Demon Retribution (Shadow Quest Book 3)

by Kiersten Fay

  Perhaps he should have approached her then, but there had been something oddly private in the way she sat there next to the water, her stare hard and distant. He’d stayed hidden, feeling as though he’d be interrupting some ritual of hers.

  Or maybe that was just an excuse.

  He was acutely aware of something inside him that was screaming to stay away from her. Warning bells had shaken his brain with the first discovery of her feminine fragrance. Even now, he was hesitant to follow, but at the same time, oddly eager. The conflicting desires made him debate whether it might be better to stay at a distance, keep an eye on her without her knowing.

  His gut relaxed at the thought, and then tightened in protest—as if it too was unsure of the best course.

  Her gaze swept past him without pausing. The thick foliage covered him well. He was sure she couldn’t see him. Again, she swayed on her feet and took a moment to balance herself. When she finally entered the building, her left shoulder bumped the door frame.

  A few moments later, the light behind her curtains flicked on.

  His instincts were at war. His usual curiosity seemed to be his biggest enemy. That and his desire for her. There, he’d admitted it to himself—why he’d been denying it so vehemently, he didn’t know. But he wanted her. Badly.

  Not really a surprise, considering how drop-dead gorgeous she was. Yet even so, he shouldn’t be as unnerved as he was by wanting her. He took females like he took his meals; frequently, and with everything on the side. Emotions were never involved…on his part. He couldn’t care less where the females came from, or where they were going. Hell, he hardly cared what they called themselves, only that he got what he needed from them.

  However, there was something different regarding Kyra.

  Whatever it was, he blamed Anya. That damn girl had made him soft! Somehow, she had forced him to love her, albeit, as a sister. But, before her, he hadn’t allowed anyone new into his heart since…

  His teeth gnashed together. Thinking of his mate was always painful. Holding himself together after he’d lost her was a challenge he’d given up on long ago. He waited for the burning that felt like acid under his skin to subside, eager to embrace the emptiness that always followed.

  Before Anya had entered his life and mated his brother Sebastian, Cale had been drifting through life as a shell. Faking his way through every day.

  And it had been fine! He had been just fine.

  No one had really known how thoroughly he suffered, how much pain he kept to himself. He’d been able to hide it from his brother and sister, from everyone, all this time.

  Until Anya.

  The way she’d look at him made him wonder if she saw right through him. No, he knew she did. With her gift, she could sense his every incriminating emotion. She understood probably better than he.

  Though, the chit had been sweet not to bring it up.

  He thought of the last time he’d seen her, just before leaving Marada. She’d been unconscious, barely breathing. Sebastian, distraught, looked ready to join her in death if she didn’t wake up.

  Kyra’s light flicked off, reclaiming his attention. From where he stood, he could see that the sliding door curtain was not drawn all the way. The buildings were so tightly packed together; it would be a breeze to climb to her balcony…just to make sure she was alright.

  The justification was a lame one, but to hell with it.

  As he scaled the wall, he tried to deter his desire by reminding himself of another reason he should stay away from her.

  Her future was his future.

  Meaning, if he got involved with her, as he always tended to do with women, he couldn’t just send her on her way and be done with it. Where she went, he would have to go. And vice versa. At least until Marada rescued them from this backward planet.

  But the impending ramifications did nothing to sway his course.

  Damn, but he shouldn’t have danced with her. Sebastian was right. He had no self-control. And she held too much attraction for him. By marking her as forbidden, he’d managed to make her that much more appealing.

  But if he just got another look at her—a glimpse—then he could distance himself once more, and be at ease for the remainder of the night.

  On her balcony, he crouched next to the wall. A sliver of moonlight seeped in to her apartment, but it was not enough. He could only see the edge of a table. Testing the door, he found it unlocked. He guessed there weren’t a load of humans who could climb as well as he.

