Stories from the Demons of Fire and Night World

by C. N. Crawford

  In her breathtaking coldness, he recognized a glimmer of himself. This was the awful truth about demons like them—they reveled in death.

  Still, that thought didn’t stop him from seething with fury, and he had to restrain himself from ripping her heart out. “Get out of here, Erish.”

  “You and I are the same, Caine.” She pulled open her black dress, standing naked before him. Even through his wrath, he couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering over her perfect golden skin, taking in each of her curves. There was a reason men had started wars over Erish, why the citizens of ancient Ur had worshipped her as a goddess.

  She stepped over Alice’s body, fixing her amber eyes on him. When she stood just inches from him, she reached down, pulling a blade from his belt.

  “Like I said, you and I are the same, Caine.” Her fingers stroked the hilt, entrancing him with each of her delicate movements. “If we don’t enslave humans, they’ll enslave us. You should know that better than anyone. But you and I were born to control them with our divine beauty. Like this fine blade of yours, we bring them elegance and death, all in one sublime gift. It’s better than the ugly, fetid death most human bodies endure, festering from cancers or diseased hearts.”

  She slid the blade back into its scabbard, and her fingers lingered over his thighs. “Humans are meant to serve us. And when they defy us, we will slaughter them like the animals they are. I know what Ambrose has planned with the two human females, and I don’t like it. We don’t need their help.”

  Her hand slid up his chest and curled around the back of his neck. Her breath warmed his throat.

  “I’m half-human,” he reminded her. “Does that make me half-animal?”

  “Your demon side is so much stronger. You just need to overcome your humanity. I know slaughter secretly thrills you. You crave complete control over humans. Unlike the vampires, you and I can walk in the light, and with the blood that flows through your veins… You deserve to rule this city, and the other kingdoms of night.”

  “I have no desire to sit in a throne room, wearing a crown.” Not only was he standing here with Ambrose’s naked consort, thinking about running his hands over her hips, but now he was listening to treason, too. He forced himself to think of how succubi looked before they fed—like withered hags. He tore his eyes away from Erish to stare at the broken corpse on his floor. At the sight of the girl’s slackened jaw, the lust flowed right out of him.

  He pulled Erish’s hands off him. Part of him wanted to fling her across the room, but he knew better than to provoke her rage.

  “I’m loyal to Ambrose. Without him, I’d be dead.” If she thought she could make him into her toy the way she wanted to enslave humans, she was gravely mistaken. “That is the last time I will indulge one of your jealous rages, Erish. And I will not permit a traitor to remain by Ambrose’s side.”

  Pink tinged her cheeks. “Do not threaten me, Caine. You belong to me. You don’t need these human twins, and they are not your equals. I know the temptations that humans hold for incubi, but if you take one of them as your lover, you can expect her to die a long, slow death at my hands. Are we clear?”

  What the hells was she talking about? “Erish.” You raving lunatic. “I could not conceive of a less likely scenario. I want nothing to do with them.” He shoved her away and stepped over Alice’s corpse to stalk through the halls of Ninlil.

  His chest still throbbed with hunger for the touch of a human woman.

  Chapter 4

  Rain soaked Caine’s clothes as he stalked across the Thorndike campus, cloaked by invisibility. Yellow streetlights dazzled off the puddles in front of the old Victorian houses, and rhythmic music pulsed through the frat house walls.

  As he skulked past the rickety houses, he tried to forget the image of Alice’s broken corpse on his floor. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—that Erish had murdered an innocent woman right in front of him, or that she’d forced him to stand by and watch, helplessly, for the second time that day.

  His chest still ached with hunger. It was a hollow, gnawing feeling, a relic of his darkest days, when he’d stared up at the Throcknell Fortress, eaten away by agony.

  For an incubus like him, the world should be full of pleasure. And it had been, at one time—including the first few years after he’d met Ambrose. As he’d climbed up the ranks of Ambrose’s army, he’d spent all his free time with the Vampire Lord’s human courtesans, trying to forget his past.

