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Probably not, but Harper shrugged. “If anyone could do it, Asher could. And just because he’s mimicking me doesn’t mean he’s not a sphinx.”
“Which is why I only suspect it. The fact is that demons don’t birth hybrids. A demon is either like their mother or like their father. Asher’s not an archdemon. Can’t be an archdemon, since we’re not born from wombs. If he’s not a sphinx, I don’t see what else he could be. The more abilities he shows, the more clues I have. Individually, the powers tell me nothing. Collectively, they form a picture. So far, I’m still unsure of just what the picture could be.”
Stomach hardening, she swallowed back bile. “What about the black smudge?”
“I didn’t know about that until Clarke mentioned it. He thinks it indicates that Asher isn’t a natural breed of demon. He’s wrong.” Knox swirled his glass and then sipped at his drink. “It’s a veil. A psychic shadow. Its presence could suggest that Asher’s inner demon is disguising itself. I’ve met demons who can cloak themselves. It’s an extremely rare ability, but it’s not limited to a particular breed.”
Baffled, Harper frowned. “If the demon is cloaking itself, how come people don’t sense that?”
“Because part of that ability is that they can mimic psychic scents.”
Harper felt the blood drain from her face.
“Cloaking means he can assimilate himself into any group and be seen as whatever it wishes to be seen. Asher won’t physically change, but his ‘air’ will—in fact, he can even hide it completely so that he appears human. Depending on just how strong he grows, Asher may even be able to ensure that he isn’t seen at all. Not in the sense that he becomes invisible. No, but he will be able to socially cloak himself to the extent that he garners no attention or sticks out in no memories.”
Well, fuck a duck. “Why would the demon cloak itself?”
“Because it can, maybe. I don’t know. As I said, the point of cloaking is to assimilate. To fit. Blend. It wouldn’t surprise me if my own demon influenced its decision—sending some kind of ‘impression’ that safety equaled mimicking its mother. After all, masquerading as a sphinx will keep him safe.”
Knox stepped toward her. “Asher is very much like you, Harper. Good. Mischievous. Expressive. I fear that his demon is very much like mine. Exceedingly cold and dark. Something to rightfully fear.” He tilted his head. “But you’ve already figured that much out for yourself, haven’t you? For a while you’ve suspected—deep down in a place you weren’t ready to face—that he wasn’t a sphinx. Haven’t you?”
She’d wondered about it, yes, but she hadn’t given any real weight to her suspicions. She’d thought she was just letting her fears toy with her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me you believed he might not be a sphinx?”
“Probably for the same reason that you didn’t tell me of your own suspicion. I wanted to be wrong. Saying it aloud felt like taking the suspicion too seriously. Plus, I didn’t want to worry you when it could have been needless. I intended to simply watch him and wait until I at least had a theory as to what else he could be. So far, I have nothing.”
“You didn’t want to worry me? I’m not made of fucking porcelain.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Harper.”
“Why? You certainly enjoyed twisting my motives, accusing me of meeting with Drew because I like having his attention.”
He set down his glass. “I’m glad we’re back on the subject of Clarke, because I’m not finished.”
“Well, I am. You did your best to hurt me by spouting all that shit earlier. Guess what? It worked. I have no interest in giving you the opportunity to spew more of that crap and hurt me all over again.” Whirling, she stalked away.
“Harper, we’re not done.”
“I am.” She needed to go. Needed space. Needed air that wasn’t tainted with tension and anger. It took everything she had not to storm up the stairs. She wanted out of there—not just the room but the mansion itself. Wanted distance from him. Mostly because “alone” was her default zone, especially when she was hurting or confused.
The first time they’d had a major fight, Harper had fled to Jolene’s house. Naturally, Knox hadn’t reacted well to that. And since she couldn’t deny that she’d have felt like shit to have searched their home for him, hoping to mend things, only to find that he’d left her, she’d promised him that she’d never again leave after an argument. She’d made it clear, though, that she’d likely walk away to get some space and cool down. He’d better damn well give her that space, no matter how hard he’d find it not to push.
Upstairs, she returned her things to the closet, got ready for bed, and then slipped under the covers. Using the remote to lower the blackout blinds, she plunged the room into darkness. Honestly, she wasn’t tired. Emotionally drained, yes, but not physically exhausted. But Jolene had always said that a rest could be as good as a sleep. Speaking of Jolene …
Harper telepathically reached out to her. How is Drew?
First, I want to know if you’re all right, sweetheart, said Jolene.
Knox hasn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking.
I know he wouldn’t physically hurt you, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t lose his mind and lash out at you. Men tend to do that when they’re hurt—apparently, they prefer that to admitting they’re upset.
Oh, Knox had definitely lashed out, but he rarely lost control. He’s pissed at me, but he didn’t blow. How bad is Drew? For a moment, there was only silence. Grams?
He’s bad, Harper, Jolene admitted. The pain was so terrible he’s gone into shock. I had Beck put him to sleep. He’ll be healed by the time he wakes. He was very confused about what happened—he doesn’t remember your conversation. There seems to be large gaps in his memory.
Harper closed her eyes tight, thinking that if she’d just refused to go into that damn bedroom, the guy would be okay. Not that she was assuming responsibility for what happened. No, he’d ignored every warning he’d been given, effectively poking at the hornet’s nest. Still, refusing to talk to him alone would have been smarter. Does Devon know yet?
She’s with him now, holding his hand.
