Black Widow Demon (Demon Outlaws)

by Altenburg, Paula

  A house, she thought. Never a home. She was free now to do as she wished. Finally.

  She eased open the window to her bedroom, then, hoisting herself onto her palms, swung one leg over the sill. She waited, half in and half out, listening intently for any sounds of movement within, but the house was empty.

  She lowered herself into the room as the familiar scents of furniture polish and rose oil spun memories of her mother. Fond ones, from before she had been beaten into submission by an abusive husband.

  Raven took a step toward the heavy cedar wardrobe that rested against the wall facing the canopied bed. She did not need light to navigate her own bedroom.

  Something delicate crushed beneath her foot, and startled, her breath caught. She had left nothing on the floor in front of the window. Certainly nothing of glass.

  She took another step. More glass crackled.

  As her vision adjusted to the gloom, she paid more attention to her surroundings. Her gaze swept from wall to wall. Familiar shapes presented themselves but in odd locations. The wardrobe sprawled facedown on the floor, smashed to pieces as if someone had taken an ax to it. The same with her bed. It was tipped on its side, the mattress torn apart. Shredded clothing littered every surface in the room. Precious trinkets—some her first works of art, others small gifts crafted for her when she was a child by the mother who’d once loved her—lay shattered and broken beneath her feet on the polished hardwood floor.

  This destruction was not done in retaliation for her escape. He’d had no time. This had to have happened well before last night’s judgment. If she had come home with him instead, as he’d wanted, this was to be a message to her that she could not disobey him without repercussion.

  Lifting the ragged remains of a soft, creamy undergarment, she let the sheer fabric drift through her fingers. He knew how much her artist’s soul liked pretty, feminine things. She dropped the shreds of brushed silk to the floor and dusted her palms, shuddering. She would show the bastard that she could live without trivial things. And that she was not afraid of him.

  Nothing of any use or value to her was left undamaged. She moved into the hall and headed for Justice’s bedroom, two doors down from hers. The single-story house was new, like everything else in the settlement, although better constructed than most. The bedrooms sat at the back while the parlor, kitchen, dining room, and Justice’s private office faced the main street.

  She hated entering his private bedroom, even now, with him away. Plainly furnished, it stank of his evil. Having no desire to linger, she went straight to the bed and dropped to her hands and knees, fumbling beneath it for the locked box she knew he kept there. She dragged it carelessly toward her by its leather handle. Although small, its considerable weight left a long, deep scratch on the wood floor. She twisted the lock off using her bare hands and demon strength, mangling it with deep satisfaction.

  The box contained a significant quantity of gold coin, mined in the Godseeker Mountains and minted by Justice’s own goldsmiths. The coin in it was not what she was after, although she scooped a few pieces into her pockets out of common sense practicality.

  Her fingers closed around a simple, smooth amulet crafted from red desert varnish. It had been her mother’s most prized possession in the early, pre-Justice days. She had once told Raven that it kept her safe and made her feel happy. Justice had taken it from her years ago, after the first time he beat her.

  That was when Raven’s own dreams began. Back then, her childish, artistic imagination had created a world she could hide in at night where she, too, could be safe. Now that demons had found it, though, that world was no longer a haven for her.

  Neither was this one.

  While the amulet had no real value or purpose, it was a connection to her mother that Raven refused to be parted from. She slipped the thin gold chain over her head and left the discarded box open on the floor beside the bed. She had one more thing to retrieve in here. Along with the knife she had used to protect herself against Justice, Creed had given her a bow and quiver of arrows. She was out of practice, but all she needed was one clear shot.

  She stood on a chair to remove a loose panel from the bedroom ceiling. This had been one of her favorite secrets, knowing she’d hidden something in Justice’s room and that he would never find it because he was too arrogant to consider the possibility. She lifted the bow and quiver from their hiding place. She did not bother to replace the panel.

  Conscious of the passing time and encroaching dawn, she moved on to his office. Within minutes she realized she would not find the information she needed. She did not have enough time. She’d have to find Creed some other way.

  She went to the kitchen to raid the icebox and cupboards. Bread and cheese went into a burlap sack, along with some cold, leftover meat. Then, slinging the sack over her shoulder to rest alongside the bow and the quiver, she returned to her bedroom and departed the house the same way she had entered.

  …

  On a small, uneven hill above the Godseeker’s house, Blade shifted position in his hiding place and watched as the condemned woman eased open a window and slipped inside.

  He had been here for hours, and satisfaction coursed through him that he’d read her boldness correctly. Common sense had dictated that she would be back. Regardless of whether she headed into the desert or the mountains, she’d need food and protective clothing, something more than the thin dress she wore, in order to survive.

  Her name was Raven, and the Godseeker, as it turned out, was not her father but her stepfather. While there was little love for the man in Goldrush he was both respected and feared, and that she had stood fast against him intrigued Blade. He was not without sympathy for her situation. He understood feelings of impotence all too well. It gave him an instinctive dislike of people who abused their authority.

  He wondered what she planned to do next. Morbid curiosity kept him from leaving Goldrush before he found out. His search for the goddess boundary could wait a while longer.

