Demon Night

you want to hurt, maybe you should bring me, and I’ll beat him up for you.”
    “Well, Charlie, that’s about the sweetest offer I’ve had in years.”
    She glanced up; although there was humor in his reply, he was staring down into his glass, his jaw tight.
    She swallowed, trying to think of any reason for his response. “Although I guess that would make me like Henderson, and you like Sammael.”
    He blinked in surprise. “I reckon it would.”
    It must not have been that, then. She might as well be blunt. “Are you moaning, Drifter?”
    “Maybe.” His jaw clenched again, but his frustration seemed to shift, encompassing the others in the room. “Maybe when we’re in a private moment, we’ll discuss why it is that whenever I talk about providing, you look away from me.”
    She did? Her throat suddenly ached; she wanted to look away now . But she wouldn’t allow herself to avoid his gaze. “I didn’t realize,” she said quietly.
    His eyes narrowed. “You only didn’t realize that you were giving yourself away, Charlie. You know damn well that you squirm every time I say I’ll give you anything you need.”
    She tried not to fidget. Tried to hold herself still. But something seemed to be rupturing in her, tearing and hurting as it opened. Something needy and desperate that wanted to dig its claws into him and beg and plead. Something that wasn’t strong, but dependent and revolting. Her fingers curled around paper, and she clung to it.
    Clung and backed away from the bar. “I’m going back to the office to finish reading these,” she said hoarsely. “And I’m going to put the spell up.”
    He shook his head; a hat appeared in his hand, and he got to his feet. “That ain’t necessary, Miss Charlie,” he said in a soft, hollow voice. “I’ll return at closing.”
    No. If she could have screamed, she might have as she watched him walk through the lounge. His name, or simply “Please.” But it might not stop there, and become more. Please don’t leave. Please don’t give up on me so easily.
    Please need me.

    Her fingers didn’t stop shaking while he was gone. Even after she heard the footsteps on the roof and realized that he hadn’t gone far, the papers fluttered wildly as she turned them, and she rattled bottles against rims with every pour.
    Why couldn’t she be content with what he’d already given her? How many times had she reminded herself that more might come—that his emotions might deepen? She couldn’t know unless she waited. But everything in her was grasping and pulling and she wasn’t sure she could contain it.
    Had she ever wanted anything so much? Needed it so much?
    And he’d give her anything she asked for—but she couldn’t ask for this. Asking meant that she’d never know if it was his need, or just his need to provide her with what she wanted. Just as his blood, if it didn’t have life flowing through it, would taste the same as hers; she’d never know the difference.
    She craved his need, his love.
    But even as she slowly accepted that this particular need wouldn’t go away, her nerves wouldn’t settle. She read through several e-mails without seeing the words, had to go through them again.
    And read them yet again, before she realized what had caught Ethan’s interest; Charlie had been searching for references to Jane. But it was the description of a demon’s form that Mark had written as evidence that he “knew” the truth: crimson skin and black feathered wings.
    “Drifter,” she said softly. He’d listen for his name. “You think he’s seen the nephilim?”
    She heard him faintly over the distance and music. “Yes. Mostly, I’m wondering under what circumstances—and if he saw one here, or in D.C.”
    Trying not to imagine the Seattle community wiped out like D.C.’s had been, she simply said, “Oh,” then took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to make you moan.”
    There was a sigh in his reply. “I know, Charlie. But we’d best wait to discuss it. Right now, I’m feeling like pushing—but I ain’t so eager to see you running.”
    She wouldn’t run. But even as she began to make the promise, she saw the careful non-interest of the vampires in the lounge.
    “Everyone’s listening anyway,” she said, and watched several of them startle and blush.
    Ethan’s deep laugh carried better than his voice, and some of her shaking eased. “That was just mean.”
    Whatever it was, acknowledging the eavesdroppers so explicitly