The Devil Inside Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Love Urban Fantasy?

  Chapter One - Cash

  Chapter Two - Cash

  Chapter Three - Marc

  Chapter Four - Cash

  Chapter Five - Marc

  Chapter Six - Cash

  Chapter Seven - Marc

  Chapter Eight - Cash

  Chapter Nine - Marc

  Chapter Ten - Cash

  Chapter Eleven - Marc

  Chapter Twelve - Cash

  Chapter Thirteen - Marc

  Chapter Fourteen - Cash

  Chapter Fifteen - Marc

  Chapter Sixteen - Cash

  Chapter Seventeen - Marc

  Chapter Eighteen - Cash

  Chapter Nineteen - Cash

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Prism Press, Perth Australia.

  Copyright © 2018 Lana Pecherczyk

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  Cover design © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  Interior design © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  www.lanapecherczyk.com

  LANA PECHERCZYK

  To my little sis, Heidi.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Cash

  I WOKE WITH my hands around her neck, choking, strangling, squeezing. The crunch of her wind pipe dragged me from sleep and into panic.

  “No!”

  She fell to my chest with a sickening thud. Tears stung my eyes.

  I hadn’t meant to.

  I was dreaming.

  I didn’t know she was there.

  What on earth had possessed her to wake me from a nightmare?

  My arms hovered over her heaving back, unsure what to do. She would heal fast—she was a Player, Nephilim, like me—but…

  What if she didn’t?

  “Roo?” My voice wavered, cracked.

  My hands landed softly on her warm shoulder blades, sliding over bare skin and catching on the straps of her nightgown. She felt small and fragile under my touch, at odds with the strong woman she was. She’d fought and faced down a witch—the worst nature had to offer. And she’d won.

  For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do, so I held her tenderly, like a broken flower.

  And waited.

  That was all I knew how to do these days.

  Goddamned wait.

  Two days ago, I’d gone blind—a side effect of her fixing my broken soul. She’d pieced it back together, and I’d waited in a world of agony, reliving past lives repeatedly. My only respite was her touch. I longed for it, and every time she let go of me, I ached for more. When her fingers lingered on my skin, my pain ebbed away like water down a drain.

  Despite the devil picking at my sanity, Roo gave me patience to wait out the darkness.

  So I did.

  I waited to see again. To feel again.

  And I goddamned waited for her touch to release its hold on me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten, listening to her tiny breaths wheeze in and out until they smoothed into a constant rhythmic fluctuation. Yes. She would heal. She must heal.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  She was powerful. Quick. Strong. Once, I’d seen her heal a nigh disembowelment in seconds. She would make this. She had to.

  I made to move. She whimpered into my chest, and the sound was like a shot to my heart. Her hands grasped my shoulders, fingers trembling.

  Keep calm.

  Three minutes.

  Four minutes.

  Oh, dear gods. What had I done?

  I braced the back of her head and, with surgical precision, flipped her onto her back. She stared up at me through large honey-colored eyes, blinking the glimmering pain away.

  “Roo.” I moved a strand of red hair from her face. “I’m sorry… say something. Fuck. You can’t talk yet. Idiot.” I grimaced, scrubbed my face and put a trembling arm on the bed beside her. Her beautiful neck. I’d squashed it. Broken it. Yet, it gathered shape before my eyes, like a balloon inflating.

  I looked away.

  She lifted her finger to trail my cheek, and shivers ratcheted down my spine. When I glanced back at her, she mouthed "your eyes" between gasps.

  I’d woken from a nightmare, mistaken her for the enemy—almost killed her—and she worried about my sight.

  I sat back on my heels and wiggled my fingers in front of my face to confirm her observation. Yes. I could see again.

  Whoopdie-fucking-doo.

  She was out of my league. I was supposed to mentor her, teach her in the ways of the Nephilim, the Seraphim, and the Game. But how could I do that when, just under the surface, I was a vicious animal, a killing monster?

  My latest nightmare had been a doozy and some part of me knew it wasn’t a dream, but a distant memory. I still felt the echo of flames lick at my burning skin. At some point in my past, I’d burned to death.

  Had I deserved it?

  Probably. Prior to Roo "fixing me" I’d devoted my life to rescuing those ill-fated enough to be born human and possessed by witches. But before then, I’d been worse than a murderer: a contract killer for the Empire. A murderer who couldn’t think for himself.

  I sat on the edge of the bed with my back to Roo. I knew it was cowardly, but I couldn’t look at her. Not like that, broken and gasping.

