CHAPTER THREE
Isabelle woke with a start and shot straight up in bed, the nightmare fresh in her mind. She dragged both hands through her hair, searching through the darkened room for a clock. No clock. What the hell time was it? She’d only meant to lie down for a few minutes. It was dark outside now. How long had she slept?
Too long. Long enough for the nightmares—the demons—to come.
She blinked, swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed into the bathroom. After a quick shower she felt a lot better, the nightmare just hanging on the fringes of her memory now, like always. Only bits and pieces remained, never enough for her to examine, to put all the parts of the puzzle together. After putting on shorts and a tank top, she opened the bedroom door and went in search of Dalton.
He wasn’t in any of the rooms, including his bedroom. Had he gone up to the main house to talk with Georgie? She started toward the front door, but a flame and a plume of dark smoke out the back window caught her eye. She turned and went in that direction instead, opened the back door and stepped outside. The smell of something cooking greeted her. For the first time in a long time, her stomach rumbled. She was hungry.
Dalton stood over a brick grill. He looked up and smiled. “Have a good nap?”
She slid into a chair and pulled her feet up. “I never sleep well. What are you cooking?”
“Fish and some vegetables.”
“Anything you need me to help with?”
“No. I’ve got it covered. They’re almost done. You can pour us each a glass of wine. It’s uncorked and on the table.”
He motioned with his head to the picnic table next to her, where he’d spread out their plates and glasses. She grabbed the bottle from the cooler and poured wine into the two glasses. Instead of taking a seat back on the chair, she stayed where she was at the table in the darkened corner. She could watch Dalton this way and he couldn’t see her.
He kept his attention on the food, flipping, staring, not once turning to see what she was doing. He was definitely focused. She liked the way he wore his hair—a little long, the kind of hair a woman could sink her fingers into and hold on.
Her stomach tightened, her thoughts drifting to the bedroom, to sliding along cool sheets with a hot man—with this man. Naked, sweaty, Dalton moving inside her. She loved his mouth. His bottom lip was full, and when he’d kissed her that one time his kiss had been filled with deliberate, focused passion and determination. Dalton was a fierce lover. She wanted that again.
Right now.
She rose and moved toward him, her breathing stilted, sweat beading between her breasts. Her nipples grew tight, her sex moistening as animal heat consumed her. She lifted her arm, reached for him.
“I know, you’re probably starving. I’m just scooping it off the fire now. You ready?”
She blinked, realized she was only inches from Dalton, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. Dumb founded, she lowered her arm and nodded. “Yes.”
He lifted his lips in a smile. “Great. Let’s sit down.”
Swallowing past the dry desert in her throat, she followed him to the table and sat, grabbed the glass of wine, and took a long drink. Then another.
She remembered watching Dalton. Then … nothing. No, that’s not right. There had been something. What was it?
“You’re not eating.”
She looked up at Dalton, then down at the plate, not even aware it had been set in front of her. “Oh. I’m sorry. Of course.” She picked up her fork and moved it around the plate.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. This looks wonderful.” She made an attempt to eat. She’d been really hungry earlier. She remembered that much. The fish had smelled so good. What happened to her? Where had she gone in those brief moments that she’d lost time? She lifted the fork to her lips and took a few bites, not even tasting what she ate.
“Isabelle.”
She glanced up again. Dalton was staring at her. “What?”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She didn’t want to. What would she say? But she had to confide in someone, and right now Dalton was all she had. “I lost time just now.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you asked me to pour the wine, I did, then I sat here at the table. I was watching you cook, and next thing I remember I was standing behind you over at the barbecue.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the grill, then back at the wine bottle, then at her. “You don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head.
“That was about ten minutes’ worth of time.”
Damn.
“Is that the first time this has happened?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the first I’m aware of.” She reached for her wineglass and emptied it in one long swallow. Dalton refilled it.
“You need to eat.”
She nodded, scooped up the tender fish with her fork and forced herself to eat at least half of what was on her plate. Dalton was right. She needed to rebuild her strength. Think. Remember.
