Crimson Sword Stalker (Demon Lord Book 10)

by Morgan Blayde

  Evil must always be opposed.

  Browne gestured to the charcoal gray couch next to the desk. This was the spot I’d been told to go to for the interview. I sat, nodding a greeting to my host. He didn’t offer to shake hands. I could smell the fear and sweat rolling off of him; he’d seen what I could turn into, there was film footage of me going dragon. He’d be showing that clip during this appearance.

  Unless the Feds swooped in to interfere. They did employ clairvoyants over at the covert Preternatural Response Agency. They might have gotten word that I’d go public tonight. A PR team could cut power and attempt to spirit me away before the cat officially escaped the bag. That could only go badly as I was prepared to go full god-mode on their asses.

  Browne faced the camera with the light that signaled it was the current on-air feed. “Our guest needs an introduction because he is unknown to the general public, though not in his own shadowy kingdom. I know that I will not be believed about his nature. We are breaking ground here with revolutionary revelations. There are those who will cry hoax when the see the film clip we’ll be showing soon. But we have a live audience who will bear witness to a truth shrouded in legend and myth, but very real.” He looked at me. “You call yourself by the melodramatic name of Caine Deathwalker.”

  Tittering arose from the audience. People smiled like they sensed a punchline on the way.

  Browne continued. “You are a self-proclaimed demon lord, and dragon, and—as I understand—you’re a fairy.”

  There’s a cheap shot.

  “High King of Fairy, actually.”

  “And in the supernatural world, you are a mover and shaker, a power!” Browne said.

  “I am indeed.”

  “And you do magic.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you show us some of this magic—without killing anyone.”

  I smiled. “I will try to restrain myself.”

  Standing, I cast my host a sidelong glance. “Do the mind if I get comfortable first, and take off my jacket?”

  “Why, no. Go ahead.” This was part of the demonstration we’d agreed on.

  I made a partial shift, growing scaled-down dragon wings from my back, which shredded my shirt and coat in the back. I fanned my wings to show them as real, not some fake strapped on contraption. To further show this, I shed the remnants of my coat and shirt so I stood bare from the waist up. I took a step toward the audience and stopped. I turned to show the wings sprouting from my shoulder blades. This also showed off my Demon Wings tatt.

  There was ooing and ahing in the audience.

  Browne stood behind his desk. “Anyone brave enough to come down and touch these wings, raise your hands.” There weren’t that many. “We might close with that. How about some magic first?”

  That drew applause.

  “Sure.” I extended empty hands and reached into the ether, pulling from my L.A. armory. I closed my hands upon the grips of a pair of PX4 Storm semi-automatics that popped out of thin air.

  Now, the applause raged. The people realized they were getting something special.

  I showed them the guns, then made them vanish. “How about a shotgun?” The shotgun popped into my hands, then vanished. I raised my voice. “Anybody got a request?”

  Browne said, “Rocket launcher?”

  One appeared in my hands. I swung it around so everyone could see. Then made it go. “How about a sword?” A rapier with a basket-style hilt appeared in my right hand, a dagger in my left. I played games for another minute, ending with a bunch of floating will-o’-the-wisps. They glowed half a dozen pastel colors. I sent them out over the audience. Another camera panned to follow them. The crowd murmured in enchantment. The lights returned to me. “Back to Fairy,” I commanded.

  Happily, it looked like the Feds weren’t going to stop me. Maybe they agreed with me that coming out of the closet was a necessity at this point.

  I folded my wings to my back and sat back on the couch.

  Browne sat as well. Swiveling in his leather chair, he faced me, a serious expression on his face. Behind him, a screen lowered into view. Soon, the dragon clip would play.

  “Mr. Deathwalker, you claim to be half dragon, hence the wings. You can do better than that.” He looked to the camera with the active light on it. “Roll the clip!”

  The clip ran for the audience and was sent out over the airwaves to play on TVs across the broadcast area. By tomorrow, I knew the clip would be on TV stations across the country and the internet. The clip had no breaks, no edits. CGI wasn’t involved, though that would be claimed by many. In the clip, I went from human form to dragon and spat lightning at some lead ingots, melting them to slag.

