Chapter 7

7

Mr. X didn’t even wait for my answer. He simply turned and headed down the hall.

I sucked in a breath, alarm lighting my highly developed fight-or-flight response as I marched straight toward the lion’s den, my boots pounding the metal stairs.

The second floor was a carve-out of the larger warehouse structure. The hall we walked down featured a thick red carpet, mahogany wainscoting rising half the length of the wall, and off-white wallpaper embossed with a stylized flower and circle motif that was almost Celtic. I stopped to stick my finger into it and found this was the same acoustic board used on the lower floor’s walls.

Damn. This man dripped money. It must have cost a fortune to have these made.

Ahead of me, his footsteps faltered.

“Ms. Barlow,” he said. He spoke as if calling a dog to heel, and my one thought was that someone needed to slap the arrogance out of him.

I sighed and followed the man into an office worthy of any captain of industry.

It was massive, three times the size of the bedroom he had put me in, and done in the same woodwork as the wainscoting outside. Only there was much more artistry in the paneled wood that resembled an ancient ancestral castle instead of what you’d find in a modern industrial park. At the furthest end, behind a massive wood desk, rose a floor-to-ceiling bookcase against the wall. Instead of polished cement, the floor was an intricate parquet wood with dark inlay lines that cut at odd angles through the room, though a humongous oriental rug knotted in red, blues, and yellows covered most of the lines.

To the side stood a pedestal on which a thick, ancient-looking leather-bound book sat. Immediately I was drawn to it, or rather the artifact in my chest was, and I reached for it.

“Don’t touch that,” he said sharply, his tone cut with knife-like precision.

I withdrew my hand and took a quick breath. Okay, Mr. Dark and Mysterious did not like others touching his things. Apparently, no one taught him how to share.

“Before you go sharing all these scary truths, how about you give me a proper introduction?”

“What do you mean?”

I glanced at him over my shoulder and discovered him watching me from behind the large mahogany desk with his fingers laced together in front of his nose. His eyes are a distracting shade of brown with red and gold flecks. I crashed into them and forgot what I had asked for a moment.

I tore my gaze away and focused on the leather couch butted into the corner and the swanky artwork hanging on the paneled walls. My boots sunk into the plush pile of the rug, and I ran my fingers along the edges of a nearby tapestry until I got my shit together again.

“I mean, like I was saying, I don’t make a habit of spying on my clients. I respect their privacy, but since you seem intent on keeping me here for the foreseeable future, I feel like I deserve to see behind the curtain. I can’t go on calling you the boss or Mr. X until this is over.”

I avoided his eyes, surveying the office as if I cared about the full-wall glass case behind me filled with weapons from multiple centuries or the floor-to-ceiling mural of beautiful women cavorting naked in a stream. I looked back to him, where I saw the beginnings of a smile form.

“Mr. X, huh?”

“You didn’t give me a name, so I made one. That’s how this goes.”

At least he didn’t ask if you like his painting of all the titties in the creek.

“Who are you to talk to me about needing my name?” The ghost of a smile vanished, and his stare bored into me. We’re doing some weird tug-of-war here that I didn’t understand. He’s the one with the power and wealth here, not little ol’ me.

“Just me, myself, and I. I’ve got to call you something in my head, don’t I? Plus, how else will I write up the billing?” When he didn’t crack a hint of a smile at my lame joke, my cheeks warmed, and I sighed. “Fine. Judge away. I’m alone a lot, okay? I spend a lot of time in my head.”

His smile didn’t return, but at least the hard stare he’s giving me softens. “I imagine you do. It’s likely unavoidable.”

“I’m not asking for pity.”

“No. I can’t imagine you’d put up with that.”

My fingertips find that spot in my breastbone. Tap, tap, tap. My middle and ring finger beat in time with my pulse.

“Can we please get back to business?”

He curled a brow, but didn’t answer.

I gave him a dark look and extended my hand, knowing he wouldn’t take it. Nevertheless, I said, “Hi, my name’s Elena Barlow, and you are?”

He observed me for long enough that my skin started to itch under his scrutiny. Finally, he blinked. “Dagon,” he said, his voice nearly a bark.

“Mr. Dagon?” I echoed.

“Dagon Thorn.”

I flashed him a grin.

“See? That wasn’t hard. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Thorn. That’s a pretty badass name. I might like it even better than Mr. X.”

I plopped my ass in a leather chair before his large desk and folded my hands demurely. “With a surname like Thorn, you could be pack.”

He scoffed. “Hardly.”

Thorn leaned forward in his seat and stared into my eyes. That laser-focused glare seared and sizzled into my soul for all the wrong reasons and some of the right ones. One could get lost in those swirls of red, brown, and gold. I realized it for what it was— an attempt to hypnotize and control. Lucky for me, wild child that I am, no one could bind me with anything but love, which is a damn rare commodity these days, especially for me. Still, the temptation lingered to jump into those forbidden pools that radiated lust and the promise of sexual satiety. I gulped, but didn’t lower my gaze.