They finished eating, cleared the plates, and did the dishes, all in silence, then returned outside to sit on the back porch. It was still balmy, but at least a breeze had started to kick up. She lifted her hair, letting the air blow over the back of her neck.
“You want more wine?” Dalton asked.
She shook her head. She was fuzzy enough without too much alcohol muddling her brain. Why couldn’t she remember? She leaned back in the chair and stared out into the night, into the swamp. “I hate not being in control.”
Dalton lifted his lips. “That’s a shocker.”
She glared at him. “What does that mean? You think I’m a control freak?”
“Yeah. But who isn’t? Who doesn’t want to be in charge of their life, their own destiny?”
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive.”
“You have a lot of things to be angry at me about, Isabelle. Don’t be sorry.”
“You mean because of my mother’s diary?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged. “Somehow I think everything would have happened the way it did regardless of you finding the diary or not. In fact, you might have saved my life because you found it.”
“How?”
“The demons would have found me, taken me eventually. If you hadn’t found me when you did, if the Realm and Angie and everyone else hadn’t been there that night …”
“You think the Sons of Darkness would have finished what they started with you.”
“Yes. And we wouldn’t be sitting here right now having this conversation. I wouldn’t still be human.” She’d be wholly demon, one of the Sons of Darkness.
“That’s not what happened. Don’t think about it.”
“How can I not think about it? I was one of them. I am one of them. Their blood runs in me. I …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He stood and came over to her side of the table, straddling the bench. “Isabelle, if we’re going to make any headway, you have to talk to me. You have to tell me everything. What you’re feeling, what you see, what you experience. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
She still didn’t understand how he could help her at all. He was just a man. A human. He had no power. “I appreciate the offer, Dalton. But there’s nothing you can do for me.”
He cocked his head to the side and his lips tilted. “You might be surprised what I can do to help.”
Isabelle frowned. “Like what?”
“This and that.”
“Now who’s being vague and uncommunicative?”
“Okay. Let’s just say there are things I can do to help you.”
“What? Do you practice voodoo like Georgie?”
His lips quirked. “Not really my area. But I have other talents.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how the whole voodoo thing pertains to me and my situation anyway. Blood is blood. It’s in me. I’m a demon. Nothing can change that. No one can take it away.”
“You’ve already changed it. You’re human right now.”
She swung her legs over the bench and stood, feeling cornered, needing space so she could pace back and forth. She wrapped her arms around herself. “For how long, though, Dalton? I don’t feel human.”
He studied her. “How do you feel?”
She didn’t look at him, just kept pacing. “Unsettled. Not myself. I feel like at any time I could revert back to the demon I was. I feel shaky, like I’m barely holding on.”
“Do you have some kind of sensation inside you, some kind of feeling that makes you think that?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped back at him. “It just is. And the dreams.”
“What dreams?”
This time she stopped, looked at him. “Every damn time I try to sleep, even if I drift off for a few seconds … the demons come.”
He stood and came toward her. He reached out, laid his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to pull away. But she also wanted to walk into his arms, wrap herself in the comfort of someone holding her. She needed that. At the same time she feared it, felt if she gave into her emotions, if she let go of the tight string holding herself together, something would snap inside her and the demons would take hold.
“What happens in your dreams, Isabelle?”
His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was gentle. She took a deep breath. “I don’t really know. By the time I’m fully awake I’ve forgotten what happens. I can only grab hold of remnants. I just know they come for me when I fall asleep.”
“The demons.”
“Are you having the same dream every time?”
She shrugged. “I think so.”
“But you don’t know in what way.”
She shook her head again. “I wish I could remember all of it. Most times I want to shake it off as soon as I wake up.”
“Maybe it’s time you start to remember.”
She tilted her head back to look at his face. “Why?”
“Because it might help unlock this mystery about the hold they have on you.”
“Do you think they know where I am?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful. If they knew they’d have come for you already. For us. I don’t think they do. I think you’re blocking them.”
Despite the heat of the night, she shivered. “Then why would I want to remember? Isn’t it better if I forget, to keep forgetting?”
“I don’t think so. The more we know about what you’re dreaming, where it’s coming from, the better armed we’ll be when they do show up.”
