Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws)

by Paula Altenburg

  “Of course I can control it.” She knew she could. What she could not always do was hide it. Her anxiety increased. She would have to learn to do so, for Scratch’s sake if not her own. “It was different with you.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows went up. “In what way?”

  “You’re the Demon Slayer. I felt threatened.”

  “You didn’t know I was the Demon Slayer at the time.”

  “I sensed it,” she lied.

  He laughed softly. The pad of his thumb scuffed against the delicate flesh of her wrist, which he had not released, and her anxiety shifted to an awareness of him as a male. She had never been touched like this before, in a way that stole her breath and made her feel awkward. She did not know how to interpret his mood or his actions.

  “What are you sensing about me right now?” he asked.

  This time, she answered honestly. “That you’re playing with me.”

  His expression closed over. “Perhaps I am. Would you like me to continue?”

  No. Yes. While she had never been averse to a challenge, she could not decide because she was uncertain of the rules of this game. “I have a feeling that playing with you would prove far more dangerous to me than I could ever be to anyone.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You haven’t answered my question.”

  He was very beautiful, she thought. The clear, deep blue of his eyes on her made it difficult for her to think.

  “If you continue to play,” she said, “I insist on an equal chance for victory. I intend to defend myself.”

  She leaned closer and dragged a finger down the side of his cheek, then along the line of his smooth-shaven jaw, and watched his flaring pupils with interest. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his lips, before straightening to put space between them again.

  He did not smile at her as she had hoped he might. Instead, he continued to regard her with an unreadable expression that held a hint of hunger. Excitement shivered down her spine.

  “You’ve made your opening move. Now, it’s my turn.” He cupped her chin in his palm and drew her mouth to his.

  His kiss was far different from the light tease of hers. It made her heart beat faster and her limbs shake, to the point where she wondered if he could feel them, too.

  Heat flushed through her as she became lost in the sensations the touch of his mouth aroused in her. Even though he held her face lightly, she could not have pulled away from him if she wanted, which she did not.

  She had closed her eyes.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, his breath soft against her mouth. When she opened her eyes, the blue of his had darkened to midnight in the lamplit interior of the cabin. “Do you still want me to keep going?”

  She could not speak.

  Idly, he hooked his finger through the chain around her neck and lifted her rainbow-hued amulet in his palm. He held it next to the one he wore, then looked more closely at them both. He turned them back to back and with a faint click, they attached like two magnets.

  She did not know what to make of that. Neither, it seemed, did he. A thoughtful frown crossed his lean face as he worked to twist them apart.

  Once free, he rose from the bench and reached to take their empty plates from the table.

  He straightened. “I don’t believe you can control your demon instincts. But I do believe you can make a man forget about them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hunter unrolled his bedding near the mouth of the canyon, careful to scour the ground around him for any potential and unwelcome poisonous sleeping companions.

  Out of long habit, he placed his short sword alongside the six-shooter beneath his bedding. He had left his repeating rifle in the cabin for Airie. It was more for his peace of mind than hers. He doubted she knew how to use it.

  He’d had no business playing such games with her.

  Hunter pulled the collar of his shirt tight around his neck against the cool night air, then hunched down with his back against the canyon wall so he could sit and think. The winds were light. It was not a night for demons. His amulet lay silent against his skin.

  It had been a rough day for him, filled with guilt and indecision. He should have taken Airie directly to Mamna, but he found he could not do so.

  The flare of her eyes when he kissed her had been far more erotic and sensual than abhorrent, as it should be. The unexpected fit of their two amulets had also caused a strong jolt of desire for her in him.

  He could not lie to himself any longer. She was beautiful and alluring, and even though she was spawn, against all common sense he wanted her for himself.

  Perhaps it was because he had yet to see her in full demon form. Maybe then he could hand her over to Mamna. As it was, when he looked at her he was stricken with the memory of a beloved sister who had been equally innocent, and betrayed by someone she had trusted and believed she loved.

  He closed his eyes. Airie trusted him, at least up to a point. She thanked him for any small crumbs of kindness. It left him feeling little better than the demon who had ruined his sister.

  He kicked at a tuft of desert weed with the toe of his boot. He would give her a week to reveal her true self. He could find a reason to keep her here with him for that much longer.

  The decision gave him some peace.

  He settled into his bedroll, soon so close to sleep he almost missed the black sole of a boot descending toward his throat.

  Acting on instincts honed by years spent hunting demons, he grabbed his assailant’s foot and twisted it to the side, toppling the boot’s owner. In seconds, he was free of the bedding and on his feet, his short sword in one hand and the six-shooter held steady at the stranger’s head.

  The spread-eagled assailant threw up his hands in surrender. “I wish only to talk to the Demon Slayer.”

  The sliver of moon gave off enough watery light for Hunter to see the man. Running a blade through his heart would cause Hunter no loss of sleep, especially now that he had Airie and a small child to protect.

  “You should try approaching in daylight,” he replied.

  The man laughed under his breath. “During the day, the goddess is with you.”