  He glanced at the dark, colorless sky, its thin edges showing traces of approaching dawn. The search party would soon be returning after a long and fruitless night. They would be tired and not in good humor. Her escape had been spectacular, and it would be a shame for her to be recaptured because of carelessness on her part. Once she had what she needed he would make certain she was not seen or followed. Then he would be on his own way and forget about her.

  Blade waited for her to finish her errand, ignoring the crick in his neck. Within a short period of time she reemerged, her short, glossy black ringlets bobbing. She bent her head to keep an eye on the ground as she dropped from the low window ledge. Pausing barely long enough to see if she had been observed, she lifted her chin and brushed the unruly curls off her face with impatient fingers.

  The shackles were gone, he had already noticed, and although the day had not yet fully commenced, he could now distinguish a few more things about her appearance in the expanding light. Her feet were still bare, and she had not retrieved a coat and practical clothing more suited for travel. A single sack hung from one slender shoulder, a bow and quiver of arrows from the other.

  Then rather than heading away from town as she should, she took off at a slow run in the same direction the search parties had gone in the wee hours of the night.

  Not much puzzled Blade, but this woman was a mystery to him. He could not begin to imagine what logic provoked her. She’d had an opportunity to gather her belongings and thumb her nose at the Godseeker by making good her escape—for the second time in one night. Instead, she was walking straight back into danger.

  He shook his head as she disappeared from sight. Twice now, he had gone out of his way to try to help her, and it had proven pointless. He would not do so a third time. He started to rise from his hiding place, to slip away and distance himself from this entire situation, when he stopped. Pieces of the puzzle continued to torment him.

  Why had she not changed her clothes or packed more belo
ngings?

  Again, his curiosity and draw to this woman’s audacity won out. He shot a glance at the slate-gray horizon, then at the deserted house. He only had a few moments to learn more.

  He jumped from his hiding place and skidded on his heels down the slope until he reached level ground, then dashed the last few feet to the house. He peered in the window she had not bothered to close.

  The light was gloomy but adequate. The muscle in his jaw worked as he surveyed the devastation of the room and the torn clothing. Not much wonder she had not changed her dress—she had nothing left to wear. His face hardened as he reconsidered her earlier body language. She had been angrier coming out of the house than going in, her movements jerky, quick and impatient. More puzzle pieces clicked into place, along with a growing certainty. She intended to kill the Godseeker.

  It was what he would do in her situation.

  Part of him cheered her on while another part continued to question her sanity. A third part, and the one he found most difficult to ignore, wondered what exactly the man had done to her before he accused her of being demon spawn and had her arrested. How far had he been tempted, and what had he taken from her?

  Blade’s lip curled in disgust. The man called himself her father. She should have been able to rely on him for protection, yet it was obvious she had no one to rely on but herself in this town. His own morals were far from high, but as a child he, too, had been in a similar situation, beaten and abused by an uncle. No one had come to his aid either. He could not help but feel for her. Neither could he forget how he’d felt when her eyes had settled on him outside the jailhouse.

  Blade was normally much better than this at suppressing useless feelings.

  Lost in thought he moved away from the window, following the path she had taken. She needed someone to help her, whether she wanted it or not. This was not a woman’s world. No matter how deserved her stepfather’s death might be, if she killed a Godseeker, the next search for her would not be as halfhearted as it was now. He knew that from personal experience. And dying by fire would no doubt be as terrible as being eaten alive by a demon. He knew that firsthand, as well.

  He made up his mind. He had been foolish to think he could return to this land and remain unaffected by his past. His own quest could wait. The passage through the goddess boundary might not even exist. If it did not, he would continue on to unknown parts. But first, he would try to help her a third and final time.

  He followed the woman’s trail with greater purpose. One more foolish act before he left would do him no real harm.

  And maybe someone else some good.

  …

  From a ledge halfway up the winding path that led to the top of the mesa above the single road into Goldrush, Raven crouched behind a stand of stunted yellow pine. She did not have long to wait before a cloud of dust in the distance warned her of the returning search party’s approach.

  She bit her lip. She had chosen this vantage point because it provided her ample opportunity for escape, but she was out of practice with her bow and arrow. She worried her lip some more and considered stepping out of hiding at the last moment in the hope that Justice would see her and stop, giving her a better target. She would also have the satisfaction of seeing his face when he discovered that she had bested him. But if she lost the element of surprise, then missed the shot, she risked recapture. The early morning sun warmed the ledge, the radiant heat soaking into her bones welcome after the long, cold night. A yawn shook through her, and she blinked rapidly, forcing herself to concentrate as she steadied her bow and nocked an arrow.

  The dust cloud came closer. She could not yet make out the individual riders. She squinted against the sunlight. Anyone who’d ridden in search of her after what happened last night deserved what he got, but she did not want to hit a hross, one of their long-legged, large-hoofed desert mounts, by mistake.

  She decided if she missed, there would be other chances to kill Justice. If Creed could convince the assassins to train her, she would make it her life’s mission.

