by Jenn Stark
Demon
Forsaken
Demon Enforcers, book 2
JENN STARK
Copyright © 2018 by Jenn Stark
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-943768-41-7
Cover design by
Spark Creative Partners
Formatting by Spark Creative Partners
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase/Download only authorized editions.
Other Books by Jenn Stark
The Demon Enforcer Series
Demon Unbound
Demon Forsaken
Demon Bewitched (coming next!)
Immortal Vegas Series
(series complete!)
Getting Wilde
Wilde Card
Born To Be Wilde
Wicked And Wilde
Aces Wilde
Forever Wilde
Wilde Child
Call of the Wilde
Running Wilde
Wilde Fire
One Wilde Night (prequel novella)
For Kathy Holzapfel,
Love and Light to you
Chapter One
Moeller Mfg. Distribution Center
Kansas City, Missouri
Dec. 21
Finn of the Syx, ultimate Demon Enforcer, hit the ground in the perfect superhero landing. One of his knees and one hand rested flat on the concrete floor, his other knee was bent, and his right arm was raised in a mighty thrust to ward off the ravening horde of demons who were ruthlessly poised to attack in all their howling, slobbering glory.
No one paid him any attention.
A quivering mass of bodies surrounded him, all right, but they were all undeniably human. Big, burly, poorly washed humans, pressing toward the front of the large warehouse room. They shouted and chattered excitedly, their beer-soaked laughter ricocheting off walls painted the color of despair.
Finn stood, wincing as some blowhard with a bullhorn started shouting over the raucous throng. “Climbing into the ring now isn’t Mack the Truck, as planned, but someone even better. Someone that will rev your engines and rock your worrrrrld!” boomed the powerful bass.
Beside Finn, Stefan of the Syx stood ramrod straight, hands on hips, his lean, muscled form tense and his scowl fixed. He also wasn’t paying any attention to the impressively flourished magnificence of Finn’s arrival. Instead, the slightly older, certainly prettier, and unquestionably more mature demon enforcer surveyed the assembly with an expression of chilly disdain. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“Which part?” Finn asked. “It’s not like we could say no.”
When a summons came for one of the members of the Syx, they went. As many of them as were required for a particular problem, with only the barest whiff of information to prepare them for what they were about to face. In this case, said information had been beyond sketchy. Finn squinted around the bleak space, trying to get his bearings, but he was as confused as Stefan.
“I thought this was a fight. A UFC fight.” Stefan’s eyes glinted red, betraying his irritation. “Like the one at the arena last week. With Kanye and Pitbull taking selfies and the women more bloodthirsty than the men—every one of them dressed to kill.”
“Yeah, well. This ain’t that,” Finn said. “These guys are maybe dressed to meet their parole officer, max.” He scanned the high ceilings and bare walls and stained concrete floors, the lights set up on rolling dollies blanketing the space. It barely resembled the mixed martial arts match they’d seen not two weeks earlier in Las Vegas, complete with high-tech screens and gleaming cages and easily ten thousand screaming fans hanging from the rafters of the glittering arena. No. This fight looked like it should be outfitted with prison wardens and body bags.
And that wasn’t the worst of it.
“How many demons we got here, by your count?”
Stefan exhaled a long breath, his gaze sweeping the room as well. “Not as many as the humans, I can tell you that, but they’re all crowded around the ring. And they’re definitely freshly hatched, which is interesting.”
Finn snorted. “Not all that interesting. This is exactly the kind of place that would appeal to a demon on his first day out of the slammer. Lots of low-hanging fruit.”
“Fair enough.”
There was no question these demons were new to Earth either; the glamours that allowed them to appear human were almost harsh to behold. They were also too eager, too stupid. No wonder they’d tripped some mortal’s trigger hard enough for that human to pray to God for help.
Those kinds of prayers were exactly the kind the Syx answered.
Finn and the rest of the Syx had been demon enforcers for going on six millennia, charged with taking out the worst of their kind. A good job even when it sucked, really, since it allowed the team to hang around Earth more often than not, rather than rotting in their cell-like bolt-holes on the other side of the veil, which was where they should be serving out eternity in payment for their sins.
Humans had their own first line of defense when it came to demon hunting, of course. But despite all the good press exorcists got, it still took a demon to kill a demon, and archangels couldn’t be choosers when humans got desperate enough to pray for help. So, a human begged, the Archangel Michael heard, and one or more of the Syx were dispatched for cleanup.
Recently, however, the game had changed. Due to a series of deeply unfortunate events, a new horde of demons had been dumped onto the planet, as pervasive and deadly as trash in the Pacific. And unfortunately for Earth, demons were the plastic straws of celestial refuse: damned near indestructible.
Which explained why Finn and Stefan were standing ankle-deep in a particularly foul-smelling horde this fine solstice night in the heartland of America—along with a couple of hundred humans who had no idea how much danger they were in.
Just another day in paradise.
