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  Isabelle exhaled. “I feel that way.”

  “Then you should eat. There’s soup on the stove.” Georgie stood.

  Isabelle raised her head enough to peer at Georgie through her half-lidded gaze. “Please, don’t trouble yourself.”

  “Chère, it’s no trouble. What’s trouble is you passing out on my kitchen floor.” She scooped seafood stew into two bowls and laid it in front of them.

  Dalton inhaled, the memories taking him back. “Your great-grandma used to make this soup.”

  “Yeah,” Georgie said with a wide smile. “She and my mama taught me how to cook.”

  “I was sorry to hear of your grandmother’s passing,” Dalton said. He’d known Georgie’s grandmother well. Marie had a twinkle in her eye that had always made him laugh.

  Georgie nodded. “Merci. She lived a happy life. We were blessed to have her as long as we did.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Isabelle said in between spoonfuls of soup.

  Isabelle was eating. That was good. He hadn’t been able to coax her into much more than a few bitefuls at each meal.

  “Grand-mère was ready. It was her time and she was in pain. Though we tried, there was nothing we could do to help her. Even magic can’t fight disease.”

  Isabelle paused, looked at Dalton, then at Georgie. “Magic?”

  Georgie slanted a look at Dalton, then smiled at Isabelle. “Voodoo.”

  Now Isabelle’s head raised fully and her eyes widened. “You practice it? Seriously?”

  “Of course. It’s part of our lives, our culture. It’s who we are and as natural as breathing.”

  “Georgie comes from a long line of voodoo priestesses,” Dalton explained.

  Isabelle shuddered, laid the spoon in the bowl and placed her hands in her lap. “Sounds like the dark arts.”

  Dalton caught the fear in her eyes. He knew she’d had her fill of darkness. Feared it. He couldn’t blame her for that.

  Georgie rose, moved around the table, and sat on the bench next to Isabelle. She grasped Isabelle’s hands in hers. “Oh, no. You have it wrong. Voodoo is white magic, chère. What you see in movies, read about, they have it backward. This is holy magic, as pure as Christianity. Our practice parallels the Christian rites in many ways.”

  “I don’t know anything about voodoo. I’ve only heard …”

  Georgie frowned. “You heard wrong. There is no evil practiced here. No blackness allowed. Only white light, clean. You have nothing to fear here. You are protected.”

  Isabelle turned to Dalton, who nodded but didn’t say anything further.

  Georgie rose and went to the sink. “You’ll stay down at one of the cabins while you’re here. It will give you some privacy to do what you need to do.”

  “What you need to do?” Isabelle asked. “And what’s that?”

  Isabelle’s gaze was focused on Georgie’s back, but Dalton knew she asked the question of him.

  Georgie turned to face her.

  “To remove the demon inside you.”

  Isabelle’s heart slammed hard and all she heard was her own blood pounding in her ears. Had Dalton told Georgie everything about her? She’d spent the past two weeks in a fog, trying her best to fold inside herself, to keep from remembering everything that happened that night in Sicily.

  All she wanted to do was forget.

  But it kept coming back to her in bits and pieces, especially when she slept. Nightmares, mostly, of that night in Italy. What she’d done. What she’d become. The vivid images of her hands like claws, digging into her sister’s throat, were impossible to escape. And the evil that had wrapped itself around her, crawled inside her, become part of her … how much she’d enjoyed the power …

  Even now, she still felt that evil, trying to claw its way to the surface. It had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to push it deep inside. But Isabelle knew it remained, ever ready to burst free.

  Had that really been her? She found it hard to believe, and yet she knew it had happened, could happen again.

  Those men dressed all in black, surrounding her, telling her she was one of them. She hadn’t even fought them. Where was her grit, her determination to remain human and pure despite their soul-tainting efforts? Oh, no. Instead, she’d embraced their evil like a warm, welcoming blanket. She’d reveled in it, been consumed by it.

  And she could still feel it. How easily evil had taken her over. She was so weak. What did that say about her soul?

