Ravenous

by Sherri L. King

  “You mean the monsters?” Her thoughts were a jumble, but she managed that bit of reasoning before she once more gave in to the pain that drove her. She moaned and writhed against the blade in her shoulder, seeking to keep her weight from bearing down so heavily upon it.

  She braced herself by holding onto his wrists with both hands. He certainly was strong. His arm didn’t even tremble under her weight. Their breath met between them—his deep and calm, hers shallow and rapid. He brought his free hand up to lay it softly over hers. She wondered if he meant his gesture to be comforting. Oddly enough, it did serve to comfort her a little…until another wave of pain swept her up once more.

  “Daemons, monsters, hell-spawn—they are the things whose blood now soak your clothing,” he breathed deeply as if scenting some fragrant perfume on the wind, “as well as your own.”

  “I killed seven of them tonight.” Her voice shook with the effort of biting back her cries of pain. “I’ll kill you as well and break even with my record of eight…just give me a second to catch my breath, okay?” She knew her boasting words were foolhardy in the extreme, but she couldn’t help it. More than the pain, she hated being at his mercy, and the only way she could lash out was with words.

  “Such brave boasts from so small a mortal woman. So you are no friend to the Daemons. You’ve met them in battle and triumphed. But you are a woman, not a Shikar warrior. How can this be? I sense the truth of your words, but how is it possible? You are…human,” he spat out the last word as if it were some vile epithet.

  “It hurts…hurts so bad,” she whispered weakly. She could no longer focus on his words, but she was far beyond caring. Her head was swimming, her brain going fuzzy. She hated her weakness, but she’d never felt such an invasive pain before. In all her years of battling against the forces of evil she’d never before sustained such a debilitating and painful injury.

  “I will leave for now. The dawn has arrived. But I will be back—and we will talk. You have caught the attention of my people, and we will have the answers we seek from you.” He pulled the blade from her shoulder, catching her to him as she fell.

  “Until we meet again, woman.” He breathed the words at her ear, making them a promise. A threat.

  Her world became darkness, as she fell into a swoon to escape the pain.

  Chapter Two

  Obsidian ran his hands over his bleary eyes. He was tired and weary after the night’s events, looking forward to finding his rest for the night. First however, he must go before the Elder and make his report concerning his altercation with the mortal woman. This was a meeting he did not anticipate attending in the least.

  He should not have hurt her.

  Guilt washed over him. He hadn’t intended to harm the woman, but his anger at her possible involvement with the Horde had driven his actions. He’d lost control. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the thought that she might be aiding and abetting his enemies had felt like a personal betrayal. It was a reaction that he could not explain—even to himself. He had almost wanted to hurt her. To make her feel the pain that he felt over her seeming choice of alliances.

  But then he had discovered that she was innocent of any wrongdoing. Her confusion alone over his questions concerning the Daemons should have been enough to convince him of her innocence. It had only served to anger him more, for it proved beyond any doubt that she was a mere human. To his mind she therefore had placed herself recklessly in the path of the invading Horde with her heroics. The little fool.

  No human had the power to stand and win against a Daemon.

  Oh yes, he and his allies had heard of her victories against the evil scourges that managed to evade the Shikar warriors. Her legend had spread far and wide amongst the Shikar Alliance. But legend—myth—it was surely, for no Shikar warrior had ever encountered a mortal with the strength or cunning to outmatch even the weakest Daemon. It just wasn’t possible.

  Was it?

  After this morning’s struggles with one Cady Swann, mortal woman, Daemon Hunter, he just wasn’t so sure of anything anymore. He’d never been bested in battle, but somehow that slip of a woman had charged past his defenses as if they were naught. She’d actually succeeded in wounding him!

  She’d marked him with her sharp teeth, a deep ugly bruise at his shoulder, and she’d nearly broken his cheekbone with her fist. It had taken great concentration to mentally heal the knife-wound in his side after he’d left her. Not to mention the other various bruises he’d sustained while trying to subdue her.

