The only thing he could think to do now was find the demon that Ronan had subdued and kill it so that there was no chance of it ever controlling her actions again.
At least that was something real and solid—a purpose he could focus on so that he didn’t have to think about what had just happened.
The shower turned on behind the closed door. She was in there right now, washing away all traces of him from her skin. The notion bothered him more than it should have. Or maybe it was his own need to cling to the scent she’d left on him that made him feel that way. Their partnership was far too lopsided. She had all the control, all the power. All he could do was flounder in the aftermath of her choices.
He couldn’t change her vow. He refused to force her to stay with him. Ronan’s chat with her had informed her that she didn’t even need to be close to him for him to survive. If she walked away, no guilt necessary.
Fuck that.
Cain was no doormat. He was tired of watching the people he cared about walk away. He was a fighter by nature, and if his survival meant he had to fight a little dirty, then so be it. Rory held his future in her hands, and he’d be damned if he’d let her crush it.
One way or another, he was going to find a way to get through that pink head of hers.
Chapter 21
Ronan waited until the sun was high before he dared reach out for the Synestryn lord who had stolen his blood. The connection between them was weak now, as was the demon that had forged it. Like Ronan, its powers dwindled during the day, sapping its strength.
Carefully and slowly, he slipped along the thread of blood and power that bound them, seeping into the demon’s mind by the tiniest drops. This contact was not about control, or about trying to rid Ronan’s mind of the foul presence that infected him. He didn’t make so much as a ripple as he passed, seeking out information only.
The demon’s sleep shifted as it began to wake. Ronan held still, letting vile thoughts and memories flow around him like sewage. As each one touched him, he let it seep in, granting him information.
The pain this creature had caused was a fetid, rotting cancer in Ronan’s mind. He didn’t dare fight it, but not judging the evil acts was much, much harder. Each moment of revulsion, each second of accusation forced the demon into wakefulness.
There was little time left—only seconds before the beast woke and realized what Ronan was doing. Before it was too late and the demon snagged him and sucked him in, Ronan drifted back out of the festering decay of the creature’s thoughts and back into the cool, dark confines of his own mind.
The familiar space comforted him. It helped wash away the repulsive horror of what he’d seen.
Ronan lay still in the blackness of the basement, slowly sifting through the information that he’d gathered. Most of it was useless sludge that he discarded before it could take root and grow. But there were details that he’d collected—things that had been at the forefront of the demon’s thoughts.
Of Raygh’s thoughts.
This demon had a name. It fancied itself as some kind of king. As powerful as it was, Ronan was certain that lesser demons were quick to obey.
Like the Handlers that Raygh had sent. They were powerful creatures in their own right, but had chosen to answer to Raygh for some reason Ronan could not fathom.
That was interesting, but not nearly as important as the other information that Ronan had learned.
Raygh had two sons. Both of them had been killed, and now he was seeking out all of those who had been present at the time of his sons’ deaths. That’s what those barb-tailed creatures were about. They were gathering blood, giving Raygh a way to track his prey and control them.
And thanks to Ronan’s time in the festering slime of the demon’s mind, he knew exactly who Raygh was going after. Ronan had smelled them all before—both human and Sentinel.
Rory and Cain were among them, as well as Iain, Jackie, Hope, Logan, Drake, Helen, the human child Autumn, and Beth—the woman Ronan had pulled from a cave a few months ago. All of them needed to be warned, and those who were tucked safely behind the walls of Dabyr needed to remain there.
Ronan tried to lift his hand to pull his phone from his pocket, but he was too weak. In a few hours, when the sun lowered, he would be able to warn the others, but until then, his sole job was to maintain the barrier that he’d erected in his own mind—similar to the one he’d designed for Rory, but not nearly as strong. She had no idea what she was facing. Ronan did. There was only so much power he could expend, and his options were one weaker shield or two weak ones.
The choice had been simple. The demon and he were a matched set. Both of them were stronger by night, both of them lived on blood. The only difference was, Ronan was careful of his food, while Raygh cared little for those from which he fed. They were vessels. Empty husks to be tossed aside when he was finished with them.
That lack of hunger made Raygh stronger, but Ronan had something else on his side. Years of needing that which he could not have had given him an iron will. He controlled himself, and that was why, no matter how well fed the demon was, it would never get past Ronan’s defenses.
He was no thing’s puppet.
* * *
By the time Rory got out of the shower, Cain was dressed and waiting for her, wearing a do-not-fuck-with-me look on his face.
She eyed his jacket and the keys dangling from his thick fingers. “I guess we’re leaving?”
“I’m leaving. You stay here with Ronan. You’ll be safe here.”
“Safe? Are you kidding me?”
“As safe as you’ll be anywhere. We can’t go to Dabyr with that demon in your head, which means I need to go kill it.”
“Just like that. Do you even know where it is?”