he didn’t want you, now, did he?”
She glared at him. “Come closer and say that.”
He laughed again, then twirled the blade between his fingers. “Oh, poor Daeva. Exorcised by the man you loved. At least, that’s what I heard. Is it true?” He leaned down into her face.
She turned away. She didn’t want to look into his vacant eyes, didn’t want to see the total lack of empathy or emotion there.
“Oh, you’re not going to cry are you?” He drew the blade tip across her lips. “I do so hate to see a lady shed tears. Especially over a man who tossed her away like the heathen she is.”
Klaven took a step back, and the air shimmered around him until it was Quinn standing in front of her and not the demon lord. The fake Quinn image smiled.
“It must’ve hurt when he banished you.” He took a step toward her.
She didn’t look at him, she stared at the stained floor. She couldn’t see Quinn looking at her like that, not again. As if she was an animal. As if she wasn’t a woman but pure filth.
“Did he torture you first? Did he sprinkle holy water on you? Burning your flesh, burning your soul.”
She didn’t rise to the bait, although she remembered that night three years ago when Quinn exorcised her as though it had just happened. It was still fresh and raw in her mind. And being reminded of it by the horrid Lord Klaven didn’t help matters. Her stomach churned at the memory.
He moved closer to her again, gripping her chin with his long, bony fingers. He lifted her head up, forcing her to look upon him. She wanted to scream at seeing Quinn’s face with black eyes and fangs poking out between his full lips. Lips she used to kiss for hours on end.
“Does the exorcist have the key?”
She spat at him.
Klaven wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grinned down at her. “Does he have the chest?”
“You’re wasting your time, Klaven. I won’t tell you anything. You can’t kill me, so you might as well let me go.”
He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Leaning down, he slammed his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She bit his tongue when it invaded her mouth. His sulfur-tainted blood filled her mouth.
He jerked away, his crimson-stained lips pulling back into an evil sneer. “I might not be allowed to kill you, Daeva. But I certainly can have my fun.”
He drew his knife down her arm, slicing open her skin. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out at the pain. She looked down at her damaged flesh, knowing his demon-cursed blade would leave a scar and that she would use that as a reminder of this day. Of Klaven’s betrayal—and that of all of the demon horde.
“Do your worst. I do not fear you or anything that you can do to me.”
Klaven, still looking like Quinn, clapped his hands, and the heavy metal door opened. The two guards that had brought her here marched in.
“Grab her and tie her to the rack.”
When they came to unbind her, she kicked and struggled and lashed out at them, but they were twice her strength. There was nothing she could do when they dragged her across the room to the ancient wooden rack that was once owned by the Marquis de Sade, a close personal friend of Klaven’s.
Her torture was going to be savage. She’d seen Klaven’s artwork before. But she swore to herself she would hold out as long as she could. No matter what Quinn had done to her all those years ago, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. And if the demons knew he possessed the key, he would not be safe. His death would be her fault.
When Quinn finally woke, the sun was streaming in through the big kitchen and his head was pounding something fierce.
He made his way to his knees, then up to his feet, using the kitchen counter to brace himself against. His hand still throbbed where the goblin had wounded him, but it was no longer oozing with infectious goo or blood. It still needed tending to, though.
Arduously climbing the stairs, he went into the bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit. While he doctored himself, he thought about his next move. The Cabal had taken the key. He could form a small army to get it back by force. But he’d been through so much fighting recently.
It had only been a few months since the slaughter by demons in Sumner, Washington. It had taken him and Ivy hours to bury their friends and burn the rest of the dead. He didn’t want to go through that again. And it would be a bloodbath if he went after the Cabal, he had no doubt in his mind.
He washed the wound, poured antiseptic onto it, biting on his lip the whole time. It stung like a thousand bees. He wrapped it tight, then went back down the stairs to his ruined living room. The goblin had done a thorough job of wrecking everything he had. Which, by some standards, wasn’t much. His lifestyle didn’t really permit the luxuries of living a normal, comfortable life.
Usually on the move, Quinn had only just set up shop in this small starter home, basically for cover. It wasn’t as if he worked nine to five at an office. No, he hunted demons. That was his vocation, his life. He’d been born into it.
As far as the people he bought the home from knew, his name was Quinton Sterling, and he was a divorced small-business owner. They’d been more than happy with his story since he paid cash for the place they couldn’t afford anymore.
The money came from the other jobs he did. Jobs he wasn’t necessarily proud of. Demon hunting wasn’t exactly lucrative. He’d pulled a few cons over the years, something he’d learned from his dad. It was a dishonest way to bankroll a lifesaving job of hunting down and destroying demons. Quinn didn’t ponder the ethics of it too much.
Righting the overturned sofa, he shoved the ruined cushions back on and sat. He had to think. He had to figure out what to do.
Rubbing his good hand over his face, he sighed. Ultimately, he knew what had to be done next, but he just didn’t want to do it. It would be way too complicated and messy. Two things he hated.
If the Cabal had the key, that meant they were going after the chest that contained the book that could unleash hell on Earth. There was only one choice here and that was to find the chest first. Find it and protect it.
Sighing, he leaned his head on the back of the sofa. Maybe there was another way. There had to be. To do what he needed—to uncover where the chest was hidden—would almost be too much to bear. He wasn’t sure he could see her again.
Quinn found his cell phone on the floor. He picked it up and dialed a familiar number. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only six in the morning. It rang only four times before being answered.
“You do know what time it is?”
He smiled. “Yup, I know, Q. I need to talk.”
There came a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine. Meet me at my office in an hour.”
Quinn stood and headed upstairs to get dressed. It was going to be one long, hellish day.
One hour later he stood in the office doorway of Quianna Lang, one of the youngest professors on staff at the San Francisco State University and resident mythologist to the university. But he knew her talents and knowledge lay in demonology. She possessed more knowledge about demons and demon lore than anyone he knew.
She barely looked up from whatever she was reading on her old mahogany desk when he entered. “Sit.”
He came all the way in and slid onto one of the leather chairs situated in front of her big wooden desk.
She finished reading, slammed the book closed and looked up at him. “Okay, so what’s going on? How much trouble