  That she was damned. That’s what it said.

  So she tried not to sleep much, just lay awake at night staring into the darkness, certain they were going to come for her, afraid to turn to Dalton for comfort.

  She had no one to lean on anymore. She’d tried to kill Angelique. Her sister no doubt hated her, the Realm of Light probably wanted her dead, and Dalton …

  She had no idea why Dalton had brought her here.

  To save her, Georgie had said. Why? Why would he even want to? They barely knew each other. They’d shared one night in Italy, a wild, passionate night on the yacht, but then he’d betrayed her by stealing her mother’s diary. He’d used her to find out her secrets. She shouldn’t trust him.

  Then again, he shouldn’t trust her, either. Not after discovering what she was. She could have killed him that night.

  She still might. She was unstable; there was a demon lurking around inside her, ready to pounce. Who knew what could happen?

  She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, dread and confusion like a spiderweb, spinning thicker and thicker and clouding her mind. She had no idea what to do.

  “You cold, chère?”

  She lifted her head, glanced at Georgie. She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “I know you’re confused, maybe a little angry. You don’t know why you’re here. You’re probably scared. Just relax and make yourself at home. Nothing is going to happen here to hurt you.”

  Isabelle didn’t want anything to happen. She wanted to go back to a year ago when she was blissfully ignorant about who and what she was, before she’d found her mother’s diary that revealed everything. She wanted to hunt for treasure, live the life she’d always wanted without any knowledge of demons.

  “I’d like to forget who I am.”

  Georgie graced her with a bright smile. “You can never go back, Isabelle. Only forward.”

  She inhaled, shuddered it out. The future seemed dismal, a dark and frightening place with no hope.

  “It’s been a long day,” Dalton said. “I think we need to get to our cabin and unpack, let Isabelle rest.”

  Georgie nodded. “You know the way to the cabin. I’ll let you take care of it. I have things to do.”

  Georgie bent in front of Isabelle and took her hands. A surge of warm energy zipped through her. Isabelle almost jerked her fingers away, but Georgie’s grip was firm, holding her in place.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, of anything that happens here, Isabelle. You are protected.”

  She smoothed her hands over the top of Isabelle’s, then straightened, moving down the long hallway. Dalton went with Georgie, his head bent toward the petite woman’s as they whispered together at the doorway. He returned within a few seconds.

  “You ready to get unpacked?” he asked.

  “I guess.” It wasn’t like she had much choice. She no longer had freedom to come and go as she pleased. Where would she go if she did?

  She was hunted and she knew it. She had no money, no family, no job, and nowhere to go. Both the Realm of Light and the Sons of Darkness wanted her. She couldn’t run, and if she did, where to, and for what reason? Her life was in Dalton’s hands, at least for now. She had questions and needed answers. Why had Dalton brought her here? Why wasn’t she dead? Did the Realm of Light have something to do with this, or did he do this on his own? And if so …why? What did he want?

  Too many questions—the sheer volume of them exhausted her. It was easier to block them all out, like she’d been blocking everything
else out for the past two weeks—not think about them. Not yet, anyway.

  She remembered feeling so powerful not so long ago. Where had all her vigor gone? The Sons of Darkness had promised her …

  They’d promised her a lot. And then they’d abandoned her. She was completely human again, no traces of the power she’d wielded a short time ago. Just like so many other times in her life, she felt used and discarded. She bit back a laugh. How gullible was she, anyway? Was it stamped in big neon letters across her forehead? Hey, everyone, victimize me!

  “Isabelle.”

  She jerked her head up at the sound of Dalton’s voice. “What?”

  “Let’s go.”

  She nodded and followed him out the door, sucking in huge breaths of hot, humid air. She glanced up at the palm fronds adjacent to the big house. They weren’t flapping. No breeze at all. The smell of the swamp made her wrinkle her nose. They walked down the front steps and Dalton led her around the side of the big white house, along a well-worn path of dirt and flagstones, then across the lawn.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a cabin separate from the house. We’ll stay there. It’s quieter, more remote. It’ll give us more privacy.”

