Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4

by Brenda Huber

  Another yawn snuck up on her. As they exited the building, a wall of steamy heat slammed into her. The driver never took his hand from her elbow as he more or less tugged her along. Probably afraid she’d pass out from the temperature or something. The heat didn’t wilt her, not as is did some people. She’d grown up with it. It was like a second skin to her. But, as tired as she was, it didn’t exactly energize her either.

  She should be used to flying by now, but she just never seemed to be able to relax on a plane, always feeling a strange, itchy sensation just under her skin the moment the wheels left the ground. And the flight after the last layover had been particularly turbulent. All she wanted to do right now was take a long, cool shower and crawl onto a feather soft bed where she could sleep for the next two days straight.

  What she wanted and what she was going to get were, however, two very different things. Not only was she avoiding any sort of layover in a major city on purpose, she was headed into the heart of the Rio Bec Region. A true jungle.

  She’d chosen to do it this way for a reason. The more people she interacted with, the greater the risk. At best, she knew she could look forward to rainwater camp showers and a sleeping bag on the hard floor of a cramped tent.

  If she was lucky.

  At worst? Well, she’d once spent two nights in a row with her back pressed to Ricardo’s atop crumbling ruins, both of them wide awake, clutching guns to their chests as they scoured the dancing shadows of the jungle, flinching at every shush of leaves and snap of a branch. And did she mention? Her throat had been flayed open and bandaged with scraps from a filthy shirt at the time. Trips like that had given her a whole new meaning for the term “roughing it”.

  She glanced at the heavy, silver watch on her wrist as they all but jogged along the sidewalk. The scuffed, much-loved timepiece was the only thing she had left that had belonged to her father, aside from his journals. He’d had Ricardo mail the package to her along with his final letter should he not return from his final trip by a certain date. A trip he’d completely out of character refused to allow Ricardo to accompany him on. The package had been a proof of life kind of thing. Or rather proof of death, as it were.

  Grimacing at the memory, yet still grieving too much to part with the reminder, she made a mental note to reset the watch for the current time zone.

  “Will it take very long to get to el Cantina?” Maybe, if Ricardo didn’t already have all their equipment ready to go, she could sneak in a short nap.

  “Ah, Señorita, no problemas. I’ll get you there muy rapido,” he said with another of his big grins.

  A raucous broke out somewhere on the street behind her, but Juan was already steering her toward a plain brown sedan. With one firm hand gripping her elbow, he opened the car door, and then all but shoved her inside. She’d no more than righted herself in the seat, gasping in shock, when he tossed her carry-on at her.

  Juan slammed the door in her face. And then, he disappeared.

  Phoebe froze for a split second, stunned. Then she bolted forward and jerked at the door handle. A dark chuckle came from the front seat, startling her. Sucking in a sharp breath, she shot a glance over her shoulder. Juan looked back at her through the mesh wire partition. He’d gotten there much too fast for a normal human. Like a slap to the face, she understood her mistake.

  This was no driver, at least not one sent by Ricardo.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, pressing against the back of her seat in horror.

  How could they have found me already?

  “I am Sïnsobar,” he said, his Spanish accent replaced with one very closely resembling a British intonation, one completely incongruous with his appearance. “You can call me Sin,” he drawled, offering her a lewd smile.

  That wicked grin made her very, very uneasy. As if the present circumstances hadn’t already put her on edge.

  She looped her carry-on over her head and across her body, and then scrambled for the door handle with renewed purpose. The knob on the lock had been removed, preventing her from opening the door. Truly frightened now, she glanced at the opposite door. It, too, had had the lever removed.

  “Let me out,” she ordered, cursing herself for the way her voice shook.

  “I don’t think so, Guardian,” Sin replied.

  Her blood turned to ice with that single, damning word.

  Her captor’s focus swerved to the rear window. His eyes turned black. Not just the pupils. Not just the irises. But the whites too.

  Complete, bottomless black.

  Demon black.