She backed away from him. “They’ll come for me, won’t they?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
Honesty was supposed to be refreshing. Maybe it would be better if he lied to her. “When will they come? When I remember? When I stop blocking them?”
Dalton inhaled, let it out. “That depends on you. You’re in charge of more than you think, Isabelle.” He slid his hand in hers, pulled her back to the table, and sat them both down on the bench.
He didn’t let go of her hand. This time, she didn’t mind. It felt good. His hand was so big, like the rest of him, and calloused from hard work. It signaled strength. She needed to draw on some strength right now. She’d always been independent, strong on her own, never needed anyone else.
Not right now, though. She felt weak and she hated it.
“I know you’re afraid,” he said. “I know you’re confused. There’s a lot unsettled right now, a lot we both don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, Isabelle. I won’t let the Sons of Darkness take you. Not again.”
For the first time in a long while, she felt hope. Maybe it was lame to take that hope from Dalton’s words alone, but she’d always been on her own, and now she felt like she had an ally. She had to believe he’d protect her, that he’d do whatever it took to keep the Sons of Darkness away from her.
“Thank you. I’m not used to … needing anyone. This isn’t easy for me. But I do need you.”
“We need each other.”
“You need me? How?” What could she possibly offer him?
He looked away for a second, then back at her. “What I meant was that I feel like I owe you after stealing your mother’s diary, setting all this in motion. Let’s just say this is my chance at redemption.”
Somehow she didn’t think that’s what he meant. But as long as he was on her side this time, it was a start.
Dalton mentally cursed himself. He was going to have to watch what he said. He’d slipped a couple times tonight with Isabelle. He couldn’t let her know that he needed her, what his plans were for her. She wouldn’t understand. Not right now. Maybe never. It was best that she just believe he was trying to help her, that he’d brought her here because he thought Georgie could assist her.
They’d talked for a while, then she’d started to yawn, her eyelids drooping. He could tell she fought it, but she eventually gave in and went to bed. He waited an hour or so, slipping her door open to make sure she was asleep.
He went up to the main house and found Georgie sitting out front in her great-grandmother’s old white rocking chair.
He’d had a few conversations with Georgie’s great-grandmother while she rocked in that chair.
It had been so long ago.
“Thought you might come by tonight,” she said.
Dalton smiled and leaned against the railing. “You psychic, too?”
“Oh, I have many gifts, Dalton. I know what you’re about.”
“Do you.”
She nodded. “You have big plans for that girl down there,” Georgie said, her palms flat on the wide arms of the rocker as she rode it gently back and forth. “She know about them?”
“Not yet. She’s had a bad time of it.”
Georgie’s gaze drifted down the path toward the cabin. “She’s got a lot of darkness in her.”
Dalton stared down the road. He wished he could see the cabin from here. He shouldn’t have left Isabelle alone. The urge to go back there grew stronger. “Yeah, she does.”
“So do you.”
He snapped his gaze back to Georgie. “What are you talking about?”
“My grandmother filled me in from what she knew, what my great-grandmother told her. The rest I can sense.”
“What can you sense?”
“There’s conflict in you, Dalton. And within me.”
He frowned. “What are you conflicted about?”
“Whether to help your Isabelle or not.”
She wasn’t his Isabelle. He’d need to make sure Georgie understood that. “Why wouldn’t you help her? Help me? Your great-grandmother did.”
“Those were different circumstances, and you know why. We owed you. Now you want help for Isabelle. Why?”
“Because what happened to her isn’t her fault.”
Georgie studied him. “But maybe her destiny. And something you shouldn’t interfere in.”
Dalton sucked in a breath. He’d interfered before, and it had cost him dearly. “I’m right about this, Georgie. I know I am. Isabelle doesn’t deserve this.”
Georgie folded her hands in her lap, seeming to contemplate while rocking. Dalton knew better than to push it, so he waited for her to speak. When she looked up, her gaze was penetrating.
“I think you need to take some time while you’re here. Search your heart, Dalton, and determine whether you’re really out to save Isabelle’s soul. Or your own.”