  “It’s great that we have a place to stay.”

  “It’s not exactly the Ritz-Carlton, but I think you’ll like it. And it’s quiet.”

  Whatever. The last thing she needed was more time alone with her thoughts. Or her nightmares. A big house filled with people would have been a nice distraction.

  And how far were they going to walk, anyway? The path seemed to wind on forever, skirting near the edge of the swamp. There were probably alligators lurking just under the surface of the murky water, sizing her up for their next meal. Low-hanging moss whapped her in the face as they traversed the narrow trail; the trees seemed to be alive and reaching for her. Her skin prickled like she was being watched, though she didn’t see anyone on the porches of the few cabins they passed by nor was anyone outside. She felt like Alice, only this was no Wonderland. It was just freakin’ creepy.

  Yeah, and maybe she needed to start sleeping at night, before her delusions started hitting daylight. Though her demons weren’t really delusional, were they? They were real.

  Dalton finally led her down a gravel path toward a small, one-story cabin near the water’s edge. Cute, if a bit rustic-looking, all dark wood like a log cabin. Tall trees surrounded the place and there were some bushes along the porch and a few hanging pots with flowers and greenery spilling over. Still, it was small. Really small.

  “We’re both staying here?” she asked as they stepped up onto the porch.

  “Yeah.” He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  Not locked. That made her feel oh, so secure. Dalton flipped on the light, then stood out of the way while she walked in.

  Okay, so it wasn’t so bad. All warm polished wood with area rugs, rustic furniture, a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and two small bedrooms with a connecting bath. Even a claw-foot tub that sat underneath a shuttered window. It was cozy and quaint. Maybe she could relax here. Her suitcase sat on top of a quilt-covered bed.

  “Unpack, then I’ll show you around.”

  She jumped at the sound of Dalton’s voice, his breath sliding over the back of her neck. She whipped around to face him.

  “Jesus! How do you do that?” she asked, tilting her head back to look into his face.

  “Do what?”

  “Sneak up on me. I didn’t even hear you.” She looked down at his feet. He wore those thick boots, and on a hardwood floor it wasn’t like they were stealthy. Did he float on air or something?

  One side of his mouth lifted, as if he found scaring her amusing. Dickhead.

  “It’s my job to walk without noise. Sorry. I’ll stomp in the future.”

  “You do that.” She waited, but he didn’t move. “Is there something else?”

  His gaze was intense as he studied her face. The tiny bedroom suddenly got smaller, her breathing grew shorter, and her senses decided at the wrong damn moment to come alive. She had way more on her mind, crises to deal with—sexual attraction was going to have to go to the bottom of the list. Or even better, completely off the list.

  Now tell that to her body, which suddenly decided to warm and moisten in all the most inappropriate places. Dammit.

  “Well?” she asked, hoping her surly attitude would get rid of him before she did something really stupid like kiss him. Body contract, passion, to touch and be touched … it all sounded really good at the moment. And totally catastrophic at the same time.

  “No.” He pivoted and walked the short distance from her room to his and closed the door behind him.

  Isabelle exhaled, sat on the bed, and rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the dull pain that seemed to constantly seethe in her head.

  She was tired. So damn tired she wanted to cry. It made thinking so much harder, and she knew she needed to start engaging her brain if she was ever going to drag herself out of this mess.

  She missed Angelique, needed her sister’s counsel, her warmth, more than ever. But she could no longer turn to Angie, could no longer count on her sister to help her.

  She slid onto the bed, turned to face the window, watched the bend and sway of tree limbs as a breeze picked up. So giving, so flexible, so adaptable.

  She’d never been able to do that, had been rigid in her goals and what she’d gone after. Like an unyielding tree branch, she’d snapped. It had destroyed her.