  He slipped inside and his vision adjusted to the dark. The room was about the size of his quarters on Marada. A plush white couch faced a flat, black screen. Draped over the arm was a strip of familiar fabric. Her top? He swallowed, thinking he should turn around and leave. It would be the logical thing to do.

  He stepped forward. A few large pictures—black and white landscapes—hung against walls that sucked up the blue hue of the moonlight. To his right, a wide bar with a dark counter top separated the kitchen from the living area.

  Across the room, he spied a door cracked open. Bunched at its base was another clump of material and a single heel. He traveled lightly over the beige carpet and peeked through the opening, already suspecting what he would find.

  His breath caught.

  She hadn’t quite made it under the covers.

  She lay face down, head cocked to the side, arms sprawled above her. Her legs were slightly askew and looked pale against the dark sheets. The only bit of fabric she wore was a tiny strip that sank into an ass that couldn’t have been more perfect if it had been shaped by an artist.

  “Mercy of gods.”

  Her body jerked at the sound of his voice, and she gasped, rolling over the side of the mattress. The rustle of a drawer being yanked open should have been his queue to skedaddle, but he’d been momentarily frozen by the sight of her. At the last second, he moved, and the bullet whizzed past his head.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m not here to hurt you.” He backed away from the door.

  “Shopping for apartments, are you?” She hissed, barging into the living room, gun aimed true, and still nearly naked.

  His mind went blank for another moment.

  “I’m here to protect you.”

  “You broke into my place to protect me.” Her tone was sarcastic. Then her eyes narrowed as recognition took hold. “You’re that guy,” she said.

  Kyra swayed, feeling nauseous.

  Seeing his face between the two other blurry figures reminded her that she was three sheets to the wind.

  “I’ve come to keep you safe from the Kayadon.” His arms were up, showing he was unarmed, but he wasn’t meeting her gaze.

  “From what?” she replied a bit slurred. “Do you mean people who follow girls home and sneak into their rooms when they’re unconscious?”

  “Not exactly.” His words were slow, as if he wasn’t really paying attention. She followed his line of sight.

  Huh, when had she removed her clothing?

  “Get a good look? It’s the last pair you’re ever going to see.”

  His smile was cocky. “I doubt that.”

  Kyra squeezed the trigger three times. The long silencer at the end of her nine millimeter muffled the sound.

  “Shit!” he bellowed and stumbled back, clutching the open wounds in his torso.

  Even wasted, she was a spot on shot. The trick was to aim for the middle one. If that didn’t work, just shoot ‘em all. Bound to hit something.

  “You crazy wench.” His expression was incredulous, and she mused that psychos were always surprised when their prey fought back, and won. Though he probably didn’t realize it yet, she’d mortally wounded him. Lung, liver, kidney. This one was proving tough, however. He was still steady on his feet.

  “Get out of here, or I’ll put one in your head, you sicko.”

  He grumbled something she couldn’t hear and still shamelessly ogled her. She tensed her arm for another shot.

  “Alright, I’m going,�
�� he said, as if she were merely inconveniencing him.

  But instead of heading toward the door, he went to the balcony, and she registered now that the sliding door had been open this whole time. He hauled himself up to balance on the banister. Gun still trained on him, she took a step forward, about to either make the kill or demand he leave again. When he flung himself over the side, her jaw dropped.

  She rushed forward, expecting to see a splattered body on the street and the sound of honking horns, maybe some screaming from passersby, but there was none of that. She ignored the chilled morning air as she leaned over the edge.

  Her heart, which she hadn’t realized was racing, began to slow, and a low gust of wind reminded her that she was naked. It didn’t matter. No one from below could really see her. It was still dark out, but the coming sun threatened to leach the night away at any moment.

  Leaning farther out, she checked to see if he’d landed on the balcony under her, but he wasn’t there either.

  Then movement across the street demanded her attention.

  It was him!

