Moon Burn (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  Since then, she’d been examining the red liquid with a cruel smile that made me squirm.

  She tapped her high heel on the ash-coated floor, slowly turning the vial over in her free hand. Her other arm leaned heavily on a cane, which threw a wrench into the bombshell seductress image she’d worked so hard to cultivate. Even so, her cascading wave of blonde hair and tight black cocktail dress struck a sharp image. The red heels completed a visage I was none too glad to see.

  “Your dog’s potion has caused me no shortage of grief, Kalos.” With a quick movement, she finally slipped the vial into her plunging neckline. “I only hope that I can return his favor in kind.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said with a fake cheer. “The first part, more specifically.”

  Her lips turned into a wicked smirk. The Carmine Chain and Remkah Talisman dangled from her neck. The second thing she had done, after stealing the dog’s blood, had been to relieve me of the artifacts. They glowed slightly, channeling her essence. To be honest, they looked garish with the outfit.

  I was beginning to think Ruby was correct: that I had been a fool to walk around with them.

  Certainly a fool to bring them into the lion’s den.

  I shifted nervously, the zip ties cutting into my wrists.

  “Some would call this fate, Kalos.” She sneered, stroking the magical artifacts of untold power like they were new pets. “Bringing these objects to me when I needed them most.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “And yet you appeared like a vision in the flames.” She threw her hair back over her shoulder. “Like a lovely oasis in the desert.”

  “I’m touched you still love me.”

  She glowered, annoyed by her own words. “You understand what I meant.”

  “It’s all right to admit it.”

  “Silence!” A weak gust blew forth from her body, rattling the legs of the chair.

  “I’m shaking.” I gave a casual nod to her army of armed gunmen. “Call off the watchdogs and we’ll see what your fate will be.”

  “I am finished with cleverness.” The slight breeze stopped and the chair rocked back to the ground. “A bullet to your head will suffice.”

  Ah. Perhaps the witch had learned from her mistakes. Both she and Marrack had always been obsessed with my humiliation and eternal servitude. By now I had caused them enough shit to demonstrate that my embarrassment just wasn’t worth the complications that inevitably ensued.

  Take the failed Destroyer of Former Lovers spell. Isabella had tried to make my heart explode from afar, torturing me for days as our intertwined essence ripped apart. Major points for audacity and showmanship, to be sure. Unfortunately, thanks to Argos’s Life of a Thousand Cuts potion, she limped and her once-brilliant magical powers were forever reduced to parlor tricks.

  Few can compete with a demon when it comes to channeling vengeful hatred. You’ll lose, even when you’re a megalomaniacal witch.

  A loud scraping noise made me crane my neck. I peered into the smoky darkness, trying to see into the thinly illuminated distance. Unfortunately, Isabella’s men had extinguished most of the fires, leaving my imagination to fill in the gaps.

  It didn’t produce many good scenarios.

  “Tell me,” I said, talking more to drown out the screech than out of any latent curiosity, “how did you get down here?”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “Through the door.”

  “I meant before or after your moon-burned daystrider friends.”

  “They simply left first.”

  I stifled a groan. She had been inside this ash-streaked lair the whole time, and I’d simply wandered right in, like Little Red Riding Hood skipping through the woods. Only I was outnumbered by wolves—probably a few of them literal—by about twenty-five to one.

  But if all Isabella’s remaining men were down here, Ruby had probably escaped. Although, truth be told, I’d prefer she come looking.

  “I gotta warn you,” I said. “Given your state, you should be careful with your new purchases.”

  “Purchases?” Isabella’s eyes narrowed.

  “Well, technically you stole the Talisman and the—”

  She click-clacked over faster than I thought possible. Her cane whapped me right across the jaw, sending me careening to the ashen ground. The metal chair rattled against the charred concrete as my shoulder crunched against the hard surface. A moaning gasp escaped my lips, an expression of weakness I immediately regretted when Isabella laughed.

  It wasn’t one of those stereotypical, evil witch laughs, either. No, it had a sultry melody. The only thing evil about it was the women attached to the other end.

  I writhed on the ground in futility, flopping like a shark in the shallows.

  “Poor little Kalos, weak and alone.” Isabella pressed the cane against my sternum, pinning me to the ground. I tried to kick at her ankles, but she was surprisingly nimble, even with the limp. For my troubles, she smacked me in the face again.

  Jaw smarting, I said, “Fine. I surrender.”

  “But the fun hasn’t started yet, my love.”

  It was then, from my prime vantage point on the floor, that I saw what all the prior commotion had been about. A portable liquid collection tank wobbled into view, attached to what could only be described as a massive marrow-harvesting needle.

  But I knew Isabella didn’t want my bones.

  She wanted my essence.

  And from the size of the tank, she wanted every last drop.

  8

  Heavy boots stomped across the ruined bunker.

  “This him?” a guy said.

  “The one and only Kalos Aeon,” Isabella replied. She backed away, leaving me stranded on the dirty floor.

  “Thought he’d be bigger.”

  “He’s big where it counts.” I swelled with pride for a moment until she added, “He’s been a greedy little boy and stolen quite a lot of essence.”

