Possess Me Under The Mistletoe Read online

  “Maybe it’s only after me.” She curled a finger around a lock of her silver hair. “Every time I’ve done a spell, I’ve felt watched. Downstairs when I blessed the house. Outside in the yard, and when I prepared the reversal spell. Even when I cursed that darn goose, something prickled my flesh. I think my magic is calling it.” She ruminated further. “What if it was calling its hellhounds? How else would those creatures have found me so quick? Maybe it’s a Legion and we’re the sacrifice? What if this time, a Legion made it out of Hell? It would definitely plan to cause mass destruction.” Her voice lowered , and he noted the quiver in her words.

  An Argos demon specialist had once told him about how the mutts and magic worked. “For hellhounds to leave the Underworld, they need enormous amounts of pure, human energy and an enchantment. You’re a walking explosive for them. If it brought a pack of the hounds into our world, it would be impossible to defeat.”

  Cyra’s lips pinched.

  “That’s why we’ve got to bring down the bastard now.” He pushed the long sleeves of his T-shirt to his elbows. His first idea was the straightforward approach. March up there and duke it out, take out the beast. He had his lasso and a vial of holy water left, which wasn’t enough, but it had to do. Unless Cyra would give him some magical protection or weapons. He needed to tag the demon upstairs, where it was trapped with fewer electrical outlets to recharge from.

  The lights overhead flickered and died.

  Nora cried out, and only the blazing fireplace lit up the living room, crackling and spitting like an angry volcano. Yep, the demon was readying to attack again.

  “We need to bait it,” Cyra suggested, her words quickening.

  “Exactly my thoughts. I’ll need any magical help you can provide. Then I’m taking it down. You keep the old folks safe because I don’t know how this will go down.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “We’re facing the demon together.”

  He reached out to take her hand, untangling her folded arms. “Please, Cyra. Nothing you say or do will make me change my mind. You are not coming with me. I won’t put you in danger. Ever!”

  Cyra’s nose wrinkled, and she wrenched her arm back. “I’m not letting you kill yourself.” Her voice climbed.

  When a startled intake of breath came from behind him where the old couple were, he gritted his teeth.

  He grasped her elbow and guided her out into the hallway near the front door.

  She pulled free. “You can’t stop me from helping you.” The pleading and her desperate expression tugged on his heart, but this was not a point of negotiation.

  “Cyra. I can’t control what will happen. And I don’t want to put you… us in that situation.”

  Her chin trembled, but still, she stiffened her posture. “And do you think I can live knowing I let you die? It’s potentially a Legion, Gunn! What if you can’t take it down? It’s better to have reinforcements.”

  “Fuck, I get it, but I’m not budging on this.” Having someone have his back for this would be incredible, but it wasn’t possible. “This conversation is over. I’m going alone. And you can help by creating a spell that will help me against the demon.”

  Cyra scowled, her wary frown jabbing daggers into his chest.

  Time was running out, so he said, “I’ll do what I’ve been trained to do. You focus on your specialty.”

  She didn’t respond, just studied him with glossy eyes, and the sight of her fear sent a shiver down his spine. But standing there only weakened his resolve, and he needed his head straight. No distractions. Nothing but a blinding rage to get revenge for Cherri-Anne’s death and for every other innocent who’d lost the fight. But the longer he stayed near Cyra, the quicker he’d give in to her.

  When he pulled away, she said, “You’re not broken, you know?” Icy hostility sailed across her face.

  “What would you know?” he asked, a grunt rolling through his chest. This was why he never told anyone the truth, because they’d try to psychoanalyze him, and he didn’t need anyone inside his head.

  “Chase once told me the death of Cherri-Anne broke you, and now you’re like an empty shell who goes through life. But he’s wrong.”

  Her words carried a scorpion’s sting, as if no matter how hard he railed against them, she wouldn’t change her mind. Everyone thought they understood his past, saying to give the hurt time, to go see another therapist, but they were all fucking mistaken. He had lost part of himself two years ago and kicking demon butt was the only thing that got him out of bed.

