Night of the Tiger (Hades' Carnival)

by N. J. Walters

  The battle had truly begun.

  She glanced at Roric, but he wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. He swiveled his head from side to side. His nostrils flared, and she realized he was sniffing the air. The tiger within him would be able to scent danger before it arrived.

  The woodpile was just off to the left of the porch. Sticking out of the chopping block was the splitting maul. It was like an axe and sledgehammer combined. The blade end was sharp, and she knew how to swing it. Aimee gave silent thanks to her father for teaching her to take care of her tools.

  She could almost see him standing by the woodpile, tall and strong, swinging the maul down in a short arc. Wood split apart, falling to the ground. He’d wait until she picked up the pieces and piled them aside before swinging again. They’d spent many an hour like that.

  Daddy’s little helper, he’d called her. After he was gone, she’d cherished the memories of those times spent together. She could almost hear his deep voice instructing her, “A dull blade is more of a hazard than a help, Aimee. You want to keep it sharp. You’re less likely to hurt yourself and it makes the work easier.”

  “I hear you, Daddy,” she whispered as she went down the three steps to the yard.

  “Where are you going?” Roric’s sharp voice broke the silence. He had been watching her after all.

  “To get the maul.” Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried to the woodpile. The air thickened and the sky turned so dark it seemed more like night. The sunny day of moments before vanished in the blink of an eye.

  Rustling sounds came from just beyond the edge of the woods. Aimee grabbed the handle of the maul and yanked it out of the block. There was no sound behind her, yet instinct had her gripping the hickory handle and swinging it in one smooth motion. She whirled around, letting her body weight add to the momentum. The blade flashed and buried itself in the gut of a horrific creature straight from her nightmares. Blood spurted, and she knew she’d hit something vital. The shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. Aimee kept both hands on the handle to keep from losing her weapon and yanked it free.

  The creature threw back its head and roared, shaking the very ground beneath her feet. Towering above her and casting a long shadow, the demon was about seven feet tall with gigantic, red-tinged eyes and a large, protruding jaw. Two rows of sharp teeth were exposed as he howled in pain. They were all pointed and looked razor sharp. He stood upright, his long fingers tipped with nails that were more like blades. This guy was a cross between Godzilla and Freddy Kruger.

  This was so not good.

  She heard Roric’s battle cry and the crash of his swords. He yelled her name, but she ignored him. She was a little busy herself at the moment. Without hesitation, she swung again and buried the axe head in the creature’s gut, jumping aside as he swung one of his great arms in her direction. Aimee ducked and fell to the ground, rolling to the edge of the woodpile, the heavy maul still in her hand. The creature was losing blood steadily, and his entrails were half spilled on the ground. Not that he seemed to notice. He just kept coming.

  “This isn’t fair,” she muttered as she swiped her free hand over the leg of her jeans. Her palms were sweaty and covered with a combination of blood and stuff she really didn’t want to identify. It burned slightly, but she ignored it. The beast advanced on her, one plodding step at a time.

  “Go for the head,” Roric shouted.

  She risked a quick glance his way and was stunned. Roric was shirtless once again, swords moving so fast they were a blur as he chopped and hacked through the three demons attacking him. Like the one trying to make mincemeat out of her, they were like something out of a prehistoric nightmare. Their skin was thick and scaly, like alligator flesh, their jaws filled with those incredibly sharp-looking teeth.

  “Look out!” he yelled.

  Too late, Aimee realized she’d let her focus stray from her opponent. She jumped back and felt his lethal fingernails graze her stomach. Fabric ripped. She didn’t dare glance down to see how badly she was bleeding. Her stomach was wet, yet she didn’t feel any pain. Adrenaline rush. It would hurt later. If she was still alive.

  A sense of calm enveloped her. She could do this. There was no other choice. Either she killed the creature or it would kill her. And she wasn’t ready to die, not if she could prevent it. The woodpile was right next to her and, as she looked at it, her eyes widened as a crazy idea went through her head. It could work. It would work.

  Not giving herself any time to consider the pitfalls of her half-baked plan, she moved. She took a running step and jumped, gaining the top of the woodpile. Planting her feet, she whirled. The extra three feet in height was all she needed. The creature had predictably followed her and was now in her sights.

  The axe head whistled in the air as she swung with all her might. The blade bit deep into the creature’s neck. She felt the slight hesitation and her stomach dropped. If this didn’t work, she was dead. Before she could even complete the thought, the blade sank deeper, slicing through bone, muscle and sinew.

  The creature jerked back. Aimee was dragged forward. She toppled over the edge of woodpile, falling to the ground as the maul slipped from her grip. Dirt and small rocks bit into her palms as she caught herself. The beast clutched at its neck, yanking at the blade embedded there. Inhuman sounds came from its mouth, a cross between a roar of rage and a cry of pain. Blood flowed freely down its body, spilling onto the grass and pooling slightly on the ground.

  “Die already!” Aimee shouted. Panting for breath, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the various aches and pains running through her body, she staggered back to the dubious safety of the woodpile. There was no way for her to retrieve her weapon.