  But something had been missing. Perhaps he was a born predator, and he felt no thrill when hunting domesticated creatures. Whatever it was, all of his joy always seemed so fleeting.

  A hot pulse of magic crackled over his skin, and he jolted to attention, scanning the row of houses before him. He caught a glimpse of a demon in a spotted coat, donning a red hat that glistened with human blood. A redcap—younger than most, which meant he wasn’t as strong. Caine’s eyes trailed further up the hill, and his heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of a perfect feminine form, dressed entirely in black. Rosalind.

  There was the girl whose family had nearly ruined him. He should murder her now. He dreaded looking into her eyes, finding what agonizing memories she’d dredge up for him.

  He moved closer, his gaze fixed on her. Even if he’d been visible, she might not have noticed him, intent as she was on the redcap. Didn’t she realize how hopelessly outmatched she was hunting demons? Forget the redcap. I could slaughter you from here before you take another step. He had to admit, there was something tempting about that thought. Maybe it was just as Erish had said. Demons like him gloried in complete domination over humans.

  Except something about Rosalind’s alluring appearance tempered his bloodlust. Was this the same bratty girl who’d ordered around the servants? Something disturbed him about the feelings she stoked in him now. His gaze took in every inch of her body, strong and supple. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and rain drenched her long, brown hair.

  Clearly hesitating, she bit her lower lip and gripped her hawthorn stake.

  She looked unnerved—and she should be. Humans like her had no business fighting redcaps.

  Still, he could tell she was about to pounce. Furrowing her dark eyebrows, she broke into a sprint, careening down the hill. Her boots echoed off the pavement. So much for stealth.

  The redcap spun, and Rosalind flung her stake. Even while sprinting, her aim was precise, but the redcap grabbed the weapon from the air. Rosalind’s cheeks blanched, and she grasped for something in her belt—one of those flamethrowers he’d seen that morning. Before she could pull it out, the demon was upon her. He grabbed her arms, whispering in her ear—no doubt something filthy. A gorgeous girl like Rosalind was pure demon-bait.

  Caine could intervene now, but curiosity stayed his hand. He wanted to see exactly how strong she was.

  She slammed her knee into the demon’s groin. The redcap groaned, hunching over, and Rosalind hammered his trachea with a hard blow from her palm. Not bad, Hunter. There was something thrilling in watching her fight. Surprise flickered through him. He hadn’t expected her to be much of a warrior.

  She yanked another stake from her belt, and when the redcap lunged for her, she rammed it into the demon’s chest. Too bad for her, she missed his heart by at least an inch. Her aim had been so exact before. He had a sense that sympathy for her enemies might be her vulnerability. It was not a mistake Caine would make.

  He stalked closer. Even from this distance, he could hear her heart hammering, and the sound of her pulsing blood sent his own heart racing. She pulled the flamethrower from her belt, but something stopped her from unleashing the fire. That was twice now she’d hesitated. She’d have to get over that habit if she wanted to play among the demons.

  Her hesitancy cost her. The redcap lunged, knocking her to the ground. Caine heard a crunch as the filthy creature sunk his teeth into her neck.

  The show was over. Caine dropped the invisibility and rushed for the redcap, ripping the demon off the
girl. Caine wrapped his hands around the redcap’s head, his body coursing with a visceral thrill as he twisted. The redcap’s neck snapped with a loud crack. It was the same move that Erish had used earlier—only this guy had deserved it.

  It wasn’t over yet, though; redcaps weren’t slain as easily as humans. Before the body even hit the ground, Caine had drawn his sword. He sliced through the creature’s neck, and the headless corpse thudded against the pavement. Caine thrust his hand inside the demon’s ribcage, snapping bones with his fingers. He slid his fingers around the redcap’s still-beating heart, feeling the hot pulse of blood, then ripped it from the chest cavity.

