Demons Are a Girl's Best Friend (Good Girls & Demons)

by Allyson J. Myers

  This was a huge rabbit hole with a maze of information tunnels that, even with reliable internet, would take me a while to decipher. I wanted to keep my research to when March was out doing whatever it was he did outside the cabin. I didn’t have much to go on right now. What little information I did find was conflicting. It was difficult to match up common details at this junction. I would keep at it. So long as we had the time I would continue to search for answers.

  EIGHT

  BRENNA

  We had been on the island for a little over a week now. The only thing of substance that had changed was that we needed to leave. Soon.

  March was convinced that the longer we remained in one place the better chance the fallen had at narrowing in on our location. I took his word for it since he was more experienced with them. We would find a location for The Ingress soon, and with that in mind I kept my herb gathering to an as needed basis only.

  Harvesting took me farther from the cabin each time so I wouldn’t over-pick any one spot, which led me closer to the caribou herd. They were used to me now and didn’t startle when I got close. They were different from the elk I had seen in Montana. They were shorter, fatter, but seemed more aware as a unit than any individual. Elk didn’t herd together like the caribou did. My experience told me that they would be our first alert to any changes in the area. There hadn’t been any sign of a natural predator that I had found. I assumed the herd was here for hunting purposes.

  When I went out to pick things for the dinner I had planned for the night, I found a small patch of wild strawberries. I couldn’t use them in the meal, but they would make a nice treat. Of course, I had to sample them to make certain they were ripe, not sour. It had nothing to do with the fact that strawberries were my favorite. Not one bit. And for every two berries I put in the basket I had with me one went into my mouth.

  The caribou passively watched me as I picked and nibbled.

  “What?” I asked them.

  A guilty giggle escaped me as I popped another berry between my lips as if I needed to prove to the beasts that I could do what I want. Not that I thought for one moment that they cared what I did so long as I left them alone, but it amused me anyway.

  I went back to picking strawberries and herbs, but a few minutes later the herd drew my attention. All ears had perked up and all eyes had turned in the same direction, away from me so it wasn’t my actions that spooked them. A heartbeat later every caribou in the herd broke into a run at once.

  It wasn’t March that made them bolt. They were as used to him as they were to me. The only reason they were more wary around him was that he had killed one of the herd. That had been a while ago. He hadn’t needed to cull any more for food so they would not have responded to his presence like this.

  Then the reason became clear.

  A wolf ran after the herd, and I felt my throat go dry. Where there was one wolf there would be more. How many were in the pack would remain to be seen. Every instinct in me told me to run for the cabin as fast I could. My experience told me otherwise. To run would not just give away my presence but label me as prey. They would abandon the hunt on the caribou for the easier meal. Me. I had no sharp hooves or thick antlers to contend with. I would be a lot easier to bring down and the wolves would know that.

  I assessed my situation quickly. There were small clusters of brush, but they were tall enough for me to hide in provided that I hunched. The basket with the berries and herbs was abandoned as I made my way toward the cabin while keeping to the brush. My heart pounded in my chest. Adrenaline flooded my body. I told myself it would come in handy when I had to run across the clear cut.

  As I came around the thicker section of brush, I saw that three wolves had broken from the pack. They’d picked up my scent and were stalking me. Now that they saw me, the hunt was on for real.

  I wasn’t out of the brush yet, but it was thinner. There was nowhere to actually hide. I had to move faster, but I tried to keep the brush between me and the wolves. I took a gamble to take my eyes off the wolves and see how far away I was from the cabin, but it wasn’t even in sight yet.

  There was only the slightest chance for me to survive this, but I would not just give up. If the wolves wanted a meal, they would have to earn it. The branches of the brush kept the wolves from getting to me, but I couldn’t stay in them forever. Sooner or later, they would break through, or I would run out of cover. With no space to work with it would be over quickly.

  I went from brush to brush as I felt panic build within me until finally, I could see the cabin. It wasn’t as close as I would’ve liked. There was too much open space between here and there, but I had run out of options. I spared a moment to look around for where the wolves were. They were close, but not right on me yet. There was no time for second thoughts. I burst out of the brush into a full sprint for the cabin.

  Fight or flight shoved adrenaline into my legs which gave me more speed than I would normally possess. I would hurt later if I were still alive. But I would welcome the pain. My lungs and heart worked overtime, and for one wild moment I thought I had a chance.

  Then I heard the growls behind me.

  It was only a matter of time.

  I didn’t know why, but it scared me more than when I’d gotten attacked in the parking garage. Most likely it was because I knew what wolves could do. I had seen their handiwork firsthand on the ranch with my father’s stock. There hadn’t been much evidence left beyond paw prints, some blood, and fur. What was left of the carcass had been torn apart and stripped to the bone. I didn’t need to rely on my imagination to know what would happen to me. So, I ran.

  One snarl was closer than the others. I expected its owner to bite into my calf. Instead, a large paw swiped my legs out from under me. It sent me into a sprawl then a roll from my momentum. When I came to a stop, I curled up into myself in an effort to protect my most vulnerable spots.