  They brought me a live cow. It took one look at my dragon and bolted. The handler ran for cover. I leaped into the air and pounced on the cow, killing it, letting my inner dragon rip it apart and devour it in bloody chunks.

  The clip ended. More applause raged. The audience loved all this, though many still believed we were pulling a fast one. I was sure that PETA would be protesting about the cow in record time—even though many of them ate hamburgers themselves.

  Browne’s face took on a deep soberness. The man had his expressions well-honed. I admired this. He said, “What is your other half? Human?”

  It was a question I’d told him to ask. “I am what was once called a Villager, an off-shoot race of humans that were ancient Greek warriors and masters of shadow magic.”

  “What else is out there that we humans don’t know about?” he asked.

  Here was the point of my appearance: Time to out us all. The only reason there will be no riots by morning is that so few will believe—at first.

  I made an off-hand gesture. “Oh, there are fey creatures, light and dark, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, demons and gods…”

  “Demons! Gods!” Browne exclaimed. “Really now!”

  I said, “A demon is just a creature from another dimension, a rather harsh reality that has shaped the life there into something humans might find fearful. Therefore, when these paranormal Dreamers invade our reality, to steals a new life from humans, we call them demons. A god or goddess is rare, just a person of vast power from outside our world. Coming here, primitive societies called them deities. If you don’t like demon, god, or goddess—preternatural entity is fine.”

  The lights went out and flickered back on as if a massive power outage were rolling through the area. And then I was no longer alone on the couch. A hot blond sat next to me, literally appearing by magic. From Browne’s vacant expression, this wasn’t part of his plan. The blue-eyed blonde loosened a white-gold, foil scarf. Her silver tipped cowgirl boots were crossed at the ankles. She wore a man’s unbuttoned crimson duster. Inside her coat, I spied a fancy shoulder holster with a gun’s black grip poking out.

  Cassie. Armed and dangerous. I knew her; Grace’s mother, a top agent with the Preternatural Response Agency. Apparently, the Feds were chiming in, letting the public know that they were being protected from bumps in the night, and had been for a long time.

  Our tax dollars at work.

  Browne looked at me. “A friend of yours?”

  “Yes, but also, a Fed assigned to deal with the supernatural so ordinary folks don’t have to worry about getting preyed upon. I’ll let Cassie explain.”

  She did. In broad, reassuring details. She didn’t tell them that she was a kitsune, a fox-spirit, a fox that could take on human form and do magic. She didn’t say that plenty of humans got killed by evil preternaturals. She made it sound like the government had the situation under control and all was well.

  Cassie lies well.

  Browne took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, making a show of it. “Wow, I’ll sleep easier knowing that. And such pretty protection. Are all you Responders so easy on the eyes?”

  A smile of mischief ghosted across Cassie’s face, there then gone. “It’s not a requirement, but it helps when you’re luring some rogue vampire into a trap
or trying to appear harmless to a werewolf in human form, keeping a tense situation toned-down so violence doesn’t erupt because a full-moon on the way has tempers frayed thin.”

  Browne talked exclusively with her, knowing a crowd-pleasing bimbo when he saw one. I figured he’d give me the boot at the next commercial break.

  Just then, a new guest arrived, one dressed as I’d been when I first came out. It was Kain, my stalker, in a fine Italian suit. Zahra must have given him a heads up so he could be here as the official face of his people.

  Damn. Everyone’s high jacking my plan.

  Kain carried his crimson-sword in its sheath, instead of strapping it to his back, so he could sit on the couch next to Cassie. Kain gave Cassie a lustful leer, bowing to her, kissing her hand, then turning to wave at the audience like a superstar.

  Browne sighed. “Apparently, I’ve lost all control of my show.” His stare caught Kain. “Who exactly would you be? Dracula?”

  “Oh,” Kain said, “no one so young in the vampire world. I am Kain, the first immortal, damned, marked by god for the crime of killing my brother Abel. The self-righteous jerk had it coming, of course.”

