slaine returned with a full canteen and two dead fowl of some sort. They looked like a cross between a pheasant and a chicken.

His eyes briefly widened at her unblemished feet, then he tried to hand the “phickens” to her.

“What do you expect me to do with them?” She shrugged with an I got nothing expression.

He launched into another spate of low Demonish, this time using her name. She felt like a cartoon dog listening to its owner: “Blah blah blah CARROW blah blah.”

“Whatever.” She pointed to the canteen.

At length, he handed it to her. As she drank, he ripped off one bird’s head as smoothly as pulling a cork out of a wine bottle. When he lifted the body to guzzle the blood, she spit out the water, about to throw up.

With a scowl at her reaction, he took the creatures outside, returning once the cheasants were cleaned, dressed, and doubtless drained.

She turned away as he spitted them over the flames. But once they began roasting, she couldn’t take her eyes off them. Though she was starving, and the meat smelled so good, she didn’t know if she could eat it.

Carrow wasn’t a vegetarian by any means, but if he had handed her those birds before he’d killed them, they would’ve become pets. Part of her mourned Cluck-Cluck and Chanticleer.

Even so, her mouth watered, her stomach growling loudly, and he smirked, his expression saying, Bet you’re glad you came with me.

“Lap it up, demon. Any more satisfaction from you, and I’ll fry that look right from your dirty face.”

As the birds roasted, she padded barefoot over to the pile of soldiers’ packs, and began rooting for anything that might make life in hell a shade better.

Every pack had a name tag on it, but instead of Sgt. or PFC, every last tag bore the title Officer, like security guards. Officer Hostoffersson had an all-purpose knife and even a small Dopp kit. If I bean the demon in the head with that, would he take a hint?

Officer Lindt had carried no chocolate, but he had a flask. She opened the cap and took a whiff. Had to be Jack Daniel’s.

The larger packs contained changes of clothes—black T-shirts, camo pants, socks—and sleeping bags. She’d be trying out one of those tonight. Ah, to sleep under the covers, with food in her belly and warmth all around? Without getting mauled by beasties? Luxury.

Surely once she was rested, she could reflect on everything more rationally, could determine the best way to free Ruby and all her friends and allies.

Carrow glanced over at the demon, wondering if he was tired, as well. Did a vampire demon sleep as much as other immortals? She found him staring at her, those blue eyes stark against his streaked face.

“I bet you didn’t sleep much last night either, demon. Running around after me. And here I am.”

Shrug.

She looked away from him to survey his lair. So this is where I’ll be making time. The area seemed secure and protected from the elements. As long as the demon was gladdened by her very presence here, she could milk some energy, at least enough to keep him in check.

But it definitely needed a woman’s touch. That’s me—so domestic. With a sigh, she started straightening up. He didn’t try to stop her, which was good since Carrow wasn’t accustomed to entering into all these negotiations, much less miming them.

Instead he gazed on in fascination as she collected the animal—fingers crossed!—bones in her arms, carrying them like firewood to cast out into the main shaft.

Next she coiled the ropes and myriad chains, stowing them and the countless blades in an empty corner. Finished with that, she turned to his pallet. The one he sat on. “Shoo, demon,” she said, waving him away. She got the sense that this amused him, but he did move.

She pinched the corner of the worn material, lifting it with disdain, then tossed it out as well.

Once she’d replaced it with a new sleeping bag, she said, “You can come back now.”

But when she selected a second bag to lay on the opposite side of the fire, he finally conveyed an opinion. He smirked, holding up a pair of fingers together, as if saying, You can set up two pallets if you like, but we’ll still be using one.