  “You should listen to your brother.” He turned away, not prepared to deal with this now, or ever. Pretending something else was possible between them was a foolish dream. He’d always carry the self-hatred and guilt for what he’d done to Cherri-Anne, and no one could unshackle the cold hard truth from him.

  Cyra seized his wrist and pulled him closer. “You’re such a stubborn ass, saying you don’t deserve a good life because a demon took your girlfriend. Get over yourself. You did what any smart hunter would have done. You sacrificed one person for the greater good, for the majority. That doesn’t make you broken.”

  “Fuck that!” He retreated, breaking their hold. “You try living with that mistake and tell me you’re all rainbows and unicorns. This shit is real. This industry fucks you up and then spits you out half the person you were. If you were smart, you’d leave Argos, forget demons and witchcraft. And me. Enjoy a normal, simple life.” His words came out cold as they sliced through the air. The admiration and attraction he had for Cyra remained, but his feelings distorted into thorns, reminding him of his failure and how he deserved to suffer.

  Her shoulders lifted. She stepped closer and punched him in the arm. “Stop being a pussy. Open your eyes to what’s right in front of you. Take what belongs to you. Don’t use excuses to hide from the world.”

  She trembled, distain twisting her lips. The same fire scorched his brain. He had to remember he had nothing in the world to take or offer. He wasn’t blind; he knew Cyra referred to herself, but so what? He wondered when he’d let her down and end up sacrificing her for the so-called greater good. He fucking hated the greater good.

  Fury boiled through his veins, churning within, and the pressure allowed darkness to swallow him whole. He’d promised himself that after he’d lost Cherri-Anne, he’d never endanger another. No relationships. No feelings. That promise was his safety belt in life.

  “We can’t be together. Don’t you get that?” he blurted out, and at once he wanted to retract his anger.

  Staring at Cyra’s glistening eyes, his strength wavered. She’d gotten under his skin like no one before, not even Cherri-Anne. But he didn’t deserve Cyra. The error was on his part for letting himself go there with her, giving her false hope, believing she belonged to him. This was the goddamn reason he’d kept his distance. She’d infiltrated his thoughts and penetrated his heart.

  “Listen,” he began.

  But she swung another fist, for his face this time, crying out, “I hate you.”

  He snatched her wrist midair and pushed her up against the door, pressing up against her, holding her arms by her side. Their rushed breaths merged, and he stared deep into her eyes. Terror and despair swirled behind them, and a single tear collecting at the corner of her eye rolled down her cheek.

  “Let me go,” she cried.

  His insides shattered like glass, ripping him to shreds. Before him was a girl who’d given herself to him, who’d demanded his attention, who carried so much love she melted through his barriers. No one had done that before. Not a fucking soul. Except Cyra with her caring nature, her spunk, her passion. He adored everything about her, but he should have stopped himself from getting close. He never should have agreed to keep an eye on her.

  “Your brother’s right. I am broken,” he stated, his voice deep and sharp. “And no glue in the world can put me together again.” Without hesitation, he pulled back from her warmth and walked away before he crumbled. He loathed every inc
h of what he’d become, the scum who teased Cyra, took her innocence, and now left her. Regret and guilt chewed on his sanity, but he could live with the self-hatred consuming him if it meant keeping her alive. And maybe throwing himself at a Legion was exactly what he deserved.

  Chapter 13

  Cyra

  The edges of Cyra’s mind frayed, and her vision blurred with tears. Exhaustion buffeted her with the constant fear of being attacked by something else in the house. But battling her emotions for Gunn was taking its toll, too. “Bastard,” she mumbled to herself, but she couldn’t hate him. Not when his behavior came from losing someone close to him and blaming himself. God, if she had to choose between her brother or hundreds of people dying, she’d be a basket case. So she got it, but the heartbreak of him walking away sliced her in half. Never in a million years would she accept his self-destruction.