  “Of course,” Browne echoed.

  Kain sat down, smiling wide so the cameras could catch his fangs.

  Browne stared off stage. “Any witches or werewolves over there waiting to come out? We should get it over with.”

  No one else came out, but then, we were more than enough.

  There was a stir and shouting offstage, then the Red Centipede Rider walked out in her chain mail bikini, a massive sword balanced over her shoulder. Thankfully, the centipede wasn’t with her.

  Browne took one look at the near naked redhead and a smile burst out. “And they say there is no god.”

  Red smiled. “Goddess, actually. I’m a goddess from a savage hell-dimension, and a famous monster slayer. I defend humanity with my sword and trusty steed.”

  Kain stared coolly as she upstaged him. “I asked you to wait in the limo.”

  “But I heard Caine was here!” She waved at me.

  I waved back.

  “You are a real goddess?” Browne asked. “I just might have to go back to church.”

  She looked at him, wide-eyed, and lifted her sword to point over her head, a triumphant warrior-goddess. “I am the Red Centipede Rider!” Her words echoed with unnatural force.

  “Stay tuned. More of this later,” Browne said. “Time for a commercial break.”

  While we had only the studio audience, I turned to Browne. “By the way, you might be interested to know that the goddess is a holy virgin who has promised to give herself to anyone able to beat her with a sword. When we come back, you might want to ask her about that.”

  His eyes remained on Red. “Maybe I should take up fencing.”

  I had the feeling that swordplay would become a major national interest in the weeks to come. With Red as part of the deal, I suspected acceptance by mainstream society might be easier than I’d thought.

  I certainly hope so.

  A NOTE TO MY FANS: this book concludes the first cycle of Caine Deathwalker: his coming of age. The second cycle will be the War against the Unzar, the Flawless invaders from beyond. They will be revealed in book 11. But before then, a special interim offering is coming: a spin-off adventure showing Caine at the age of thirteen, being raised by demons. This is the story of his first steps toward ultimate power—of how he gets his first tattoo, Demon Wings, and the bloody carnage that follows. For more, see the excerpt below.

  COMING CHRISTMAS 2018:

  THE LEGION OF FIVE

  By

  MORGAN BLAYDE

  EXCERPT:

  Gorfish laughed as he stood over my body, my blood dripping off his fist. I clenched my jaws shut, breathing shallowly to keep the agony of cracked ribs from distracting me. One eye started to swell shut. My lip had split as well. I tasted sweet iron.

  They want to enjoy my pain. Well, they can go fuck themselves raw with a rusty spoon.

  I laid on the marble floor, one level under the Dining Hall. I’d been avoiding these guys by grabbing food from the kitchen, bypassing the area where most of the demon clan took communal meals. Apparently, that wasn’t going to work anymore.

  Zounds came up and to stare down at me. “He’s not dead, is he? The Old Man will be pissed if we’ve killed his pet human.”

  “Not dead,” Gorfish said. “He’s not that lucky. Little piss-ant needs to learn to stay in his suite, and not stink up the place with his human genes. Then, this wouldn’t happen.” His clothes clung to his stocky body, wet with water vapor. His demon magic was water based, elemental. And he looked like a humanoid carp.

  “Funny smell is right. But are you sure it’s human? I heard he’s half leprechaun or something, which is why Lauphram took him in. He could even have some demon blood in him.”

  “A half-demon isn’t demon enough for my tastes.”

  Little piss-ant? I’m just some tiny bug in need of stomping? Fuck that!

  I wished I was half leprechaun; I’d steal all their luck for life. I kicked upward, catching Gorfish in the balls. His knees went together. He howled like a wounded buffalo, bending, his head dropping low. I kicked his face and he reeled backwards and crashed to the floor.

  Zounds grabbed me by the shirt and lifted me off the floor, and off my feet. He seemed to be made from amber, translucent, a storm elemental. Little worms of electrical current bled off his hands. He thought to burn me, but I felt an easing of pain. Something about the electrical charge seemed to speed up my healing.

  I made a mental note of that fact for later use.