  Her eyelids were so heavy. She yawned, fought sleep, knew what waited for her there. But maybe she could get five, ten minutes. If she was lucky, the dreams wouldn’t come.

  Maybe the demons would stay away. She thought of all the wonderful things in her life, thought of her mother and how sweet she’d been when Isabelle and Angelique were children. She thought of Angie—her sister’s smile, how they’d played together as kids. She thought of every single positive thing she could, hoping it would help keep the monsters away as she slept.

  She’d no sooner drifted off than they came for her.

  Dalton stayed in his closed room long after the five minutes it had taken for him to unpack.

  Coward.

  Yeah, some tough demon hunter he was. He could kick ass with the best of them. He feared nothing.

  But he couldn’t face one woman.

  One minute in a small room with her and he’d been toast. Not that this was the first time he’d noticed it. But there was definitely something different about Isabelle, and it was more than just being attracted to her. Every time he stood close to her, every time she gazed up at him with her gold-flecked green eyes, every time he breathed her in, it was like being struck by lightning. He felt it—he felt her—all the way through his bloodstream, from his scalp down to his toes and all the important parts in between. It was like she’d entered his senses, his nerve endings, twining around inside him.

  Yeah, way more than physical attraction, though heaven knows that was there, too. She made his dick hard, and he was a master at ignoring women, had been doing it a damn long time.

  He couldn’t ignore Isabelle.

  So what was it about this woman—this flawed, screwed-up woman—that made him want to fold her in his arms to protect her one minute, and throw her down and fuck her brains out the next? What made him want to drag his mouth across hers, to bare her body, to touch and kiss and lick every part of her, to bring out the passionate side he’d witnessed only once but craved to see again?

  Did he think that was going to save her? He knew damn well it wouldn’t; in fact, it would only complicate things even more. He had to be her friend, not her lover. He might have to hurt her, not care for her, in order to save her.

  This was messed up. What the hell had he been thinking bringing her here? What made him think he knew what was best for her?

  But what was the alternative? Destroying her?

  He’d eliminated plenty of demons, hadn’t given it a sec
ond’s thought.

  Isabelle was a demon. He’d seen the darkness in her, knew there probably wasn’t hope to save her. So why the hesitation? The Realm of Light knew what they were doing. What the hell made him think he knew more than they did?

  Because you do. Because you need each other. Because she might be able to save you, too.

  Okay, maybe. If he didn’t kill Isabelle in the process, or kill himself trying for this redemption he placed in such high esteem.

  He hoped to God it was all worth it. It had to be. It was all he had left now.

  It was a chance. She was his chance.

  And he was going to take it. Even if it killed them both.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NEW YORK

  Sequestered at one of the Realm’s secret headquarters, Michael leaned against the doorway of the operations center and surveyed his new team. They were deathly quiet, some whispering in small groups, others staring down at their hands, alone with their thoughts. And he knew damn well not a single one of them had their minds on work. Weapons hadn’t been touched since that night in Sicily.

  It was time that changed, and he was going to have to be the one to kick their asses. He was their Keeper now, assigned to them since their leader, Lou, had been killed. He knew none of them were overjoyed they had a new Keeper. At least one of them wasn’t at all happy that it was him.

  In the two weeks since Lou’s death, he’d tried to give them all space to mourn. They’d had a funeral, of sorts, though there wasn’t much left of Lou to bury after the hunters had blasted him with laser fire in order to destroy the demon that had insinuated itself inside him.

  Lou had done what was necessary to destroy a powerful demon, one that could have wreaked havoc against the Realm. Michael knew these hunters felt guilt that Lou had died by their hands, but there had been no other choice. Lou had wanted it that way, knew his people would get the job done, no matter the cost. Lou was a hero to the Realm. So were the hunters who had done their jobs.

  But from the pain ravaging their faces, he could tell they were hurting, and Mandy seemed to be taking it the hardest. She had been brought into the Realm when she was a young teen, had been practically raised by Lou. Lou was like a father, and she’d had to take part in his destruction.