She dropped onto the couch next to Blake. Part of her wanted to lean into his warmth as she would have done as a child when nightmares plagued her. She’d come a long way from that frightened girl, however, and she needed to be strong.
Representatives from several of the hunter families in the city sat in their living room, taking up every available space. Most had strong drinks in their hands and bitter words on their tongues. The one thing they all agreed on was their impending doom.
“This can’t be happening,” she said.
“You can thank Kerilyn Whitney,” one of the older woman snapped before taking a long drink. “She screwed us all.”
Darcy flinched at the name. Kerilyn, the last surviving member of the strongest hunter family on the East Coast, had been one of their best. They’d lost her this past Halloween, when she’d been killed by the demon king himself.
Of course, the stories had started almost as soon as the sun rose on the following November morning. Stories whispering that Kerilyn wasn’t dead, that instead she’d been spirited away to the Netherworld, where she reigned as queen.
“They’re just stories,” Darcy said. “Let her rest in peace.”
“If she died that night as we all thought she did, why is the spirit world broken open to ours? Something had to happen to drive a wedge between our realms so they couldn’t close off again. Kerilyn might have saved herself but she doomed the rest of us.”
“Kerilyn would never make that choice and you know it. You dishonor her memory.”
“Darcy.”
She stilled at the gentle reproof in Blake’s voice.
“The stories say she was mortally wounded and the Lord of the Spirits healed her,” Blake said quietly. “Made a human into a spirit. I’ve done research and there is no record of anything like that happening before. If something was going to split open the roads between the realms, my money is on magic strong enough to cause such a transformation.”
“Unless you know a witch strong enough to rival the spirit lord, I think it’s safe to say we’re screwed,” Rod said, tossing back his drink.
Darcy glanced at the hunter, a member of the Bentry family. She’d always thought him lazy and slow. Looked like he wasn’t going to disappoint.
“We’ll fix it,” she replied, her tone biting. “Or we’ll adapt. This is not the end of us.”
“Blondie, you do whatever the hell you want,” Rod said. “I’m moving south.”
She despised his cowardice. “You think if we’re overrun the spirits won’t find you no matter where you go? We’re the first line of defense here. If Kerilyn is or was responsible, the tear to the spirit world will be somewhere in town, right? So we do what we do best. Fight.”
Some of the men and women before her nodded their agreement. Others looked less certain. Darcy understood the hesitation. Fighting demons was hard enough without doubling their workload with equally vicious creatures. There were only so many hunters, after all, and the Netherworld was infinite.
“We find out if there is any way to reverse what has been done,” Blake said quietly, the voice of reason. “And we track any spirits who have already crossed over. There can’t be too many or we’d have come up against them before now. It’s late and we’ve been at this long enough. Let’s get some sleep to clear our heads and reconvene tomorrow. If any of you don’t show up, we’ll know why. No hard feelings.”
Rod smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Darcy fingered the dagger at her waist as she eyed him.
One by one, the hunters in the room stood and made their goodbyes. She watched them go, knowing when they met tomorrow their numbers would be smaller. She tried not to blame them but found she just wasn’t that big a person.
Blake closed the door on the last of them before returning to her side. Darcy stared into the amber scotch in her glass and sighed. “Do you think Kerilyn really had something to do with it?”
“I think it’s a good place to start.”
She nodded before tossing back the last of her drink. “Okay.”
She stood, adjusting her wrist sheaths to make sure they were secure. She felt Blake watching her as she grabbed her coat.
“I’d tell you not to go but I know better.”
Grinning, she dropped a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
“Be careful.”
“Always,” she called as she slipped through the door.
The cold winter night hit her as she hurried down the porch steps. She hated this season. Cold fingers made for slow reactions and bulky jackets hindered her ability to get to her weapons quickly.
She jogged to her car, keys already in hand. If Kerilyn was behind this, then the logical place to start was her house. Here’s hoping the hunter had left behind a clue or two.
* * *
Jaral gripped the white picket fence before him with both hands. Something wet slid down his neck and he knew without brushing it off that it was blood. The mortal clothes he despised were ripped in more places than humans would overlook without scrutiny. Cracked fingernails gouged into the wood beneath his hands. The journey to this realm had been harder than anticipated. It was almost as if the universe was balancing itself out—spirits had more leeway and demons had less.
“Kerilyn Whitney,” he growled, staring at her house. His new aunt, all things considered. The thought brought a crooked smile to his lips. A mortal in the family. How humiliating.
He pushed through the little white gate before striding up the stone walkway. The house, the last one on the edge of town, looked empty. Forest rimmed the backyard, kept at bay by the white fence running the perimeter of the property.
When he approached the door the lock slid back with a wave of his hand. He hoped her house held some clues.
Jaral stepped into the dark home, not bothering to try the light switch. He saw as well in the dark as he did in the light. Better, perhaps.
The house sat untouched and he wondered why. Surely the mortals would have been eager to strip it in their greed. If there was one thing he’d learned to count on over the years, it was the greed of humans. In that one way, they were extremely reliable. And easily controllable.