  I survived an attack by a demon only so I could die by wolf attack? I thought as I waited for the wolf to snap my spinal cord with a bite to the back of my neck.

  Only it never came.

  The wolf’s growl turned into a loud yelp of pain. The surprise brought me out of my fetal position to see what had happened. My breath caught in my throat for the second time when I saw that March stood almost entirely over me. His sword was in his hand and dripped with blood. One wolf lay on the ground nearby, headless. March had another by the throat and held it off the ground. The third circled for a better vantage point.

  I didn’t know how March knew I was in danger. He could have seen me running for the cabin with the wolves on my heels. Even if that were true, he would have had to have moved like the wind to get his sword and out to me in time to keep the wolves off me. I wasn’t going to argue about it. If not for him, I would be wolf chow. With my heart in my throat, I looked up at March in fear and relief.

  I couldn’t say what exactly happened in that moment. Whether March shifted in place or I did, the sun cast him in full silhouette. What I saw burned into my memory. For that one instant, I swore I saw a great pair of feathered wings, banded in color like a hawk, that spread out from March’s back. They were somewhat transparent in the same manner that stained glass was. The sunlight glistened through the various shades of brown that colored the wings.

  It fascinated me. I would have liked to have studied them more but then time and sound returned when March moved. The wings disappeared in the indirect sunlight, and I was left to wonder if my relieved mind had made them up, cast March in the role of angelic hero. If I hadn’t been in such a panic, I might have laughed at that thought.

  It was over quickly. The sounds that March made matched the remaining free wolf, but the canine growl was cut short. The wolf leapt at him then March swung his sword in a backhand to remove its head as well. A sharp twist of his wrist brought a crack from the wolf he had by the throat. He let it drop to the ground, limp and with a broken neck.

  Blood splattered the legs of my jeans and seep
ed into the ground nearby, but none of it really registered. I was still in shock. I watched March crouch down, and saw his lips move as he said something, but the pounding of the blood in my ears kept me from hearing him. I gave him a blank look.

  “—aid, can you walk?”

  March repeated himself, and this time his voice penetrated. I shook my head, not as a reply but to clear the fog away. Exhaustion slammed into me once my body realized I was no longer in danger. I felt like I could lie down and sleep right there on the blood-soaked grass. Still, I was determined to get to my feet. I held up my hand to March to silently ask him to wait then moved to stand. But with a cry of pain, I landed right back down on my ass. My ankle throbbed out a protest about being used. I didn’t remember anything happening to it, and a quick look proved it wasn’t bleeding, but I would definitely not be standing on it.

  “Hang on,” March said.

  I could hear concern in his voice more clearly than I ever had before. It made me look at his face where I saw that worry echoed in his eyes. That was new. He was protective of me, sure, but only over the fallen coming for me. He kept me from being killed by the wolves, but an injured ankle was incidental.

  Why that worried him enough to show it baffled me.

  His eyes held the remnants of a golden glow. I wasn’t able to study that for long though because he abruptly scooped me up off the ground. He was strong enough to hold me easily, even with just one arm. But I didn’t want to be too big a burden, so I clung to him with both arms.

  His other hand was occupied with the sword that still dripped blood and had wolf fur in the guard. I tore my eyes from the sword as I felt my stomach give a small lurch. I had seen a lot worse than that since I met March. Plus, I had grown up on a ranch where we slaughtered and hunted our own food. But with the adrenaline high gone, any little thing could make me throw up. I didn’t want to lose that much pride, so I buried my face against March’s shoulder, and took slow, deep breaths through my nose.

  He smelled good. Really good.

  The wolves weren’t much of a workout for him. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. But what exertions he had made enhanced his natural scent enough for it to go straight to my hormones via my nose. I took in a deep breath of him, soaked my lungs with him. It made my head spin a little, but mostly it made me want to crawl inside his shirt with him.

  “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

  March’s voice was a rumble in his chest that vibrated my own as I clung to him. I belatedly realized he was reassuring me. He must have thought I was still scared or something.

  Oh god, he couldn’t be more mistaken.

  I pulled my head back out after a quick, internal debate with my stomach.

  “I know,” I said. My voice was shakier than I thought it would be. He could be forgiven if he didn’t believe me. “I just…” Just what? I had no idea. I had to come up with something quickly. “Where did wolves come from?” It sounded stupid, and March laughed. I felt like hiding my face again. He had to have known that I wasn’t thinking about that.

  “Extra low tide,” he replied. His steps made a slight bounce, but nothing more than a horse would. He was most likely going slow for my sake. “They probably swim over from the mainland from time to time to pick from the herd.”

  That made sense. Something had to keep the caribou population in check beyond human hunters. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been brush let alone herbs and strawberries to find. I was disappointed in myself that I hadn’t realized that sooner.

  I lived in the city for too long.

  “Thank you,” I said in a hushed tone. “For being there.”

  Nothing but the sound of his feet through the grass was my response at first. I watched his face from inches away. Various minute reactions flickered through his eyes and twitched along his jaw until finally he gave a small nod.

  “Just don’t squirm or I’ll drop you on your head.”

  I had seen so many things there. Worry had turned to relief. Battle fury to fondness. I wouldn’t have caught them if I hadn’t been this close.