“I’m nothing like your former pack. I swear allegiance to no one, and I answer to no one.”

I waved off his proclamation. “I’m not asking you to swear allegiance to me. I’m asking you to get this thing out of me without hurting me.”

His eyes gleamed as he inspected me. “There’s only one way to separate it from you without hurting you, but you won’t like it.” He waited for me to ask, but instead, I stared back at him unblinkingly.

“Do you want to hear about the painful ways first?” he said.

My foot tapped a staccato rhythm, but the plush carpet muffled it. “Hmm. Pass. How about instead, you tell me what this thing inside me is so that I can do my own research, Mr. Thorn?”

“You know where to find information on demon runes?”

My brain processed his words, and I flinched as they lodged in my mind. It took a moment before I could formulate an intelligent response because, holy shit, I’ve got a demonic rune in my chest powered by dark magic.

Thorn waited expectantly.

Finally, I shifted in my seat. “I have a demonic dweomer in my chest, and you’re only telling me this now?”

I fought the urge to tear my skin away from my ribs to dig the enchanted object out. To distract myself, I entwined my fingers around each other, holding on so tight my hands ached. How powerful is this thing in my chest? And suddenly, I realized I have an even more important question, one I must ask aloud. “Does that mean you’re a demon?”

Dagon drew his lips into a tight line. “It would seem so.”

I glanced at the four walls and realized there were no windows in the office, so the room without lights would be in total darkness. Then I glanced at the floor again, and the odd angles of the inlay intersected my high school geometry. I’m sitting smack dab over an inverted pentagram.

Holy shit.

Or rather unholy shit.

Keep your cool, Elena.

“Well, I would’ve expected getting possessed by demon magic to feel a lot ickier.”

He laughed, and the sound appeared to startle him as much as it did me, and his eyes twinkled with evil mirth.

“It’s just magic, Elena. It’s who can use it, and what they can do with it, that makes magic what it becomes. It’s a matter of choice. That is all.”

I pointed to my chest. “And what can this thing inside me do, then?”

“Nothing.” His grin continued to light up his face, turning his eyes more gold than brown. He placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands, visibly warming to this subject. “Unless we enter a pact. Then, for as long as the mark remains, we’re connected.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the part you knew I wouldn’t like.”

“Correct.”

“Why do we need to be connected?”

“Because it gives me equal control over the dweomer, and with practice, and enough time connected, I can call it to me without harming you.” His eyes held a challenge, as though he was daring me to take the bait.

I took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. I’ve never heard of this, and I don’t like taking Thorn’s word for it. But I also had no one trustworthy I could go to for answers on something like this.

Unexpectedly, I had a brief flashback of waking up in his bed the first time, before I knew he was the mysterious Mr. X.

The desire had been real. His magnetism was still as real as before, but this thing in my chest was drawing me to him like a moth to flame. It was confusing shit in my head, and I needed to stay clear if I intended to survive.

“I need to think about it.” It was the best answer I could give.

He nodded with his face a mask of compassion, all the joy at my expense gone, as though he might actually feel sorry for me having gotten mixed up in this whole situation.

“You should take as much time as you need. The mark is harder to get rid of than the Hand of Belial.”

The Hand of Belial, huh? My gaze drops to my lap. No wonder it seemed vaguely shaped like a hand. At least with a name now, I can do a little research, such as it is, without access to the pack library.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head, you know. Whatever you need, I’m still your best resource, and I won’t lie to you. At least, not under contract. I might not have a boss, but I do have laws I can’t break.”

“What are you?” I meant to ask who, but I didn’t correct myself. Somehow, “what” feels right, so I don’t correct it.

“I said that I won’t lie. I didn’t say that I’d simply answer anything you ask.” He pursed his lips as though my question was gravely serious.

“Very well. Then, for now at least, no thank you to the offer to bind myself to you. I’m not prepared to bind myself to an unknown.”

He stood abruptly, and confused, I followed his lead. I’m not finished with my questions, but he’s apparently finished with me—for now.

“So that’s it? Do I have to worry about you killing me in my sleep now?”

He laughed again, and in the blink of an eye, he was breathing on my neck with a fiery, demonic breath, his fingers wrapped around my throat, my back pressed to his chest. His other arm circled my middle and pushed me against him hard, and my mind reeled.

“If I decide you need killing, I won’t need to wait until you’re sleeping, Elena.”

“Jesus fuck.” Trembling, I pulled from his grasp.

“I don’t even have the words to tell you how fucking sick and tired I am of preternatural creatures. Never touch me without my permission again or I won’t be the one hurting.”

He bowed, his thinly veiled smirk hidden for just a moment. “As you command, Elena. I am but your humble servant.”

I growled a curse under my breath, and his smirk bloomed wider.

