A Demon's Desire Read Online Free PDF
Author: Lizzy Ford
cell number
below.
T
Emma shivered. Not only could the man read
minds, but he must’ve been invisible or gone in and out a back way
in the five minutes she spent downstairs. What was he?
“Your name is Isolde?” she asked the dog,
forcing her mind on something other than a sense of panic and
foreboding building within her. The dog thumped its tail.
“I hope you like car rides.”
Thump, thump, thump.
“God help me,” she murmured and turned away
from the note from the fridge.
* * *
Tristan understood Emma’s exhaustion and
sense of urgency the moment he entered the small apartment. He
stood in the doorway of a brightly painted child’s room. The bed
across from him held a sleeping girl as pale as her white pillow
and covered in a cartoon character sheet. Her hair was a mass of
soft, dark curls, her chubby face heart-shaped. The room smelled of
her, an innocent, pure scent, tainted with the heavier scent of
sickness. Toys were organized in an open trunk and fat picture
books stacked on one bookshelf. Stuffed animals had been banned to
a beanbag in the corner, and a large dollhouse took up the area
between the bed and one wall. An empty wooden rocking chair sat
close to the bed.
He took in everything with a critical glance
and knew without stepping into the room what afflicted her.
Darkness, like that in Emma’s box, hovered around the girl and
throughout the room in patches. It called to him as a brother, its
presence familiar and soothing. He stepped away, hands sweaty. He’d
never faced anything this strong, wasn’t sure he could suppress the
evil within him and the evil of the room at the same time.
Emma’s sister, a pale woman with dark blond
hair, stood over the bed. Despair clung to her. She had already
given up on finding a cure for her daughter.
“Emma swore she’d find a way to help,” Amber
said in a distant voice. She straightened. “Thank you for
coming.”
Tristan was not unaffected by the scene
before him or her words. How would he feel if he sensed the danger
without understanding anything about it?
“Amber,” he said, drawing off his shadows to
reach the woman’s exhausted mind. She turned, dark green eyes
focusing. “Come with me.”
Tristan led her past the bright living room
and into the kitchen. Amber slumped on a stool at the counter
overlooking a double sink and watched him with glazed eyes. Tristan
prepared a cup of tea to put her mind at rest long enough for her
to get some sleep.
“Tell me what happened,” he instructed.
“A couple of months ago, Sissy started … to
get sick. Fevers and such. Kids are always sick when in daycare, so
I took her to the doctor. He gave her penicillin, and she seemed
okay for a couple days. Then it came back, worse, and she slept for
a few days, recovered, and seemed okay again. I took her to a
specialist, to a few specialists, but they didn’t find anything
wrong.” Amber’s voice was monotonous, her hand propping up her
head. “She said she had nightmares, and one night she was crying. I
went in to see her. She was okay, and I stayed until she was
asleep. She didn’t wake up for a week. I took her to the hospital,
and they hooked her up to machines but found nothing. When she
woke, she seemed okay again, then … more fevers, more nightmares,
more days when she slept without waking.”
“How long has she been out this time?”
“Over a week. The doctor …” Her voice broke.
Tristan turned away to give her privacy and retrieved the water
from the microwave. “The doctor says she can stay in the hospital
or here at home, but that the chances … the chances of …” Amber
blinked back tears and stared, unseeing. Tristan dipped a loose
leaf strainer into the hot water. He said nothing for several
moments, withdrew it, and handed her the tea. She offered a ghost
of a smile.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. Emma’s
the strong one.”
“You’re strong, Amber,” he assured her,
touched. Even if he wasn’t
below.
T
Emma shivered. Not only could the man read
minds, but he must’ve been invisible or gone in and out a back way
in the five minutes she spent downstairs. What was he?
“Your name is Isolde?” she asked the dog,
forcing her mind on something other than a sense of panic and
foreboding building within her. The dog thumped its tail.
“I hope you like car rides.”
Thump, thump, thump.
“God help me,” she murmured and turned away
from the note from the fridge.
* * *
Tristan understood Emma’s exhaustion and
sense of urgency the moment he entered the small apartment. He
stood in the doorway of a brightly painted child’s room. The bed
across from him held a sleeping girl as pale as her white pillow
and covered in a cartoon character sheet. Her hair was a mass of
soft, dark curls, her chubby face heart-shaped. The room smelled of
her, an innocent, pure scent, tainted with the heavier scent of
sickness. Toys were organized in an open trunk and fat picture
books stacked on one bookshelf. Stuffed animals had been banned to
a beanbag in the corner, and a large dollhouse took up the area
between the bed and one wall. An empty wooden rocking chair sat
close to the bed.
He took in everything with a critical glance
and knew without stepping into the room what afflicted her.
Darkness, like that in Emma’s box, hovered around the girl and
throughout the room in patches. It called to him as a brother, its
presence familiar and soothing. He stepped away, hands sweaty. He’d
never faced anything this strong, wasn’t sure he could suppress the
evil within him and the evil of the room at the same time.
Emma’s sister, a pale woman with dark blond
hair, stood over the bed. Despair clung to her. She had already
given up on finding a cure for her daughter.
“Emma swore she’d find a way to help,” Amber
said in a distant voice. She straightened. “Thank you for
coming.”
Tristan was not unaffected by the scene
before him or her words. How would he feel if he sensed the danger
without understanding anything about it?
“Amber,” he said, drawing off his shadows to
reach the woman’s exhausted mind. She turned, dark green eyes
focusing. “Come with me.”
Tristan led her past the bright living room
and into the kitchen. Amber slumped on a stool at the counter
overlooking a double sink and watched him with glazed eyes. Tristan
prepared a cup of tea to put her mind at rest long enough for her
to get some sleep.
“Tell me what happened,” he instructed.
“A couple of months ago, Sissy started … to
get sick. Fevers and such. Kids are always sick when in daycare, so
I took her to the doctor. He gave her penicillin, and she seemed
okay for a couple days. Then it came back, worse, and she slept for
a few days, recovered, and seemed okay again. I took her to a
specialist, to a few specialists, but they didn’t find anything
wrong.” Amber’s voice was monotonous, her hand propping up her
head. “She said she had nightmares, and one night she was crying. I
went in to see her. She was okay, and I stayed until she was
asleep. She didn’t wake up for a week. I took her to the hospital,
and they hooked her up to machines but found nothing. When she
woke, she seemed okay again, then … more fevers, more nightmares,
more days when she slept without waking.”
“How long has she been out this time?”
“Over a week. The doctor …” Her voice broke.
Tristan turned away to give her privacy and retrieved the water
from the microwave. “The doctor says she can stay in the hospital
or here at home, but that the chances … the chances of …” Amber
blinked back tears and stared, unseeing. Tristan dipped a loose
leaf strainer into the hot water. He said nothing for several
moments, withdrew it, and handed her the tea. She offered a ghost
of a smile.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. Emma’s
the strong one.”
“You’re strong, Amber,” he assured her,
touched. Even if he wasn’t