  As he held the organ aloft, he let the warm gore trail down his forearm, feeling the life seep out of the arteries. There was no point in fighting it. He was a monster, an angel of death—just like Erish.

  He tossed the heart to the ground and glanced at Rosalind, his real prey. She lay sprawled on the pavement, clutching her wounded throat. She stared up at him, eyes shining.

  He hardly recognized her. She was stunning—flushed cheeks, full lips. Rain completely soaked her black Hunter’s clothes, and they clung to her curves. Right now, she looked a lot like prey.

  Rosalind narrowed her eyes, and along with the fear he caught a glimpse of something more interesting. Defiance. She wouldn’t give in to him easily, and that only fueled his fascination.

  Of course, she hadn’t felt his magic yet.

  He whispered a spell under his breath, and his aura blazed, curling around her body as she gazed up at him. As the spell froze her limbs, fixing her in place, his gaze trailed down her chest. She breathed fast, her ribcage moving in and out like a panicked rabbit’s. The sound of her pattering heart stirred his demonic instincts. Something in the hollows of his mind told him to hunt, but it wasn’t death he wanted. He wanted to lure her into his world, to envelop her in darkness.

  His eyes darted to the wound at her neck. Rain mixed with her blood, running in a river of pink down her throat. As she gaped at him, he almost wanted to reassure her, but that was absurd. Like him, she was here to hunt. If he let down his guard, she’d be his angel of death.

  He forced himself to focus. Ambrose had told him to warn her. He whispered another spell—this one to heal the bleeding wound at her neck. She gasped, and surprise washed over her features. She’d been expecting to die at his hands.

  She rose, her legs trembling, trying to control her fear. She pulled a metal canister from her belt and pointed it at his face. Still defiant, even when confronted with my immense power.

  He eyed her weapon. “Purgator dust.”

  He could almost see the internal struggle written on her features—her desperate attempts to hide her fear. But even if she wore a mask of calm, there was raw terror pulsing off her—the metallic scent of cortisol and adrenaline that sent his demonic heart galloping.

  She gazed into his eyes, her stare unwavering. “It’s my job to catch monsters.”

  Lilu, his raven, circled overhead before perching on his shoulder.

  She knows I’m a monster. Truth be told, he was probably far worse than she imagined— yet her high-handed declaration irritated him. Nothing had changed since she was a snobby little girl in the Atherton household. To her, the world was simple and ordered. Some people were simply better than others. So what if he was a monster? The Brotherhood weren’t any better. “You think I’m a monster. Why am I not surprised?”

  She hadn’t mentioned his name, and he was fairly certain at this point she had no idea who he was. The fact he was a mage was enough to provoke her disdain.

  “Well, yeah.” Her hand shook as she held the can up to his face. Something was stopping her from pushing the button. “Do you kill Hunters like me?”

  “Hunters, yes.” A twisted part of him delighted in the fact that she was about to learn she was one of the monsters. “But not like you.” He could take her aside and explain it to her gently, but that would take the fun out of it. After all, even though he wasn’t going to rip her throat out like the redcap would have, he was still a demon. Like a cat playing with a mouse, he wanted to draw out the kill. Torture her a little bit.

  “What are you talking about?” Her eyes roamed over him, and he could see a spark of desire warring with her other emotions. A part of her wanted him—how could she not? And she hated herself for it. “You hardly seem human anymore.”

  You hardly seem grateful. “And yet I just saved your life.”

  “I didn’t need your help.” She thrust out her chin, trying to project confidence. “I had it under control.”

  She must be joking. “That’s not how it looked. He was gnawing at your jugular.”

  “I was lulling him into a false sense of security.”

  Her hands shook, and he almost wanted to pull her close, to soothe her.

  “I was preparing to attack,” she said.

  The streetlight glinted off her metallic ring, and his gaze flicked to fingers. Ah. Now it makes sense—a ring from the Brotherhood. It would suppress her aura entirely. “An iron ring. That’s how you stay sane.”

