Bite of Silver: Alliance of Silver & Steam Book 2

by Lexi Ostrow

  “Why you—”

  Lucius smirked and raised a hand to shush him. “I need cleanup. Right where we thought it would be, sir. We will wait.”

  Thomas Agardawes, the Guildmaster, never said anything before Lucius killed the communicator and looked from the dead demon to Philippe.

  “We’ll have a few minutes to wait. Eliza’s new bikes are working beautifully. Faster than anyone could hope.”

  He didn’t make small talk with humans. He certainly wasn’t going to with a murderous demon that had no right bedding a human, let alone fucking work for an organization dedicated to the hunting of demons. No matter what had happened in his past.

  Philippe pulled up the goggles, let his eyes roll over the mole-like, rotting, demon, and took in every detail from the strangely webbed feet they used to climb walls, to the exposed fangs that generally lay hidden behind the large lip. The unmistaken sound of horseshoes clunked off the ground, and he cursed. If the coppers got there first, there would be no telling how many secrets they would be forced to unveil to people who thought their biggest issue was the occasional madman with a blade.

  “Lucius.” The question didn’t need to be said. It was a command; he was senior hunter on the case. He was supposed to be the only bloody hunter on the patrol, but they could discuss that later.

  “On it. One set of nightmares coming up.” Lucius mock saluted and took off around the corner to do his business quicker than Philippe’s eyes could follow.

  “What has it come to that we let demons attack humans to keep themselves a secret?” Philippe muttered, walked over the corpse, and bent down. The putrid smell of rotten, mildewed flesh permeated his nose, and he swallowed hard before he pulled away from the dead demon.

  His eyes lingered over the crystal on the street, and he walked over to it instead. He scooped his hand over the stone road and picked up three purple shards. “You certainly are beautiful. But what are you?” He rolled the shattered pieces around in his palm and watched as the flame of the gas lamp above him bounced off them. Tiny purple reflections landed on the shoddy building wall and sparkled as bright as any of the royal jewels.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes off the violet gemstone. Without crystals, like the one he held and the newer green ones, none of their tools could be powered. Cogs and steam were ideal for the mechanics, but it the crystals fired the guns and alerted them when they were in the presence of a lower demon that held human form. He’d overheard the inventors and scientists saying they were from a mine in South Africa, but he’d always had his doubts. How had they stumbled on an ordinary crystal working such magic, when he knew countless rubies and sapphires had gone to waste when they tried to duplicate the effect?

  For the second time in the early morning, a scream erupted through the bowels of London’s Underground. He flinched, and the action launched the crystal pieces from his palm back to the ground. A shudder rippled through his body, and he screamed alongside the other lawmen. A demon had infiltrated his mind, attacking him.

  His hand’s clenched into fists, and he cursed himself for not going after Lucius. He should’ve gone to make sure the demon didn’t kill the coppers approaching the scene. The lawmen realistically had every business being at the scene, except the culprit was a demon which made it none of their business.

  “Mon Dieu!”

  He was turning to chase after the Nightmare Demon when he heard the annoying whistle the man did after. . .eating. The whole world flashed to red as Philippe contemplated the damaged state the copper might be in.

  He’d been on the receiving end of Lucius’s demon powers, and he wouldn’t think about what he’d seen ever again if he could help it. He would never acknowledge what he feared most—losing himself, or a partner, to one of the demons he hunted. Not in death, but captured or turned into a slave.

  Lucius read the anger radiating off Philippe, and he put his hands up in a sign of surrender as he stepped closer. “They’re not dead, hunter. I merely ran them off. They aren’t even unconscious.” The demon’s eyes locked onto the broken crystal at his feet and let out a whistle. “Oh, Eliza is going to kill you. You aren’t as charming as Kellan.”

  “Bite your tongue, Lucius, or we can see how quick I can remove it before you slip into your little trance.” The words were a guttural growl, and if he thought there was even a chance he could take the demon down, he would’ve initiated a fight to let off the anger Lucius had caused by stealing the kill.

  Lucius smirked again. “I do enjoy the fact that my powers are so terrifying. I’m not such a threat to my species, you know.” Lucius bent down, picked up the pieces of the crystal, and pocketed them as he spoke.

  The fact that Lucius was weak among his own angered Philippe even more. The Alliance had learned that human looking demons were traditionally lower level and weaker demons. However, they seemed to be the hardest to kill, because their powers were exceptionally strong against humans, and they could hide amongst them.

  The familiar buzz of a motorbike interrupted them before the conversation could go further. In an instant, Kellan and Greyston came into view. Eliza’s newest invention really was quite the quick little mode of transit.

  He almost regretted insisting on tracking by foot. Whilst the new bikes were faster, they were undoubtedly louder—like a swarm of bees. He preferred to be unnoticed when he was stalking a demon.

  Both men stopped the bike next to the demon, and Kellan was the first off, pulling a large machete from his back. “I dinnea ken how nasty these lot smell.” He emphasized his point with a gag as he bent over.