  I braced my head in my hands, fingers spearing into my short hair.

  Two cool hands encircled my stomach. I inhaled sharply at the sensation against my bare skin as a soft, warm weight dropped between my shoulder blades.

  She hugged me!

  Adrenaline buzzed through my body as she pressed herself against my spine and tightened her embrace. She couldn’t speak, yet, but she was trying to tell me it would be okay. Eventually, she managed to rasp those exact words: “It will be okay.”

  I struggled to keep my tumultuous emotions in check. Shame, regret, self-loathing. Gratitude. It was all new. It had been easier when my soul was in pieces when I wasn’t capable of caring. True, I didn’t love, but perhaps that was a small price to pay for living without the icy pain that obstructed my breath and halted my heart when I’d
seen her broken.

  Although my body quivered with the urge to leave, I closed my eyes and let her soothe me. I forced myself to relax. Somehow, she calmed my storm. I twisted to face her, wanting to apologize, but she didn’t let go.

  Our eyes met, paused, and our breath mingled. My fingers trailed her jawline, and when I pushed her hair aside to explore her neck, I heard her pulse quicken.

  I froze.

  She’s afraid of me.

  But no.

  Slowly, she leaned in to me and moistened her lips. Her scent was divine, sending my nerves to the brink of combustion. I mimicked her movement, wetting my own lips.

  My weakness lasted an eternal glorious moment, and then my eyes caught on her delicate neck. The fine detail of my regret came into sharp focus and I discovered broken capillaries, fading. Her heartbeat thrummed, thudding faster above the volume of my own. In that moment, I despised my heightened perceptions. Great vision wasn’t so bad, but advanced olfactory and auditory perception? Disruptive.

  And perceptive.

  I disengaged and stood, not looking back.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I said in monotone, walking away. “I’m going to have a shower, and you should probably get yourself ready for the day. We have work to do.”

  Perhaps if I acted like a moody motherfucker, she’d get sick of me. It was a strategy that had worked on many women before. And it was easy. I walked into the adjoining bathroom, refusing to look at her as I closed the door. With trembling hands I turned the tap to scalding and stood underneath the stream until my body went numb. But no matter how much sensation I took away from the surface, I could still feel the tingle left by her touch. And if I looked inwards, deeper, there was a darkness prowling within the chasm of my new soul, awakened from its recent fiery rebirth and scratching to get out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cash

  BY THE TIME I’d finished my shower and had a shave, I’d decided to exit the Game, thus ending my human life. For the safety of everyone near me, it was time for my soul to return to the Empire—if possible—and get answers. If my soul winded up floating in the ether around this world, then, whatever; I’d tried.

  I wrapped a towel around my waist and started making plans when I re-entered my bedroom.

  She was still there.

  On my bed.

  She lay on her stomach, legs kicked in the air, squinting at her laptop and tapping a smart phone to her forehead. A tiny whine came from her earphones to the beat of music. Her nightgown, flimsy at best, had little holes in it, and rode up the back of her legs to expose her thighs. She must know what this did to me. My heart pounded in my ears and my towel grew tighter around my waist. I dropped my hands to cover myself. Just in time.

  She turned towards me and smiled then turned back to her screen.

  All thoughts fled, and I stared, unblinking. “You’re still here.”

  She ignored my statement, or couldn’t hear it past the music blasting into her ears. So I bent and waved a hand in her face. She turned and popped the earplugs out.

  “What’s up. How you feel?” she asked in a raspy voice, inspecting my eyes with concern.

  “I should be the one asking you that, but you seem to have recovered just fine.” I tried to avoid eye contact and inadvertently sent my gaze trailing the soft curve of her shoulders, down to the strap of her nightgown, and across the swell of her breasts. Her pulse beat rapidly in her neck and echoed in my ears. I could smell it too. When blood filled her vein, it plumped and hit the chain around her neck dispersing a heady, metallic scent that only my nose could pick up. The necklace she wore, my father’s old necklace—a gift from Tommy—hung heavy with a key that landed in the valley of her chest.

  She turned the computer screen to face me. “Um, so, I’ve been looking into the mythology surrounding your ah… situation. And also,"—she waved the phone—“your mother called. She wants to know why you haven’t called her yet. The funeral is…”

  Roo kept talking, but I stopped listening. Her scent was already in me, devouring me. I wanted to taste her. Her skin. Her body. To throw the laptop on the floor, rip her earphones out and have her underneath me on the bed. No one else on this planet had this effect on me. Not since before the beginning. With her.

