Chapter Thirty
Five minutes later,
Pritkin and I were haring across a dark parking lot that was
rapidly becoming less so as sunrise toyed with the horizon. But
nobody was around, and we had enough darkness left to get away
clean and things seemed to be looking up. Until I put a hand on the
door of his beat-up jalopy—and froze.
Draped over the
passenger seat and trailing halfway onto the floor was Pritkin’s
battered old potion belt. It was just a strip of worn leather,
darkened in places from handling, with the nicks and scratches
you’d expect from long use. A few enchanted vials filled with
sludgy substances were still in place, like oversized bullets on a
bandolier. Others had been used in the fight, leaving lighter
places on the leather, like a toddler with missing
teeth.
There was nothing
remotely sexy about it. But I had a sudden, visceral image of the
last time I’d seen it, arcing against the night as it was thrown
over the front seat of the car. And I shivered, hard.
Pritkin glanced at me
sharply, and his face tensed. “It will pass,” he said roughly, and
threw the belt in back.
I bit my lip and
nodded, which was pretty much all I could do with a sensory memory
of pleasure ripping through me. It tightened my body, blurred my
vision and sent goose bumps washing over my skin in waves. It was .
. . shockingly realistic. He was on the opposite side of the car,
not touching me, not even close. But suddenly, I could smell his
scent, taste his sweat, feel his lips on my skin. They were warm
and soft, unlike the hard fingers digging into my hips as he held
me in place, as he—
I made a small sound
and shuddered again, my breathing picking up, my hand tightening on
the side of the car hard enough to hurt. I prized my fingers off
and wrapped my arms around myself and rode it out. I was suddenly
really grateful for the trench, which was too thick and too loose
to show any inconvenient signs of my little flashback.
After a minute, I got
in, not because it had stopped, but because cars were starting to
come back in larger numbers, popping out of the ley line in strobes
of blue-white light, sending cracks like thunder echoing against
the building. Pritkin put the car into gear and we pulled out the
normal way, I guess to avoid the metaphysical traffic jam. We eased
through a fence, a ward rippling around us like water, and slid
into the empty streets of predawn Vegas.
This far out, it was
mostly asphalt and industrial buildings, in between empty lots of
hard-packed red soil, a few desert plants and blacktop. It didn’t
look much like the glitzy, glittery city of the tourist brochures,
but it had a stark kind of beauty nonetheless. Distant scarlet
veils of dust turned the sunrise spectacular and painted the
buildings in black and gold. I watched the landscape pass by
blearily, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open, and so aroused
I wanted to scream.
Yeah, this was
fun.
“This didn’t happen
last time,” I finally said, mostly as a distraction.
“I didn’t feed as
completely last time,” Pritkin told me, as I tried to control my
breathing and failed utterly.
I swallowed. “How . .
. how long?”
“Usually five or ten
minutes. Do you want to stop?”
“No!” The only thing
keeping me from grabbing him was the fact that he was
driving.
He didn’t say
anything for a moment, and I concentrated on not writhing against
the seat. It didn’t go so well. I wiped my hands on the skirt of
the trench and left sweaty palm prints on the beige fabric. I
stared at them, teary-eyed and hurting and desperate. God, if this
didn’t stop soon, I was going to go completely—
“After Ruth died, I
went somewhat mad for a time,” Pritkin said suddenly.
I blinked, because
that had come completely out of the blue. And almost read my mind.
“Y-you did?”
He nodded. “My
memories of those days are hazy at best, but apparently I attempted
to kill my father. I suppose I blamed him for her death, although I
can’t say I recall the exact thought process. I do remember a
strong desire to feel the bones of his neck breaking under my
hands, however, which may give some indication.”
I licked my lips.
“But you didn’t succeed.”
“No, but I came
damned close. So close, in fact, that, along with several past . .
. indiscretions . . . it convinced the demon council that I was an
intolerable threat. They sentenced me to death.”
“Death?” I turned to
look at him, shocked for a moment out of everything else. “But . .
. but you didn’t succeed. And you said yourself you weren’t
sane—”
“None of which
matters under demon law.”
“But you’re still
alive.”
“Yes, due to my
father’s interference.”
“Your
father?”
Pritkin smiled
slightly. “He was livid. I don’t recall much about those days, as
I’ve said. But I do recall him storming into the council chamber
and accusing them of attempted robbery—of his only physical child.
