“I’m not interested in going anywhere,” Stone said.
“Perhaps Nieve is.” Creed finally looked at her. She was frightened, but something more, too.
“I’m not going anywhere either,” Nieve said.
“I didn’t invite her here to let her leave so soon.” The demon in Willow appeared to enjoy the escalation of tension. “There’s someone who’s anxious to see her again. It seems he misses her. I think he thought she was dead. Imagine how pleased he’ll be to see her looking so well.” She smiled at Creed. “And so well cared for.”
She had summoned the demon who had fathered Nieve’s son back into this world, and placed him in a position where he could reach Nieve again. Creed saw the initial confusion, then the spark of panic in Nieve’s eyes as she figured it out.
This was one spawn that Creed would not bother taking back to the Godseekers for justice. He’d kill Willow himself.
“You’re starting to make me angry,” Creed said. “You aren’t going to like it.”
“Because you’ll shift to a demon form?” Willow tapped her chin with the index fingers of her clasped hands. “You’re wrong. I think I might like to see that. Besides,” she added, “You’re likely going to need it. I got the distinct impression that the mortal’s demon lover isn’t at all happy with you. You took something he claims is his. And I wonder what this demon might do if he finds out he also has a son?” Willow’s eyes remained fixed on Creed, not Nieve, as if testing how far she could push him. Or, perhaps, she did not see Nieve as a threat. “I’m sure he’d like to know where he is, too. If he knew about him, of course. But how do you suppose he’d find out such a thing? Who do you think would be cruel enough to tell him?”
Nieve, who’d been standing meek and submissive, hurled herself at Willow, catching everyone by surprise. She had her hands in Willow’s hair before anyone could think to move.
If she had gone after a mortal, Creed might have let her be, but Willow was of demon heritage. Creed, however, was farthest away and not fast enough to come to Nieve’s defense. Willow struck her, knocking her back a few staggering steps. Nieve emitted a small sound that was more impotent frustration than pain.
Creed, although he had weapons on him, reached for none of them. He reacted to Nieve’s distress in blind anger, as a half demon would, not an assassin, and he started for Willow.
The boy, Stone, stepped into Creed’s path and swung a fist at the side of Creed’s head. Creed dodged it so that the blow landed on his shoulder, but even so, he reeled from its unexpected and formidable force. He was a big man, much larger than Stone, who was not full grown, and yet the blow hurt.
Then he saw that the fist at the end of the boy’s arm was not mortal but demon, and felt the sting as blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder where demon claws had torn his flesh.
Creed swung his own fist. It hit Stone in the jaw, and by rights, should almost have killed him. At the very least, it should have knocked him unconscious.
Instead, the boy’s jaw had shifted and hardened on impact so that Creed hit the hard bone plating of a demon, and not the mortal flesh he’d anticipated. A blossoming, mind-numbing pain shot up his arm, and Creed suspected he had broken several knuckles.
The boy’s demon talent was far more impressive than it first seemed. His shifting was instinctive, and a pre-emptive response to danger.
Creed, as enraged as his demon now, prepared to unleash his own demon form.
And for the second time when he’d needed it of late, his demon did not respond when he commanded it to shift.
Chapter Twelve
Stone struck Creed another hard blow, this time to the chin.
Creed felt the dampness of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek, but no pain.
Adrenaline took care of that.
He scrubbed at the blood with the back of his hand as he assessed his next moves. The skin across the top of his knuckles had split open and was also bleeding. His eyes and his tattoo blazed with heat.
He threw a few more quick punches that Stone didn’t bother to avoid. Every time Creed swung at him, the part of his body Creed connected with shifted to demon.
But Creed was no longer swinging hard, he was testing. Looking for weaknesses. He knew where his own were—in the chinks between the bone plating that allowed for freedom of movement and a greater agility in the demon form. He wondered if Stone would have the same chinks between his bone plates, or if his demon ability to shift individual parts of his body covered even those natural vulnerabilities.
In case it did, Creed mentally ran through his other options. Stone had unique demon defenses, and could not be hurt, at least not by Creed, but he was a clumsy fighter with no tactics. He telegraphed every move. His fists were easy enough for Creed to avoid.
So Creed decided to make him work for the blows he did manage to land, because while he tired the boy out, he had another plan to put into action.
Not all fights were won using simple brute force.
He danced on the balls of his feet in the fighting stance he’d been taught, and as he bobbed and weaved, he brought them both closer to the base of the ruins.
Stone was breathing more heavily now, although he remained untroubled by Creed’s efforts to dodge him. He was not intelligent, Creed discovered with relief. He was a typical young bully, used to winning against opponents who did not know how to fight either, or who were simply intimidated by his greater strength and abilities.
Creed did not try to lead him up the side of one of the hilly ruins, which would have been an obvious ploy even to Stone, but instead searched for a depression in the ground that indicated an old world foundation—and modern day sinkhole—beneath it.
He found one of the depressions he was looking for. It took him a bit longer to work Stone into position, drawing him close before backing away. Once Stone was where Creed thought the center was on top of the depression, he reached into his pocket for one of the grenades he’d been planning to sell at the outpost.