He strode through the downstairs on silent feet. The living room was tidy if small. Photos of smiling children and a happy family lined the walls. He leaned closer to the glossy frames, wondering which of the smiling women had captured his uncle’s cold heart.
Moving away from the pictures he wandered into the kitchen. A quick perusal showed the perishable items had been disposed of. Obviously someone had been here but hadn’t boxed up the woman’s belongings. Odd, but it made his job easier.
Satisfied the downstairs was as ordinary and dull as he’d expected, he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Several bedrooms opened into the hall but only one looked as if it’d been inhabited recently.
“All right, aunt,” he purred. “What secrets are you hiding?”
He was heading for the dresser when light flashed across the dark room. Eyes narrowed, he stalked to the window and saw one of the metal vehicles humans so loved pull up before the house. The driver shut it down, cutting off the light. A woman stepped from the conveyance and looked up at the house.
Jaral hissed a breath. With his demon sight, he missed nothing about her. Not the flyaway blond hair a man could curl around his fist, nor the plump rose lips that lent themselves better to naughty fantasies than the tight, serious line she’d currently pulled them into.
The human was slender and tall. She walked with purpose, her shoulders thrown back and her chin up. Jaral nearly smiled at the “don’t screw with me” attitude she’d perfected. As she moved, his eyes caught something else. Something far more interesting than her looks.
Weapons rested on her hips, the tips of daggers showing under the hem of her black jacket. He looked more closely. This woman was not a fragile as she appeared.
A smile curved his lips. If he was not mistaken, a hunter strode toward him.
Thought of her attractiveness fled as a cold, vicious urge rose within him. Tonight was his lucky night. This pretty mortal would help ease his annoyance over this mission. And when her silvery hair was matted with blood, perhaps this cursed trip would be worth it.
* * *
Darcy marched toward Kerilyn’s abandoned house. It looked as though nothing had changed since last time she was here. Shortly after her death, several hunters had come to clear some things out and see if there was anything needing to be hidden from average human eyes. Once they’d done their part, they left the rest alone. The house had gone to a relation by marriage, Darcy knew, though it seemed the woman hadn’t wanted to come back to close it up. Everything should be as she’d left it. Last time she’d been here to help hide Kerilyn’s identity, doing only a quick sweep of the house before vanishing. This time she went with a fresh perspective, wanting to see if there was any evidence she could find to suggest Kerilyn had lived through that Halloween night.
She pulled her lock picks from her pocket and knelt by the front door. Inserting the instruments jostled the door and to her surprise, it squeaked open a fraction of an inch.
Darcy stared at the open door. A door that should have been locked.
How long had it been open? Teenagers looking for a house to party in could have left it this way, she supposed, but her instincts were kicking into overdrive.
She slipped the picks back into her pocket before slowly unzipping the bulky jacket that would hinder her movements. She shrugged out of it quietly, ignoring the biting cold. Laying the jacket aside, she drew the daggers at her wrists before easing the door open.
The hall was dark, the only illumination coming from the streetlights outside. Darcy stepped inside as she scanned the area. Everything looked as she’d left it. She closed the door quietly before reaching for the light switch. Nothing. She flicked it a few times before giving up. With no resident to pay the hydro, the power had been cut off.
Great, she thought, stepping into the living room. Maybe she should call Blake. But as soon as she thought it, she shrugged the inclination away. She was not a child who needed reassurance when the lights went out.
Carefully she crept through the room and through the connecting door to the kitchen. Empty. Perhaps the adrenaline surging through her veins wasn’t warranted after all.
She searched the rest of the rooms on the bottom floor before declaring them safe. One floor down, one to go. Darcy started up the stairs, careful to tread on the sides to minimize any squeaking of old wood.
The upper hall was darker than below. The only hint of light leaked from the bedrooms with front-facing windows. As silent as she could, she swept each room in turn, not wanting to risk something sneaking up behind her. When only one room remained, she should have felt more at ease. Instead she stared at Kerilyn’s door and was overcome with a strange reluctance to move forward. Years of hunting experience warned of what might lurk in the shadows. Waiting for her.
Leave or fight. A decision she faced almost every night. If she left, she’d never know why someone was in Kerilyn’s house. And with the spirit realm threatening to spew all over this world, information was power.
Decision made, she strode forward.
Darcy eased the door open and stepped into Kerilyn’s bedroom. The room faced the street and lamplight fought the gloom. She was ready for a surprise attack, a creature hiding under the bed or behind the door. But she wasn’t prepared for what she found.
A man waited, doing nothing to hide his presence. He leaned against the window frame gazing out at the night.
The streetlights lit his face and she sucked in a sharp breath. The man was beautiful. Not handsome or striking—freaking beautiful. Like a fallen angel, every aspect of him was perfect. Black hair curled around high cheekbones, emphasizing the golden hue of his skin. Dark lashes shaded averted eyes and her gaze fell to the full lips a woman would kill for.
