by Tamela Miles
He looked around for a few moments before dropping his two duffel bags and weathered brown guitar case in the corner of the area she had given him to live. She watched him move around her place, drinking him in with furtive looks. He really was very handsome, with all that dark hair and the deep blue-green eyes. Yes, she had to admit that he got under her skin, but she was wise enough to know that a part of her was fascinated with him. He was more than twice her age, but he looked about thirty and could take a punch better than any boxer she had ever seen.
He was busy pulling his things from one of the duffel bags, placing them neatly folded in the big wooden chest of drawers. He turned back to her. “You’ve made a comfortable home for yourself. Many demon hunters don’t live this way. I was expecting something sparse, in one of the rundown parts of L.A.”
“Tagas took care of my living arrangements when I was eighteen. This place is a gift from him, and I’ve lived here ever since.” She sighed heavily, looking down. “I, um, was in a bad place at that time with my parents and living with them was torture. I think Tagas was offering me a way out considering what my life responsibilities were as a new hunter.”
Patrick nodded. “Bought and paid for, like me.”
Elle shot him a look. “You don’t have to twist the meaning of his gesture like that.”
Patrick met her gaze, wearing a knowing little smirk. “Fine. Then let’s call it well-deserved compensation.” He shrugged. “In the end, it all amounts to the same thing.” He went back to loading up his drawers.
Over the years, she had decorated her warehouse in tasteful shades of maroon and black, with some expensive pieces of furnishings mixed with cheaper items. There were two bedroom living areas, and she had utilized the main area as a den, complete with a flat-screen tv and a sound system. She had a fully functional kitchen and a large bathroom in the rear. One corner was dedicated to her training equipment. After seven years here, she was comfortably settled in and imagined that this would be her permanent home.
Leaving him to his unpacking, she checked her voicemail, not surprised to hear her mom’s voice. Her relationship with her parents was less strained but far from truly close. Drinking heavily was still their main hobby, as was asking for money whenever they were short. She knew her parents believed that it was time for her to take care of them, and she played her part as the dutiful daughter. She had amassed a significant nest egg for herself over years of working for the preschool, so giving her parents handouts was only a minor strain on her budget. She also reminded herself to call her job tomorrow with a request for a few weeks off.
Patrick cleared his throat. “I’m just going to, um, clean myself up a bit. Do you have antiseptic and gauze?”
She nodded. “In the bathroom. Left cabinet, top shelf.”
He left the main area, heading for the bathroom. She put her cell phone on its charger before grabbing a comfortable pair of fleece sweatpants and a soft, worn camisole from a drawer. She changed clothes quickly, keeping an eye on the bathroom door.
****
Elle climbed the steps leading from the lobby of the warehouse, the bundle of daily mail in her hand. She tried to not let too many days pass without checking the mailbox, but she was often on the move at night, searching bars and other seedy joints for demons. As she approached her front door, she heard the soft strumming of a guitar. She paused, listening intently for a few moments. Patrick was obviously no wannabe rock star, only talented in his own mind. She enjoyed most kinds of music but was no expert at the craft of creating it. She did know what she liked, and she liked the way he used his guitar to create music that was uniquely his.
She stepped inside the warehouse to find him seated on one end of her sofa, wearing shorts and a tank top, his guitar perched on his knees. He smiled at her, his fingers still plucking the strings. She instantly felt ashamed that she had treated him so shabbily earlier in the alley. She gave him a small smile of her own, heading to the kitchen. The least she could do was share her popcorn and trash tv time with him as a peace offering. He was just as stuck in this mess as she was. She was sure, with a face like that, he had a hundred different places he could be that night, with a hundred different willing women.
She doused the hot popcorn with butter before carrying the bowl over to the living room, setting it down on the table and sat on the opposite end of the sofa as he watched her. She smiled, pushing the bowl over his way. “Popcorn and trash tv is how I spend my nights after hunting. Join me?”