He said that the damage had been done to him, and therefore he, as
a member of council, should be allowed to set the sentence. They
agreed.”
“And what was the
sentence?” I asked, almost afraid to find out.
“I was to return to
court and take up my proper duties as his heir. The ones I had
flatly refused to carry out before. He assumed, I suppose, that I
would prefer that over death. He assumed wrong.”
“Wait. You chose to
die?”
“Better that, I
thought, than to live for centuries as his slave. And at the time .
. . at the time I can’t recall caring very much if I lived or died.
I told them to carry out the sentence and be done with it. They
were about to comply when he intervened again—with a
compromise.”
“What kind of
compromise?” I asked warily. Because I knew it couldn’t be anything
good.
“That I would be
banished from the demon realms, unable to return, under pain of
death.”
I frowned. “Banished
where?”
“Here. To
Earth.”
“But . . . but that
doesn’t seem like much of a sentence. You’d been living here
anyway.”
“That is what the
council said. They pointed out that many full demons would give a
great deal to be ‘banished’ to this world, where they can feed like
nowhere else in the demon realms.”
I nodded. Pritkin had
told me before that one of the main reasons the council existed was
to regulate the numbers of demons allowed on Earth at any one time.
Otherwise, there would have been a free-for-all.
“So why did they
allow you to come back?”
“They were persuaded
by my father’s argument that there can be few punishments more
severe than sending a starving man into a banquet hall—and not
allowing him to eat.”
“Not allowing—” I
stopped, unsure I’d understood. But I’d seen Pritkin eat plenty, so
I knew we weren’t talking about regular food. “You mean . . . you
can’t . . . at all?”
“The agreement I made
was simple: no sex, of the demon or human varieties. Else I would
forfeit my ‘parole’ and be returned to my father’s court, forever
to remain under his absolute authority.”
“That’s . . . but . .
.” I looked around in a panic, why I don’t know. Like Rosier would
be chasing us in a car. “Is he coming for you now? After what we did?”
Pritkin shook his
head. “Feeding to save my life was specifically exempted. My father
does not want me dead, as you saw. He wants me alive and in his
service, and I think he was afraid that not allowing me to feed in
emergencies would ruin his plan.”
“He didn’t think you
could do it,” I said slowly. “Stay here, I mean.”
“No. He was certain I
would break, that I would be back within the decade, two at the
outside. And either is a trifling amount of time for the demon
races. He had waited hundreds of years already. What were a few
more?”
“He underestimated
you.”
“I believe there were
wagers made at court as to exactly how long I would last, all of
which have now expired.”
“But . . . did you
know what it would be like when you—”
“No.” Pritkin huffed
out a humorless laugh. “No.”
“But you must have
thought—”
“At the time, I don’t
believe I was capable of much thought of any kind. But insofar as I
was . . . I truly did not believe I would ever want intimacy again.
The very idea was repulsive, on every possible level. I was
horrified at what I had done, at what I had become—”
“You didn’t become
anything! It was your father’s fault, your wife’s decision. It had
nothing to do with you.”
“Other than the fact
that I was the instrument of her death.”
“Yes, which makes you
the victim here, not the . . . the monster!”
“Not in the eyes of
my fellow monsters. Unlike most of the other races, the incubi have
a reputation for showing . . . some consideration . . . for their
partners. It is often selfish, of course; it is easier than
constantly finding new prey. But nonetheless, there were those at
my father’s court who shunned me after what happened. Creatures I
had long held in disdain were ashamed—ashamed—to be associated with me. And I didn’t
blame them. I felt like I would never want to feed
again.”
“And later?” I asked
softly. It was none of my business, but I just couldn’t imagine
what it must have been like. I didn’t know too many humans who
could shun all intimacy like that, much less someone whose body was
specifically designed to need it.
“Later . . .” His
lips twisted. “I began to understand why my father had been willing
to make that deal. I had understood intellectually from the first,
of course, but the reality was . . . somewhat
different.”
“You still feel like
this, don’t you?” I asked, in shock. “What I’m feeling now—all the
time?”
“Not all the time,
no. It was almost constant for more than a decade—”
“A decade?” He shot me a glance, and for some reason,
it was amused. Because clearly, the man was insane. “How—”
“I am ashamed to say
that I became rather addicted to a number of substances during that
time, in an attempt to . . . to survive, I suppose you would say.
It didn’t help much, nothing did, but the struggle became easier
over time, as the demon part of me became weaker. And I obtained an
outlet for my energies in hunting down those who had done as I
had—only on purpose.”
