Page 28 of Toying with Monsters
“Get out of here,” he growled. The demon’s voice split into a hundred sharp tones with feral intensity.
The door slammed shut, and I was alone with a demon.
“Had enough?” I said.
“Have you?”
We stared at each other again, but this time without the sound effects. Thorn’s odd power left my muscles with a weird, lingering weakness. I gripped the arm of the nearest leather chair and spun my ass into it.
“That’s one helluva party trick you got there, Dagon.”
Thorn blinked, and his eyes reverted to his usual swirly brown and gold, appearing exhausted as if he hadn’t slept in a day and a half. His nails drew back, too, replaced with the buffed and polished version he sported earlier. He lowered into his chair as if against his will.
“That’s some temper you have, Miss Barlow.”
I stared at him for a long time with my nails digging into the arms of his plush leather chair while I prayed my muscles would recover soon. I’ll be damned if I don’t leave here on my own two feet.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” I asked. “Because I wear your mark?”
He scoffed as if speaking to an idiot.
“I told you, it isn’t my mark. But, yes. We are bound by it, and as I agreed, you are not my servant. But neither am I yours.”
I looked away. This situation sucked because we must cooperate unless we wanted to stay locked in perpetual power games.
“You should have just poured that damned whiskey.”
He poured a finger for me, and I slammed it down my throat like a shot in a glass. The amber liquid burned my nose with alcoholic fumes but because of its advanced age, not my throat. With the same predatory gaze he’d leveled at me all day, he did the same.
I pointed to the whiskey again, and he poured another round.
Then another.
To my surprise, I discovered another curious ability of this artifact in me.
I couldn’t get drunk.
But apparently, neither could Thorn.
Eventually, though, we both relaxed enough that he told me the plan to remove the artifact from my chest without killing me, and it was a plan I could support, even if it meant retrieving items against the owner’s will.
Nine hours later, I’m sitting in the dark in Thorn’s Porsche, parked outside a Highland Road mansion, waiting for the last light to go out.
Thorn reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a black leather-sheathed object, and held it out to me.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. Of sorts.”
“For me?” I said in a singsong voice. “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. You might need this. It has useful properties.”
“What kind of properties?” I said with suspicion. Any gift from a demon was suspect.
“It masks the wielder’s movements for a short time. But don’t over-tax it. The magic becomes volatile with prolonged use.”
Even under the top leather flap, I could see it was a knife. I pulled it out and was oddly touched. It’s a beauty with an obsidian blade and a pearl handle.