  Meanwhile, having only one bully left, I had better strike fast and haul ass. Zounds was a full-grown demon, but my strength was off the charts for a thirteen-year-old. That’s why my dedicated tormentors were limited to the stupid who thought they knew Lauphram and could do what they wanted when he wasn’t looking.

  Zound’s hands were four-fingered counting a double-jointed thumb. I seized his small fingers and bent them backwards. They snapped. He screamed and dropped me. I landed and kicked his knee. I felt sad it didn’t break, just folded under him. This brought his head into range. I slammed a knee into his nose. He fell backwards, no longer screaming.

  I ran.

  And got three steps. A sphere of water formed around my head. I stopped, swerved right, reversed left, trying to shed the water ball before I drowned on my feet. Gorfish was on his knees, grinning like a madman. I think I’d pushed him way too far. He’d kill me and justify it to Lauphram later.

  I figured I was dead; too much water to drink. I heard pops, distorted by the water sphere.

  Gunshots?

  Gorfish’s head came apart in a red froth, bone shards spraying everywhere. And the water globe I wore collapsed, splashing down my body onto the floor.

  Turning, I saw my rescuer, a girl close to my own age, maybe a year older. Her eyes shone green. She had black-diamond pupils but otherwise looked human. Her top was lacy silk, midnight blue. And she wore black leather pants with red stitching. Her sneakers were cherry pink with lime laces. Long black hair framed a narrow face. Her hair fanned like raven wings as she strolled toward me and flipped back her leather long coat, holstering pearl-handled revolvers in hip holsters.

  She showed no emotion over the killing. It made me like her all at once, that and saving my life.

  She stopped a foot away, looking me over with a critical gaze. “Hi, Caine. I’m here to kidnap you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “If I say no?”

  Not that I’d mind being kidnapped by her. The girl’s majorly hot. And it would get me away from demon scum for a while, giving me a chance to clear up my bruises.

  She leaned into me and draped her arms over my shoulders. She smelled of lilac.

  Nice.

  She sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you. I like you. But the others, they expect me to bring you in with no fuss. I’m the leader. You’ll make me loo
k bad if you don’t cooperate.” She peered into my eyes. “Please?”

  She likes me?

  “Considering the dead body, Low Fuss has left the building along with Elvis.”

  “I did save your life,” she pressed.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Julia. I’m half dragon.”

  That’s interesting. Don’t dragons usually have large caches of gold and jewels?

  “Do I have to have my hands tied?” I asked.

  “No. Because it’s you, I’ll accept your word of honor that you’ll behave.”

  “I need to leave a note for Lauphram. He likes me to touch bases.”

  She stepped back. “Don’t worry. Colt and Zahra are dropping off the ransom note as we speak.”

  I smiled. “Great. Let’s go.”

  A magic portal opened behind her. It was icy-blue and plummeted the room temperature. Another kid stood inside the swirling vortex. He, too, looked close to our ages, thin, frail, with a girlish beauty. There was a subtle point to his ears and his icy blue eyes matched the color of his magic. He wore white denim jeans with stronger hints of pale blue along the seams, a white, puffy pirate shirt with laces in front, and medium blue sneakers. A blue backpack rode on his back. He wore his white hair long with dagger-like bangs slanting in front.

  He smiled. “Julia, ready to go?”

  She smiled back. “We’re ready, Colin.”

  He nodded. “Good. Xan’s having way too much fun playing with clan security.”

  That explains the alarms I heard earlier. They’ve got a fifth person creating a distraction outside while they walk around inside, doing what they want.

  “Just who are you people?” I asked.

  Colin’s grin widened. “We are the Legion of Five!”

  Five of them, making up a legion all by themselves?

  Julia stamped her foot. “That wasn’t the name we agreed to!”

  Still smiling, Colin said, “I guess we’re stuck with it now.”

  Julia grabbed my arm and all but dragged me into the portal. It closed behind us and opened ahead. We stepped out onto the roof of the clan garage, looking over at the clan house itself. There was a lot of yelling, and the sound of gunfire from below.