The Stone Demon Page 4

  “I’ll leave you alone,” Demian said, “when I get what I want.”

  Donna crossed her arms. “Which is?”

  His lips widened in a sensual smile. “You, Donna Underwood. I will have you for my own. You … interest me.”

  Her legs went weak, but she managed to remain upright. What was he talking about? “I’m not a belonging,” she ground out. “I am not your pet. You can’t talk about human beings like that.”

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “I’ll make you mine and you will thank me for it.”

  Donna dug her nails into her palms. “What do you mean, ‘have’ me? In what way?”

  “In every way.” His eyes glinted.

  Crap. She had to stop baiting him. Up until now, he’d seemed civil enough, but that could change at any moment. He was a demon, after all. What was to stop him from just taking her into the Underworld by force, Persephone-style?

  Demian bowed. “I look forward to seeing you at the masquerade.”

  “I’m not going,” Donna said. The treacherous words were out before she could drag them back and lock them away.

  “You will attend.”

  “I’m busy tomorrow night.”

  He showed her the edge of his teeth. “Change your plans, or I’ll be forced to change them for you. This ball is more than a social event. It is not a trifle. Negotiations will take place there.”

  “At a masquerade ball? Really? Is that how demons do business these days?”

  He moved so quickly, she didn’t even realize it until he was almost on top of her. She felt the heat radiating from his body. “Demons always mix business with pleasure. Haven’t your little books told you that?”

  Donna tried to hide the shudder that ran through her at just having him so close. It was a strange and sickening mixture of disgust and desire. She knew the pleasure wasn’t real; Maker and Quentin had told her it came from Demian’s natural pheromones and that all she could do was fight against it. So she tried to focus on a thread of fear instead, her pure terror that she was nothing more than prey.

  His head tilted to one side as he examined her. “You are … afraid.”

  She didn’t have the energy to laugh. “You think?”

  “You freed me. You gave my people—what remains of them—hope. Why would I hurt you?”

  Donna clenched her hands. “Maybe because I didn’t mean to set you free. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. Aliette tricked me. I never meant to open the door to your realm.”

  “Accident or not, the door opened, and you were the one responsible. Therefore, I owe you a great debt.”

  Her throat felt impossibly dry. “You owe me nothing. I intend to put you back where you belong.” If I can, she added to herself.

  His lips curved into a wicked smile. “You will fail.”

  “But at least I’ll have tried.”

  Demian grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him so that they were standing face to face. “I won’t allow you to send us back. Not after two centuries. Not after I have tasted freedom again.”

  “Then kill me,” she said, amazed that her voice remained steady.

  “No,” he said, his own voice like stone.

  Donna looked Demian right in the eye and summoned defiance—she was her father’s daughter, after all, heir to Patrick Underwood, a legend in his time. “So, what is it about me that keeps you from just … snuffing me out?” she asked.

  “Do not presume to question me.”

  All his charm had disappeared—Demian was as changeable as the night sky above London. It was terrifying, but she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. Donna hated bullies, even Otherworldly bullies who were simply being who they were. Demian only knew how to throw his weight around because he was born a king. And although she couldn’t beat him in any kind of direct confrontation, Donna still had a few surprises up her sleeve. Or, more precisely, hidden beneath her gloves.

  She let her whole body go limp, hoping to sucker him into a mistake. As she relaxed, the only thing keeping her upright was Demian’s hold on her.

  He reacted to her “fall” instantly, releasing her hands and wrapping his arms around her body in a lightning-fast movement that took her breath away. Donna placed her now free hands against his chest and pushed, with all of the iron-clad strength in her arms. She gritted her teeth and put everything she had into it, gasping with the effort of trying to move what seemed to be an immoveable object.

  Releasing her, Demian rocked backward, stumbled on the edge of the sidewalk, and adjusted his balance all in one fluid move. His expression was almost comically shocked.

  Donna pulled herself upright. “Don’t touch me again, Majesty.”

  “I do as I like,” he said, clearly shaken. “I could destroy your whole pathetic race. Every human being would serve me. I could rule this world!”

  All his courtly manners were gone. Fury remained, sharp-edged like a blade.

  “You could rule,” Donna replied, feeling the color drain from her face. “But you would be a lonely king. A heartless, pathetic dictator.”

  “You will not speak to me this way,” he snarled.

  “Why not? What have I got to lose? If you’re going to kill everyone on this planet, there’s not a lot I can do about it. You’ve already made that pretty clear.” She took a step forward, pressing on despite the numb terror that hovered on the edge of her awareness. “And I’m not sure you’ll do it, anyway.”

  “And what makes you think you know me so well, young alchemist?”

  “I don’t know you. Not even a little.” She took a deep breath. “But if you really were going to destroy everything in a fit of demonic rage—just to get your revenge—I think you would already have done it.”