  He’d elected to leave the bite-wound unhealed, as a reminder that he was not invincible. To remind him of his ill treatment of Cady. But deep down, on some primal level, he knew that he’d left the bruise because he relished bearing her brand upon his flesh. He wondered fleetingly what it would be like to have her mark him thusly in a fit of passion, instead of rage.

  Bah! Such thoughts were unlike him. Where was his warrior’s honor? It lay wounded at the mortal woman’s feet. That’s where.

  His humiliating wounding at her hands had fueled the fire of his temper. He’d warned her not to struggle against him, but she had paid him little heed. She should have known better than to defy the most feared warrior of the Shikar Alliance.

  But now that he could repent his actions at leisure, he wished that he’d refrained from retaliating against her using his foils. He’d known that the foils would inflict great pain upon her. It was, after all, their very purpose. His species had evolved in such a way that the foils—deadly retractable blades embedded deep within their bones—excreted a fatal poison into the wounds of a foe. The poison killed slowly, so slowly in fact that the victim could well die from the pain of it long before the poison reached the heart.

  He had, of course, only allowed a tiny amount of venom to seep into Cady’s wound. It had taken great amounts of mental control, but he had managed to keep her from feeling the brunt of the foils’ poisonous bite. When she’d passed out in his arms, he’d promptly neutralized the venom and healed her wound—not wanting her to die from the poison. Not wanting her to feel any more pain due to his rough treatment of her.

  He’d removed her shirt to see to her injuries, and it was then that he’d noticed the vicious claw marks that ran down her back. The wounds had clearly been inflicted by a Daemon, for they’d already begun to fester and boil. He saw to the healing of those wounds as well as the other scrapes and bruises that dotted the rest of her lush body. He’d left no portion of her body unexplored, seeing to even the smallest of injuries.

  She’d been so beautiful in her quiet repose, her caramel skin soft and supple under his healing hands. Her flesh had felt like warm, living silk under his hands. If she’d been awake he would have wanted to spread her out on the bed and gift her with pleasure the likes of which she’d never known.

  Where had that thought come from? He shook his dark head, sending his long hair flying. There was no way he was growing soft for a human, surely. He couldn’t stomach the idea. Oh sure, he’d rut with a human woman any-time. Human women were often delectable fucks. But that’s all it was—a fuck. No softer feelings involved, no tender words or vows.

  Just the hard, wet slap of flesh on flesh in the race towards mutual ecstasy.

  Turning a corner in the deep bowels of the underground temple-city he was jerked from his thoughts as he caught sight of Tryton, The Elder.

  “Obsidian, how fares the little warrior?” Tryton asked, his voice deep and resounding through the stone corridor.

  So it was to be this way was it? Obsidian could almost hear the censure coating The Elder’s voice. He suspected Tryton already knew the answer to his question, but wanted to hear what Obsidian had to say nonetheless. He debated his answer as they turned to walk in the direction of the warriors’ apartments, nestled within the heart of the temple-city.

  Tryton was a large man, almost as large as Obsidian was at six-foot ten inches. And though he was an elder member of the Shikar’s, he in no way looked as if the title
was appropriate. His face was ageless, neither young nor old. By a human’s standards he looked perhaps close to forty years, until one looked into his eyes.

  It was his eyes that gave him away. The title of Elder fell to him because he was a member of the Council, a group of the wisest Shikars. Tryton was often called The Elder because he was the leader of the Council, the oldest and wisest of them all. No one knew his true age but there were rumors that he was over two thousand years old. Looking now into Tryton’s bright yellow eyes, full of limitless secrets and knowledge, Obsidian could well believe the rumors.

  “My meeting with the mortal did not go as planned, Elder. She was…difficult.”

  “Will she side with us against the Horde?”

  “I didn’t get that far in my interrogation.” Obsidian almost cringed as he admitted his defeat over such a minor task.