  “I heard that,” I said, but no one paid much attention.

  Isabella held out her hand expectantly, and one of her soldier lackeys handed her a familiar stainless steel gauge. The essence-measuring device that the Sol Council had also stolen from my apartment. Building a time machine just to kill those morons again almost sounded like a worthwhile undertaking.

  I winced as Isabella rolled up my sleeve and jabbed the gauge into the crook of my arm.

  “Yes, you have been naughty, Kalos.” She smiled before standing up slowly. It wasn’t for effect. The cane delayed things.

  “Hey,” I said, pushing aside my wounded ego, “all of that essence was acquired honorably.”

  “Yeah, okay bub. We’re just the help,” one of the contractors said in the background.

  “See, Kalos?” Isabella said, tapping her cane against the ruined floor. “He follows instructions. You could learn something.”

  “I’m sure he’ll learn plenty when I jam my boot up his ass.”

  “The bluster wears thin after all these years.”

  “You’re a bad liar, Isabella.”

  The cane slammed down next to my head. Even the contractors stopped moving their essence-harvesting rig. The oak quivered in her hand. After multiple deep breaths, a forced smile spread across her perfectly made-up face.

  “I would prefer that you were alive for this.”

  “What an honor.” I flopped on the ground, the chair banging against the concrete. “I shudder to ask why.”

  “The transmuting process generates a far greater essence yield from living subjects.”

  I glared at her venomous eyes, but said nothing. She clacked away toward the bunker’s exit, accompanied by most of the soldiers. I felt the aura in the room noticeably change, and a sinking feeling told me that the Remkah Talisman, Carmine Chain, Sabre of Immolation and King’s Statue had all left with Isabella. And worse
, she had the roadmap, the blueprint to the world’s destruction in the Journal of Annihilation.

  Whatever chaos she and Marrack had planned to reveal the fifth object, I didn’t want to know. I also didn’t want to consider a world where they controlled all the essence.

  I watched as the two contractors assembled a series of glass tubes and filled multiple beakers with chemicals. I wasn’t particularly crazy about their process. I preferred my own alchemist, an old blind woman who lived in the desert. Her rates were reasonable—I told her stories, she converted my magical salvage into essence.

  Most importantly, she didn’t try to drain mine while I was still breathing.

  It probably took them half an hour to put their little science kit together, but it felt like two seconds. Right after they finished, one of the contractors, a big burly guy, tried to lift me off the ground.

  I started gyrating like a madman, banging the chair against the floor and screaming all the spells I knew—along with those I didn’t. Bits of my soul be damned; I would torch the entire thing if it meant escape. Nothing but a few wisps of smoke joined the rest of the toasty interior.

  I realized, then, how Isabella had gotten the drop on me, even with the protection spell cast: magical dampeners. The minute she’d realized I was snooping around, she’d brought them out. Had to hand it to her: at least she’d come well prepared.

  The burly fella stepped back and watched. Soon enough, I tired myself out, my protest becoming less spirited. My hands were scraped almost raw from the rough concrete, and the bonds were killing my tendons.

  Better to accept my fate with dignity.

  “Where’d the witch go?” Sweat clung to my brow, forming a small pool on the ground.

  “Ah, she had something to take care of.”

  “So you guys were just waiting around on the off-hand chance she caught a demon?”

  “Lady calls us talking about fate and needing our help to seize it, and we bust our asses down the road goin’ a buck-twenty. You know how it is, man.”

  “I have no idea how it is. Why don’t you tell me how it is, asshole?”

  The burly guy crossed his arms. “You gonna keep thrashing like a fifth grader who just discovered jerkin’ off, or you gonna go quiet? We got sedatives.”

  “Isabella said alive.”

  “You’ll be alive, you just won’t ever wake no more.” The big guy’s hands remained folded over his white lab suit. He looked like one of those crime scene investigators sent to document the really messy murders—the type where the perp writes his manifesto on the wall using the victim’s intestines.

  Bastard drove a hard bargain.

  “I see you have me over a barrel, sir.” I nodded vigorously to indicate my assent. “I’d hold up my hands, but you know.”

  He snorted and walked closer. Careful and methodical, just like a crime scene investigator. He wouldn’t be lured in by me playing dumb, so I didn’t even bother trying to awkwardly trip him. An extended nap followed by an infinite sleep wouldn’t be a win for ol’ Kalos.

  He righted the chair, but instead of unlashing me like I’d hoped, he merely dragged it across the bombed out bunker toward the extraction station. My heart pounded in my ears.

  Perhaps they wouldn’t need to sedate me.

  It was possible I’d pass out all on my own.

  Because there were needles and then there were needles. This monstrosity had a point the size of a small rocket ship, gleaming like it was ready to harvest my entire soul. The burly man’s associate banged away at an aluminum-bodied laptop, causing the needle’s arm to adjust every few moments.

  It granted the apparatus the illusion of sentience.

  Attached to the essence extractor was a spiraling series of tubes containing liquids and chemicals. Taken in its totality, the harvester resembled a diabolical Rube Goldberg contraption. Everything led back to the collection tank—a few hundred gallons in capacity—which suddenly seemed rather large in comparison to me.