  He leaned against a thin trunk behind the waist high wall that separated the park from the sidewalk. Blood trickled from where she’d shot him, but he looked casually unaffected. Almost relaxed.

  Their eyes met. He smiled. All she could do was gape at his smug expression. In the next instant, he was gone, disappearing into the park.

  Stunned, she stood there for a long while. Eventually the black of the sky mixed with navy. Car engines rumbled below. Brakes squealed. The gun was still in her hand, growing cold.

  Had that really just happened?

  Chapter 3

  By midday, Kyra had sobered up. Mostly. Sober enough to realize the droplets of blood in her apartment weren’t from an alcohol-induced hallucination. She had shot someone, and he’d practically laughed about it. At least, she though he had laughed. There had been a chuckle at least.

  Of course, he was most likely dead by now. People didn’t survive wounds like that unless treated immediately, and he hadn’t seemed in a hurry to find a hospital.

  Anyway, she couldn’t stay here any longer. It was time for another identity change.

  The moment his body was found, alive or dead, there would be an investigation, and she best be long gone by then.

  A half-filled suitcase lay open on her bed. Each time she moved, she would mourn as if someone was dying. Which was kind of true. Kyra Okora was dying. Just as Kyra Webber, Kyra Jenkins, and countless others had before.

  She’d always keep her first name for two reasons. One, because it was who she was, who she would always be, no matter how many identities she took. Two, she could never get used to answering to a fake name. She’d tried it once. It was always awkward when someone had to say the name three or more times before she would answer.

  Kyra had made changing her life as easy as possible, so she could just up and go at a moment’s notice. All her properties were owned by a “travel company” so there was never any paperwork to track, and a bag of cash was always on hand, along with countless deposit boxes.

  Like so many other times she’d just become another missing person. Not that there was ever anyone who’d put up a fuss over it.

  Well, not usually. Zoey might.

  Maybe that’s why she sat slumped, staring aimlessly through her glass coffee table. For the first time in ages, someone would miss her. And she would miss someone. Why had she let herself get so close to the human girl?

  Kyra debated calling her, giving her some excuse as to why they would never see each other again.

  Hey, Zo, I killed a man, just to watch him die.

  Okay, not to watch. Though, Kyra didn’t regret shooting the wacko. Killing him would save whoever his next target would have been. And she was sure there would have been a next. People like him didn’t just forget their sick obsessions. They didn’t grow a conscience. She smiled, remembering her vigilante years, long before things like police forces and forensics labs had existed.

  A harsh buzzing noise made her jump. Kyra grabbed her phone off the table and slid her finger across the screen.

  “Hey, Zo,” she said.

  A terrible sniffling was the only response.

  Her back straightened. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  An unintelligible sob echoed from the speaker.

  “Where are you?”

  While Kyra had been dealing with her unwanted intruder, Zoey had been dealing with her worst nightmare.

  The hospital was like any other—cold, impersonal, with a generally unnerving air about. At least that’s what it felt like to Kyra.

  Being able to witness the progression of humanity was a unique experience, but a depressing one. The old ways of caring for the sick used to be much more compassionate and less…“sign here and have a seat.”

  She found Zoey in the lobby, her face wet, eyes burning with tears. Kyra took the seat to her right, giving quiet comfort and waiting for her to decide what to do next. If she wanted to sit here all day, then that’s what they would do.

  After about twenty minutes, Zo muttered, “I’m so tired.” The words were but a breath through her lips, so low Kyra had barely heard.

  “Are you ready to go home?”

  Zo didn’t say anything. Her eyes had been fixed on one spot for a while. Kyra was sure she wasn’t really seeing anything, but finally she gave a single nod.

  “Is there anything you need from her room?” Kyra didn’t want to say the word “Mom”, afraid it would make Zo break down completely.

  Zoey shook her head, a tear escaping down one cheek.

  The cab ride was quiet, and when they reached their destination, Zoey blindly fished in her purse for money. Kyra was quicker and handed a couple of twenties to the driver, not really caring if she was due change.