  She’d seen eyes like that before. Three times before, to be exact. The first two times, she’d been very, very young. The last, not all that long ago. But those memories had been seared in her mind. Because in those moments, her life had forever changed.

  Oh no. No, no, no! How could I have been so stupid? So careless?

  He scowled at something behind her, whipped around to face the front, and stomped on the gas. Phoebe was thrown back in the seat. She scrambled to regain her balance, twisting around to peer out the rear window.

  Surfer Boy had followed them out onto the road and ran behind them now.

  Had he seen her abduction? Was he trying to help her?

  Praying as she’d never prayed before, she managed to get up on her knees despite the madly swerving car. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  “Help!” Phoebe shouted. She slapped her palms against the back window again and again. “Please, help me!”

  But Surfer Boy was falling farther and farther behind until she couldn’t see him anymore. Frantic, Phoebe spun in her seat. Her palms stung from slapping them against the window. She searched for another way out as pavement gave way to dirt roads and they sped along over dips and ruts. Desperate, bouncing up and down on the dusty, hard seat, she kicked at the door to no avail. She kicked at the window. Kicked at the mesh divider. Nothing.

  She sat up and opened her mouth to plead with her captor once more. But her words morphed into screams. They were headed straight for a squat stucco house with a piece of corrugated tin propped over what looked to be a porch. The demon behind the wheel wasn’t making any effort to turn, or even slow down.

  Without warning, the demon—Sin, he’d called himself—reached back and slashed fiendish black claws across the mesh wires separating them. His massive fist shot through the jagged opening. Then that claw-tipped hand wrapped around her forearm. The world around her blurred, and she had an intense sensation of falling. Her stomach pitched into her throat as bright color swirled around her. Images and sensations assaulted her, here and gone too fast for her to register.

  * * * * *

  Sebastian raced after the sedan. He’d recognize that face anywhere. Her image had haunted him since the moment he’d first laid eyes on the picture he’d pilfered from her home, the picture still tucked inside his right hip pocket.

  Phoebe Mackenzie had beaten on the rear window as the sedan pulled farther and farther away. Her lips had been moving. He hadn’t needed to hear her words. The look on her face said it all.

  She was in trouble, and she knew it.

  The car was moving too fast, swerving too erratically for him to lock onto it and shimmer inside. He was more likely to solidify in the trunk, or in the engine block, than on the seat beside her. All he could do was follow behind and hope he could catch up before the Carpathï—a species of demon with the ability to change forms, otherwise known as skin-shifters—who’d taken her could shimmer away with her.

  He just wished he knew the identity of the demon driving. That might give him some clue as to where they were headed. Maybe. Though he had a sneaking suspicion. He just prayed he was wrong.

  As fast as he was running—yeah, he was probably garnering all kinds of attention that he shouldn’t be—despite the traffic slowing the sedan, Sebastian was losing them.

  Da
mn it all to hell.

  They soon came upon an intersection…one it didn’t appear the professor’s abductor had any intention of slowing for. Sebastian spied a motorbike, its driver waiting for the light to change. Keeping all his attention on the speeding sedan, he pounced. Without breaking stride, Sebastian displaced the stunned motorcyclist and was burning rubber on the pavement.

  Concrete soon gave way to pitted dirt as the sedan turned off the main highway leading out of the city. After a few harrowingly close calls with oncoming traffic, they tore into a small village. Carts and people, squawking chickens and excited dogs soon cluttered the irregular cobblestone road. The sedan barreled around corners, unmindful of pedestrians, traffic, or who had the right of way, and Sebastian kept pace.

  Impoverished buildings whizzed by right and left now. Sebastian paid them little heed, his single-minded focus locked on that sedan. But then an ancient, rusted out truck with poultry-filled wire cages stacked in the back lumbered onto the road in front of him. The bike teetered beneath him for a moment. Sebastian kicked at the ground for balance as the rear wheel fishtailed. Dust and feathers billowed up all around him.