  How long had this been happening? How many times before now?

  There was no chance I would ask or point them out. March would shut down, and I liked seeing this part of him. So, all I did was smile as I put my head back down on his shoulder and breathed him in.

  NINE

  BRENNA

  It took a little maneuvering to open the cabin door. In the end, I turned the knob for March then he was able to hip-check it open. It was so domestic I wanted to laugh, not to mention the implications of him carrying me over the threshold. Being near death apparently inspired amusement in the absurd.

  March probably wouldn’t find it as funny as I did, so I kept my laughter in. Then I moved my leg with the injured ankle. The abrupt pain was a reminder that this situation was the farthest thing from humorous.

  March took me to the couch where he laid me down as gently as he had been fierce just minutes before. It was a little surprising. Most people with physical strength didn’t have that kind of finesse, especially if they’d had it for a while.

  In this, as well as other qualities, March was different from anyone I had ever met. It had occurred to me that he didn’t have to carry me. He could have simply offered an arm for me to lean on as I hobbled back to the cabin. It would have been slower, but it would have been less personal. Yet it had been the more intimate option that he chose. Another mystery to add to the list of cryptic qualities that made up March.

  He pushed the two shabby throw pillows behind me to help me sit upright then he stood up.

  “Stay put,” he said, with a stern look that said he knew I wouldn’t.

  “Yeah, no problem,” I assured him. I had no intention of getting off the couch.

  The small snort he gave me suggested that he did not believe me for one moment, but he still left.

  While he was gone, I decided to check my ankle. As carefully as possible I untied then removed my shoe…and instantly regretted it. Pain shot from my heel up through my knee. I clenched my teeth together and breathed through the throb until it settled into a dull ache. Only after that did I begin to prod and feel my swollen ankle with light touches of my fingers. I couldn’t be entirely certain without an x-ray, but it did seem to be only sprained. Broken would’ve been a whole different world of pain. I knew the difference ever since I broke my foot when I was a kid. My foot got caught in a stirrup when my horse spooked. Sprained was a dull ache that throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Broken was a sharp pain you couldn’t think through.

  “What did I tell you?”

  I started in place.

  March was back and had a disapproving glare on his face. He didn’t have his sword. He must have gone to clean it.

  The look on my face as I snapped my attention to March had to be similar to a kid who got caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

  My knee was still bent and hugged to my chest and my hands were still wrapped loosely around my ankle.

  “I didn’t get off the couch.” My protest sounded weak even to my ears.

  “I said don’t move,” he grumbled as he came to the side of the couch. March crouched down next to me with his attention focused on my ankle.

  “No,” I countered. That ill-timed amusement made a return. “You said stay put. I didn’t get up.”

  He glowered at me. His lips formed a tight, thin line.

  “You know what I meant.” The chastisement was mild.

  He seemed more worried than annoyed which made me want to smile. I didn’t, though. I thought if I let it out, he’d tell me to take care of myself then storm out, and a growing part of me wanted to feel his touch. I wanted him to stay with me.

  “This isn’t funny.” Something of my amusement must have shown through.

  “I’m not laughing,” I replied in an attempt to be firm.

  “You’re smiling.”

  I opened my mouth to counter but couldn’t. If I tried to talk, I would end up
laughing after all. March already looked and sounded disgusted with me.

  “Just lean back and let me look at this.”

  He even went so far as to push me back with a gentle shove of his hand to my chest. Some wildly inappropriate part of me wanted to shift position so his hand was just a little bit lower, but I behaved myself.

  It all disappeared as soon as he lifted my foot and pain once more made its presence known. I gasped against it then bit my lower lip to keep from whimpering. March muttered an apology as he examined my ankle with touches of his fingers that were slightly less gentle than my own, but that could have been because I wasn’t expecting it. It always hurt worse when someone else poked a bruise.

  “It’s just a sprain,” he said confirming what I suspected. “You’ll be fine, but you’ll have to stay off your feet for a couple days at least.”

  Then he removed his shirt. My brows shot up in my surprise.

  “Wha—uh—what are you doing?”

  “I need to wrap your ankle.” He sounded so matter of fact as he ripped his shirt into strips. “There’s a first aid kit here, but all it has are old bandages.”

  I felt my lips part but was useless to do anything about it. Worse, I couldn’t help but stare at him. I had seen March shirtless before, but never this close. Those scars I had noticed before stood out even more. I wanted to reach out and trace them with a fingertip.

  Which was utterly ridiculous, but just the same, that was still how I felt.

  It didn’t even hurt when he wrapped my ankle with the shreds of his t-shirt. I was mesmerized by how his muscles moved under his olive, tanned skin. The subtle rippling from his efforts was better than any anesthetic. I could’ve watched him all day. More than that, I wanted to feel them move under my hands.

  That thought led to another, even more inappropriate one. My imagination teased me with what his back would feel like under the palms of my hands, how I could pin his waist between my thighs. March was a big man, but his girth wasn’t as big as straddling a horse, and I had grown up riding on the ranch. I might be a bit out of practice from living in the city, but some things were a muscle memory been within me.