  Hunter pressed the tip of his sword into the assailant’s flesh, although he was careful not to draw blood just yet. When he did draw it, he would kill the man. It would be far kinder than setting him free in the desert with the scent of fresh blood on him.

  Then again, Hunter would have to be in the mood for kindness. “You’ve been following me. I don’t like to be followed.”

  Neither did he like that the man knew of Airie, even though he was mistaken in what he thought she was. He could not be blamed for that, Hunter had to admit. She was beautiful enough to be taken for a goddess.

  The man seemed untroubled by the sword in his side, the gun at his head, and the unfriendly tone of Hunter’s voice. “You have a choice to make. If you choose wrong, the Godseekers will kill you.”

  “They can keep trying. So far, they’ve been unsuccessful.” Hunter pressed the point of his blade deeper. “You have to the count of three to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”

  “I am called Runner. I spread the word. The world needs to know about the goddess who leads you.”

  It came as no surprise that the man was a fanatic. His assumption about Airie, however, was so far from the truth that Hunter was tempted to enlighten him.

  “No goddess leads me.” He thought about that for a moment. “But let’s say one did. Why would that make the Godseekers want to kill me?”

  “The goddess has come from the mountain to lead the one who wears the Demon Slayer’s amulet.”

  Ah. Now it all made a strange kind of sense. If a Godseeker wore his amulet, the Godseeker would become the Demon Slayer—the one their so-called goddess led into battle—and they preferred that the goddess be accompanied by one of their own.

  Blade was right. They had gone from worshipping Hunter to wanting him dead. He could not wait for the bl
oodthirsty bastards to discover the true nature of the goddess they were so determined to revere.

  “Give us the amulet so the goddess may lead us, instead,” Runner said.

  Hunter thought it over. “No. You’ll have to kill me for it. Although,” he added, “you’re welcome to the goddess if you want her.” That might solve his current dilemma. The Godseekers would care for Airie as if she truly were a goddess.

  At least until they realized their mistake.

  “You would give her—” the Godseeker began, but was interrupted when an amber object around his neck began to glow in the darkness like a miniature sun.

  Hunter had seen this type of amulet before. These had been gifts from the goddesses to the mortal men who pleased them, and they warned of an immortal’s approach. That meant at one time, Runner had been a favorite of the goddesses—or at least knew someone who was.

  Resignation washed through Hunter. The stone sensed Airie’s presence. The glowing amulet would confirm what the Godseeker wanted to believe. He would not be able to convince him now that she was not a goddess.

  Sudden heat scorched his skin and Hunter glanced down in confusion. His own amulet glowed golden and grew hot against his skin. Hunter’s head went up, and he scanned the night sky for demons.

  In that split-second shift of his attention, the Godseeker rolled free of the tip of his sword and vanished into the shadowy desert night. Hunter, unwilling to shoot him in the back, let him go.

  But where was the demon?

  He cocked his head, listening for sounds of its approach, and then realized he had made a mistake. The demon would not come after him when it could have a woman like Airie, and she was at the cabin, alone with a small child.

  Worry hit him, hard.

  Hunter slid the six-shooter into the waistband of his trousers and tightened his grip on the sword. A gun might be useless against demon hide, but a sword wielded with a demon’s strength was not.

  He loped toward the cabin as quietly as possible, counting off the minutes in his head since the amulet had flared, and prayed he would be in time.

  He was unprepared for the scene he found.

  …

  Hunter had sounded as if he’d prefer to sleep outside, so Airie had not argued.

  But once he was gone and she had Scratch tucked into bed, she found she was too restless to sleep and with too many things on her mind. She did not want to think about Hunter, or the meaning of his puzzling actions and words. The future, too, was a frightening unknown to her.

  Instead, she wandered onto the verandah and into the darkness, intending to sit and enjoy the moonlight and the sounds of the night in the hopes of finding a small measure of peace. She sat on the stoop, her bare toes peeping from under the cuffs of Hunter’s too-long trousers, and absently played with her amulet, running the stone back and forth along its chain. Since Hunter had touched it to his, it felt different to her in an indefinable but important way.

  A wolven howled in the desert, then another. Goose bumps chased across Airie’s flesh, although not from fear.

  Now that she was here, and her childhood dreams of the desert a reality, she found it could not compensate for the loss of the goddesses who no longer responded to her, even though she prayed to them faithfully every day. Could it be as she had feared? That with her mother gone, the goddesses had turned from her?

  She rose, troubled, intending to go back inside. A soft breath of wind began to rise, scattering dust before it.

  A low voice called to her from the shadows. “Well, well, little angel. What have we here?”

  The voice was deep and very masculine, holding a hint of quiet amusement, and Airie spun around with her heart thumping madly beneath Hunter’s undershirt.

  A man approached until he stood not twenty feet from the foot of the steps. Tall, broad shouldered, he had dancing gray eyes that begged for a smile, and a mass of curling black hair. His chest and feet were bare, a pair of faded cotton trousers his only clothing.

  Airie’s breath caught, disliking that a stranger had gotten so close when she had a small child’s safety to consider. She looked around.