  Get a grip.

  I shook my head to clear the fog and realized she was waiting for me to respond to something she’d said.

  I hit her with a cold stare. “What?”

  “Well, grumpy-bum, Marc said you’ve been called Orion and the Archangel Michael, and I thought if we cross-reference mythological legends, we might find evidence of what really happened to you. We might find at least a small clue as to where your Seraphim body is being kept.” She turned to me, eyes sparkling under the LED lights of my loft apartment. “That’s what you need isn’t it, your original body? You aren’t healing as fast as me, and quite frankly, I’m a little concerned.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Anyway, Marc is on the case. I’m fine. You should be more concerned with educating yourself in preparation for your trials. We’ll be at The Ludus in less than two weeks. Spend your time on that, not on me.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in this together. At the very least, you’re teaching me, right? You can’t go falling apart just yet. Who else will help me shove the trials up my father’s ass?” She rolled and flopped onto her back. Seeing her laid out on my bed had me wanting.

  Jesus.

  She chewed her lip a moment before speaking. “Considering I have the bloody Book of The Dead bouncing around inside my head, and that it was put there by the witch I”—she screwed up her face—“absorbed… I still can’t get over that. Gross. But this witch knew about your history. It makes sense we look into Egyptian mythology.” She rolled back on her side and propped her head up with a hand. “Did you know Osiris, the god of the dead, had links to Orion? I think it’s a good place to start.”

  She talked a lot. And she was immature at times. And incorrigible. And I wanted nothing more than to cover her mouth with mine, and give her something else to think about. I frowned at how easy it was for my thoughts to derail around her. This would take effort.

  She pointed to the screen. “See?”

  Words kept coming out of her mouth, but I’d had enough.

  I had to put an end to her interference, for her sake. Why involve her if I’d already decided to leave? Best if I followed through with my plan to act like a complete bastard.

  I slammed the laptop shut, missing her fingers by a hair.

  Defiance burst across her face. “What was that for?”

  Her reaction sparked an echo inside my own body, which was already heavy with suppressed desire. It flicked to rage in an instant. I had to remind myself I didn’t need to fight. Not her.

  “Roo.” My word came through clenched teeth.

  “What.”

  “We’ve got more important things to do than research. Like your self-defense training. I almost snapped your neck.” The thought made me cringe. “You’re fucking shit at defending yourself.”

  “You’re f—”

  “Go wake up Jed.” I lifted her off the bed by the shoulders. She kicked out, squirming, but I placed her near the door. “Then get showered and dressed into something more suitable for training. Pick and an outfit that doesn’t have holes this time.”

  “You can’t just pick me up, Cash. You can’t do that!” She smacked my chest and glared.

  A smile curved up one side of my face. I crush her neck and she hugs me. I lift her off the bed and she smacks me. I’d never unders
tand her. “I just did.”

  “This isn’t funny. You know what I mean. We have to talk about what happened this morning. What were you dreaming about?”

  My smile disappeared. “What are you, my therapist?”

  “Well, what about your sight? You can see!”

  “I know I can see. I can see you’re not doing as you’re told, and I can also see you’re not wearing the workout attire like I asked. That’s going to fall apart in the first minute of training. Part of this mentor-progeny partnership involves you being able to take orders.”

  Take the hint, Roo.

  “As if I’m going to do any more of what you call training—oh, I’m going to train you, but really I’m going to have a witch come out and attack you.” She flared her eyes at me. “In case you missed it, that was me being sarcastic.”

  “Clearly. In case you missed it, I’m not emotionally crippled anymore. I can fully understand your intended, if misplaced, amusement.”

  “Ha! Hmmm.” She gave me a ferocious once over. The attention licked heat over my body. “You certainly seem to have some humor, finally, although I’ve yet to see you smile. Not like, I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it-smile, but, like, I’m-really-happy-smile.”

  “You think I’m sexy?” I smirked.

  She rolled her eyes and when they returned to me, they lit up and she nodded to herself, thinking about some great idea. I recalled a time when I first met her and she’d made it her mission to make me laugh.

  “Oh, please. It’s like I can hear your thoughts,” I scoffed.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly. I will make you laugh if it’s the last thing I do. Tommy is in there somewhere”—she knocked on my head—“and I’m going to find him.”

  “We don’t have time to play knock on wood.”