  “Um guys,” I said, as the needle danced back and forth in the dim emergency lights, “don’t you think you should have brought a smaller container?”

  The laptop contractor laughed and nodded to his burly associate who said, “You got quite the concentration runnin’ in those veins.”

  “That so?”

  “You get a lot more mileage outta it if we turn that concentrate into something a little less…”

  “Concentrated?” I said, unhelpfully.

  The burly fella scowled, the scruff around his thick neck bunching up. “This ain’t personal, but it can get personal, funny man. If you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, you’re just stealing my life force in a burning underground lair that could collapse at any moment.” I managed to shrug, even though it about cost me a shoulder dislocation. “As impersonal as it gets, really.”

  “It’s ready, boss,” the laptop assistant said.

  “All right.” The burly fella pointed at the needle. “Fire her up.”

  No warning or grace period.

  A second later, the massive dagger-like needle surged through the smoky air, heading straight toward my heart as the chemicals within the glassware bubbled.

  9

  There are many things a man considers when his life is threatened. Failed relationships—the temptress who got away because of one clever line too many. Or work problems—botched jobs and near-misses. Friends—which ones really cared?

  I wasn’t going to have a lot of time for reflection, judging from how quick the harvesting needle was bearing down. Its path felt precise, each millisecond clearly delineated.

  You’re gonna die.

  Blink.

  Still gonna die.

  Start of a breath.

  Damn, if I don’t die, that’s gonna leave a big ass scar.

  And then the emergency lights went off, the darkness punctuated only by small pockets of fire.

  Which was about the most terrifying scenario of all, because now I couldn’t even see my impending doom. I braced for impact in the jet-black, wondering how it would feel to be sliced open without warning.

  But the needle never came, and after the blood quit roaring in my ears, I realized that the little whirring groan of the robotic arm had powered down with the lights. Isabella’s contractors had hooked their little station up to the Sol Council’s already strained junction box.

  And, shocker of shockers, the inferno hadn’t made the wiring more reliable.

  “Should’ve brought your own generator,” I said.

  “Shuddup,” the burly guy replied. “This can still get personal.”

  I considered that for a brief moment, before coming to a brilliant realization.

  “Firus ignitus.” The magical dampeners had died with the power, leaving the contractors defenseless against my demonic magic. All the oxygen left the room, devoured by the spell. I’d laid it on hot and heavy, painting the bunker a bright shade of deadly orange. Screams filtered in from the fringes, courtesy of the handful of guards Isabella had seen fit to leave behind.

  I turned up the heat, the crackle of flame drowning out the anguished cries.

  But then, I was pissed.

  Heat erupted around the apparatus, the two contractors screaming as they ran into one another. As they died, I watched them shift into another form: little imps, foul and conniving. Their sharp, jagged ears sizzled and burst from the heat, black bile streaming from the holes.

  A temporary transformation potion had granted them a human form. But my magic had driven a supernatural wrecking ball straight through the illusion.

  Unfortunately, it had done one other thing as well.

  As I whispered another, smaller immolation spell to melt away the zip ties, I felt the emptiness in my chest. Like a glass that had just hit the floor and smashed into dust.

  My
soul had reached the point of no return—a seven-thousand-year balancing act finally collapsing into a burning heap.

  A snarl at my lips, face twisted into a grim, blank stare, I shook the burning plastic from my wrists. I heard what sounded like retreating footsteps. But it could have just been the cracking structure, since I was pretty sure everyone associated with Isabella in the immediate vicinity was now dead. Rising with purpose, I marched past the burning corpses, right by the pillars of flame as I headed for the door.

  The HQ crumbled and groaned, its already strained supports finally defeated by the heat of a second inferno. No fear gripped my heart; my pulse barely rose as I made my way up the charred stairwell, back above ground.

  Sunlight and the smell of chemicals greeted me as I climbed out of the bunker’s ruined entrance. All signs of the massive fire had vanished. Then again, in the desert, with a lack of accelerant, that was to be expected.

  Twice as bright burns twice as fast.

  My dime story ruminations were interrupted by the unmistakable bark of a gunshot. Given that I hadn’t ordered backup, this particular development should have been alarming. But I focused on the horizon with an icy glare, noting my Porsche’s—and Ruby’s—absence before noting a well-ordered procession marching across the dusty landscape.

  A group of men quickly surrounded me, pistols leveled.

  “So, demon,” a gray-haired woman said, stepping forward into the center of the circle with the slow, deliberate steps of the elderly, “give me one good reason the Order of the Marksmen shouldn’t execute you right now.”

  “I can’t give you one,” I said, staring deep into her cold eyes. It dawned on me, given the blackness of their souls, that I could paint the desert with a truly Picasso-esque blaze. The temptation whispered in my ear, the dark beauty of mutual annihilation serenading me with sweet nothings.

  Instead, I rubbed at my chin, wiping soot and dried vamp blood from the stubble.

  “An honest demon.” The woman’s eyes held no fear. Astounding for a mortal, really. “Perhaps this is the end of the world.”