  The creature tried to roar again, but blood filled its mouth, pouring over its bottom jaw. The sound was more of a wet gurgle, like water going down a drain. He took one plodding step toward her. Then another.

  “Shit!” Won’t this thing ever die? Aimee grabbed a piece of wood from the top of the pile. It wasn’t quite two feet long and wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. And it was sure as heck better than nothing.

  The beast advanced slowly. Suddenly, it stopped. Like a great tree being cut down, it heaved to one side and toppled to the ground, raising a cloud of dust as it settled in the dirt. Its breathing was ragged as it stared at her out of hate-filled eyes. She felt sorry for it. The creature was only doing what was in its nature, what it had been commanded to do. Still, she was glad it was the beast lying there and not her.

  She jerked back when a flash of steel whipped thought the air in front of her. Roric’s sword cut through what was left of the creature’s neck, putting it out of its misery.

  “You’re hurt.” Roric’s concern pulled her gaze from the dead demon. She glanced toward the back deck and saw three other carcasses littered across the ground like garbage. Her stomach roiled, and she dragged herself around the far end of the woodpile and lost her breakfast.

  Her throat burned as she vomited several more times. Roric came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders, his deep voice murmuring words of comfort in her ear. How embarrassing. She wanted to be a strong, kickass heroine and ended up puking her guts up instead.

  “Let me see.” Roric shifted her away from the mess on the ground and tugged at the bottom of her sweatshirt. He examined her stomach and heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  Aimee could see the thin slash that ran right across her belly from one side to the other. If she hadn’t jumped back in time, her guts would have been spilled onto the ground just like the creature who’d attacked her. It hadn’t hurt at all during the fight but ironically, now that she’d seen the wound, it hurt like the devil. Which was not a good analogy, all things considered.

  “Will it need stitches?” She hoped not. She didn’t want to have to go to the local clinic and try to explain how she’d gotten such an injury. If she told them the truth they’d lock her up. And an
y explanation she could come up with left her sounding careless at best and slightly crazy and dangerous at worst. You see, doctor, the splitting maul slipped and I fell on the blade. That was so lame.

  Roric placed his palm over her belly. She jerked when the warmth of his skin touched hers. She hadn’t realized just how cold she was until then. Her blood seeped around his fingers.

  “We need to go inside. I’ve got some bandages in the bathroom that we can use.”

  Ignoring her, Roric kept his hand on her stomach. His palm got steadily warmer as he began to chant under his breath. She didn’t recognize the language, had no idea what he was saying. It did sound sexy as all get out though.

  She forgot all about his sexy voice a second later as heat flashed over her skin, practically burning it. Damn, it hurt. Aimee tried to pull away from him, but with the woodpile at her back and Roric in front of her, there was nowhere for her to go.

  She closed her eyes and breathed through the pain, just like she used to when she was in the hospital all those years ago. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. Her skin was hot, too hot, like she was running a fever. She thought she could smell it sizzling. She bit her bottom lip and tasted blood.

  In spite of her determination to be stoic, the pain increased with each passing second. She finally broke, crying out in agony. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her legs and arms quivered and she began to sway.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The blazing heat disappeared. And so did the pain. Cool air, like a balm, blew over her flesh.

  She opened her eyes and blinked at Roric. There was such a look of concern on his face she wanted to reassure him that she was fine. But talking was still too much for her. It took all her concentration and strength just to breathe.

  “I’m sorry.” Roric cupped her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her abused bottom lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but there was no other way.”

  She thought for a moment he might kiss her, but he stepped away. When she remembered that she’d just lost her breakfast moments ago, she was glad he hadn’t. The front of her sweatshirt was in tatters and covered in blood. But the slash on her belly was no longer bleeding. In fact, it looked as though it was sealed. Tentatively, she touched it. Her fingers touched the edges of a raised scar, but that was it.

  “You healed me.” There was disbelief in her voice as she poked at the injury.

  “Yes. I’m sorry it hurt you, but that’s the price for the healing.”

  “Wow!” She stared at Roric, wondering what other powers he had that she knew nothing about. “This is amazing.”

  He shrugged. “I can heal minor wounds. If he’d gotten a better swing at you there is nothing I could have done to save you.”

  That stark reminder of how close she’d come to dying was enough to jolt her back to reality. “I need to get cleaned up.” She motioned to the demon bodies littering her backyard. “What about them?”

  “Hades will claim them.” Even as Roric spoke, the demons began to smolder from the inside out. Aimee watched in amazement as their bodies burst into flames, burning quickly until nothing was left but ash.

  “Wow.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “Hades always retrieves what is his, one way or the other.” As if on cue, the wind whipped up, scattering the ashes. The ground around them was scorched and black. Other than that, not a single trace of the demons remained.

  Roric peered around the yard, squinting as he stared into the woods. “From now on we stay together. I go where you go.”

