Page 62 of SIN Bone Deep

However, what I felt was a different sort of fire. I wanted him. I was relieved to see him again, and I wanted to wrap myself around him, to feel his cool skin against my cheek, to run my fingers through the dark silk of his hair, and to hear him moan my name.

“Owen Paul,” I handed Ender the card, my hand shaking. Owen’s hand fell from my elbow, his eyes locked on Ender’s and his face paling. The draw of a succubus diminished in the presence of a grim reaper.

“Owen Paul,” Ender’s hoarse whisper made the name menacing. “We will meet again very soon.”

“Excuse me,” Owen Paul backed away towards the hotel, seeking safety and distance from Ender. “I forgot something in my room.”

The Porsche pulled up before us and the valet approached me, his face eager. “Your car Miss.”

I tipped him and got into the driver’s seat. I was not surprised when Ender got into the passenger side. “I should be mad at you,” I told him as I pulled out. “I am mad at you.”

“Nyx… Mal should not have interfered.”

“Did you arrange for him to be called away?” I asked. “So that I would be alone, and you could come to me? You won’t come when he’s here, will you? Because he is my familiar now, and he hates you. And you hate him.”

“I don’t hate Malachar,” Ender sighed the words. “Though that is not mutual.”

“Why, Ender?” I demanded, the pain bringing tears to my eyes. “Why wouldn’t you help me?” The last word trembled on my lips, a pitiful sob of a sound.

“I couldn’t,” his expression was tender. “It is not my place to interfere, not in this realm, Nyx. In my own, I have a little more freedom. But here, I cannot change that which must be. You were meant to die on that road, Nyx. It was your time. Malachar should never have interfered. He did so to spite me.”

“He saved me,” I felt a tear run down my cheek. “He saved my life.”

“He stole you from me,” Ender replied, and for the first time that I had known him, there was a hard anger behind his tone. “Out of petty revenge. But… Nyx,” his expression was pleading. “You can right the wrong. You are immortal only so long as you feed. Choose not to feed, and - ”

“And die?” I shot him a frown through my tears. “I don’t want to die, Ender. I’m eighteen years old. My life is just beginning.”

He was silent for a long time as I navigated the streets, and broke free of the city, the road before stretching out into the darkness, and the streetlights falling away. When we were bathed in his comfortable shadows, my headlights leading the way down the road, and only the moon and stars above providing additional light, he reached out and covered my hand with his.

“Live life, Nyx,” he said softly. “I will wait for as long as you need, and I will always be in the shadows if you choose to look for me.”

“Ender,” my heart was breaking. “Malachar will not agree to me spending time with you now that he is my familiar.”

“Malachar does not own you, Nyx. That is not how invocation works. It is his nature to mislead or to let you mislead yourself. I cannot say more,” he was regretful of that. “I have already said too much. I must go,” he added. “I cannot stay. I am needed elsewhere.”

“Will I see you again?” I whispered.

“If you wish it…” He had all but faded from sight, barely discernible from the shadows.

I swallowed hard. “I am still angry with you,” I whispered. “But I do.”

I felt the slightest caress in my hair – or perhaps it was just the wind. As I drove into Mortensby, I was alone, the streetlights sweeping over an empty passenger seat.

I parked out front of the bar where I had encountered Warren whilst Laurie and Dawson had challenged each other at pool. If Warren was there, I could hope to use the magic of a succubus to entice him into confessing that he had tried to kill me in front of the other occupants of the bar. That would be the best solution, I thought hopefully as I left the car and headed to the door.

As I entered, heads turned, and someone whistled. I felt my skin crawl under all the lecherous gazes. I did not see Warren amongst the patrons, though I searched their faces thoroughly before weaving through them to the bar.

The bartender was the same guy as before. John Renwright, I thought remembering how the aunts had made a poppet of him and compelled it to tell the truth - something which might be useful to me now. “I’m looking for Warren.”

“Lucky Warren,” one of the barflies commented and received appreciative laughter from his peers.

“Warren’s not here,” John replied, his eyes on the glass into which he was pouring beer from the tap.

“Where is he?”

“Keeping close to home. Police are looking at him. Missing wife and kid, and the bitches up the hill…” He broke off looking up - and frowned at me. “Hey… Don’t I know you?”

“Where is his house?” I asked. I could see it in his eyes that he had realized who I was. “The address.”

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