  His Irish accent floated through the alley. The young hunter only used it when they were alone. He didn’t like the dirty looks he got for being Irish, and nothing in the sound of his accent invoked danger. It was rather sensual, and demons seemed to have a fascination with the Irish. Guild members were taught it was due to the magic infused in the Irish culture, but Philippe wasn’t convinced he believed it.

  Philippe nodded at Greyston Holt, the only other demon on staff at the Alliance. He held a modicum amount of respect for the demon because he’d been working as Captain of the Guard and destroying his own kind. He still led the royal forces, but on certain nights, he would hunt with Felicia, who was round with babe and probably driving him batty.

  “What are you two doing on cleanup?” He raised a brow as Greyston cut the limbs of the mole-like demon off. “Come to think of it, why were you around me, Lucius?”

  Greyston didn’t look up as he spoke and didn’t flinch backward as a strange spray of grey-green fluid hit his arm. “Have you ever been stuck inside with a pregnant hunter, Philippe? Felicia is a handful when she isn’t being told what she can’t do. I’d do just about anything for a short break from my mate right now.”

  Lucius snorted and muttered something under his breath that Philippe didn’t catch. He’d heard stories that the Guildmaster’s fiery adopted daughter hadn’t taken a liking to the Nightmare Demon, even if her mate was an Incubus.

  “Lucius was with us. We were looking for Seraphina. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet. Agardawes got in touch with us when you took off after the Jikininki by yourself like a blasted idiot.” The sound of something tearing interrupted Greyston and all four men gagged audibly as a stench as foul as the Thames after a festival wafted over to them. “Bloody hell this creature is foul. Let’s hope to hell they stay in Japan. I could deal with never doing this again.”

  “Aye, agreed.” Kellan had taken a step back from the body and was looking for the burlap sacks they used to transport the cadavers down for incineration at the guild.

  “So you sent the one person I hate the most as my backup?” He growled as he walked out of the alley, more than done with the lot of them and remembering why he preferred to hunt alone.

  “Well boys, did you hear that? I’m a person now!” Lucius let out a whoop of laughter and Philippe growled.

  “Fuck off, demon. I’m not cleanup. I’m leaving to file the report.�
� He ripped the goggles off his head and crammed them in his pocket. Without a crystal gun, he had no need for protection.

  Without another word to the three men, he took off down the street. The sun would be rising shortly, and he had a gaping wound on his shoulder that he didn’t want to be caught with.

  Three

  The guild was as busy as always in the early morning hours. The bustle of people inside generally calmed him down after a hunt. He was not a loner by choice, only when he hunted. However, that morning, the laughter and sleepy-eyed workers got under his skin. He’d had a bad night that not only resulted in a broken weapon, of which they were sometimes never replaced but having his arse saved by a bloody demon. All he wanted to do was report, clean the dirt from his shoulder and get to bed.

  Philippe had made it back long after the trio he had left behind. Kellan gave him a grin and a salute as he trudged past the hunter on his way to the Guildmaster’s office. “Bloody fucking bikes,” he muttered under his breath as he’d passed.

  The guild worked at night because demons tended to be creatures of the night. An underground organization, funded by the Royals, they worked out of a clock worker’s guild. Not everyone was privy to the actual reason the guild existed. In fact, none who worked to create the wares they sold had any idea of what went on in the guild. They had an inkling something more went on after they’d been lied to when Eliza’s bike had been blown up midday, but beyond that, they had no knowledge of the secrets that lay within.

  At nearly five in the morning, the opulently decorated hallways were filled with acolytes and apprentices scurrying to morning meal, as well as hunters returning. Typically, the rule was that they entered from the underground tunnels so as not to drive the motorbikes on the main streets and show off blood and gore from a hunt to the workers. The bikes weren’t a secret to them, just to the rest of the world.

  Philippe always used the front door. He didn’t slink around unless it was to kill the vile creatures they hunted. He did, however, slide his hand over his left shoulder and cover the injury from prying eyes. Report first, physician second. Everything they knew about the demon indicated the bite held no toxin, so he was in no rush. His body was a little sore, but he suspected it was from having the demon physically on top of him, and nothing more.

  He passed by the kitchens and inhaled the sticky, sugary aroma of sweet bread and tea, and his mouth watered. He never put things before completing a mission, though, a holdover from his time in France’s army. His stomach gave an angry growl in protest, but he ignored it. If he could abandon the drink and lying with women, he could be a little hungry. There was always plenty of food and taking down a demon needed to be fully reported once the hunter returned.

  “I will not calm down! You can’t possibly understand what you’re asking!”

  The harsh feminine shriek was perfectly clear, despite the thick door it came from behind. He held his hand in mid air rather than knocking. There weren’t many women who would be inside Thomas Agardawes’ office, and there was certainly only one who would be shrieking at him. He knew Felicia was safely tucked away in Greyston’s manor, which meant he had no idea who the upset female was.

  His whole body froze. He stood stuck betwixt the desire to knock and the desire to continue to eavesdrop on whatever was occurring behind the door.

  “I cannot allow that, Odette. It is my fault you went through what happened in The Americas. I will not tolerate you joining back up, simply because you’re back under my roof.” Master Agardawes’ voice seemed tighter than when he spoke with Felicia, the only female that had ever been allowed to converse with the Guildmaster behind closed doors, as far as Philippe knew. The old man didn’t tolerate much, even from Felicia—with good reason. Whoever Odette was, she seemed to get under his skin.