“You’re not nearly as different from us as you think. Tell me you didn’t feel that.”

I ignore him because he’s right. When I cursed him, I wanted to throw him through the wall, and for a moment, I felt like I could. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room, ordering the most expensive takeout I can think of on your dime.”

I exited his office to the heady sound of laughter, all male, sexy as fuck—and I pretended I didn’t want to make him laugh again just for the shivers it sent down my spine.

He shut the door behind me, and for a split second, my ears rang like someone shook a bell right next to my head. Then I sensed it.

Wolves.

Not just one wolf, either. Several pack members were nearby. They seem to be positioned all around me.

No. Not all around you, all around the warehouse. You, you goddamned idiot, are surrounded.

“Thorn, you’ve got visitors,” I called out, trying not to panic. Below me, through the ironwork railing on my left side, Hoss glanced up at me, then took a step out of the line of sight of the window with his hand on his gun.

I wish I could enjoy the sensation of being listened to, but I don’t have time, and also, they’re probably just paranoid, and it’s not out of respect for me.

“What did you smell?” Thorn’s voice is right next to my ear without warning.

“Pack. On every side. They’re circling the warehouse, and not all of them are in human form, which, honestly, is a sign that this is about to go poorly.”

“Because they’re stronger as wolves?”

“Nope. Because they’re sure that no one will live to out them or their identities.”

He sighed. “Wait in your room, close the curtains, hide in the bathroom. Do whatever you need to do to mask your scent.”

The strange laughter that bubbled painfully out of my nearly panic-closed throat sounded unhinged.

“Don’t you understand? They cut me apart and sent me away, but they know. They know I’m here, and they’ll burn the place down if they have to.” I shook my head.

“No. I’m going down fighting. Stay close enough to get your demonic doohickey before Kye does because he can disappear into the swamp, and you’ll never see him again.”

What the fuck am I doing?

“Okay. We fight,” he agreed.

“Any chance you have an extra knife in that very expensive, and well-fitted suit?”

There was no sexy laugh, but the corners of his mouth twitched up, and my stomach seemed to think that was enough to set some inappropriate butterflies fluttering in my abdomen. He jerked his head toward his office and strode down the stairs while I ran back to find a weapon.

“Take one from the wall. Behind the glass,” he called up from the stairs.

I jogged back to the office and looked for a sliding door or opening in the glass surface. Finding none, I removed a simple vase from the small metal table next to the display and placed it on the ground. Then I hefted the table right at the glass. The wall shattered into thousands of pieces, which fell like a diamond rain on the carpet.

He can always just take it from my pay, provided I actually get paid after this.

I grabbed two knives from the shelves, one small enough to slide into my boot, the other nearly a machete. It hefts like my Bowie and fits to my hand like it was made for me.

Good enough to keep us safe, I hoped.

I strode from the office, where the light from the industrial-sized window high on my left shined on me, but I heard nothing downstairs but the silence of real trouble. However, this time it’s the trouble we’re expecting, and the stillness is anticipation, not terror. The pack was still out there.

Then the itching up my neck I always get when the pack is near intensified, and I spared a glance over my shoulder just as a familiar gloomy face appeared in the overhead window.

Marvin.

He vanished, then flew through the window feet first in a shower of shattered glass. “Barlow, you bitch,” he hissed as he crouched before me, his face contorting as he tried to stave off the change. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

“Hey now, Marv, stay frosty, right? You don’t want to go full wolf in front of the flunky ol’ me. That would be embarrassing.”

“Kye says we don’t need to worry about taking you alive. He just needs what you stole.” He advanced on me slowly.

I took five steps back toward the stairs. “Is it stealing when you’re taking it back for the person it was stolen from, though?”

I quick-stepped toward the landing to grab the railing, but before I could, Marvin’s calf muscles bunched together as he leapt toward me.

His clawed hands dug into my arms, and I fell sideways, right over the second-story rail. I’d never been afraid of heights, but the first floor rushing up at me was the most terrifying moment of my too-short life.

I can heal, but I can’t resurrect.

Marvin’s ragged breathing in my ear was all I heard before the polished concrete floor meets my face, and I hear a pop in my neck.

I would die here on the floor while Marvin, using me as a cushion, would walk away.

It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t go out like this. All around me are the sounds of fighting, but I don’t think anyone had noticed me, sprawled on the ground, dying of a broken neck. In a panic, I reached inward. What can this stupid demon rune do, if everyone wants it so badly they’re willing to kill to get it?

I felt that same steady thrumming, a heartbeat just out of sync with my own, and then I heard Thorn’s voice in my head. “Take the mark.”

A spot of light appears behind my eyes, like in my dream, but without Freudian connotations. It looms closer, and I draw it in. “But what about my freedom? I don’t want to be your slave.”

“Not a slave, a partner. Let me save you.”

The light changed, darkened, and crashed into me in a wave of crimson.

Then the world went black.