by Lexi Ostrow
Bite of Silver
Alliance of Silver & Steam Book 2
Lexi Ostrow
Colliding Worlds Press
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Preview of Sirens in Steam
Published by
Colliding Worlds Press
The right of Lexi Ostrow to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover art by:
Dreams2Media
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organization is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Lexi Ostrow
All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
Dedicated To:
Mark Lewis, David Krassner, Artur Cybulski, Bryan Davidson and Kit Steinkellner.
Without Camp Bravo and all of you, there's no telling how lost I'd be in this world of creativity. Thank you all for everything you've taught me and how much you've helped me grow in every way possible.
One
The smile on Seraphina’s painted red lips was cold, and yet, colder still by the time it reached her eyes. “It has been a pleasure. An absolute pleasure.” Cruelty danced in her eyes as she turned her back on the Kappa Demon leader and Lake Biwa.
“When will we have our payment?” The leader’s voice was raspy, much like the froglike creature he was.
She tensed at the question. As the ruler of Hell and all demons—aside from Pure Angels—she wasn’t questioned oft. Her hands twitched at her sides with the urge to kill him, but that wouldn’t help with her plot to turn an Alliance of Silver and Steam member.
“It will come when the job is done. When Philippe Clemis has been bitten, and I have proof your kind will have a section of Hell to call home.” She hadn’t bothered to turn around and immediately flashed herself back into her chambers, away from the serene Japanese lake.
She reached out over the mental bond, one she only shared with the twenty Fallen Angels she had created from her own blood. She latched onto the link with Izazal, her original turned victim.
“I need to exercise out my frustrations. See to it that an adequate demon is sent to my chambers quickly.” She would get no response from him, just his obedience, so she closed the mental link.
Her smile morphed into one that was decidedly more sensual as she turned and saw herself in the mirror. She trailed her hands over her body, delighted in the pleasure just the small touch brought her and sauntered over to the table beneath the mirror. She poured herself a glass of wine nearly as red as the paint on her mouth, wrapped her lips over the glass, and tipped it—drinking every last drop in one sip, before gently setting the crystal glass down.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her grey-blue eyes sparkled with delight, and it was barely after nine am. “It would seem you have finally outsmarted the Alliance, Seraphina.” She grinned at her own praise.
It had taken her almost six months of research, but her dream of transforming an Alliance of Silver and Steam member into a demon she could have power over was delightful. The hardest part had been choosing the proper demon to do the task. She’d poured over her options for the better part of two months. There had been so many choices, but very few that had seemed undetectable enough to get the job done.
The Kappa Demon, an old Japanese myth that the culture only got half-right, had been the best choice. The small frog like creatures lived outside of Hell as they weren’t a species that had earned their spot down there over the centuries. They lived in lakes, and typically, did nothing more than drown their victims. However, Seraphina had heard a rumor that their bite could transform a human, and only a human, into their blood slaves. It was how they supposedly secured victims to come to the lake and the perfect way to steal a hunter.
The blood slave would never change form and would have a decent amount of free will until the Kappa Demon that had created it put out an order. Seraphina had ensured the only command given would be to follow her every wish.
Her desires flared to life at the thought of the sensual Philippe Clemis servicing her body and her cause to rid the Earth of humans, so the demons could live topside without persecution. A small moan escaped her as she thought about his shoulder length black hair splayed out over her thighs whilst he pleasured her with his mouth.
He was the perfect choice for the experiment, and she couldn’t wait to hold control over his mind. Philippe was known for only one thing—his prowess killing demons. The French hunter had only been with the Alliance about a year, and his kills of her kind racked into the hundreds. He was as adept with a sword as with the disturbing crystal gun they used. She’d watched him; she’d watched them all whilst trying to pick the perfect victim.
In the time she’d taken to choose the Alliance member, she’d lost no less than eighteen demons to the hunters. She felt nothing except failure when one died. They were pawns to her, all except a small list of demons, the ones she had created from her Pure Angel brethren. Fallen Angels took an exceeding amount of time to create if someone had to force their fall, but Seraphina had proven she was nothing if not patient whilst she’d taken over Hell. Waiting to pick the perfect hunter was just another in a long line of challenges to her ultimate victory.
Philippe had overwhelmingly stood out. She hadn’t been much of a fan of playing with men of any race. Lucius Cooley Willan, her ex-personal headhunter, had betrayed her, and she’d been powerless to punish him in any way. It still left a bitter, acidic taste in her mouth, but what was done was done.
Her attention had fixated on Philippe when she’d watched him hunt. The Frenchman was overbearingly arrogant. He hunted alone the majority of the time and yet, he never sustained an injury. She’d followed him, well her demons had, for the previous two months. He moved with the power and grace most men only dreamed about controlling. Not to mention, he abstained from anything that would distract him. The man was akin to a saint—no booze, women or gambling. It intrigued her and worried her. Men with that much passion locked away were hard to take down.