  “Father!” The word was shouted much louder than the sentence the woman had spoken prior.

  Father? He has an actual blood relative? Philippe didn’t have much of a chance to process the idea that there was a female version of the Guildmaster out there. He’d met his adoptive daughter, Felicia, had hunted beside her and had no wish to interact with someone as stubborn and cantankerous as the old man more than he had to.

  “You cannot tell me what to do. I came back because you ordered it because a woman can hardly be widowed here, let alone overseas.”

  He heard the distinctive sound of a palm slamming onto a surface and flinched.

  “I will not be ordered around by you. I was in charge, and I was bloody fucking good at it!”

  He noted the lack of a British accent just as he heard the sound of chair legs scratching over the wood floors of the office. He sucked in a breath and took step backward, trying not to act as if he’d been listening, when the door flung open, and a body came flying across the small hall and slammed into him.

  His shoulder burned at the impact, and he bit the inside of his cheek not to curse. He may have just heard the lady do it, but he was a gentleman, and would not use profanity around her.

  “Whatever are you doing standing outside a doorway?”

  Her voice was completely accent free when she wasn’t behind the thick door. She matched Philippe’s tall height, and he found himself staring into a pair of deep emerald eyes that sparked with as much fire as the tone of her voice.

  “Well? Do you not speak, hunter? Have you been attacked and had your vocal chords ripped from your throat in such a manner Physician Tate couldn’t fix it?”

  His eyes narrowed, and his lip peeled back in a snarl. More than once, he’d been accused of being demonic when riled. She’d riled him. Mostly, because her wonderfully lush body was still pressed along the length of his. He felt the slightest stir of life in his cock, and he growled at it. He didn’t do bedplay, and he certainly wasn’t going to do it with a female who may or may not be Argardawes’s child.

  “Mon Dieu!” He threw his arms up betwixt them, the action sending her backwards, and broke the distracting connection. “I speak, female. I was just being polite and trying not to point out that it was you who ran into my body, racing around after shouting like a banshee.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her tongue flicked out gently over her lower lip as she tried to formulate a response.

  He stepped past her, careful not to brush against her body and eyed the Guildmaster. “I have a report to give and a shoulder to have tended.”

  With a nod from the older man, he stepped into the office and sat in one of the pearl white upholstered chairs. He enjoyed being in the office. As with the main hall, it was one of the few places in the guild where fine decorations were used. The wallpaper had gold leafing in it that matched the golden tools on the chocolate painted wooden desk. The room was powered by the crystals, the only place aside from the labs that used them for light. They were rare and only used to power small areas, but they lasted for weeks and gave more light than a candle or oil lamp.

  “Odette, come back into the office, and we will finish this discussion. We both know you have nowhere else to go, and if you want to stay with me, then you will listen to me. Do not provoke my ire, child. I have not been unaffected by your tragedy, but I do not need you creating scenes to let the whole of the Alliance know we lost an entire group!” The man’s voice held the same sternness as when he disciplined an Alliance member for stepping out of line.

  Philippe had never been on the receiving end and never wanted to be. There was something about him that was terrifying. He tucked away the little trifle of information regarding an Alliance group being lost. As far as he’d known, they were only in the Old World, so if they’d gone to The Americas, someone was hiding things. He didn’t like to be lied to; commanding officers that withheld information oft saw their troops lying dead.

  The woman, Odette, remained quiet, as did her father, and Philippe was ready to do the unthinkable and not report. His shoulder hurt like the devil, and if they were going to play obstinate child and parent, he would remo
ve himself from the equation. There was no reason he needed to sit around in pain when most of the hunters would have gone to the physician first.

  Just as his patience and pain tolerance had run out, he heard an exasperated sigh and the sound of footsteps. Thomas Agardawes filled the doorway, shook his head in disdain and walked to sit down behind his desk. A moment later, Odette walked into the room, and for the first time, Philippe got a look at her and almost groaned.

  She was beautiful. Her long, dark hair was similar in length and color to his. Except where his was flat obsidian, hers held traces of deep red streaks and hung freely down her back. Her eyes were a vibrant green with specs of yellow so deep they looked like gold flakes. Her mouth and nose were upturned, and he found he rather liked the look. There was a hardness about her face. Something had happened with her as a witness, and it had left her cold, distant—much like many of the hunters at the Alliance.

  His eyes traveled down her body, she was a hunter. There was no doubt in his mind. She was long and lithe. Her body showed signs of sinewy muscles under the tight, tan leather corset. Her black skirt was full, but he had a feeling it was concealing a lot more than a crystal gun and daggers. She was a fighter, and even her stance shifted as she realized his eyes were on her body. She glowered at him and for a second appeared to crouch as if she was going to launch at him, but instead, closed the door behind her and sat in the seat next to him.

  “I don’t understand what you hope to achieve by dragging me back into your office, Father, especially with someone else present.” Her tone was haughty, and she crossed her arms over her chest, causing her bosom to rise ever so slightly.