  He craned his neck as he revved the motorcycle and launched around the rear of the truck. He watched, helpless, as up ahead, the car careened into the front of a stucco shack. Clumps of dirt, clouds of dust and stucco flew through the air as the sedan came to an abrupt stop.

  Sebastian tore onto the scraggly yard and vaulted from the still sliding motorcycle. He rushed to the car and tore the back door open, ripping it from its hinges. But even as he did so, he knew he was too late.

  The car was empty.

  He didn’t waste time swearing or cursing his piss poor luck yet again. Sebastian closed his eyes, centered his focus, pulled in his abilities, and opened his senses.

  He didn’t yet know the name of the demon that had taken her. Or where they were going. Hell, he could be headed straight into a trap for all he knew. He didn’t give a flying rat’s ass. All that mattered was that he wasn’t going to sit back and let the professor be snatched right out from under his nose. Not when he’d been searching for her for this long. Not when she’d been so close.

  Not again.

  The moment her emerald green eyes had connected with his across the airport terminal had sealed her fate, sword aside. He couldn’t shake that electrical zing that had arced between them.

  She wasn’t getting away from him.

  Scowling, Sebastian searched for that fragile, already fading luminescent trail all demons left behind when they shimmered.

  And he smiled with grim purpose.

  Chapter Two

  When the world stopped spinning, Phoebe was able to draw a breath at last. A sharp gust of air hit her hard, slightly cooler than before, but so foul and dank she doubled over and gagged. She squinted through watery eyes, scouring the gloom for some clue as to where she was. Dim light filtered in from a small opening a short distance away. All around her, dark, water splotched, rough stone walls absorbed the rest of the light.

  A cave?

  And they weren’t alone.

  Hideous creatures writhed in the shadows, shifting in and out of the twilight making odd hissing and clacking sounds. They bowed to the demon still in possession of her arm. Glancing over, she swallowed in dismay and tried to pull away as his form began to mutate.

  And then she gaped in shock. One moment the swarthy, slick-backed, portly Hispanic man stood beside her. And in the next minute, a tall, lean humanlike creature took his place. Humanlike…but not. His skin was blood red. His shoulder length hair was jet black. As black as his eyes. He smiled at her, flashing a set of fangs a la Dracula.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was like history repeating itself. The resemblance, the sense of familiarity were uncanny. He looked so much like the one who’d—

  “This female belongs to Dimiezlo,” the creature—Sïnsobar, she corrected herself again—said, his voice layered and deep. His pronouncement was met with livid snarls and disappointed growls from the surging mass of creatures moving around the cave. He snarled right back. The angry noises died away and, although the mass still shifted and hissed, Phoebe sensed a sudden wariness filling the room.

  “She is a gift for Stolas.” Hisses erupted once more. Fear, unmistakable and ripe, filled the air.

  She tugged at Sin’s grasp to no avail, terrified of the demon, and yet afraid to move any closer to those seething, slathering shadows.

  “But, Master,” a whiny, thin voice begged from somewhere too close for her comfort. “We’ve been so long without a female. And she smells so…delicious.” The last word was said on a shivery, lustful shudder.

  Phoebe cringed at the implied intent.

  And then she froze, breath arrested, as realization dawned. These demons weren’t speaking English, or Spanish. Nor were they speaking French, Italian, or Russian. She would know, as she spoke each of those languages—along with several dialects of native cultures—fluently. And yet she’d understood every guttural word they’d spoken.

  Every. Single. Word.

  How? What is this language?

  “Stolas will be displeased if she is in poor condition when he receives her.”

  Again, the crowd of monsters recoiled at the mere mention of the name.

  Whoever this Stolas was, he seemed to be her best chance of walking out of this cave alive and in one piece.

  “But, Master, she is not a Halfling.”

  Phoebe cringed. Why wouldn’t that…that thing give up?

  “It doesn’t matter. She is a Guardian. He wants her kind too. And you know he likes them with enough spirit to last at least a few hours in his little dungeon of horrors.”