  Where was Hunter?

  “Smile for me, angel,” the stranger coaxed her, a wide grin cutting across his handsome face and displaying white, even teeth.

  It would be very easy to become lost in that smile, Airie thought. The voice, too, mesmerized her. Some of her suspicion began to fade. How could someone so beautiful be anything but harmless?

  He came closer, and she found herself descending the wooden steps to face him, although warning bells rang wildly in a far off, secret part of her head. She tried to dismiss them but found she could not. Not entirely.

  Something about this was not quite right.

  She had not intended to permit him to get this close. Uncertain how he had managed it, she took several cautious steps backward. His smile widened as if he sensed her increasing nervousness.

  He halted and lifted his hands, palms outward, in a gesture of placation. “Don’t be afraid, little sweetheart.”

  She was not afraid. Sensing it would be dangerous for her if she were, and that he would take advantage of any weakness she exhibited, she chose to confront him with boldness instead.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Agares.”

  His gaze on her was too warm. She had liked that hungry look when she received it from Hunter earlier. Now, she was not so certain she did.

  Hunter.

  Airie struggled to dredge up an image of his face in her mind. When she did, there was no heat in his expression. Instead, he was scowling.

  He would not like this.

  There was no uncertainty in the thought at all, although she did not know why it should matter to her, only that it did. She sensed real danger, too, something she had never felt from Hunter.

  “The desert is very beautiful, Airie,” her mother had once warned her. “But nighttime brings out its predators, and demons are the most dangerous predators of all.”

  Now she understood what her mother had meant when she called them predators, because this demon Agares was stalking her.

  A dark voice spoke to her. You know what you are. You can play this game. You can stalk, too.

  The voice of her instincts was right. Her own smile flared. “I’m not afraid of you, demon.”

  She saw the glint of surprise in his eyes, quickly hidden, although not fast enough. He had expected shy, feminine resistance to his demon charm. Had known what to do to overcome it.

  A hot ember of anger tingled to life, shooting ripples of fire through her flesh. This was a game he had played with mortal women many times before. He did not yet realize that Airie was not mortal.

  And that he, too, could be a demon’s prey.

  You know what you are. She did. At least she knew what part of her was, and right now, it spoke to her.

  “Come to me, Agares,” she said, the soft, seductive words barely recognizable to her as her own. Her extended hand and naked arm gleamed with a fiery golden light.

  He dragged one foot forward, then the other, while she waited for him. Let this demon discover what it was like to walk into danger, unable to resist it.

  He reached to take her extended hand. Then, quick as a goldthief snake’s strike, he seized it.

  Too late, as she tumbled into his arms, Airie discovered that even though she might be able to compel him, he was a demon nevertheless—and with a great deal more practice at it.

  She was the one playing with fire.

  “Whatever you are,” he murmured, his lips hot on her cheek and ear, an enormous erection pressing into her hip, “the evening has become far more interesting.”

  In a contest of wills, her instinct insisted she was his equal. In one of pure strength, she was not as certain. What she would not offer freely, this demon planned to take from her by force, and she did not know if she could fight him off.

  A hand moved to her breast, startling her out of uncerta
inty. She did not like to be touched in this manner. Not by a demon who was not meant for her. How dare he touch her this way?

  Angry red flames clouded her vision as the fire inside her built to an uncontainable level. She had to release it, or it would consume her.

  Her blazing eyes seared his neck and chest. He reared back, releasing her, roaring with pain and surprise. He shook the hand that had touched her so intimately as if it, too, had been singed. He stared at her, and past her anger and his sudden caution, Airie saw recognition.

  “How…” he breathed, then self-preservation kicked in. He shifted, changed, and within seconds, assumed his demon form.

  The handsome face disappeared, swallowed by a mashed snout, long, wolven-like jaw, and fiery eyes. Bony plates covered the thick red hide of its hunched torso, protecting vital organs. The sheer size of it should have inspired awe in her.

  Airie’s anger, however, was far from spent. The demon had touched her. She would touch it, too.

  It towered over her, but she faced it without flinching. Fear is for mortals, her instincts whispered.

  It dipped its head toward hers. She had no ready weapon. As the ugly snout neared her face, she stooped, grabbed a handful of sand, and threw it at the demon’s eyes in an attempt to blind it, even as her other hand slashed out to seize it by the windpipe. The fire in her palm sheared through its thick hide, and it bellowed as it tried to shake itself free of her grip.

  She did not let it go, instead redirecting her fire into its throat to cut off all air. A talon sliced her arm open as the demon struggled, but she barely noticed the sharp sliver of pain. Instinct again warned her of its intentions. By drawing fresh blood, it hoped to summon a battle rage in an effort to gain an advantage on her.

  It would not get another opportunity to try.

  The fire on her skin cauterized the cut on her arm, sealing it shut before it could bleed. Airie squeezed her fingers around the demon’s windpipe, completely enraged and beyond reasonable thought now, and watched with hungry triumph as life slowly seeped from its eyes.

  “I will own your death and your strength,” she said. “You will do as I say.”