He fumbled with the pin, yanking it free, and lobbed it underhand so that it rolled to Stone’s feet. He didn’t dare move out of range too quickly because he didn’t want Stone to pursue him and also escape.
It became apparent that Stone had never seen one of the old world explosives before, which was what Creed had hoped, because he stooped and picked it up, and held it. He looked at Creed with a sneer of contempt, as if about to hurl an insult at him in return, or brag about his invincibility. Then his hand shifted shape.
His expression changed with the shift, moving from arrogant, to confused, to angry understanding. He let go of the grenade, but it was already too late.
Creed dropped to the ground and covered his head with his arms as it detonated, rocking the earth. Debris, thick chunks of soil and rock, rained down around him and he worried for Nieve, hoping she was far enough out of range to be safe. The blast was loud enough to set his ears ringing, but other than that he seemed fine. He uncovered his head. Where Stone had stood was a large hole about ten feet in diameter.
He started to rise. Then the ground beneath him began to tilt. His whole body teetered, tipping downward, and before he could roll to safety, he was sliding headfirst into a deep black abyss.
He tumbled once, a single somersault done in freefall, and slammed painfully against what had once been a floor joist in an old world building. It was twisted and broken, the jagged steel edges sharp, and Creed lost flesh off his leg even as he snagged onto the beam with one arm. His lower body swung back and forth like a pendulum, dead weight that threatened to pull him loose, before he managed to steady himself.
He looked down. Below him was nothing but masses of broken beams, fallen walls, and blackness. Puffs of stale air and ancient dust made him cough, and his grip slipped an inch. Some of these old sinkholes could be as many as four stories deep, if not more, and lined with concrete and bedrock. Even in demon form, if Stone had tumbled to the bott
om of this pit he would be lucky to survive.
Nieve was the only one Creed worried for. Willow would not think twice about handing her over to a demon. He would not let that happen.
He got one leg over the joist and hauled the rest of his body up. The joist where he perched was solidly wedged between two broken pieces of flooring. He fumbled for the second grenade he carried, pulled the pin, and after a three second count, he let it drop into the dark hole. The explosion rocked the joist, which swayed but held steady.
He balanced precariously on his hands and knees and stared at the tiny patch of sky high above him, waiting for the dust to settle. He had to get out of here. Nieve was not yet out of danger. His irrational mortal fear for her mingled with the colder, results-oriented thoughts of his demon until he could not disengage the two sides of his nature. The back of his shirt grew too tight. He heard it rip, felt it tear, then the seams parted across the shoulders. As his demon form emerged, its greater weight dislodged the joist.
One end began to tip downward, toward the abyss below.
…
With a sense of detached horror, Nieve watched the ground swallow Creed whole. The day had taken on a nightmare quality for her. She had no idea what to do next. What she could do to help him.
Or what would happen to her.
She started forward, the need to do something irresistible, but Willow seized her arm in cruel fingers that dug deep into her flesh to hold her back.
“It’s too dangerous,” Willow said, with unmistakable disdain, “and I need you alive.” She called to Thistle, who had come out of her hiding place amongst the ash trees when the explosion went off for a better look. “Hold her hand. I want to make certain that the assassin’s dead.”
Nieve heard Willow utter the word dead, but it made no sense when used in relation to Creed. He was invincible. She replayed what she had seen over and over in her mind. Creed lying on the ground, covering his head. The earth tilting. Him sliding headfirst into a crumbling hole.
He was as mortal as she.
Heat tingled behind her eyelids. Creed was not dead. He would never leave her with Willow, who planned to give her back to the demon who had once taken everything from her.
She watched as Willow walked toward the wide hole, testing the ground with each step to see if it was stable. Nieve remained where she was, her hand clasped in Thistle’s. The girl smiled at her, and Nieve found herself smiling back, although it felt odd and distorted, as if the corners of her mouth had been drawn back by invisible fingers.
It was a horrifying and familiar sensation. Nieve felt like a puppet on a string, helpless to take control of her own body. The girl had a gift for compulsion, already even greater than Creed’s. It did not bear contemplating how strong her gift would be when she reached adulthood.
The ground rumbled again. Willow stopped, tilted her head to the side as if assessing the risk, then turned away.
“It’s not safe,” she said to Thistle. “I already have what I came for. We’re leaving.”
“What about Stone?” the girl asked, but Nieve knew the question was empty, and merely something Thistle thought was required of her.
The child had no soul.
“Stone should have been more careful,” Willow said. “Even if either one of them survived, it will be difficult to escape from that hole. If the ground is too weak to support my weight, it would never hold one of them.”
Another tremor shook the earth.
And then, even as Willow finished speaking, a giant figure emerged from the rubble and shot skyward on widespread, leathery wings beating so hard that Nieve had to shield her eyes against blasts of blowing dirt.
The demon shot over their heads as if testing its wings for the very first time. Then it swooped downward with alarming speed, aiming at Nieve and Thistle, who held Nieve’s hand.
Nieve flinched as those enormous wings pounded the air, and outstretched, taloned feet reached for her. Even though she knew the demon had to be Creed, she did not believe him able to control his natural instincts while in that form.