Patrick grinned. “Sure thing.” He stood his guitar up against the sofa and grabbed a handful of popcorn.
She clicked the remote and surfed the channels for a few moments until she found one of the rowdier talk shows. “You play beautifully. I’m surprised that you haven’t been discovered yet. The song you were playing a moment ago—it reminds me of a popular alternative rock one from last year. ‘Broken’ by Love’s Tempest, do you know it?”
Patrick inclined his head. “I do. I wrote it for them.”
She blinked in astonishment. “Seriously? God, I love that song. The music, the lyrics—brilliant. Patrick, with your talent, why aren’t you more successful? Instead of writing songs for other people, you should be releasing your own stuff.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “My dear sweet Elle, let’s talk about the music industry…”
****
“Hm. So that’s how the music business works,” Elle said, chewing on a mouthful of popcorn.
She and Patrick sat in near dark, both in their sleeping clothing, on opposite corners of the plush maroon sofa. They had spent the past hour chatting, and she now felt even guiltier for freezing him out earlier. She was discovering another, deeper level to him beneath his flippant comments of earlier.
He strummed his guitar idly for a few moments before speaking. “Exactly how it works. It’s a dirty industry, Elle, but for me making music is following my dream. I honestly don’t think I could be happy any other way. I now have a record label backing me, as of this evening, but that doesn’t guarantee my success. If my first collection of songs fail when they’re released in a few months, I’m pretty much finished.”
“It was either demon hunting or making music,” she mused. “Well, making music won’t get you killed and sent back to the heavens, so I’d say you made a wise choice.” She adjusted her loose ponytail and noticed him following the movement with his eyes. Her heart did a little skip. He had been doing that for the past hour, focusing a little too intently on her. She nervously cleared her throat. “I know so little about your life as a hybrid angel. What’s your holy gift?”
He stopped picking the guitar strings, tensing up. “I’m a light giver.”
She gestured with her hand. “And, for you, that means…”
“Even though I haven’t tapped into my light source in years, I can take energy from it and transform it into a separate entity created solely to do my bidding. It’s almost like creating a duplicate of me but one that has no will separate from mine. I can send it around the world and around the heavens, seeing through both my eyes and its eyes.”
Elle nodded. “Ah, I get it. Tagas told me very little about light givers and that I would rarely meet any. Even though you took quite a beat down earlier, you still appear to have some of your strength, which will work great for us once we start tracking this demon tomorrow night.”
“Oh, wow. I’m so excited.” His tone spoke volumes, coupled with his bored expression. She couldn’t help it. A giggle burst from her lips, and he smiled, reaching over to tug at her ponytail. He placed the guitar on the floor next to him.
“What’s the rest of your story, Elle? Every great demon hunter has that one defining event that forces them to stand and kill pleading demons without mercy. That sadness in your eyes at odd moments tells me there’s something big you’re not telling.”
She shrugged. “I’ve told you everything important—about my family life, Tagas training me…I don’t see what’s left to tell.”
He rubbed his bristled chin, quiet for a moment. “You had your heart ripped into shreds, didn’t you? What, did you fall in love with a demon?” As she bowed her head, hiding her eyes, he leaned in closer to her.
She spoke softly. “No, I blindly trusted my high school best friend, who turned out to be a demon.” She wiped her eyes as they teared up. “That bitch, Cascadia. She killed my first love, Brandon.”
“I know of her, though I’ve never had the pleasure of kicking her ass.” He sighed deeply, wrapping an arm tightly around her. “I wish I could for you, though. You’re so much more than a bad ass demon hunter, Elle. You seem to be pretty, um, incredible.” He gently kissed her forehead.
She laughed, gently pushing him away. “Okay, that’s it for the bonding session tonight. Let’s strategize a bit before I’m off to get some sleep.”
“Pyro,” Patrick said flatly. “Everything in me knows deep down this is his madness.”
“Heavenly intuition? Or, are you just speculating?” Elle leaned in closer.