He was tall, taller than her at least, and muscled. The T-shirt he wore stretched across his chest and despite the tears and stains on the fabric nothing detracted from the confidence seeping from him. Strong arms were folded across his chest and she saw a black tattoo encircling one biceps, written in a language she’d never seen. Finally her gaze came to rest on the sword at his waist. Tall, Dark and Handsome was definitely not a wayward teen looking for a house to crash in.
“Finished?” His voice flowed over her, dark and rich.
“For now,” she said, refusing to let him unsettle her. “Does GQ know about you?”
He looked at her then and her gaze clashed with the inky blackness of his eyes. “You’re a hunter.”
She bowed mockingly. “And you are?”
“Not.”
Before she could speak flames leapt into his eyes, igniting the ebony. Darcy stiffened.
“Demon,” she whispered. “Fire demon.” The worst of them all. You didn’t mess with fire demons if you wanted to keep breathing. All it took was a single touch and they could burn you up from the inside.
“Not quite,” he purred. “But close.” The flames extinguished as if they’d never been.
Darcy shifted her weight to her back foot, ready to fight. “Why are you here, demon?”
His smile sent a chill down her spine. “Did you know the hunter who lived in this house?”
She blinked at the question, unsure how to answer.
He watched her closely, as if daring her to lie to him.
Lifting her chin, Darcy nodded.
His smile turned into a full grin and for a moment she was struck by the sight, equally beautiful and menacing.
“Good.”
He flew at her with speed she could barely track.
Darcy threw herself to the side, nearly missing being beheaded by the sword instantly appearing in his hand. She leapt back before finding her balance on the balls of her feet. The demon twirled around, nothing in his dark eyes but bloodlust.
Should have called Blake, she thought as she studied him. This was not a demon to mess with. Usually the breed was more monster than man, with dangling arms dragging on the floor, and bloodred eyes. Those creatures she could fight. But the more powerful the demon, the more it was able to resemble humans, making it easier to hunt its prey. Given the looks of the demon before her and the fire he’d been able to call, he had to be advanced in the hierarchy. Higher than she could handle without backup.
Fight and run, she decided. I’m not dying tonight.
She attacked, not willing to give him another chance to skewer her. The demon might be bigger and stronger, but she was more lithe. Darcy darted to the right before feinting left. She danced around behind him, driving both blades toward his unprotected back.
The demon turned, knocking away one dagger with his blade. Darcy didn’t even pause but drove her knuckles into his windpipe. A choking sound escaped him as he doubled over.
Elation surged in her as she slammed her dagger down at his back but he surprised her again, blocking the attack with an arm before hitting her palm-first in the chest.
Her feet left the ground and she soared across the bedroom, smashing into the wardrobe on the other side of the bed.
Darcy crashed into the floor hard enough to make her head spin. She forced herself to her feet as the demon swung his massive sword at her. Ducking under it, she kicked out at his kneecap. He blocked the blow and flicked his fingers at her. Fire shot through the air, barely missing her. He grinned when she stumbled backward and fury rose at the sight. The bastard was playing with her.
Darcy drew the silver dagger at her waist. The demon waited for her, a crooked smile on his lips, not even out of breath.
“Come, mortal,” he urged. “Dazzle me.”
Cold settled over her and she welcomed it. It banished the fear flooding her, cooled the impulsive emotions liable to get her killed. Her vision tunneled as her body switched to survival mode. It’d taken years and dozens of broken bones to attain such focus.
She
launched herself at him again but this time her actions were precise, every strike stronger than the previous ones. She darted around him faster than he could turn. With a swipe of her legs she threw him to the floor, following him down with a dagger aimed at his heart.
The demon grabbed her arm and flipped her over his head but she rolled to her knees immediately, slashing out. He jerked away from the blade in her hand but not quickly enough. A shallow cut sliced across his chest. Small green drops of blood beaded along the wound.
“Excellent,” he murmured, not the least bit upset. If anything, interest lit his face. “Very good.”
She didn’t waste time with pointless words. Instead she attacked mercilessly. He blocked every blow, fighting with expertise she couldn’t hope to match.
When his blade sliced across her upper arm she bit back her cry, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Her blood ran down the length of his sword, spattering onto the ground. He eyed the red stains with a grim smile.
Bastard, she thought, ignoring the weakness in her wounded arm.
“I don’t need this to best you,” he said, tossing his sword onto the bed.
“You’ll never best me.” Warm blood trickled down her arm.
In reply, he cast out his left hand.
Her lungs froze. Darcy opened her mouth to breathe but couldn’t suck in any oxygen. She dropped to her knees as she gasped for air. He was suffocating her without even touching her. How? she wondered as she clawed the floor. Fire demons didn’t have that ability.
The edges of her vision were darkening as her cells cried out for oxygen.
“Goodbye, hunter,” the demon taunted in his velvety voice.
No, she raged. She was not dying like this. Summoning the last of her strength, she launched herself at the demon. His eyes widened in surprise, obviously not thinking she had the power for such a feat, seconds before her dagger slid into his shoulder.
He hissed in pain and air flooded back into her lungs. She gasped for breath, pressed against his chest. For a moment neither moved, both shocked by the position they found themselves in.
Demon by My Side Page 2