  An orange glow from the fireplace reached the hallway, illuminating the side of the stairwell. Upstairs was pitch black, covering her in shivers, as she was well aware the house concealed a terrifying monster. And it was exactly where Gunn planned to go alone. Forcing the point of joining Gunn would end in an argument, which meant they’d be distracted, and the beast would use those feelings against them.

  For years, she’d read incantations in books she’d found online. Most were fake, but she’d tracked down two Wiccan groups who were the real thing. They’d offered tips on honing her ability, in particular her morning ritual to ensure nothing ever attached itself to her. She had so much more to learn, like how she’d turned that goose into stone. She’d attempted that exact spell weeks ago, only to have it fail miserably. But now failure wasn’t an option, because she had to help Gunn.

  First up was giving him extra defenses against possession, along with maybe an additional weapon. With limited resources, she had to use what she had in her bag for a strong hex. Like the dried raven’s foot. Those birds represented divine messaging, and witches had used them for death magic, too. Their bones were a quick way to conjure a spell of healing. A temporary fix, but still a temporary solution.

  Remembering she’d left her bag in the kitchen, she headed down the corridor, hearing the splash of water from the bathroom where Gunn had gone. She rushed along the hall, feeling unease inching up the back of her legs, and she pulled the lighter from her pocket, flicking it on.

  She did a sweep of the area behind her, the hall curving and heading to the bathroom and TV room. All clear. She rushed into the kitchen and headed for the drawers where she’d seen birthday candles. With a few placed in glasses, she lit them and set them along the countertop for light.

  She grabbed her bag from the corner near the dishwasher and collected the raven’s foot, along with the pouch of herbs she carried everywhere. With all the contents in a glass, she placed her palm over the top, reciting an incantation in her head, the same one she did most mornings. “Safety. Strength. Wisdom. No evil shall penetrate this barrier.”

  A spark of energy zipped down her arm, and, on cue, an arc of electricity shot from her palm and onto the ingredients. She raised her hand to watch them burn to a fizzle. Black smoke curled upward, and she filled the glass with tap water. With her hand covering the top again, she shook the items together.

  She strained her creation with a colander into a fresh glass and tossed the remains into the bin beneath the sink. Their energies had been absorbed by the water.

  With the potion complete, she scanned the room. What to use as a trapping spell?

  She’d once read about a devil’s trap using symbols from the Key of Solomon. Well, with no internet, she couldn’t recall what they looked like and one slip or line drawn incorrectly could have devastating consequences. Considering how awfully she’d last messed up a spell, she couldn’t risk getting it wrong this time.

  “I’m ready.” Gunn’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

  She whirled, her heart hammering in her chest. He stood in the kitchen’s entrance. “Shit, make a sound before sneaking up on people.”

  Gunn stood solid and tall, some of his earlier cuts from the goose blushing red, others bandaged, and his wet hair glistened beneath the candlelight. He resembled someone who’d already gone into war, except the previous attacks were child’s play compared to what would come next. It hurt to feel the distance between them, and she missed the way he’d stare at her with hunger in his gaze. The way he lingered too close, tenderly touched her, his whispered words in her ear.

  She picked up the glass and moved closer. “Drink this. It’ll keep you safe. No guarantees, but it should make it a bitch for anything to possess you. It’s only temporary, but it’ll last for two hours.”

  He accepted it and studied the contents before sniffing the concoction. “What is it?”

  “Just a small home remedy.” Telling him it included a dead raven’s foot would not go down well, so she planted a smile on her lips.

  Without a word, he gulped it down and wiped his mouth, wrinkling his nose. “Tastes like grit.”

  She collected the glass and set it on the counter. Silence settled between them. Pleading for him to change his mind made no sense, as he likely wouldn’t budge. And doing nothing meant they’d wait for the demon to pick them off one at a time. Still, her stomach hurt letting him go on his own.

  Gunn adjusted his T-shirt, tugging on the hem, and moved the lasso on his belt an inch.