  Demian smiled, but it was a terrible expression. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Your tiny mind would break under the weight of all I have done. If I told you … ”

  He let his voice trail off suggestively, but Donna was getting the picture. Demian might be quick to lose his temper, but he was still a manipulative control freak. She recognized all the signs, after spending a lifetime around creeps like Simon Gaunt.

  “Yeah,” she heard herself say in a bored voice she almost didn’t recognize as her own. “I’m so impressed by you. Wow, you’re amazing.”

  His lip curled. “Hide behind your human sarcasm if it pleases you. I will see you at the ball, and after we have danced and celebrated my freedom, then we will speak of the future. What remains of it, at least. There is much to be discussed after all these years.”

  “You don’t need me for negotiations.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied, his voice becoming implacable. “You are the one person we cannot do without.”

  “If I attend.”

  “As I have already made clear, you will attend the masquerade or I will make you regret it.”

  Donna touched the center of her chest, as she’d frequently done these past months as she connected to the power inside her. “Are you threatening me?”

  His expression darkened. “I don’t need to make threats.”

  “Because you’re so used to people doing your bidding, your Majesty?”

  “They usually do,” he said.

  “Well, then, you can expect me to buck that trend,” she said.

  Demian’s mouth twitched—with annoyance or amusement, Donna couldn’t decide.

  “We’ll see,” was all he said. “I am certainly used to having to convince people that my way is the best way to do things.”

  Donna resisted the temptation to punch the Demon King in his perfect face. He was such a psycho. “You mean, the way you convinced the Order of the Crow to take your ‘invitation’ so seriously? By murdering innocent people in London?”

  “There are always casualties in war.” His eyes were comp
letely unreadable black spaces. “It is regrettable, but necessary.”

  Before she could reply with an appropriate level of contempt, Demian turned and walked away from her. His movements were smooth and sure. Nothing troubled him now—least of all her.

  Donna’s heart was pounding so hard it blocked out the distant sounds of the city.

  As the king of the demons reached the garden gate of the next house, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. It was one of the most incongruous scenes she had ever seen—and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a lot of strangeness in her life.

  “Until next time, Donna Underwood,” he said.

  She shivered as he said her name, hating him for his power. Or maybe she didn’t hate him for that—it was easy to resent power, but she really wasn’t the sort of person who “hated.” No, the thing she disliked in Demian was the way he used his power. The abuse of it.

  He disappeared, leaving behind a single black rose on the sidewalk. Of course.

  “Show-off,” she muttered, turning on her heel and leaving the flower exactly where it was.

  There were several missed calls and a text message from Xan waiting for her when she got back to her room. Cursing herself for being so careless as to leave her phone behind, she scrolled through to the new message. It read:

  I heard about what happened. If you get this in the next hour ping me back and I’ll call you.

  Worrying that she might have missed her chance to speak to him, Donna fumbled to text back a quick reply and then sat waiting anxiously, her cell phone in her lap. She knew Xan had been hiding something from her these past few weeks—something important—but as usual, she knew not to push him. He would probably talk when he was ready. At least, she hoped he would. He’d been brought up with as many secrets as she had, having to bury his half-fey heritage and practically live a lie. She knew it was a hard habit to break … that natural desire to keep things safely hidden and hold your emotions inside, to fear what might happen if you reached out and trusted someone else.

  Maybe hearing from him tonight was a good sign. At the very least, she’d be able to talk to him about everything that had happened in London tonight.

  She tried not to think about Demian while she waited, but of course that was impossible. It seemed almost like a dream—a nightmare—that only minutes ago she’d been talking to the king of the demons outside in the street. A regular London street, where passersby had no clue what was going on right under their noses.

  The phone rang and she snatched it up, her heart pounding.

  “Hey, Donna,” Xan said.

  “Xan,” she replied, holding the phone more tightly and savoring the sound of his voice. “How are you?”

  Four

  Alexander Grayson sat in his beaten up old car on the

  edge of the freeway, where he’d pulled over so he could call Donna. He had trouble hearing her to begin with, what with all the traffic zooming past and the low-flying airplane that chose that precise moment to pass overhead.

  “What did you say?” He wished the window on the passenger side could actually be closed fully.

  “I said,” she repeated, “how are you?”

  “Fine. I’m fine. It’s you I was worried about. I miss you.”

  “What was that?”

  “Wait a sec,” he said, climbing into the back of the car, in hopes of cutting out the traffic noise by moving farther away from the busted window.

  “Where are you?” Donna asked.

  “Just running an errand for my dad.” The lie tripped easily off his tongue, and he tried to tell himself it was for the best. That he just didn’t want to worry the girl he’d so quickly fallen for.

  It was true what he’d just said—he did miss her. All the time. Every day. But he found it hard to say that kind of thing—especially right now, when he was sneaking around behind her back, doing stuff she wouldn’t exactly approve of. Xan liked to think of himself as the kind of guy who took action first and worried about the consequences later. He wasn’t much for planning. Or at least, he wasn’t into sharing his plans, because that just gave people the opportunity to talk him out of whatever he was going to do next.

