Sex and the Single Vampire

Yes.

Christian took my hand and tugged me until I was standing behind him. I gave the back of his arm a pinch and moved to his side.

"Who sent you here?" I asked the demon.

"One who is protected by my master."

Rats. Names have power, remember? Well, there were very particular rules governing the dark world, and one of them was that a demon couldn't be made to rat on anyone else who was under the protection of its lord. In other words, the demon could not be made to invoke the name of someone under his lord's power; however, the rules didn't stop me from naming names and asking the demon point-blank if that person had sent him.

"Did Guarda White send you?"

The demon snarled again and lunged at a ward that was glowing a bit weaker than the others. I threw more power into it.

"Did Phillippa the hermit send you?"

It spun around, fingernails lengthening into claws, and slashed at the air.

"Did Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"

Christian moved closer to me as I spoke the last name, a protective he-man gesture to be sure, but one that warmed me to my toes.

The demon spat out a few suggestions that were anatomically impossible. A ceiling fan spun to the floor behind him.

I leaned into Christian. "I was sure it was Eduardo."

Few of those people who dally with dark powers make free with their true names.

"Good point." I turned back to the demon. If it wanted to play it right down the line, I would be happy to oblige. "Did the one who calls himself Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"

"Yes," it hissed at me, its eyes showing its fury at being forced into revealing the truth.

"For what purpose were you sent here?" Christian asked. I glanced at him. His color was better, and he stood more easily, as if his wounds were continuing to heal. I couldn't spare any of my power to pour into him, but I squeezed his hand to let him know I was concerned. He tightened his fingers on mine in response.

The demon ignored him and continued to test the circle. To tell the truth, I was more than a bit surprised it had held a demon of Sarra's stature for as long as it did. I assumed what Christian had told me about the sum of our power combined being more than the parts added together was the reason, and attributed most of the strength of the circle to the blood we'd spilled to close it.

"Why were you sent here?" I repeated the question. Since I was the one who cast the spell, it had to answer me.

"To capture the woman."

Eek.

Christian tried to tug me behind him again. I refused to move, pinching his wrist to let him know there were only so many dominating moves I was willing to tolerate.

"Can you send it back?" he reluctantly asked me.

I looked at the demon. It sneered at me. The circle was still holding, but I could see signs that it wouldn't much longer.

"Not by myself."

Christian's eyes, glittering black onyx, held mine for a moment, his mind sharing his strength with me.

Then we will do it together.

I squashed down the niggle of doubt and clung to Christian's calm assuredness.

I let myself merge into him, holding tight to him as our power joined, swelling until it filled the room. I calmed my mind long enough to dig through my memory and uncover the long-forgotten spell that would send the demon back to its master. Merely breaking the circle would not be enough; we had to send it from its present location.

I started speaking the words, but before I could finish the air quivered expectantly. Three familiar shapes burst through the door.

"Mi amor, I am come to save you! I 'ave you now, you scaly-toothed, snaggle-skinned spawn of Satan!"

Antonio cried as he lunged forward, slashing his rapier about in an extremely dashing, if sadly ineffective, manner.

"I found a Bible," Esme yelled helpfully, then looked down at her empty hands. "Oh, dear, I must have dropped it somewhere. It's not easy keeping your attention focused long enough to move an item that is quite so heavy. I wonder if I left it on the stairs..." She wandered out of the room.

Jem, now wearing a tremendously baggy pair of torn jeans that hung extremely low on his hips, a ripped T-shirt, and a black leather jacket adorned with a skull painted on the back, and sporting one of those greased-back hairdos that the 1950s bad boys wore, all topped off with several heavy gold chains, slouched his way around Antonio. He slid a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, sneering at the demon. "Oy! Yer wants a taste of me pricker, then?"

"You dare to sully mi amor with your filthy presence, you disgusting piece of codpiece lint! For that you will die!"

Christian shook his head and said something in what I assumed was Czech. I didn't need a translation. I was pretty much saying the same thing to myself, only I doubted if I was as polite as he was.

"Ye wanna rumble? I'm ready t'rumble! G'wan, gimme yer best shot, sucka!"

"Jem is definitely watching too much television," I murmured.