“I know the bastard and how he works from decades of experience. Trust me on this—it’s him.” He paused, rubbing his chin as he looked at her. “I have an idea that could work, if you’re up for it. We make ourselves noticeable and accessible in as many public places as possible. If we look unconcerned with the recent killings, he may believe that we’re unprepared and move to attack. This is about more than killing human women for him. He exists to taunt holy beings, and if we aren’t already his targets, we soon will be.” He grinned. “So, let’s go on some dates, honey.”
Elle smiled faintly. “Your plan actually makes sense, in a weird way. If you’re wrong about Pyro, then we’ll soon know, and we can then focus on some of the other vicious demons who prey in this part of L.A.” She stopped, noting his intent stare. “Great idea. We’ll, um, go out together to some very public places. I’m heading to bed. Good night.”
She nodded, standing up abruptly, knowing in her heart she was running from the attraction between them that had become evident after the time they had just spent together. She was far from an innocent and instinctively knew what he wanted from her. She secretly considered what it would be like to give in to him, but she knew that getting it on with a sixty-year-old hybrid angel, who looked thirty, was absolutely not a good idea. Just remember he probably uses that heart-stopping smile and charm with every woman…
****
He liked her, plain and simple. Patrick lay in the dark in his corner of the warehouse, savoring the peaceful quiet now that the tv was off and they had both gone to bed. He could hear her soft snores coming from the other side and smiled. He considered his options—go for the big romantic seduction and know what her lush curves felt like beneath him or do the whole safe friendship with her and leave her be. God only knew what pain she was still in over her past betrayal at the hands of that twisted fuck, Pyro, and his hell-bitch, Cascadia. Precisely the best reason to avoid the eternal war between the heavens and hell. Getting involved with Elle would only draw him back into the very life he wanted no more of.
But she drew him to her like any moth to a bright flame. He hadn’t just been paying her lip service earlier—Elle was more than incredible, she was intoxicating. She was beautiful, intelligent, and had the greatest ironic sense of humor which he deeply appreciated. If being her lover wouldn’t cost him his freedom from heavenly responsibilities, he would’ve jumped at the chance. Now, he was more cautious. He turned over on his back. Ah, well…a guy can dream.
****
Pyro watched as the hellish creature he had created greedily sucked the last breath form the young woman and tossed her body to the muddy ground, growling. It was a black entity, standing at about seven feet tall with red, malevolent orbs for eyes. Its sole purpose was to kill and drain life force, just as Pyro had made it to.
He had found her in the Pasadena park at dusk, running laps around the dirt track in her pink workout suit, her blonde hair streaming behind her. He quickly subdued her, draining a great deal of her essence before summoning his demon to finish the rest, as it needed to feed regularly to maintain its strength.
“Well, it appears that angels are good for something, after all,” Pyro said to himself, his lips parted in an evil grin. He was almost certain that Tagas and his pathetic crew were still running in circles, trying to figure out the killings. He had merely slashed each young woman from breasts to pubic bone after draining them with his demon. Now, he wanted full credit. He also wanted to taunt Tagas with the fact that he was virtually unstoppable. He took a switchblade from his pocket and carved an ancient angelic symbol into one of the dead blonde’s breasts.
Surely, they would all recognize the symbol that belonged to the bastard hybrid, Patrick Holt. It was his holy mark, placed on him by God at his creation sixty years ago in the heavens. Pyro wanted Patrick to know that the genesis of his magnificently vile and violent demon came from him. The fact that he hadn’t tapped into his energy source for a decade made breaking into his home one night and stealing a bit of his holy light pitifully easy. From that light, mixed with his darkness, Pyro was responsible for creating one of the darkest and most powerful demons to ever prey on humans. It did his bidding, and it answered only to him, its master. If only that was possible with his hell-bitch, Cascadia, and his other minions…
He thought about Cascadia currently doing his evil work on the other side of the country and, no doubt, still incensed that he had sent her about the tasks in the first place. He smirked. Ah, but that rage makes the sex so much better…
Pyro raised one hand in the air, focusing his energy. A portal opened, and he sent his demon through it to another dimension until he needed it again. His thoughts went from Tagas and Patrick to the demon hunter, Elle. He would take special pleasure in dealing with her.