  Okay. So maybe this Stolas guy wasn’t looking like such a stellar option after all. Especially not the way this horde of ghoulish nightmares cowered every time Sïnsobar said his name.

  “Please, Master,” whiny-voice wheedled. “We’ll be exssstra careful with her.”

  Sïnsobar studied the mass, seemed to be gauging the temperament of the room.

  Oh, God, he’s wavering!

  “No!” she cried, fighting his hold. “You can’t do this.”

  But her demands only seemed to seal her fate.

  “Fine,” Sïnsobar relented. “But don’t drain her. And for Hell’s sake don’t kill her. Stolas wants her alive and able to… Well, talking, I imagine, won’t matter so much.”

  With that, Sïnsobar thrust her into the surging darkness. The shadows swarmed her. Phoebe screamed, and screamed again as rough, calloused, clawed appendages began pawing at her, tugging her hair and ripping at her clothing. Careless grasping drew blood and left welts. Fingers—at least, she hoped they were fingers—pinched and squeezed. Something sharp punctured her wrist, and her whole body seized as fiery acid flooded her veins.

  A dark roar reverberated through the cave, and the crowd of horrors around her froze. Phoebe searched for the source of that roar, struggling against the tentacle-like arms that squeezed and pulled at her. Had this Dimiezlo come for her? Would she be spared this indignity? This violation?

  Or was she in for far worse?

  A nightmare come to life appeared in the middle of the cavern. He was huge. Ginormous. And, judging by his next roar and the expression on his fierce face, pissed off to the extreme.

  His muscles bulged with supernatural strength. His skin was the color of ash and soot. His eyes were similar to Sïnsobar’s, a deep bottomless black, only somehow more frightening. And his fangs made Sïnsobar’s look like fake Halloween adornments—scrawny ones at that. The big, curved horns on the top of his head skimmed across the roof of the cave like steel on flint, leaving a shower of sparks in his wake. But it was the black wings snapping open behind him that snared her attention. Hers and everyone—everything—else’s in the chamber. His wings were massive
and coated with shiny black feathers. Feathers that looked like some kind of high-tech metal plates.

  “Vengeance,” something whispered. The note of horrified terror filling its voice was sharp.

  Phoebe swallowed. Ally or foe? Frying pan or fire?

  Sïnsobar swore and roared, “Attack!”

  Still the shadows hesitated, apparently cowed by the newcomer more than they were by their master. Sïnsobar swiped at the shadow closest to him, and blood sprayed in a wide arc as the shadow burst into ash at his feet.

  “Damn it, I said attack!”

  Finally, caught between a monster and a nightmare, the mass of shadows surged forward, surrounding the newcomer. Sïnsobar himself had disappeared somewhere along the way. Phoebe—clearly the spoils of this impending battle—was shoved, less-than-gently, toward the back of the cave. She looked on in horror as the nightmare erupted into action.

  Claws and fangs mauled and tore, shredding their way through Sïnsobar’s army. But it was those massive, shiny black wings, unfurling and swiping and slashing, that truly decimated the beings swarming him. No shadow monster stood a chance. None could withstand the strength, the lethal brutality of those wings. None could dodge them. None could evade them and get close to him…unless he wanted them close. And if ever he let one get close…

  Well, the wings would have been the more humane way to go.

  Something heavy and slimy hit her from the side, toppling her to the ground. Sharp fangs ripped into her shoulder. Though she fought with everything she had, she couldn’t dislodge the creature. It began slurping at the jagged wound it had inflicted, all the while grinding itself against her hip and grunting in the most lewd, disgusting way.

  Phoebe cried out, squirming and twisting in an effort to get away. But it was no use. The creature clung to her like Velcro.

  The winged nightmare gave a mighty roar, and then the creature pinning her to the sandy floor was wrenched away, its fangs leaving behind mauled flesh. Phoebe screamed as she pressed her palm to her bleeding shoulder. The pain was excruciating, beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Black dots began to swirl around her vision.