His laugh was dark and made me shudder. “Do you have any idea what I can do to you if you annoy me?”
“I’m an exorcist, so yeah, I know what a demon is capable of. I also know there’s no way in hell the Society would have accepted the body you’re in as a host.” The Society favored the fit and attractive as hosts—not street punks like this guy. “Which means you’re an illegal. Which means you have the morals of a cockroach. Why should I believe talking will do me any good?”
My mind was still frantically searching for an escape route, but it wasn’t looking good at the moment. I was thoroughly pinned, and I wasn’t getting up until he let me.
Der Jäger slid lower down my body so that he was straddling my ass. He pressed down hard so I could feel that he was enjoying himself. I wished I could suppress my shudder, but I couldn’t. Der Jäger laughed.
“This body is infected with any number of diseases. Were I planning to use it for the long term, I would fix it, but I have not bothered. If I were to rape you, you would get them all, and eventually they would kill you.”
I closed my eyes and tried to control the panic. I didn’t give a shit about the diseases, figuring Lugh could cure them, but while I was to some extent prepared to deal with pain, I wasn’t so sure I could deal with rape.
If I blurted out a name and description now, would he believe me? Or did I need to let this go further before I caved? More important, would he actually let me go if I did? I remembered Raphael describing him as a sociopath, so if he was jonesing for me, he’d do whatever he damn well wanted to. A chill shivered through me as I realized the best way for him to get the information out of me was to transfer into my body and rape my mind. He didn’t seem to have any compunction about leaving brain-dead hosts in his wake. What would happen when he tried it and couldn’t get in was anyone’s guess.
Apparently, I was quiet too long. I was brought back to myself when he grabbed one of my hands with his free hand.
“You will tell me what I need to know,” he said, prying my clenched fingers apart and wrapping his hand around my pinkie. “If I’m pleased with you, I’ll let you go. I will give you no guarantees, however, except that if you refuse to talk, I will make you regret that decision.”
He jerked on my finger, hard, and I heard the bone snap at the same moment pain tore a scream from my throat. Sweat popped out over my whole body, and for a moment my vision swam. When it cleared, I still felt like I might barf. Who knew one tiny finger could cause so much pain? Lugh helped things along with another ice pick in the eye, but though I appreciated his desire to help me, I knew that keeping him hidden was far more important. No matter how pissed I was at him at the moment.
“Are you beginning to get the message?” Der Jäger asked.
“All right, all right. You win,” I gasped. Tears burned at my eyes, and for once I didn’t try to suppress them. I needed him to believe I was well and truly beaten, and if squirting out a few tears would help with the illusion, then I was willing to sacrifice a bit of my dignity.
“That was a foregone conclusion,” he said. “Now tell me the name of the human you transferred Lugh into.”
“Peter Bishop,” I said, improvising. “But Lugh had to know someone would come looking for him, so I doubt he stayed in a host I could identify.”
“Where might I find this Mr. Bishop? He may no longer be Lugh’s host, but perhaps I can persuade him to tell me who is.”
I was about to launch into a story about the fictional Mr. Bishop’s probable location when the doorbell rang. Unfortunately, Der Jäger reacted faster than I did, clapping a hand tightly over my mouth before I could scream for help. I made as much noise as I could, but I had no illusions anyone standing outside the house could hear me.
The doorbell sounded again, followed by the pounding of the knocker. Followed by a shout announcing the persistent visitor as police. I didn’t know what the police could be doing here—I was sure my parents didn’t have an alarm system that I tripped, and even if someone had heard me scream and called the police, there wouldn’t have been enough time for them to arrive.
Der Jäger continued to pin me and cover my mouth, his whole body tense. I suspect he was hoping the police would go away and let him go about his business, but the officer at the door knocked once again, and I heard a siren approaching. I tensed, even more sure Der Jäger was about to try to move into my body. And yet, he didn’t.
One of the questions that Raphael had refused to answer was how he had known that Lugh wouldn’t be able to control me the way demons can usually control their hosts. I was guessing that whatever that secret was, Der Jäger knew it, too.
“We will continue this discussion at some other time,” Der Jäger said. Then he grabbed me by the hair—a neat trick when my hair was so short—and slammed my head into the floor.
I didn’t lose consciousness, but my head swam. I felt the weight of his body leave my back. I made a feeble effort to grab at his ankle—with my left hand, where all the fingers were whole—as he moved past me, but it wasn’t like I could have stopped him even if I’d managed to get a grip.
Dizzy and nauseated, I raised my head and watched as he made his way casually toward the back of the house, where no doubt he intended to slip out the back door. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, trying to find the strength and will to shout some kind of warning at the police, but I was too shaky, so I collapsed.
From the back of the house, I heard a shout, then a gunshot. I lay on my back on the floor and held my breath, knowing just how much effect a gun would have on Der Jäger. I flinched when I heard a man’s high-pitched scream. Then I tried to get up again, and this time the blackness took me.
CHAPTER 10
I came to seconds later—too fast for Lugh to fix anything—when the police broke down the front door. I would really have liked to get the hell out of there—I didn’t think the police were a complication I much needed—but though I managed to push myself up onto my knees, I knew my legs weren’t ready to hold me yet.
Nausea roiled in my stomach, and my broken pinkie throbbed like a sonofabitch. When I looked at it, I saw it was bent at an unnatural angle, and for a moment I seriously thought I would puke. Then I thought about what would happen if they took me to the hospital. Hours of my life ticking away while I waited my turn. X-rays. Poking and prodding. Realigning the bone, then splinting the finger. That didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun, so I carefully slid that hand into my jacket pocket. Even that small movement made me whimper.
A gun-totin’ policeman appeared in the doorway to the study. The moment he saw me, he aimed solidly at my chest and started shouting instructions at me—you know, the whole “put your hands on your head” routine. He looked seriously freaked out, like he might shoot me if I took a deep breath. I realized that with my hand in my jacket like that, I probably looked like I was going for a weapon.
I gave him woozy eyes for a moment, wondering if there was any way I could get out of showing him my hand. I was just determining the answer was no when Adam appeared in the doorway behind the cop.
“Stand down,” he ordered. “I know her. This is her parents’ house.”
“Sir?” the officer asked uncertainly.
“Put your weapon away,” Adam said more slowly.
The officer didn’t look like he was too happy with the idea, but Adam outranked him, so he did as he was told. He kept a wary eye on me as he holstered his weapon and backed out of the doorway. I didn’t look up, but I swear I could physically feel Adam glaring at me.
“You and I are going to have a long talk,” he told me.
“Peachy,” I said. I was so not looking forward to this conversation.
He came farther into the room, offering me a hand up. I ignored it and struggled to my feet. The motion jarred my finger, and the flash of pain almost took me back to the floor.