Finn watched as Stefan’s gaze locked on the human women in the group. Of all the members of the Syx, Stefan was most attuned to females. He connected with them, understood their needs, their desires, their states of mind and body—
“They’re drugged,” Stefan murmured, the first tremor of concern coloring his deep, resonant voice. “Voluntarily, I think. But they seem happy enough underneath the narcotics. They’re not who called us.”
Finn took in the laughing women, surrounded by dozens of grinning men, every one of them redolent of cheap beer and skittering adrenaline. “I don’t know. You should probably plan on saving a few, anyway. Gotta keep up your skills and all.”
Stefan chuckled, his mouth easing into a sly, determined smile. He not only was attuned to women—he genuinely adored them. The more of them, the better, in fact. “I think I can manage that.” He glanced toward the darker knot of demons surrounding the ring. “But these new guys aren’t behaving right. They’re fixated on the fight, not the humans. At least not any of the humans who’re outside the ring.”
“Forty of ’em, you figure?”
“Give or take.” The makeshift octagon at the center of the room was blocked by a thick knot of spectators that was growing by the minute. “They’re too keyed up, wild. Stupid with their newfound freedom. I don’t think we’ll need any backu
p. Hell, they’re one head butt shy of dropping their glamours and revealing themselves to the crowd by mistake.”
“Agreed.” Finn gestured to the ring. “So let’s see what all the excitement’s about.”
They moved forward carefully, keeping their own glamours strong. Since he and Stefan been summoned here by one of the humans, the demons couldn’t pierce the their illusion that made them appear human to any who happened to glance their way. It was the same type of glamour that any demon adopted around humans, only the Syx did it better.
They did a lot of things better. Even if they were currently outnumbered by forty to two.
Despite all that, Finn tried to avoid the direct glance of any of the demons as he passed them. It was a superstition of his, but he’d always been sure he’d see the worst of himself reflected in their eyes. Or, worse, he’d see an image of himself as a Fallen angel—still glorious, still right, still whole. He wasn’t sure he could take that, no matter how many millennia had passed.
Fortunately, he didn’t have much cause to stare a demon in the eye. Most of the time, they were too busy trying to kill him before he killed them back.
It hadn’t always been this way, of course. First there’d been only humans and angels. Then came the Fallen—angels who’d wanted to bridge the gap between the celestial and mortal planes. Being a Fallen wasn’t a bad thing, in theory—God had allowed it, had wanted some of his own to teach the sprawling crowds of humanity.
In practice, however, the temptation to sin had proven a deadly siren song for far too many of God’s celestial choir. And once a Fallen committed a sin against humans…they were judged, by God and His righteous angels. Those Fallen whose sins were considered sufficiently heinous were then condemned to become a demon, abruptly shut off from God’s grace, His forgiveness, His love.
“Water under the bridge, my man,” Finn muttered beneath his breath. Right now, he needed to worry about killing whatever piece-of-crap demon was ruining some human’s day.
“So who’s our guy?” Stefan asked abruptly, sliding his gaze to Finn. Finn had gotten the call first, so by all rights, he should know.
Finn grimaced. He didn’t know, though. He never did. Not only was he shit for remembering details of his own past, he was the worst at tracking down the humans who cried out for the Syx’s help. It was as if he blocked their 911-demon calls instinctively. While this probably was connected to his own personal sin, it was a colossal pain in the barbed tail. He hated it when he got a direct summons.
“That way,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“Agreed.” Stefan’s voice was steady, certain; that made Finn feel a little better. And, as they approached the ring, he couldn’t deny the quickening of his blood. This was all that was left for him, after all: to fight the worst of his own kind.
As they edged closer to the howling spectators, he felt more certain too. “Our summoner still breathes, but he’s in deep. I doubt he even knows how deep.”
“Then let’s get this over with,” Stefan said. Together, they started worming their way through the crowd.
The throng of spectators was surprisingly robust for an unsanctioned fight, most of them knotted around the fenced-in octagon that looked sturdy enough to hold livestock. Which it probably had at some point.
When he and Stefan finally broke through the last line, however, Stefan muttered a curse. “No. Just no.”
Finn looked up to where he was staring and sighed. “Fantastic.”
Their most likely summoner was standing in the ring, pressed against one corner of the octagon…and he was little more than a teenager. His eyes were the biggest thing on him, and they were pinned to his opponent—not so much in fear as dread. And though he had his elbows up in a fighter’s stance, his fists shoved into the kind of low-profile boxer’s gloves favored by mixed martial arts practitioners, he clearly wanted to be anywhere but here.
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, standing in for the Mighty Mack MacElroy, we have Mack Twoooooo! Mack’s oldest boy, and a national champ of welterweight wrestling, come home for Christmas and fresh out of college.”
“Fresh into the meat locker, you mean!” someone called, and the crowd jeered, shoving closer. Finn glanced to the other side of the octagon, knowing who Mack Two’s opponent had to be.
Yep.