  Donna’s voice was faint on the other end of the phone, making her sound far away. Which, he supposed, she was. “Xan? Are you still there?”

  Her voice yanked him out of his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. Hearing your voice again … it’s been too long.”

  “And whose fault is that, Mr. Grayson?” Donna’s tone was playful, but he could detect the edge beneath the surface.

  Sighing, Xan tucked his cell phone into a more comfortable position and leaned back. “I know, I know. I really am sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m happy to hear from you. Things have been crazy here.”

  “I heard about the British Museum on the news. That’s why I called—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

  “We’re all fine,” Donna said. Her voice lowered and he could hear the emotion in it. “I can’t say the same for the people who died in the explosion.”

  “And it was definitely him? Demian?”

  “What do you think?”

  He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “I just wanted to make sure. You know, just in case there was a chance it was … something else.”

  “He wanted to get our attention.” She laughed bitterly. “And then he invited us all to a stupid ball.”

  “I heard a little about that, too,” he admitted, wondering if he was already saying too much. “I saw Maker earlier and he let something slip.”

  “Maker does like to talk.”

  “Yeah, I was surprised he told me anything at all, but I guess it was hard to hide that something major had happened. I mean, that Demian had actually made his first move.”

  If she was surprised he’d spent time with Maker, Donna hid it well. “What did he tell you?”

  “About the masquerade, and that there’s going to be a big meeting there of alchemists, demons, and wood elves.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself. “Sounds like he told you more than ‘a little.’ It actually sounds like you know more than me.”

  Shit. He knew he’d said too much. “Which part didn’t you know?”

  “I thought it was just the alchemists meeting with De-mian,” she said. “How did he know about the wood elves?”

  “I don’t know. He just said it was like peace negotiations, and that all the major factions would be involved. They’re trying to avoid a war, but I’m not sure how much hope everyone is really holding out for that.”

  “Did he specify which elves would be there?”

  Xan rubbed his eyes. He was getting a headache. “No …

  he definitely didn’t mention the Wood Queen to me—not by name—but I guess I assumed that’s who he meant when he said ‘wood elves.’”

  “Oh.” Donna went quiet after that.

  “You’re not mad because Maker told me something you didn’t know, are you?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly your fault.” There was a smile in her voice, which filled him with relief.

  “Donna,” he said, a sudden rush of anxiety hitting him full in the chest. “You’re not going to it, right? The ball, I mean.”

  “I don’t want to, but it’s not looking like I have much of a choice.”

  “You have the choice to walk away. From all of it.”

  Donna sighed. “I’m sort of stuck here, Xan. This was the result of the tribunal—you know that. I’m serving under Miranda now.”

  He hit the back of the passenger seat with his free hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to do what they tell you all the time. Take back some control!”

  “I’m only seventeen. I’m a member of a secret order of alchemists. I hav
e cold iron running through my arms and a piece of the first matter inside me. My life is so far away from being under my control that, most days, I feel like screaming.” Donna’s voice was rising in pitch. “Don’t start lecturing me, okay? Please. I … I don’t think I can take it.”

  He pressed his lips together for a moment, pushing down on his rising temper. “Sorry.”

  There was silence between them for a moment.

  Donna said, “Let’s not talk about that anymore. How are things with you? Seriously, I’ve hardly heard from you, and when I do … I don’t know, Xan. I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Everything’s fine,” he replied. It was an automatic response. A response he’d learned in childhood.

  “I wish you’d tell me about how things are going with Maker.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Xan … ”

  He shoved his hair back from his face and looked out the window at the busy freeway. “The only reason I don’t say much is because I know how you feel about it. About what I want Maker to do for me.”

  “You mean, helping you to get your wings back? If he can.”

  “Exactly. If he can. That’s the point. There aren’t any guarantees at all.”

  She paused. Then, “It’s not that I don’t want you to get his help. You know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  “I just don’t want the Order to use you,” she continued. “The way they wanted to use me.”

  “I get it,” he said. And he did. He understood that her concern was totally for him—that she was afraid that if he took Maker’s help, it would only come with a huge price. Debts to be paid. All of that. “You don’t trust Maker.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” Donna said. “God, I sound totally paranoid.”

  “It’s not like I can blame you.”

  “I guess.”

  He cleared his throat, curious. “Why don’t you trust Maker? He seems the most okay out of all of them to me.”

  “He’s the one who bound my powers.” Donna sounded annoyed that he’d even asked. But before he could say something, apologize or whatever, she was speaking again. “Maybe he was telling the truth when he told me how dangerous my powers would have been while I was so young. I was only seven when my abilities began to manifest—that’s what it said in Mom’s journal. But that doesn’t mean I can trust him again. Not just like that.”