The only thing he could think to do now was find the demon that Ronan had subdued and kill it so that there was no chance of it ever controlling her actions again.
At least that was something real and solid—a purpose he could focus on so that he didn’t have to think about what had just happened.
The shower turned on behind the closed door. She was in there right now, washing away all traces of him from her skin. The notion bothered him more than it should have. Or maybe it was his own need to cling to the scent she’d left on him that made him feel that way. Their partnership was far too lopsided. She had all the control, all the power. All he could do was flounder in the aftermath of her choices.
He couldn’t change her vow. He refused to force her to stay with him. Ronan’s chat with her had informed her that she didn’t even need to be close to him for him to survive. If she walked away, no guilt necessary.
Fuck that.
Cain was no doormat. He was tired of watching the people he cared about walk away. He was a fighter by nature, and if his survival meant he had to fight a little dirty, then so be it. Rory held his future in her hands, and he’d be damned if he’d let her crush it.
One way or another, he was going to find a way to get through that pink head of hers.
Chapter 21
Ronan waited until the sun was high before he dared reach out for the Synestryn lord who had stolen his blood. The connection between them was weak now, as was the demon that had forged it. Like Ronan, its powers dwindled during the day, sapping its strength.
Carefully and slowly, he slipped along the thread of blood and power that bound them, seeping into the demon’s mind by the tiniest drops. This contact was not about control, or about trying to rid Ronan’s mind of the foul presence that infected him. He didn’t make so much as a ripple as he passed, seeking out information only.
The demon’s sleep shifted as it began to wake. Ronan held still, letting vile thoughts and memories flow around him like sewage. As each one touched him, he let it seep in, granting him information.
The pain this creature had caused was a fetid, rotting cancer in Ronan’s mind. He didn’t dare fight it, but not judging the evil acts was much, much harder. Each moment of revulsion, each second of accusation forced the demon into wakefulness.
There was little time left—only seconds before the beast woke and realized what Ronan was doing. Before it was too late and the demon snagged him and sucked him in, Ronan drifted back out of the festering decay of the creature’s thoughts and back into the cool, dark confines of his own mind.
The familiar space comforted him. It helped wash away the repulsive horror of what he’d seen.
Ronan lay still in the blackness of the basement, slowly sifting through the information that he’d gathered. Most of it was useless sludge that he discarded before it could take root and grow. But there were details that he’d collected—things that had been at the forefront of the demon’s thoughts.
Of Raygh’s thoughts.
This demon had a name. It fancied itself as some kind of king. As powerful as it was, Ronan was certain that lesser demons were quick to obey.
Like the Handlers that Raygh had sent. They were powerful creatures in their own right, but had chosen to answer to Raygh for some reason Ronan could not fathom.
That was interesting, but not nearly as important as the other information that Ronan had learned.
Raygh had two sons. Both of them had been killed, and now he was seeking out all of those who had been present at the time of his sons’ deaths. That’s what those barb-tailed creatures were about. They were gathering blood, giving Raygh a way to track his prey and control them.
And thanks to Ronan’s time in the festering slime of the demon’s mind, he knew exactly who Raygh was going after. Ronan had smelled them all before—both human and Sentinel.
Rory and Cain were among them, as well as Iain, Jackie, Hope, Logan, Drake, Helen, the human child Autumn, and Beth—the woman Ronan had pulled from a cave a few months ago. All of them needed to be warned, and those who were tucked safely behind the walls of Dabyr needed to remain there.
Ronan tried to lift his hand to pull his phone from his pocket, but he was too weak. In a few hours, when the sun lowered, he would be able to warn the others, but until then, his sole job was to maintain the barrier that he’d erected in his own mind—similar to the one he’d designed for Rory, but not nearly as strong. She had no idea what she was facing. Ronan did. There was only so much power he could expend, and his options were one weaker shield or two weak ones.
The choice had been simple. The demon and he were a matched set. Both of them were stronger by night, both of them lived on blood. The only difference was, Ronan was careful of his food, while Raygh cared little for those from which he fed. They were vessels. Empty husks to be tossed aside when he was finished with them.
That lack of hunger made Raygh stronger, but Ronan had something else on his side. Years of needing that which he could not have had given him an iron will. He controlled himself, and that was why, no matter how well fed the demon was, it would never get past Ronan’s defenses.
He was no thing’s puppet.
By the time Rory got out of the shower, Cain was dressed and waiting for her, wearing a do-not-fuck-with-me look on his face.