  Aimee wasn’t willing to argue the point. She’d come too close to dying. In silence, they headed into the house and upstairs to the bedroom.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They needed a plan. Aimee pulled on her third top of the morning—a long-sleeved cotton jersey. At this rate, she’d need to do a load of laundry soon or buy new clothes. The top was comfortable against her body, which was sore after the intense battle. Her skin was mottled black and blue in places. Her stomach didn’t hurt as such, but the scar was tender. All in all, it was a small price to pay for coming out of the lethal confrontation alive.

  Now that she’d washed up and was wearing clean, warm clothing, she felt much better. More in control again. Which was a fallacy really. Her life was so out of control it wasn’t funny. No one would ever believe her if she told them she was locked in mortal combat with the devil himself for her very soul. And that she also needed to buy fabric softener. They’d give her a pitying look and lock her up in a mental ward. And she wouldn’t blame them for it.

  Sighing, she gave the room one final glance. All the soiled clothing had been dumped in the garbage or laundry basket, depending on if she thought it was salvageable. She hoped her favorite jeans came clean. She wasn’t sure if her laundry detergent was up to dealing with demon blood.

  Not that it really mattered in the scheme of things. But it was normal, and God only knew she needed some normal in her life right now, even if it was only sorting laundry.

  Her room looked the same as it always had. She’d made the bed and the drapes were pulled back, letting the sunlight wash over the gleaming hardwood floors. The book she was reading sat on her bedside table. She wondered if she’d get the opportunity to finish it.

  But standing here wasting time wasn’t going to change anything. The problems still remained, and Aimee had to deal with them and with Roric.

  It had taken some quick talking to make him leave long enough for her to get dressed. He’d insisted on waiting just inside the bathroom door while she’d grabbed another quick shower to wash away the blood and gore. She hadn’t objected. The last thing she wanted was to be taken unawares while she was in the shower. Knowing he was on the other side of the shower curtain had played havoc with her hormones. It didn’t seem to matter that demons from hell wanted to whoop her ass. She still wanted Roric.

  She’d taken the fastest shower on record, soaping up and rinsing in under two minutes. A large bath towel had covered her decently, but there was no way she could get dressed with him in the room with her.

  It was stupid really, considering he’d seen her totally naked more than once. But that was then. Now they were all business, neither of them really expecting to make it out of this day alive. At least she wasn’t expecting it. It was hard to know what Roric thought or felt about the situation.

  She glanced toward the open door to her bedroom. He’d given her two minutes, and she knew he meant it. If she weren’t downstairs by then, he’d come and get her regardless of her state of dress or undress.

  She did up the snap on her jeans and pulled on her hiking boots, lacing them tight before leaving her room without a backward glance. Her pocketknife was in her back pocket. Not that it would help much if another one or two or six of those creatures attacked. But it helped her not feel quite so defenseless. Her father’s old shotgun was downstairs in the hall closet, but she didn’t think it would do much to stop one of the demons. She’d have to ask Roric’s opinion.

  The smell of burnt wood and fabric assailed her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The living room looked no better than it had earlier. It hurt her in ways she couldn’t explain to see it like that. She felt violated both on a physical and emotional level. This house had always been her safe place, her haven.

  That feeling had been destroyed.

  Her home had been tainted by demons, and that was something she wasn’t ever going to be able to forget. Yet she knew if she survived this, she would repair and remodel. To do otherwise would be to allow Hades to win. She had no choice. This was her home.

  “I made coffee.” Roric’s voice yanked her out of her musings. He stood, tall and handsome as ever, in the kitchen doorway watching her. He was still shirtless. He’d somehow lost the black one during the fight. He’d probably ripped it off to give himself better mobility. The shirt had been tight across the shoulders. Still, she wished he’d find a new one to wear. All that bare flesh was giving her i
nappropriate ideas.

  She brought her focus back to the conversation at hand. “You don’t like coffee.” She noticed that he’d taken one sip this morning and hadn’t drunk any more.

  “You do.”

  His thoughtful gesture touched her and she smiled. “Thanks.”

  His lips twitched. “I don’t know if you should thank me or not until you taste it. I understand how modern machinery should work, but actually making it do so properly is another thing altogether. I wasn’t certain how much of the coffee to put in the filter.”

  Aimee stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away from the slight twinkle in his eyes. At this moment, she envied him. Roric lived in the minute, had the rare ability to be in the now. You’d never know he’d just fought and killed three demons. Four, if you counted hers. And she didn’t really. He’d been mostly dead by the time Roric arrived. Still, three and a half demons was quite the feat.

  Yet he could make her coffee and offer her a joke, even knowing his very existence could end in a heartbeat, that he could fail his goddess and his fellow warriors and end up in Hades’ clutches forever. She admired him and was determined to act as he did. The moment was all they had.

  She walked toward him. At first she didn’t think he would move and let her pass. At the last possible second, he turned sideways, still blocking most of the doorway. Aimee had to angle her body to get by him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and her nipples stood at attention.

  Ignoring the jolt of heat that flashed through her, she hurried toward the coffeepot. A cup of the strong brew was just what she needed. Grabbing a mug, she poured. It looked more black than brown in color. She added two teaspoons of sugar and stirred. She studied it and added one more. It looked strong. She eyed the brew before shrugging and taking a sip.