  She dug into her bag and pulled out a quartz crystal in the shape of a small rod. “I carry this with me everywhere. I’ve blessed it under the moon’s light, and it’s meant to help me heal quickly.” She pressed it into his palm, pushing his warm fingers around the object.

  His gaze never left her, but no words came either.

  So many questions plagued her thoughts, but all arguments fell dead on her tongue as she studied his strong face as he held his composure. What he needed now was strength, not to be torn down, so she swallowed the angry words about him pushing her away. How he was wrong about putting her in danger if they dated.

  She stepped closer to him, not caring that earlier he’d pushed her aside. “Just so you know, when we get out of this, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer or your sob story or any bullshit you throw my way.”

  A smile broke through his stoic expression and his hand caressed the side of her face. “You carry enough hope for both of us. I’ll be seeing you soon, baby girl.”

  He turned away and left her feeling cold. Her throat choked up. Dammit, if he was being brave, then she could suck it up.

  But instead, she stumbled against the counter, the flicker from the candles casting a puppet show on the walls. Her thoughts drowned in the unknown. Sitting back had never been her style, and neither was waiting like some helpless damsel, but this wasn’t something she was equipped to deal with… unless she worked out a way to give Gunn extra ammunition.

  The next half hour passed in a blur, and all she’d done was carve a rune she’d learned from Argos into the handle of a knife. She cast a protection circle around herself, hoping to use one on Gunn. But being unable to test the spell, she returned to square one.

  Rejoining Henry and Nora in the living room, she slouched on the armchair, her knees pulled up against her chest.

  “What do you think is happening in the attic?” Henry asked.

  “Demon butt kicking.” Yet with no sounds coming from upstairs, she itched to go check on Gunn. Could he be lying broken on the floor, taking his last breath? Or had he been thrown into the portal? She shifted in her seat, unable to get comfortable, convinced she’d vomit the bile churning in her gut.

  “Despite his initial appearance and standoffish attitude,” Henry said, “Gunn is a good man, isn’t he?”

  Cyra faced Henry, tucking her legs under her. Henry was one hundred percent correct. Gunn wore spikes for personality, but on the inside, he was a loving, caring guy who wanted to help people and keep them safe.

  “He really is,” she replied. Now if only he could open his eyes and accept
how others saw him. Then he might be easier on himself.

  With a huff, she chewed on a hangnail. Her mind filled with images of her with Gunn, the passion he’d incited in her, the rage as he’d pushed her away. And now she understood why he’d kept his distance all this time.

  “At first, I wasn’t so sure,” Henry continued, but she zoned out, unable to make small talk about Gunn when her skin pinpricked.

  “Did you want to see our list, dear?” Nora said, drawing her attention. Cyra had no clue what she was talking about, but she accepted the piece of paper with a handwritten inventory of objects, then realized it was the things they had brought into the house, written down as per Gunn’s instructions. But it was short with only four items.

  Refrigerator.

  Clippers for the shrubs.

  Bread container.

  Morgana box.

  She kept staring at the last item and remembered seeing it in the hallway next to the vase of flowers. The gadget answered any questions someone had with a simple voice command. It also switched on certain appliances. That thing was hooked up to the internet, television, and surround sound system.

  Realization rocked her at the core: the demon rushing into the power socket, the eerie music that had played on its own, the flickering of the television, according to Nora. A jolt shook her. “Where did you get the Morgana box from?”

  Nora was shaking her head. “Oh, we didn’t buy it. Our son did, saying it was the latest gadget, and he installed it over a month ago.”

  “About the time when the activity started,” Cyra said, her knees bouncing.

  “We haven’t used it,” Henry joined in. “Don’t know how to use it. I think it’s broken, anyway. My boy bought it at a garage sale, insisting it was new.”

  Cyra gasped. “Why didn’t you tell us this before? Forget that. Where’s your modem?”

  Both exchanged looks, but she bet her life she knew where that was. The darn attic. Holy shit!