  “Interrogation? You were sent to speak with her, not intimidate her. The human known as Cady Swann is no criminal to be interrogated. She should be heralded as no less than a hero amongst us for her many victories against the Horde.”

  “We did not know for certain if the rumors were true,” Obsidian bit out in his defense.

  “No, my friend, you were not certain—but I knew the truth behind the stories. Cady is a human, yes, but she is possessed of great psychic gifts. These gifts have stood her in good stead as she has battled against the Horde, and they would stand us in good stead if she would but join our ranks.”

  Obsidian stopped walking and clenched his teeth against the urge to roar. He managed to ask in clipped tones, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew the stories to be true? I thought her allegiance was in question—as well as her conquests on the field of battle.”

  Tryton raised a golden brow. “Her allegiance has never been in question, Obsidian. She fights the Daemons on an almost nightly basis. Her kills measure in the hundreds. Of course she is on the side of good. But would she join with us—that was the question I meant for you to put to her.”

  Obsidian growled and ran a hand over his scalp, dislodging the leather thong that held his hair in place at his nape. Midnight black waves of silken hair spilled loosely about his shoulders and down to his waist. His amber eyes flashed and sparked in agitation.

  Tryton saw Obsidian’s fit of pique and closed his eyes on a weary sigh, “Please tell me you didn’t bully her on your first meeting, Obsidian.”

  “How was I to know your intentions? You told me to seek out the Swann woman and to find what her intentions were regarding the Horde. I didn’t know you meant for her to join with us.”

  “Tell me what happened. Leave nothing out.”

  A few moments later, Tryton was trying not to smile as his most trusted and loyal warrior recounted the events of the night. Obsidian was gesticulating angrily, his words and actions volatile as he recounted the mortal woman’s attack upon his person. Obsidian seemed shocked and almost insulted that the woman had dared to defy him in such a manner. Tryton found the development interesting—and promising. His goals for the outcome of this night’s work became two-fold. Not that he would ever admit that to the angry warrior before him.

  “So essentially what you’re telling me is that you’ve likely insulted this woman to the point where she won’t have anything further to do with us?”

  “I’ll take care of it. If you want this…human to join us then join us she will.” Obsidian threw back his exceptionally broad shoulders in an arrogant, proud stance.

  “I do not want her forced.” Tryton warned in a tone that brooked no arguments.

  “Consider the matter resolved, Elder. I will not force her, but rest assured, she will join us.”

  “See that she does, Obsidian. See that she does.”

  Chapter Three

  Cady shot upright in bed, wincing at the stiff protests her muscles made over such an abrupt movement. It took her but a second to realize that she should be feeling quite a lot more discomfort than merely stiff muscles. She reached back to feel for the furrows at her back, her shoulder moving painlessly when it should have been too damaged to do so, and it was then that she realized that her wounds had miraculously healed.

  And that she was totally nude.

  “Hijo de puta.” Son of a bitch, she muttered in Spanish under her breath. Though she wasn’t exactly angry that her attacker had seen her in the nude, she wasn’t too happy about it either. He had, after all, healed her injuries and put her safely to bed. It was his only saving grace as far as she was concerned.

  But if it hadn’t been for his invasion of her home and subsequent rough treatment of her she wouldn’t have needed his assistance with her injuries in the first place. The most serious injury she’d sustained the previous night had been the deep furrows in her back. But a soak in bath salts and some rubbing alcohol would have kept the wounds from getting too infected. Probably.

  Glancing at her bedside alarm clock she groaned. It was after eleven in the morning and she was due at work by noon. She threw back the bedcovers and jumped from her bed to get ready for the day ahead. Her nightlife didn’t allow for much leeway in terms of her business hours. Especially during the winter months, when sunset came earlier than at any other time. But she had a job that she enjoyed, and it paid the bills, which was really all she cared about in terms of her daytime career.