She eyed his jacket and the keys dangling from his thick fingers. “I guess we’re leaving?”
“I’m leaving. You stay here with Ronan. You’ll be safe here.”
“Safe? Are you kidding me?”
“As safe as you’ll be anywhere. We can’t go to Dabyr with that demon in your head, which means I need to go kill it.”
“Just like that. Do you even know where it is?”
“Nope. But it’s got to be close to where you lost it. The more distance between you and it, the harder it would be for it to control you.”
She didn’t want him to go. She wanted someone else to go and kill the bad guy. Not Cain. She wasn’t ready to lose him—especially not when he was risking his life for her. “This is insane. You can’t just go out there alone and hunt for demons.”
“Why not? I do it all the time. Just another day at the office.”
“Yeah, if your office is filled with poisonous teeth and claws.”
He shoved the keys in his pocket and zipped up his jacket. “I should have left you a note. Just pretend that’s what I did.”
He started to walk away, but she grabbed his arm. “Really? That’s how it’s going to be?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You’re mad at me, so you’re going to punish me by making me worry.”
His brows drew together, and she swore she felt his arm vibrate with anger under the leather. “You’ve seen me, Rory. All the way through. You know me. Do you really think I’m that petty?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so until right now, seeing you ready to go.”
His eye twitched. “I could have left without saying good-bye.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me. I’m a big girl. I can deal.” She pretended like it didn’t hurt that he was going to walk away. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d hit the mark.
Rory turned her back and went to pick up her clothes. He’d gathered them from where she’d tossed them through the house and laid them on the bed. It was a thoughtful thing for a man to do when he was otherwise trying to hurt her.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice dipping low.
She tugged at the luceria, cursing its existence. “Stupid fucking necklace.”
“Would you rather I go and find the person who can make it fall from your throat?” he asked.
Rory sagged onto the bed, gripping her clothes against her chest. There was too much going on inside of her—too many emotions, too much stress. “What I want hardly seems to matter.”
He stepped closer, his big, booted feet coming into view. “It matters to me.”
“Does it?” She tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “You keep pushing me to be like those women in your memories, but I’m not like them.”
“I know that now. I won’t make that same mistake again.”
“So where does that leave me? I still have a demon trapped in my brain, and a magical necklace trapped around my throat. If I take it off, you die.”
“Eventually. The colors in the luceria have not yet solidified. We still have time.”
“You forget that you threw yourself wide open to me. I know how slim the chances are that you’ll find another woman compatible with your power before your soul dies. I’m not the kind of person who can walk away from that.”
“I don’t want or need your pity.”
Her voice lifted in frustration. “It’s not pity. It’s human fucking decency.”
“You’re not human.” His face was impassive. He’d blocked off the link between them, giving her no idea how he felt.
Until now, she hadn’t realized just how easily she’d come to accept that connection to him as a kind of additional sense, something she took for granted, like her sight. Now that the connection was gone, she felt . . . lonely.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“Apparently not. You’re the one who wants to walk away from our partnership. You asked for space, and now that I’m trying to give it to you, you’re angry. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
She had no answers. The things she wanted were not things he could give her. She wanted guarantees—a promise that he wouldn’t die and leave her floundering the way she had when Mom had died, when Nana had died. She couldn’t go through that again.
But she couldn’t stand to let him walk away either, knowing that he would be so much safer with her at his side—with her power there to take out anything that tried to hurt him. She wasn’t very strong yet, but she was stronger now than she had been a few hours ago. The time she’d spent in his arms had somehow widened their connection, allowing the space for more energy to flow through. She could feel it humming there, churning with anticipation for her to make use of it.
Strength hovered at her fingertips, making her crave it. She was tired of being a victim, tired of being scared to get so much as a paper cut. Cain made her stronger and gave her a fighting chance. She was pretty sure that was the best deal she was going to get in this lifetime.
“Take me with you,” she said. “Show me how to fight.”
He stared at her for a long time, and she wished he would let her take a peek behind the curtain, just for a second. She didn’t like being on the outside like this—like everyone else—alone and wondering what was going on in his head.
Finally, without any hint of how he felt, he said, “Get dressed. I won’t wait long.”
Chapter 22
Cain knew that he was manipulating Rory, and that it was wrong, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He knew how much she hated feeling weak. Her strength and independence meant everything to her, and yet here he was, tempting her with one in order to rob her of the other.