The son of a bitch was blocking all of his moves. As many times as he tried to throw up a bolt of energy, the large black demon found a way to block his moves. Why couldn't this have been as easy as taking down the other four bastard demons? And then the demon used its talons to swipe at his chest. The pain was instant; the burn caused his pectorals to seize almost unbearably and it hurt to breathe. Shit, the demon was good.
The high pitched tortured scream made him refocus his attention on the goal. He had to get to her before it was too late. She needed him and he would do whatever it took to make sure she made it out alive. He finally found his opening and pushed the bastard demon back. The pain in his hands was nothing compared to the burn that came with shocking the bastard to hell. The beast was quick to disintegrate into ash. It wasn't enough to satisfy his bloodlust, but it would have to do.
She needed him.
She was screaming again, and the sound made his heart thud in his chest. It wasn't just adrenaline; no, fear and anxiety gripped him, forced him to neglect his surroundings and run down the long dark hall that led to the double doors of her torture. He didn't even bother to push the doors open; another blast of energy had the doors flying inward and crashing to the ground. He rushed in, his eyes darting along every wall and corner of the demon-infested room. They all stared at him disbelievingly, their yellow eyes bright with evil. He didn't care. He brought his eyes to the front of the room and felt his muscles lock into place at the sight before him.
The demon held the half-eaten human heart in its hands as it continually shifted shape and color. The change was taking place. The ritual had been completed. He looked at the lifeless body on the alter in front of the shifting demon, the shimmering blond hair and dull blue eyes, and felt his eyes close in despair. When he opened them, cold, menacing yellow eyes stared back at him, glittering with promise. His world shattered; his heart felt as if it stopped beating, and an overwhelming heaviness took hold of his body.
She was gone.
He wanted to die, wanted to lose himself in a never-ending abyss of numbness. He'd failed, and she had to pay the price for his mistakes. Rage unlike any he'd ever known surfaced and took hold of his body. The emotion paralyzed him, made him hungry for vengeance. He had to kill the ones who did this to her. He had to punish himself for not being able to stop it.
He felt his nerves calm at the lulling sounds of a nocturne. It was so beautiful, so peaceful Chopin. Yes, it was one of his works.
Opus 27 no.2.
There was no mistaking the earthy flow of the notes or even the romantic overtones of the music. An image of sepia toned hands and long, elegant fingers made his heart seize once again. This time, the feeling was pleasant, and made him forget about the despair threatening to take hold of him. The scent of pineapples filled his senses and soon, he was taken from the demon filled room and placed on a plush couch in a soft welcoming room, watching curly raven locks sway against her back as the nocturne continued. Sunlight filtered into the comforting room, illuminating soft skin encased in a flowing yellow gown.
Alauria.
She was beauty, she was life, and she was everything he needed to push the demons away. Through the music, her passion and life flowed from her fingers to the grand piano positioned in front of her. From the piano, the music washed over him, cleansed him.
He was renewed.
Lindsay opened his eyes and found himself staring at the far wall of his bedroom. He had been dreaming again. He remained still for a moment, replaying the hell-turned-heaven his mind created, and he wasn't certain which part of the dream scared and upset him more; the hell or the heaven. Demons were easy enough to deal with; he'd spent centuries fighting them, killing them, and even befriending them. Hell, one of his brothers was a half demon. They were easy enough to handle.
But Alauria... She was new, she was unknown, and she was absolutely addicting. She snuck up on him and made him want things he wasn't supposed to care about. How did she do that? The woman was like a drug in his veins, bonding herself to every fiber of his being. And he didn't mind.
Damn Alexis. As soon as he found the will to get out of bed, a very angry call was in order. His life was just fine the way it was before his darling brother came for a visit. Now he couldn't even have a damned nightmare without her invading them. Yes, his brother would get a nice earful once he got a hold of him. It was only right that Alexis understand exactly why he was hated and why vengeance would be sought.
Lindsay was not in the mood to have his life complicated by a piano instructor. A beautiful piano instructor who smelled like pineapples and had skin comparable to a goddess. "Shit," he muttered as he turned onto his back. Where was his resolve? Could he not go five minutes without letting her invade his thoughts?
The only option was to stay away from her. He was set in his ways and had no intention of letting her interrupt his life. These schoolboy urges were sure to run him into the ground if he didn't get a handle on himself. Lindsay wasn't ready to let himself become attached to someone, to have a weak link in his life. He'd heard about what his urges did to his brothers and he refused to let anything like that happen. He was better by himself.
The room smelled like pineapples.
* * * * *
She literally fell into his arms.
Lindsay hadn't meant to walk back to Jones Street, but as usual, he couldn't stop the unbelievable urge that washed over him. He'd lasted an entire week; seven days of forcing himself to forget the smell of her skin and the look in her eyes when she looked at him. Seven days of ignoring the fact that she invaded every single one of his dreams. Finally, he could take no more and decided to simply see if he could figure out how to get her out of his system. Lindsay figured that going at night would better work in his favor; her neighbors would be asleep because if the late hour, and she'd be too caught up in the music she played to even notice that he was standing outside of her opened window like some kind of stalker. She hadn't been playing, but he was able to make out the subtle sounds of her frustrated mumblings and the irritating sounds of a heavy object scraping against a hardwood floor. She was obviously moving furniture, and while he was tempted to go upstairs to lend a hand before she broke something, he forced himself to remain as he was.