She could not find the breath to scream. Instead she reacted out of maternal instinct and fear, and threw her body in front of the younger girl to protect her by enfolding her in her arms.
The pain of those sharp talons tearing into her flesh did not come. A flash of bright red ignited the inside of her tightly squeezed eyelids. She cracked them open and turned her face skyward to see a ball of glowing red and gold fire arcing through the air. It caught the demon Creed low in the chest, beneath one of his wings, bowling him over. He tumbled from the sky, shifting to mortal form as he fell, and although he hit the ground feet first, his forward momentum drove him to his knees. He got a foot beneath him and half rose so that he was crouched and panting, with the fingertips of one hand on the earth to steady him and the palm of the other pressed against his ribs.
With lightning-fast reflexes, he rolled out of the way as another ball of fire skimmed across his shoulders. His shirt was gone, his trousers were torn, and his feet were bare. His face was battered and bleeding, and he had long tears on the upper part of one arm.
But he was alive.
The compulsion that had held Nieve transfixed to Thistle crumbled as the girl looked to Willow with the first hint of uncertainty she’d exhibited thus far. Nieve shook free of her hold and rushed toward Creed.
“Get back!” he shouted at her, but she did not stop. Demon or not, she would take her chances with him.
She did the only thing she could think of to help him. She slapped her hand to the tattoo on his naked back.
Creed did not waste more time by arguing with her. He seized hold of her free hand and brought her around so that he partially shielded her, and the next flame Willow shot at them was met with a flash of fire in return. Showers of red and gold, glittering sparks rained down around Creed and Nieve when the two bursts connected. Within seconds a blazing fortress of fire encased them, holding Willow’s flames back.
Creed, however, was weakening. The fire Nieve drew out of him might flow through her, but he was the one whose energy was being expended. Still on one knee, droplets of sweat rolled off his face. He breathed in heavy, panting gasps.
Nieve also found it increasingly difficult to inhale. The fire around them was burning up all of the air. Her lungs might as well have been filled with boiling water. The heat bit at her skin until she too was sweating. It pooled between her breasts and soaked through her dress.
They could not keep this protective wall up for much longer.
“If she’s feeling as badly as I do right now,” Creed said, his head dropping so that his chin approached his chest, “then she’s no longer a threat. We’ll have to risk that she’s used up most of her strength.”
He let go of Nieve’s hand. She slid her other palm from the shimmering and undulating tattoo on his back, and the sparkling wall of flame that had encompassed them disappeared.
The hills and trees around them echoed nothing but silence. Willow and Thistle were also gone.
Nieve helped Creed to his feet and tucked herself beneath his arm to steady him. The early evening air, although not cold, was cool and fresh enough to be welcome as she breathed deep gulps to soothe the inside of her enflamed and screaming lungs.
All she could think of, and feel, was how glad she was that he was alive. But she also thought, in a darker part of her head, of how he had looked when he’d plummeted toward her in demon form, with talons extended and reaching for her.
Creed considered his bare feet.
“I’ll need another pair of new boots,” he said, as if that was his biggest regret from all that had transpired. Then he looked at Nieve. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay where I left you?”
She told him about Thistle. Creed said nothing about how easily she’d been fooled by a child, but instead, tightened his arm around her.
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t think she’ll be back. Not today. And I don’t have
the energy to pursue her right now.”
They began to walk.
His face was bleeding from the beating he’d received. One of his eyes was partially swollen shut. He wheezed when he breathed, so Nieve thought it likely he’d cracked a few ribs, or possibly even broken them. And yet he looked like he’d just had the best time of his life.
He noticed the way she was looking at him, and the way her lips trembled at the sight of him so battered, and he grinned. Good humor oozed from him.
“I’ll heal in a day or two. I’m more concerned with how to explain this at a hotel. I don’t think I can find enough energy to conceal it.”
“We can tell people we were robbed. To look at you, that’s a story anyone would believe.”
“I can’t have people thinking I was robbed. I’m an assassin.”
A spurt of anger that all of this was a joke to him coursed through her. She hated that he’d been hurt, and that it was her fault, at least in part.
“You’re a terrible assassin,” she said. “You didn’t use your best weapon.”
His smile remained easy despite her petty attempt to provoke him. “I used two hand grenades. Assassin weapons don’t come much better than that.”
Those were not his best weapon. His demon form was. It was the only reason he was alive. She did not know how to say it, and wasn’t sure that it was a subject she cared to discuss, because even though it meant he was alive, she did not like that side of him.
She did not want to be possessed by a demon again.
Any demon.
…
Ash trailed along behind Airie as she did her shopping in Cottonwood Fall. It was about a half hour’s ride from the ranch, and Hunter didn’t like Airie going without him, but she got that stubborn look on her face that warned him she’d do as she pleased.
Hunter told Ash it was one of those times when a man had to pick his battles, and he was saving up for a rainy day. Ash wasn’t sure what he meant, except that Airie got her own way and he got to go to town with her.
Then Hunter said Ash was to keep an eye on Airie for him.
The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) Page 18