  She worked in a local bookstore from twelve to six, Monday through Saturday. Not a full-time career, but she didn’t really have time for one. Her hours at the bookstore allowed her to be ready every nightfall to meet any monsters that should come her way, which was the most important thing. Though her schedule didn’t allow for much free time, she was able to get about four hours of sleep each night, which was really all she needed.

  She had more important things to do besides waste her time sleeping.

  Rushing through a shower, she growled at the stubbornly clinging bits of dried demon blood on her skin and hair as she hurried. Her skin was rose-red when she stepped from the shower, but it was free of any traces of blood and grime. She hurriedly threw on a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless, knit turtleneck. It was quick work for her to secure her hair in a tight braid, as she’d been doing it every day for years. Jauntily, she flicked the thick rope of hair over her shoulder and finished preparing for the day ahead. She’d never been overly enthusiastic about fussing over her appearance.

  Cady had always been more practical than vain. It was something her Puerto Rican grandparents had never fully understood. She remembered they always chalked it up to her being a tomboy. After all, she’d taken judo and karate lessons for years, not to mention that she was an active member of their local shooting range. Things like martial arts and weapons training were masculine pursuits in their eyes.

  They hadn’t known she’d been training for real combat. Her grandparents had never known that from the age of sixteen she’d been sneaking out of her window at night, armed to the teeth, honing her psychic skills and tracking monsters when they were near.

  Grabbing her daily essentials she made for the door, and prepared to act like a normal human…if only for a few hours.

  * * * * *

  “I was just telling my Henry the other day, ‘that girl needs to get herself a man and settle down to have some kids’…”

  Cady let the never-ending drawl of Maple Harris’s voice fade into the background as she scanned the area for some avenue of escape. One of the drawbacks of growing up in such a small town as Lula was that everyone knew everyone else’s business. Or thought they did. The older people, such as the seventy-year-old Maple, often took it upon themselves to meddle in other people’s lives. Especially when it involved matchmaking of any sort.

  “You’re not getting any younger, Cady. If you don’t find a husband and start a family soon you’ll end up an old maid.”

  “I’m only thirty, Mrs. Harris. Nowadays people don’t see that as an age even close to placing one ‘on the shelf’ as it were. Besides, it’s kind of hard to meet any interesting guys in t
he social mecca that is Lula.”

  Cady’s sarcasm was lost on the older woman. “What about Imogene and Spurgeon’s son? He’s not much older than you, and a hard worker from what I hear. Looks as though he’d be a decent husband and provider for any children ya’ll might have.”

  “Jonny Buckshot Greenaway? Not a chance. He’s forty-five with a comb-over and a pot belly, and he only works as hard as he does because he needs the money to support his drinking and gambling habits. No thanks. I’d rather die an old maid.”

  “What about Redd Little? We all saw how well ya’ll got on last fall. Me and Belle were sure you two were headed for the chapel.” Belle was Maple’s best friend, and together they made for the busiest gossips in town.

  “We went out twice, both times to Rabbit Town Café for a burger and fries. We weren’t dating, we were just hanging out. We’ve been friends since high school. Friends mind you, nothing more,” Cady defended.

  “You just didn’t give him enough of a chance. And now he’s out dating that upstart city girl from Atlanta.”

  “I met her,” Cady sighed, more than weary of the conversation already. “I thought she was a nice girl. Redd needs a nice girl, someone who won’t walk all over him. He’s too laid back for an aggressive kind of woman.”

  “Like you, you mean? If I told your Granny once, I told her a million times. She let you run wild after your family died in that storm, may the good Lord rest their souls, and now you’re too old and set in your ways to change. How will you meet a good man to marry if you don’t start…” Maple launched into her favorite lecture regarding the merits of being a meek woman and settling down with a big, braw man.

  Cady had heard the same lecture since the day she’d turned eighteen, from Maple Harris and the myriad other busy-bodies of the town. It was always the same. People thought Cady was just too wild and free-spirited, and in their eyes, if she would just settle down and raise a passel of kids, she would be tamed enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.