by Lana Kole
Jumping from the car, he lunged forward to leap right back into the fight, but Death caught his eye and shook his head.
Truth’s steps stuttered as his brother went down, shackles cuffing his wrists behind his back. His lips moved and Truth barely deciphered their words before he nodded, and an understanding passed between the two.
He yelled at Misery to get in the car, and leaned down to lift Daria into his arms, her blood sticky and harsh on his bare skin. She was so… empty, without her snark and spite to light up her eyes.
It was a fucking tragedy that it’d ended this way. If it was the last thing he did, he’d avenge both Daria and her mother.
Hope was cuffed and on the ground by the time Truth situated Daria in the backseat, and he hopped in just as Betrayal fell last. His teeth clenched so hard against one another, Truth feared they might crack before he threw the car in reverse and burned rubber out of the alley.
He wasn’t surprised when a set of headlights pulled out behind him, the engine roaring in the night as it sped up to trail them. Misery scoffed, “Think you learned enough in the last millennia to outrun them?”
Truth turned a droll look on his brother before grinning, distracting himself from the regret and agony clutching his heart. “Wanna find out?”
“Shit.” He buckled his seatbelt just in time for Truth to cut a sharp right at the next alleyway, tires skidding across the wet asphalt as he gained enough traction to make the turn. Their car cleared the next alley down before the headlights were behind him again, and he grunted.
“Little cult bitches,” he cursed as the enemy sped up, got too close, and bumped the back end of Daria’s little Ford.
Truth thought about heading into the middle of the city, the populated areas, but at this time of night it was more risk than he was comfortable with. Once he got there, what chance did they have of outrunning them amongst traffic? And what if the cult wasn’t even concerned about revealing themselves to the public?
He cursed and made a split-second decision, cutting a sharp right toward the main street, pressing the pedal to the floor and feeling the jerk of Daria’s little car engine as it struggled to keep up with his demands.
Misery was turned around in his seat, staring at Daria’s body as if willing her to wake up. The emotion he was famous for poured off him in waves and even Truth wilted a little under the force of it. His power was returning.
“Dude, get it together. Let me get us out of this and then you can be as sad as you want,” he muttered, as he turned them onto another side street.
The cult’s SUV turned a few seconds after them, far too close for his liking. They were two streets away from the main strip, and Truth needed some distance between them if his plan was going to work.
“When I say duck, get down, okay?”
Misery nodded, and Truth pressed the gas pedal down once again, the SUV behind them falling smaller in the rearview as closed shop fronts flew past the windows. Before it could catch up to him, he swung a tight left and swerved to miss an oncoming car, ignoring the honk from the irritated driver. Immediately, he spotted a parking spot for a nightclub right in the front, a vacant handicap spot. He flew into the spot with a screech of tires as he braked, slammed the lights off, and jerked the keys out of the ignition.
“Duck.”
They froze, their breaths loud in the quiet of the car as tires screeched across pavement, headlights illuminating the interior of the car, and Truth sucked in a breath.
The headlights passed by, and he dared peek up to see the SUV tear down the street, narrowly missing a pair of crossing pedestrians. His sigh of relief was nothing compared to the intensity of the emotion in his chest.
He placed a hand on Misery’s shoulder to keep him down for a few more minutes before he sat up, making sure the SUV was gone.
“Now what?” Misery asked, flicking another glance in the backseat.
“Now… I guess we go back to her place. And wait.”
DARIA
Consciousness fluttered around the edges of Daria’s mind, teasing and taunting her, like clouds passing over the moon on a dark night. Flashes of light blinded her, and she winced against them before she realized they only hurt because she was blinking. When she kept her eyes closed, the pain was more bearable.
Her head hurt, and she didn’t know or remember why. Any memory of last night was just out of reach, and if she stretched too far toward it, her entire body cramped. She let it float out of sight and mind, and relaxed back into the soft surface beneath her. A small groan left her throat as she stretched a bit, surprised to find it was only her head that hurt.
She’d apparently had too much to drink after work last night, because she hadn’t had a hangover like this in… years.
Frowning, she once again tried to remember the cause for such a celebration, and then it hit her. Flashes like lightning. Of Andrew, asking her out. Running for her life. The fear. Her eyelids snapped open, and once she was aware of her surroundings, she recognized her own apartment, but the soft murmurs coming from across the room sent a shiver of panic through her.
She listened to their conversation for a moment and realized they didn’t know she’d awoken. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the nearest weapon and she landed on…
The broom, balanced against the doorjamb that led to the short hallway to her room.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
She gathered her courage and panic close like armor and waited until their conversation intensified, their hushed whispers growing a little louder, harsher, with the words she still couldn’t hear, and then she sprang into action. Vaulting off the couch in the center of the room, she darted for the broom and grabbed it like a scythe, wielding it like a deadly weapon instead of an everyday household item.
Their voices stopped dead, the two figures turning her way, and she gulped as their eyes narrowed on her. Blue so bright she could drown and a dark so deep she feared she’d get lost in it.
That is, if they didn’t kill her first.
