His lips were fuller than most men’s, a masculine shape framed by a healthy dose of scruff a little darker than his hair. He snapped to attention and continued checking her out, running a hand down her back, searching for wounds.
“It didn’t hurt me.”
“No, it only abducted you. We have to get you out of here.” He scanned the area, looking for an escape.
Two small, round windows allowed light in, one in the front of the cottage, and one in the back. But the cathedral ceiling had no other openings. No other routes of escape, even if they could get past the demon’s barrier.
“We need to get back downstairs.” Quentin was signing everything, using his voice minimally. And Amber wondered why, when he was so good at talking now. He bit down, working his jaw, then said, “I had a plan.”
“To get us out?” she asked.
He hadn’t been looking at her, yet he nodded. How? How was he hearing her?
She pulled back the sweater. His neck was still bleeding, so she pressed it against him again. “That salt seems to work well.”
“Yeah, and that was the last of it.” He frowned at her. “You’re ruining your shirt.”
“Sweater,” she corrected. “And I don’t care. Are you okay?”
Her question seemed to surprise him, and he signed, “Always.” He’d said that to her so many times. That exact sentiment.
Will you stay with me?
Always.
Will you be there for me?
Always.
Will you love me?
Always.
And she’d believed him. To the depths of her soul. “It’s hurt.” When Quentin questioned her with a raised brow, she said, “The salt. It hurt it. I felt it. It burned like acid.”
Quentin stilled and asked, “Did it hurt you?” Like he cared. Like her pain meant anything to him.
Remember who he is, Amber. “No. I’m fine. I told you.” She struggled to get up, but he still had an arm around her waist to hold her inside the circle.
He stood instead and took her with him, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing, then kept his hands on her to steady her. “How hurt is it?”
She brushed off his hold. “Very, but it could still attack.”
“We’re going to have to risk it.” He sank onto one knee and signed, “When I break the circle, run.”
“I didn’t think the circle held us here.”
“It doesn’t, but I need the salt.”
“Oh, right.” Her pulse started to pick up speed.
“We need to get into the circle in the kitchen.”
“Okay.” She nodded, feigning confidence. “I can do that. Then what?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Told you. I have a plan.”
She glared. “Well, is it a good one?”
One corner of his mouth crept up suspiciously. “Always.”
She tossed her sweater to the side, readying to run, but reminded him, “You clearly don’t remember the time we skipped school and went to look for the Blue Lady in the cemetery.”
“Right.” He winced. “Okay, besides that time.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Just say when.”
“Now.” He said it so softly, she almost didn’t hear, but the minute he broke the circle by scooping some of the salt into his palm, the demon darted out from behind the shelves.
She panicked and bolted toward the stairs, taking them three at a time, sparing only a quick glance over her shoulder about halfway down. It was the wrong thing to do. She almost pitched forward when she tried to stop. She had to grab the balustrade to stop herself as she looked back.
Quentin stood motionless as though waiting for the demon to attack him. Yet he watched her. Gave her time to make her escape. A microsecond before the darkness raked across him, he let the salt go, flinging it into the air and at the entity.
It still sank its claws into him.
He flew back against a wall, almost knocking the house down, then ran for the stairs. He took nearly the entire floor in one jump, grabbing Amber along the way and scuttling into the kitchen. He propped her onto the table. She’d never felt so much like a ragdoll as she did today.
Then, he sank to his knees beside the table and fell under it.
“Quentin!” She scrambled off the top and crawled underneath with him. He doubled over and held his head with both arms. “Quentin, what did it do?”
He shook his head and rocked, and when she touched him, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder, he exploded. One second she was under the table with him. The next, the table crashed against the refrigerator, and she was looking up at a ceiling again, pressure on her throat.
He pinned her to the floor, his teeth clenched, his forearm pressed against her throat.
“Quentin,” she choked out, but his blue irises had turned black. No. Not just his irises. His eyes in their entirety. They’d literally turned black as she watched. Tendrils of ink sprouted from the corners and covered the white and blue. He looked…possessed.
“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice deeper than before. Animalistic. Preternatural. And then he stopped. Blinked. Shook his head as though trying to clear it before looking back at her. “Traveler.”
She tugged at his arm and tried to summon some of the moves she’d learned in self-defense class, but all rational thought had fled the building. So, she decided to state the obvious, her voice strained. “Quentin, I can’t breathe.”
He let her go instantly, released a growl of frustration, and turned away from her.
She rolled over and lay in a fetal position as she coughed and tried to fill her lungs. Her cheeks, hot and wet with tears, burned almost as much as her throat did. She coughed until she gagged and almost threw up on Dora’s floor. The departed woman stood over Amber, her face brimming with concern.
Kyle was still there, as well. “Ms. Kowalski,” he said, kneeling beside her, clutching his clipboard tighter to his chest. “What can I do?" He tossed a glare over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” she said through a few more coughs. She sat up. “I’m okay. Really.”
Dora held her fists over her mouth. “Mija, you’re covered in blood.”
She looked down. Blood did indeed cover her tank, but it wasn’t hers. “Quentin!” She scrambled closer to him but didn’t dare touch him. He’d changed more than she could’ve imagined.
He jerked away and kept his back to her.
“Stop being an ass. Turn toward me.”
He eased farther away when she tried to see around him. He’d been hurt. Badly.
“Either turn toward me, or I’m stepping out of the circle, getting my phone, and calling for help.” She hadn’t wanted to bring anyone else into the situation, but things had escalated far beyond her comfort level. As a former angel, her stepdad would know what to do.
Quentin’s head swiveled sharply toward her, anger evident in his moves. His every breath.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, satisfied. “And you can just shove that attitude up your ass.”
He glared at her, then looked at her throat. Guilt washed over him. She could see it in every line of his exquisite face. His eyes were blue again. A little darker than before, perhaps, but blue with a white sclera. Oh, yeah. They definitely needed to talk. But for now, the demon had clearly tried to rip him in half.