  Her pulse raced below her skin. When she looked into his eyes, her heart beat faster, and her pupils dilated. Even if she was terrified, she liked what she saw.

  “What are you talking about?” she breathed.

  He stepped closer, his eyes trailing over her smooth skin, down to her heaving chest and wet clothes. Too bad Erish had murdered Alice, because he was having a hard time controlling himself. She’s Rosalind Atherton, he reminded himself. You knew her when she was four. And she’s a Hunter.

  He stared at her ring. “I want to see what happens when you take it off.”

  “I don’t take it off. Ever. It’s my good luck charm. Some people have votive candles. I have my ring to keep the monsters away.”

  “Doesn’t work, though. After all, I’m here.” He leaned in further, past the dust, and inhaled her scent—mayflower blossoms and oaks. Rainwater streamed down her skin, and it was hard not to touch her, to make her pulse race even faster. His chest ached. Still, even if he couldn’t touch her, he could take a dark pleasure in what he was about to do. What he’d come here to tell her would completely disrupt that simple and ordered world she believed in so fervently.

  There was more than one way to make a girl’s pulse race.

  He whispered, “You need to run, Rosalind. They’re coming for you.”

  Her muscles tensed, and she clutched her weapon tighter.

  “Who’s coming for me?” Her breath was hardly a whisper.

  He enjoyed drawing this out. “The Brotherhood,” he spoke low into her ear, in his most soothing voice. “They want to watch the world burn, and you with it.”

  “Why would the Brotherhood come for one of their own?” Her voice cracked.

  This was the moment everything would change for her, and he got to witness it. “You’re not one of theirs. I know what you are. And the Brotherhood will soon find it out.”

  He cast one last glance into her stunned face, into those dark, almond-shaped eyes that struck a disturbing chord of familiarity. Her family were the architects of his torment, and they had turned his life into an unending nightmare, yet at the sight of her confusion and horror he felt no triumph. He felt something else, something deeply unexpected: a strange surge of protectiveness.

  When he looked into her eyes, the darkest recesses of his memory whispered to him. They offered up those ephemeral images—the dappled hawthorn grove, and the rush of sea grasses under his fingertips. For a moment, he longed for someone he used to be. But those sorts of thoughts led only to madness.

  As he turned, he tightened his fists, stalking into the shadows. He pushed the images deep into his mental vault. Perhaps, even for a demon of the night, beauty dwelled all over the living world. After all, demons weren’t merely creatures of death. His senses were more powerful than an ordinary human’s. He could smell the richness of the earth and see the stars’ brilliance in a way that no mortal c
ould.

  But in Caine’s case, that sort of simple pleasure belonged to a different time, before his world had shattered. Even thinking of those idyllic days brought danger. He glanced up at the stormy night sky, trying to clear his thoughts. A spear of lightning flashed, searing the sky. The encounter with Rosalind had deeply unnerved him.

  Even if he wanted to fight it, he had an unsettling feeling that Rosalind would occupy too much of his thoughts in the near future. Her combination of vulnerability and defiance was intoxicating. In any case, he must keep his distance for his own sanity. For one thing, Erish would tear Rosalind’s spine out of her throat if the succubus sensed his fascination.

  For another, he’d seen what could happen to creatures of the night who came too close to the light. And he wasn’t going to let himself burn for her.

  Thank you for reading this short story. If you’d like to read the rest of Caine and Rosalind’s story, please check out Magic Hunter, Book 1 in the Vampire’s Mage series.

  The Angel and the Beast

  Introduction

  The Angel and the Beast is a standalone short story featuring characters from The Demons of Fire and Night Series.

  Enjoy!

  * * *

  —C.N. Crawford

  Chapter 1

  Zee walked along Fifth Avenue, tugging a threadbare jacket around her thin frame. It was only three days before Christmas, and last-minute shoppers crammed the sidewalks. Holiday scents wafted through the air—roast chestnuts crackling in braziers, the piney aroma of Christmas trees stacked in neat rows against the storefronts.