A knock on her door had her spinning. She grinned as Neal, her favorite ice demon, filled the doorway, completely in the nude. He was a virile male and had a body that was sinful to look at. His stark white hair fell just past his shoulders, and his piercing white eyes locked with hers from where he stood. His muscular body was doing things to her mind, and when her eyes wandered down to his thick, fully erect prick, she almost came thinking about times they’d spent together. He was one of two repeat lovers. She
had a very high standard for those she slept with and most failed to meet it.
She pulled the zipper down on her teal dress and let it fall to the floor, exposing her black corset and underwear. She never wore the more embellished undergarments the humans did and was nearly bare before the talented ice demon.
Neal bowed his head and walked up to her. “My lady queen is in need of a good bedding?”
She laughed, a twinkling sound, so concealing of her true nature. “You were informed correctly, Neal.”
He closed the space betwixt them, and his chilly hands pressed against her body, sending spikes of pleasure laced with the pain of the cold. She shuddered and let him wrap her against his body.
She purred much like a cat and rubbed against his thick erection. “You have permission to treat me how I like.” Her voice was breathy, and he wasted no time covering her mouth with his, claiming her in an icy coupling that did absolutely nothing to warm her frigid heart.
Two
The Jikininki Demon was slowly becoming a pain in his arse. The demon had initially been believed to be Japanese in origin. Ever since the fucking Nightmare Demon, Lucius, had pissed off Her Majesty of Hell, new demons had been showing up all over the streets of London that hadn’t prior. The Jikininki were decomposing flesh that fed on the dead. The problem was they were the ones that killed people to feed, rather than finding a corpse. Lord knew there were enough in the London Underground, but they were hunters, not scavengers.
It appeared that the flesh-eating creatures could show up in any geographic location. For six nights, he’d been tracking one. How does one kill a ghost demon successfully? He still hadn’t figured it out, and it kept getting away—something that didn’t set to well with him or his statistics. He wasn’t known for failure, he was known for being the most brutal hunter the Alliance of Silver and Steam had. It didn’t matter what he was hunting and killing. He had been trained to be a killer, personal guard to the King of France. The demons just tended to make him enjoy it a little more.
He’d been transferred from the Paris sect of the Alliance weeks before hell had waltzed into the guild’s halls. London was the home office, and for some reason, Paris didn’t attract as many of the demon race. Perhaps the city just had too much sin to tell the demons from the humans.
Philippe had been less than thrilled with the transfer, and not just because he detested the Brits almost as much as the savage Americans. The fact that the Alliance had not one, but two demons, sleeping with members and working for them was unsettling. He didn’t have a wretched back-story for the evil species. He’d been part of the Royal French Army when he’d caught sight of a small, brown, lumpy person suddenly turning into a spectacular looking harlot—an Illusion Demon. When he’d tried explaining it to his captain, he’d been immediately sent to a clock workers guild and had his whole world flipped upside down.
He pulled up the goggles he wore to protect him from the special beam of light his gun produced and looked around. London didn’t hold the majesty Paris did at night. The gas lamps only illuminated the filth that was dropped on the ground, not what walked the Underground. The city did not sparkle with life, even up by the palace. He sneered as a drunk stumbled past him, collapsed onto a rubbish pile, and sent the smell in Philippe’s direction.
His pocket watch, infused with a crystal that had been somehow set to detect demon blood, had begun to vibrate in his trouser pocket, and he slid the goggles back over his eyes. Vibration meant he was near a demon of one kind or another. Pure Angels had powered the crystals, but that was all he knew. Information about them wasn’t readily shared, and they didn’t hang out helping humans as the religious lot thought. They were spectacular, though, as were their crystals.
Through a system of magnets, they were able to send a signal to a larger than life crystal atop the guild’s roof. So he’d followed it and was getting bloody well tired of acting like a lap dog to a demon. It was time to find it and kill it.
A piercing scream sounded in the late night’s silence, and he cursed. The shriek could be anything from a mugging to a patron refusing to pay his whore. He was near the lower Thames, and it wasn’t known for its propriety and riches. It could also mean the Jikininki had found someone foolishly wandering the streets.
He took off at a dead run, with his hair flying behind him in its queue. The putrid stench of the gutters infiltrated his nose as he ran. The surrounding buildings were quiet, but light came as a few lit their bedside candles at the sound. He cursed and pushed harder. His foot caught in an uneven cobblestone, and he tumbled forward. His chin took the brunt of the fall and pain shook through his body, from the tip of it to his toes. The ringing in his head traveled into his eyes, and his vision wavered from the intensity of the fall.