“Definitely a recent arrival,” Stefan commented drily. “Not a very pretty one either.”
Finn swept his glance over the slavering demon, who was so excited that her glamour was beginning to falter—at least for those who knew how to look. And since Finn did… Ew.
“At least you know why you’re here,” he grinned, waggling his brows at Stefan. “One smokin’ hot chick, comin’ right up. You guys will get along great.”
“Funny.”
The demon on the other side of the octagon had the affectation of a male, the glamour most demons assumed when walking the earth. But the creature beneath that glamour was definitely female. As members of the Syx, both Finn and Stefan could see her true self, or the self she’d been transformed into when she’d been condemned to an eternity as a demon after she’d fallen. And that transformation had been a doozy. The head and neck of a long-beaked bird, four arms that stuck out from a waspishly thin torso, and the lower body of something between a snake and a millipede.
Finn recoiled when he took in all her…legs. “Good God, she’s gotta be the ugliest one yet.”
“Finn,” Stefan breathed in warning, but it was too late. As if hearing their words, the demon turned—or the human she was impersonating did, all ham-hock jowls and beefy arms and clenched fists. But Finn wasn’t worried about being outed—not by this chick, anyway. Another perk of the Syx, their glamour was ironclad—and only made stronger by the proximity of the summoner.
And there was no question that the boy in the octagon had had something to do with their summons, though Finn remained a little curious about that. Despite the sick look on his face, the kid didn’t seem like he backed down from too many fights. Focusing on the human, Finn reached out, filtering through his thoughts with long-practiced ease. One picture held firm above all others. An older version of the boy, huddled in a back corner of this very room, hollow-eyed, bruised. Sick…or beat up. Something.
The kid’s dad, Finn had no doubt. And judging from the crucifix clutched in the man’s hand as he tried to force his battered fingers together in prayer, their summons here was starting to make a lot more sense. There must have been money on this fight if the old guy’d thought he’d had a chance. He’d probably tried to fight himself, until his son had stepped in. Merry Christmas all around.
The announcer’s next verbal assault confirmed Finn’s suspicion. “For the final bout tonight, with a prize of three hundred dollars, Mack Two will be taking on The Destroyerrrrr!” Another howl from the crowd, and the demon in bulky-meat-sack clothing raised her fists. The Destroyer gave the crowd a grin that displayed several replacement teeth gleaming with chrome. The crowd’s clamoring ratcheted up another notch.
Stefan stiffened, worry tightening his features. “What in the hell is she thinking? She won’t learn anything from this fight. And three hundred dollars isn’t worth attracting the archangel’s attention.”
“Yup.” Finn watched as the two combatants edged toward each other, a fight that was destined to go south for the human almost as soon as it began. But that was only part of the problem. “Except maybe she’s not the one going to school. Look at the way the others are watching her. They’re way too tight, almost mimicking her. It’s like they don’t know what they’re doing. They’re going to take out this whole room just for practice, I’m thinking.”
“Practice.” Stefan nodded. He stared first at the shining faces of the demons, then at the completely clueless faces of the men and women around them, and cursed. “She’s teaching them—and they’re letting her. They’re latching on, working together. That’s…unusual. And by unusual, I m
ean not good.” He shook his head. “The archangel should have warned us about that.”
“The archangel should’ve warned us about a lot of things.” Before Finn could say anything else, however, the boy in the ring suddenly rushed forward, getting in a jaw-shattering uppercut to his opponent as the crowd roared in approval.
“Here we go,” Finn muttered.
They plunged into the knot of demons, and chaos reigned.
“It’s this way, Ms. Griffin, exactly as ordered. We haven’t touched it.”
Though they’d be outside the weather station for only a few minutes to visit the site’s storage facility, Captain Landreau of the Royal Canadian Air Force wore a thick jumpsuit of shiny, vaguely metallic fabric, which Dana Griffin appreciated. Her own gear was equally warm and equally bright. She’d made sure of it before she’d boarded the last leg of her chartered flight to Alert, Canada, which was deep in the middle of its polar sleep cycle. That meant it wasn’t merely thirty degrees below zero before wind chill was factored in…it was also completely, mind-numbingly dark.
“Watch your step,” the man continued gruffly.
She followed the captain away from the snowcat toward the supply building, where Lester had told her she’d find the box he needed her to recover—her alone, he’d insisted. Not her team. The RCAF were touchy about interlopers, and her uncle had gotten Dana clearance solely because she was a blood relative to him. That made her the only one either side trusted to carry out the small set of artifacts uncovered by Exeter Global Services’ engineers while they’d been installing a new weather station annex as part of a joint scientific research initiative between the US and Canada.
As it was, Lester was being allowed to step in and whisk away the unfortunate discovery primarily because the RCAF wanted those artifacts gone. If the conservationists got wind of them and declared this patch of bleak, frigid dirt some sort of historical site…well, the Canadian military needed that like a hole in the head. Lester had agreed to take the problem off their hands.