****
Elle sat across from Patrick at a small window table at a local bistro in the expensive heart of downtown L.A. She sipped her pumpkin latte, looking outside every few moments. She looked up to find Patrick’s gaze on her. “What?”
He shook his head. “You’re not very convincing as my girlfriend.” He took a sip of his black coffee. “You don’t look happy and in love at all.”
“Probably because I’m neither of the two.”
He laughed, taking her hand in his. “Let’s try again for a more dramatic effect.” Never looking away, he raised her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. She immediately felt her spine tingle from the contact.
“I suppose I should try a little harder. Fake it till you make it and all that.” Her body’s response to him had been anything but fake. She pasted on a smile and stroked his cheek.
He nodded, speaking softly. “There we are. Much better. We have so many more public dates, and the more in love we look, the more likely we are to convince Pyro and every other demon that we’re blissfully unaware of the killings. Making ourselves appear vulnerable is sure to draw them out for an attack.”
“You’re a good strategist. I think your plan may work, after all.”
“Decades of dealing with Pyro have made me one. You always have to stay several steps ahead and understand what drives him, beyond slaughtering humans.” He sipped his coffee.
Elle leaned in closer. “And that is?”
“Glory and power. He likes to be front and center. He’s pretty high in Hell’s hierarchy, which guarantees him freedom from the Hell depths. He thrives on confounding holy beings.”
“What do you know about Cascadia?”
“Very little, other than she’s possibly even worse than Pyro. Cruel, power hungry—she’s his perfect match. She’s been his hell-bitch for hundreds of years.” His eyes were penetrating. “You’re still hunting for her, aren’t you?”
Elle’s lips twisted. “Every chance I get. I won’t let her get away with killing Brandon. He was a good guy, and he deserved far better than what he got. I’ll find her, and she will pay.”
Patrick leaned across the table,
kissing her forehead softly. He murmured in her ear. “Don’t let this game warp you until you don’t know who you are anymore.” He brushed his lips across hers. “We’re getting sidetracked here. Remember, to the world, we’re crazy in love.”
She moved errant strands of dark hair from his face. “I know exactly who the hell I am.” She smiled brightly. “I’m a woman in love, right?”
****
Two weeks had passed, with Elle and Patrick failing at every nightly attempt to track the demon. They had settled into comfortable days with Patrick working on his music and Elle reading books borrowed from the local library. Their bedtime ritual was one of buttery popcorn, trash tv, and light conversation after hours searching the immediate area in her black SUV for unusually high demonic activity. She would rather take a punch to the face than admit, even to herself, that Patrick was more than what he appeared to be on the first night they met, and she genuinely liked him. He was upbeat and good natured, his infectious grin lighting up his already sinfully handsome face. She gave him a quick glance across the room before turning back to Tagas.
Tagas set his tea cup on the small coffee table, regarding Elle and Patrick with a grim expression. He had arrived at the warehouse earlier, explaining that he had important information about the killings. He sat on the sofa, with Elle seated across him in a big black plush chair. Patrick maintained his distance on the barstool, his jaw tense.
Elle’s feet tapped out a nervous rhythm, and she looked expectantly at Tagas. “Whatever you have to tell us can’t be good. Tell me, what are we up against?”
Patrick’s tone was dry, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern. “I can’t stand another moment of suspense, Tagas. Just lay it out so we can figure out a better game plan ’cause, right now, we’re turning up squat.”
Tagas nodded, his gaze at Patrick direct. “It’s a created demon that came from your own life energy. Pyro was finally successful in creating it after thousands of years of failures. You’re very weak since you haven’t tapped into your power for many years. He must have siphoned off some of your energy as you slept.”