“Merde!” he cursed as pushed himself off the ground and felt the pure pain of the injury. His hand briefly went to his chin and came away dry and clean, no real damage. A hiss pulled him away from his pain, and he when he looked up, he was eye to eye with a Jikininki Demon standing over a harlot, a scrap of flesh in its mouth.
“Well, at least I bloody well fell next to him.”
The creature was almost as fascinating to look at as it was disgusting. Its flesh had taken on a distinct yellow coloration, and yet, there was bruising around the eyes and mouth where the sunken process had begun. Its nose was the most disfigured element, it had fallen off, or perhaps it had never been there. No matter how many times he’d cornered it since they had first learned it was hunting in London, its eyes unnerved him. When he stared into the seemingly blind, solid white eyes, he couldn’t help but want it dead.
It stood hunched over the woman, her throat partially in its mouth.
“Time to die. I’m done letting you get away.” Philippe reached into the pocket on his leather waistcoat. When his hand pressed against his own chest, and not the ray gun, he felt the blood rush from his face. His eyes darted to the street, and he swallowed hard. The distinctive gun sat not one meter away, with the purple crystal that powered it shattered into pieces on the ground.
The demon hissed, and he heard the distinct sound of jaws slapping together. When he looked back at the creature, it had swallowed the bit of flesh and was walking towards him. He had two options, see what he could do with the daggers the Alliance provided or run.
Enough people had died from the demon, he wasn’t running. His hand wrapped around the dagger in his belt, and he squared his feet, ready to meet the demon head on. He’d failed to kill the creature many times with the crystal gun; maybe it had been the wrong weapon. He rolled his fingers at the demon and sneered as he beckoned it to come near.
With a hiss, the demon lunged onto all fours and sprang at him. He felt something warm as the dagger sliced into the chest of the demon as it landed on him. The smell of rotten and rotting flesh made him gag, and he did his best to slam the dagger into the demon’s shoulder. The blade connected as he felt the unbearable fire of teeth in his own shoulder.
“Nique ta mere!” he screamed into the night and felt a pang of guilt with the raging fire of flesh being torn from bone. Cursing of such a nature was typically beyond him, but he’d never felt anything quite like this pain.
The demon screeched much like a banshee and fell to the ground, tearing another pound of flesh from his arm and sending Philippe’s own scream into the night. The creature lay on his boots, unmoving. Cautiously, he tugged his boot out from under it, intending to kick it to see if it was dead or injured when he felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder.
He grabbed the person’s wrist and twisted his body in an attempt to launch whatever had dared to touch him onto the ground. An effort was as far as he got. Whatever it was didn’t move, which meant it was a demon. For the first time in his eight years as a hunter, he disliked hunting alone. He said a quick prayer, turned and found himself face-to-face with Lucius.
Laughter rang out into the night, and Lucius let go of his shoulder. “Oh, bloody hell you were scared! You should h
ave seen the look on your face Clemis! Terror. Fear.” The Nightmare Demon grinned, and his soulless black eyes twinkled. “I didn’t even have to trance. Watch yourself when you sleep, Frenchie. I think I’d enjoy your fear too much to stop myself.”
Philippe growled and used both hands to shove Lucius. He stumbled backwards from the effort, not the demon, and Lucius smirked. Nightmare Demons weren’t unusually strong, but they still had demon strength, and that gave Lucius an advantage.
“And the last time you did that, I shackled you with Angel cuffs.”
“Quite right, and then I showed you your own worst fear.” Lucius’s gaze leveled with Philippe’s blue eyes, and Philippe blanched at the memory of the day in court almost a year before. “Yourself.”
Lucius shouldered past him and bent down. He carefully pushed his fingers into the Jikininki Demon and rolled it over. Philippe couldn’t stop the twitch of disgust in his lip at what he saw. One white eye was completely scorched out, and when Lucius shoved his finger into the socket and Philippe swore he was going to lose his dinner. He didn’t have a queasy stomach, but the smell was enough to make any man wretch, which explained why Lucius was unfazed. He wasn’t a man.
The Alliance’s trick demon stood and grinned at him, before putting his hands on his lapels and tugging them down in a show of bravado. “Through the eyes, Clemis. You kill a Jikininki Demon by shooting it through one of the eyes.”
He felt his fist clench as his entire body tingled with the desire to punch the man in his face. “Where the bloody hell were you with that information weeks ago when this began?” his voice was barely above a civilized growl. He could be punished for fighting with another Alliance member. He didn’t care right now.
Lucius patted him on the shoulder and pushed the right sequence of buttons on his communicator to call in a cleanup—the best hunters never cleaned up their own kills. They were traditionally too busy filing reports. “I love it when you swear in the English language. It’s just so much more attractive than your French. Perhaps you should try it at a bar, get yourself laid. It’ll pull your head out of your arse, and maybe someone will want to hunt with you, instead of hunting you.”