She had mace in her nightstand, and if she could just get to her room, she’d be okay. Backing up, she held the broom between both hands, warding them off with a glare full of threat and a weapon she wasn’t afraid to—
Daria jolted when the broom got caught horizontally against the doorway, keeping her from moving any farther. She flushed, cursed, and dropped it, darting to her room where she slammed the door and locked it before dropping to her knees in front of her nightstand and fumbling around for the mace. Knocking aside Bob, her best friend, she grabbed the slim pink tube and unlocked the spray feature. Just in time too, because the door cracked open in a boom, and the two men stalked through, shaking their heads at her.
“Who are you?” she demanded, and backed across the room, putting the bed between them and holding the mace in front of her.
“Daria, calm down—”
“What do you want? Are you with Andrew?”
A low growl cut through the room for a split second before the blond one with the swirling blue eyes elbowed the dark-haired one in the chest. He rubbed over the spot and frowned at the other, before his eyes cut toward her again, concern etched in the lines of his face.
Yeah, he should be concerned. I can totally take them. Even if I am dressed in…
She looked down and gasped, swaying on her feet as she took note of the black pants she’d been wearing to work, the matching black top that was once flowy and tasteful, now stiff with blood and slashes in the fabric, playing peekaboo with the flesh beneath. The flesh covered in blood.
Wavering, her voice came out but a whisper. “Oh God, what happened?”
Daria clearly remembered the glint of metal in the night, the searing pain and the manic expression on Andrew’s face as he stabbed her again and again. Shaking the images from her mind, she met the gaze of the men across from her and spoke louder. “What happened? What do you want?”
The last was yelled with a dash of m
ania, and the blond one stepped forward with his arms outstretched.
“Daria, calm down and listen to my voice.”
She didn’t know how that was possible with her pulse in her ears, and her breath sawing in and out of her lungs and a scream bubbling in her throat, but he kept speaking and somehow it got through to her. Not a word stuck to her, but it was the sound. The cadence. And the truth of his words that stalled her.
Her head. It hurt, but not with a headache. With emptiness.
There was a gaping hole where the demons should be.
Her gaze focused on the two across from her. The blond hair and the blue eyes and the honest face and the cadence of his voice.
“Truth?”
A blinding grin crossed his face and her arm fell to her side, the can of mace dropping to the hardwood with a thud. They didn’t move and her eyes flitted to the other one. Dark eyes, dark hair standing on end as if his hands had been tearing through it.
“Misery?”
A solemn nod confirmed what she feared, and she laughed, an incredulous sound, and maybe a little manic again. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Truth’s lips parted in another grin, sucking the breath from her lungs at the sight he made with a smile on his face and nothing but a—a fucking apron tied around his waist and hooked around his neck. Warning: Contents Are Hot was emblazoned on the front in bright pink letters. With his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, he only accented the bulge at the apex of his thighs.
“Whatever we could find.”
Misery was sporting a sheet. That was all. Just a sheet, tugged over one shoulder like a fucking toga, which did nothing to hide the lean figure or smooth muscle.
“Are those from the guest room?”
His gaze lightened just a smidge, and he nodded with a smile in place. It seemed even Misery could find humor in their fucked-up situation.
“Oh my God, you’re real.” As if it had just hit her, she slumped forward and sat hard on the bed.
“Well, yeah. Haven’t we always been?” Misery replied, and she ignored the sliver of hurt that slipped in his tone.
Her chin trembled with the weight of her failure and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Of course. But being… in here,” she said, waving her hands around her head before motioning to them, “versus out here! It’s different. It’s… bad.”
Isn’t it?
“Do you think we’re bad?” Misery asked.
“Aren’t you?” Daria whispered, thinking of how many centuries her bloodline had fought to keep them contained. Her eyes darted between the two of them, trying to see inside them the way they’d lived inside her for a mere few days.
That’s all the time it’d taken her to ruin centuries of work and sacrifice. Her mother had sacrificed their relationship, her life, and she’d failed in no time at all.
What did I do?
“Where are the others?” she whispered to the comforter, her mind racing for ways to fix this. The weight of her problems clouded over her, just above and ready to slam down and crush her in a matter of seconds.
“That’s what we need to talk about. They were taken.”
Her own dark eyes bounced between sky blue and dark night. “Taken? By who?”
“The cult. Chaopadós.”
“Fuck.” The word dripped from her lips with disdain and disappointment in herself. Her carelessness. This was all her fault.
“Don’t worry, Daria. We can get them back.” Misery’s soft voice soothed her, and she blinked to find him sitting on the bed with her.
“We have to. But how?”
“We just have to find them.”
“Sure. Let me put a new shirt on and we can hunt down Death, Betrayal, and Hope. No biggie.” She doubted the Sahara was drier than her tone.
“Don’t be like that. Let’s make some coffee, find some new clothes, for all of us, and catch you up on what’s going on. We can go from there.” Misery blinked at her, his voice holding her attention and she swayed closer, seduced by the darkness in his eyes, the swirling sadness that threatened to suck her under. The thing was, she didn’t mind—she wanted to go with him. Wherever he’d take her.