  She tightened her draw on the string.

  A soft noise behind her, a dislodging of some small pebble, alerted her to impending danger. She rolled to her hip, dropping the bow and arrow. A heavy weight pressed on her exposed stomach and chest, driving her shoulders into the dirt and forcing the breath from her body. Well-muscled arms clad in leather kissed the dirt on either side of her head, caging her in. The stranger pinning her down was enormous.

  So, however, was Creed, and she had sparred with him many times. Self-preservation kicked in. What she lacked in size she made up for in strength and agility, and while she’d been no match for Creed’s experience, she’d held her own.

  This giant clearly did not expect her to know how to defend herself. His broad torso also tipped the center of gravity in her favor. Wrapping her legs around his waist—which hiked her skirt indecently far up her thighs—she slid her arms up and through his. Once her arms were free, she brought them back down and around to pin his arms to her sides.

  His face was now inches from hers. Their gazes burned hot into each other. Surprise lit his dark eyes when he realized she had him trapped—and that she had the strength to keep him that way. Neither one of them could move without giving the other an advantage. Raven squirmed, trying to leverage her hips and shoulders into a position to flip him, but he held her firmly beneath his body, his knees on her skirt. She skinned an elbow and her shoulder for her efforts. He did not give an inch.

  “My name is Blade,” the man said. “I’m trying to help. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  His voice, deep and low, sounded more amused by her attempts to unseat him than anything. She had the unsettling sensation that she’d seen him before but could not place him.

  The hross thundered by below, the pounding of their great hooves shaking the dry earth. Seconds later, they were gone. Furious at being caught off guard and more furious still at missing her last chance to shoot Justice, she kicked a heel into Blade’s hip but with no real impact.

  “Good to know,” Raven panted. “Because the minute I’m free, I intend to hurt you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  His quiet humor enraged her further, but she remained cautious. Creed had never been a real threat to her, but she could not say the same for this man, no matter what his reassurances to the contrary might be.

  Dirt ground into the scrape on her shoulder as she continued to try to gain leverage while covertly studying his face. His skin was deeply browned, as if he’d spent weeks in the sun. High cheekbones and a firm, unsmiling mouth made him appear grim despite his amusement at their predicament. Straight hair, almost as black as hers but without the red highlights, and much longer, had come free of its restraint and now brushed her cheek, blocking her vision on one side. If she turned her head, her face would be buried in it. She already caught his scent, one of plain soap and sunshine, and her demon stirred with an interest in him that was far more sexual than violent in nature.

  Shaken, Raven pushed it away. It was a challenge for her to read emotions in others when her own ran so high, but even without her demon’s pull toward him, she could sense that he held no true intent to hurt her. On one level that reassured her. On another it scared her to death, because she knew this man was also dark inside—complex and nearly impossible to understand.

  Her human instincts warned her of danger, though not necessarily any direct threat to herself. Like Creed, Blade was capable of considerable violence, but he also possessed a great deal of self-control. Raven suspected they could remain in this position for hours and he would not relent.

  Neither would she. If he forced her hand, she would use her demon to free herself. She hoped it wouldn’t come that—but for her sake, not his. Each time she unleashed her demon she lost a small sense of her humanity, something she wanted desperately to cling to.

  “What were you planning to do with that arrow?” he asked, as if making polite conversation and
they were not locked in a battle of strength and wills.

  “I was hunting rabbits.”

  “I see.” He tested the hold she had on his arms, still pinned to her sides. “I saved your life, then. If you’d killed the rabbit you had your sights on, every Godseeker assassin in the land would be after you. You’d be dead before the next shift of the moon.”

  “I can look after myself,” she said.

  His eyes, black and serious, did not waver from hers. “Like you did last night, you mean?”

  He had been there, in the crowd. That was how she recognized him. Desperation shot through her. He knew what she was accused of. She saw no point in pretending otherwise. “Will you turn me in?”

  There was a slight hesitation before his response. “No.”

  She believed him, but she did not trust him. She could not afford to. “Let me up.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, after eyeing her carefully and reaching some sort of conclusion. “Not yet. You’re still far too angry.”

  How dare he refuse her demand. He had no authority over her. No one did anymore. The knowledge was liberating. She wasn’t about to let this stranger, handsome or not, take her freedom from her. She had not escaped one man to become the possession of another.

  “I’m not angry,” she said, forcing calm into her tone.

  “No?” He was silent for another long moment. “Your stepfather tried to rape you—for all I know, he may have succeeded—and then blamed you for it. He tried to have you burned at the stake as a demon spawn. He destroyed every single thing you owned—and likely valued.” Despite the blunt cruelty of his words, compassion eased its way into his eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t angry?”

  She had not needed the reminders.

  Then, she absorbed what he said.

  “How did you know he destroyed my belongings?” she asked, suspicion creeping across her flesh. Her eyes widened in renewed fury. “Have you been following me?” She brought her head up, aiming for his nose, and he swung his face to the side almost too late to avoid it. Her forehead connected with his cheekbone instead. “Let me up, you bastard!”