I didn’t say anything
for a moment. I watched the sand turn mauve and crimson and honey
as the night slowly retreated before the sun. And thought about
what it would be like to have a part of yourself literally starving
to death and yet unable to die. And to know that if you gave in,
even once, to the constant, gnawing hunger, you would forever
forfeit your freedom.
“Your father is a son
of a bitch,” I said, with
feeling.
“I wouldn’t argue the
point,” he said drily. “However, from his perspective, he feels
cheated. He spent a considerable amount of time over the centuries
trying and failing to have a physical child. And when he finally
managed it, against all the odds, the result was not . . . quite
what he’d expected.”
“Too damned bad! A
lot of parents have children who aren’t exactly what they thought
they would be. But they learn to love them anyway.”
“Most parents aren’t
demon lords. And love was never the issue.”
“It should have
been.”
“For someone who
deals in it, or its physical manifestation, as much as my father,
he knows astonishingly little about it.”
Pritkin was quiet for
a few moments, and I knew I should probably drop it. But he opened
up so rarely, I fully expected tomorrow to come and the lid to be
clamped down again, tight. If I didn’t ask now, I might never have
a chance. And it wasn’t like the guy was shy. If he didn’t want to
talk, he’d tell me. Probably pretty bluntly.
“Is that why you’re a
health nut now?” I asked. “To make up for those early
days?”
“No, it was more an
attempt to compensate slightly for the power loss I had sustained
when I stopped feeding.”
“What power
loss?”
“As I told you, I had
never merged with other demons, never tried to enhance what I was
born with, as it would have merely made me more useful to my
father. And him that much less likely to let me go. But much of my
strength had nonetheless always come from . . . my other half, if
you like. And once it was incapacitated, I had to find other ways
to compensate.”
“Like the
potions.”
He nodded. “I was
never greatly interested in them before. But they became a way of
balancing the power loss. And I find making them to be . . .
calming. Some of the more deadly require utter concentration, and I
discovered that when I was focused on something so completely, it
helped to curb the hunger. Do you not agree?”
I didn’t know what he
meant for a second, until I realized—the flashback was gone. My
breathing was normal, my heart rate steady, my hands still sweaty,
but only as a leftover. I relaxed back against the seat with a
sigh.
“Thank you.” It was
heartfelt.
“One learns coping
mechanisms over time—”
“Or one goes
insane?”
“Some would say I
already am.”
“They’d be
wrong.”
We slid to a stop at
a crossroads, and Pritkin turned slightly in his seat to look at
me. “And how would you know?”
We were close enough
that I could see his long, sandy eyelashes, almost close enough to
count the whiskers of the end-of-day beard shading his jaw. He
hadn’t had a chance to torture his hair yet, and it was looking
soft and oddly flat, and was blowing slightly in the breeze coming
across the windshield. It made him look younger somehow, gentler,
sweeter....
I mentally rolled my
eyes at myself. Yeah, sure.
Pritkin was annoying,
stubborn, secretive, impatient and rude. He had the tact of a
Parris Island drill sergeant and the charm of a barbed-wire fence.
He regularly made me want to slap him and other people want to
shoot him, and that was without even trying. I’d probably yelled at
him more than anybody else in my entire life, and I’d known him
less than two months.
And yet he was also
loyal and honest and brave and weirdly kind. Most of the time, I
didn’t understand him at all. But I knew one thing.
“I grew up with some
genuinely crazy men,” I told him harshly. “You’re not
one.”
“Then what am
I?”
I pushed a strand of
wildly waving hair out of his eyes. It just wouldn’t behave for
shit, would it? Kind of reminded me of the man.
“Pritkin,” I said
simply. It sort of summed up the whole, crazy package.
His lips twitched.
“Do you know, no one else calls me that?”
“What about the guys
in the Corps?”
“They usually call me
by my given name if they know me, or by my rank if they do
not.”
I thought about that.
For some reason, it made me happy. “Good.”
He shook his head,
refusing to let the smile out. I don’t know why. Like it might
damage something.
“Where do you want to
go?”
I sighed. “Back to
the suite.”
“Are you sure? We can
make other arrangements, and there’s the fact that . .
.”
“That
what?”
“That Jonas won’t
like it.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Does it matter?”
He did smile slightly
then, and put the car in gear. “Now you sound like a
Pythia.”