“Hey, break it up!” Truth’s hand intruded between their faces with a cutting motion, and she pulled herself out of wherever she’d been.
“Right. I need a shower. Clothes. Coffee.”
“Great. I’ll get the coffee started. We also need clothes, but… you know, at your convenience and all. I’m sure you like this view better anyway.”
With that, Truth turned and left the room and sure enough, her gaze fell to his ass. She groaned at the disaster that had suddenly become her life and averted her gaze. Truly, she tried to block the vision of his ass from her mind, but she couldn’t help but send up a silent appreciation of the muscle that apron covered, or not covered, as was the case.
Really, how many girls could say their demons were hot?
Her mind reeled while she showered. The water cascaded down her body, carrying with it flakes and rivers of dried blood, swirling around the stopper in a pink stain. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that she was alone in her own head.
Even though she’d only had them for a week, Daria hated the silence now.
Every time she blinked against the water pouring from above, a gruesome image flashed across her mind and she couldn’t stop them.
Dark night and a bright glint of a weapon in the dim light. The pain.
She winced at the memory of the blade buried in her flesh, the hilt slamming against her body and splattering blood across Andrew’s face.
With a gasp of air, she shook her head and finished quickly. No time for rejuvenation or relaxation in this shower. She had things to do, demons to find, cult worshipers to be stopped.
Just another day in the not so simple life of Daria Locke.
In the kitchen, the gurgling and sputtering of the coffee maker was music to her ears, and she watched the liquid slowly eat up the white measuring lines of the pot.
“Did you guys like the way my coffee tasted?” she asked the demons, interrupting their murmurs as they sat at the table on the other side of the cracked laminate bar.
“It was perfect.”
“It seemed a little sweet.”
Misery’s words brought her lips into a small smile and she poured him a hot cup of coffee, black. She made Truth a cup matching hers before they piled into the living room. To fight off the chill that wouldn’t seem to leave her, Daria grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself before she sat across from them.
“So... I actually died?” Daria gulped a mouthful of coffee down after her question.
Truth, still sporting that damned apron, sat on her couch as she curled up in the accent chair.
Her focus kept drifting to other… areas.
Even as her mind wandered to the night before, she couldn’t help but curse that damned apron. It wasn’t meant to cover much, okay?
His hand waved back and forth in the air and he grimaced. “Yeah? I mean, it was your death that triggered our release. But what I’m not sure about is why you’re... ” He motioned to where she clearly sat.
“You’re so elegant with your words” she teased dryly.
“What, like you can do a better job of explaining it?” he shot back. “Too bad Death isn’t here to ask about this.” His eyes lit up. “You didn’t happen to see him, did you?”
Cocking her head at him, she asked hesitantly, “See him? No… why?”
“Huh. Weird,” he mumbled, his gaze taking him to a faraway place.
She ignored him and swallowed against the emotion that threatened to choke her with her next words. “What happened after he… after I died?”
Misery’s jaw clenched from the other end of the couch, and she studied him for a moment. He didn’t talk much, she’d already learned, but his emotions were always the strongest.
“For lack of a better word,” Truth
said with a wink. “We blinked and were in the alley. Suddenly tons of guys appeared, wrestling us to the ground, cuffing us like fucking perps, but these weren’t cops. They were cult members, doing their job.”
“I can’t believe Andrew was one of them.”
“I knew there was something off about him,” Misery muttered.
She winced and focused back on Truth. “So you two got away, and… what?”
“We fought a few of them off, and got out of there. Were in a car chase.”
“Naked?”
“Yup.” He popped the p.
“And the cops weren’t called?”
“No, Daria, it was pretty late at night and my skills got us to safety.”
A little bit of the tension in her shoulders released itself at his words. For a moment, she’d been worried the cops would be after them. They didn’t need the police to worry about too.
Rolling her head back on the cushion, she studied the texture pattern on her ceiling as her mind swirled like the paintbrush must have done once upon a time.
Guilt pulled at her again over what she’d assumed about her mother, and she wished she could turn back time and redo everything. Growing frustrated with the stubborn emotion, she pushed all that aside again and tried to focus on the issue at hand—the three missing demons.
Worry cut right through her, sharp as the weapon from the night before. They’d killed her for Dora’s sake. What would they do to her demons? “What does the cult want with them? I mean, they completed their mission, getting the demons—you guys—out in the open by killing me. What now?”
Daria wasn’t even sure she wanted to hear the answer. Too afraid of what it might be.
Misery and Truth shared an indecipherable look before they turned to her. “They wanted us out because they want us to do what we were created to.”
Her throat dried up and she croaked the words, “Like what?” though she already knew.
Truth looked down at his mug of coffee, his teasing nowhere to be found.
“Bring death. Misery. Betrayal. Hope. Truth. But not just in a single person or community. They want us to inflict it all over the world. To bring… chaos. That’s what we are. That’s what they worship.” He looked up suddenly, as if he could drill his point home with the intensity in his gaze. “It’s why we have to stop them.”