  Zoey’s apartment was on the first level, so it wasn’t long before Kyra was helping her into bed. She asked a series of yes or no questions because Zoey was only responding with head movements. She wasn’t hungry, she wasn’t cold, she wasn’t hot, she didn’t want music. Thankfully, she did accept a glass of water.

  “I’m going to be right out here, okay?” Kyra jerked her head toward the main room.

  Nod.

  Stepping out of the room, she closed the door behind her and then made herself comfortable on the lumpy secondhand couch. Her earlier sorrow over the loss of her fake life seemed insignificant now, but still inevitable.

  It was a despicable situation. She’d be leaving Zoey during a rough time in her life. She could only hope that Zoey didn’t turn to Kevin, for both comfort and financial support. Kyra could see that happening, all too well. The hospital bills had eaten away any savings Zo and her mom had put away, and the girl was living on credit.

  Kyra decided then that Zoey would receive a generous gift from an anonymous benefactor. An unknown wealthy uncle, or some forgotten family member recently deceased, but who had been searching for their only known heir. It would take some time to forge the documents and plant evidence of his existence, but by this time it was par for the course.

  Kyra spent most of the day rifling through Zoey’s small book collection, flipping through channels, and checking on her every so often. Late in the evening, Zoey stopped crying, but she still wouldn’t eat. When Kyra found she’d finally fallen asleep, hours after the sun had set, she went back to the couch and closed her eyes.

  Kyra woke to a warm hand on her shoulder. Zoey perched on the arm of the couch.

  “Thanks for staying. You didn’t have to, though.”

  “Whatever. Like I would leave you alone at a time like this.” Kyra cringed at her own words.

  Zoey sighed. Her face was puffy and stressed.

  “Do you need me to do anything? Call anyone?”

  “No one to call,” she replied dryly.

  “What about…arrangements?” Kyra instantly regretted bringing it up so soon.

  Renewed tears spilled from Zoey’s eyes. She swallowed and
pushed the words out. “Done. Mom insisted on getting everything settled, just in case.” She paused on a silent sob. “After what we went through with Dad…Well, she didn’t want to leave me with that.” She took a heavy breath, and Kyra noticed how exhausted her friend still looked. “So, she’ll be cremated, and just wants…wanted to be spread somewhere exotic. Unfortunately, it might be a while before I can afford to go anywhere.”

  “What, New York’s not exotic? Tell me where else you can get a two dollar slice of pizza and a ten dollar martini in the same meal?”

  Zoey gave a clipped laugh, then stood and traveled the few steps to the kitchen, before saying, “You can grab a shower here if you need. I put a couple towels in there for you.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Kyra flicked on the television and found a local news channel. If a body had been found in the park it should have made the top stories.

  A newscaster baring a striking resemblance to a plastic doll debated with a couple of businessmen about stock market issues. Kyra put the volume on low.

  Zoey dug through her cabinets. “I don’t have much to eat here. I could make us some eggs or something.

  “I’m not a big breakfast person, but thanks.”

  “Ah, I forgot. Well, I need to eat something before work.”

  “I could work your shift today, Zo. I’m sure everyone would understand if you took a few days.”

  “I know they would,” she replied from inside the fridge, “but I need the money.” She pulled out a carton of eggs and set them on the counter, then produced a skillet, shaking it in Kyra’s direction like some sort of overbearing grandmother. “And don’t even suggest loaning me anything.”

  Kyra wouldn’t have used the word loan, but she knew Zoey would be even less likely to take a handout.

  Long lost uncle it is.

  “Today’s top stories,” the woman on the screen chirped. “Could what you’re eating for lunch be killing you? Find out, tonight at eleven. A preacher, caught stealing? We’ll tell you his side of the story. And what are your kids really learning in school? You might be surprised. We’ll be right back with the top stories after the break.”