Black Widow Demon (Demon Outlaws)

by Altenburg, Paula

  He had caused this, and he could not abandon her. Once, a long time ago, he had been left for dead, and if not for the intervention of strangers, he would have died. Instead, he had been crippled until a half demon had made him whole again, giving him back his life. So while he despised most demons and viewed their spawn with suspicion, he would give Raven the benefit of the doubt.

  For now.

  He settled her head in the crook of his shoulder and started up a narrow, natural footpath that led to the desert above.

  Midday was never the best time to travel into the desert, although with winter fast approaching it was cooler than it might have been otherwise. Blade supposed he could be thankful for that.

  Dust-covered mesquite and rough terrain stretched for miles. The low foothills and mountains on the other side of the town would have provided more ideal places to hide, but the majority of the searchers would have explored them for that very reason. The place he finally settled on for her was not perfect—a grove of spindly yucca brush at the base of a low, rock-tabled plateau carved by the wind, interspersed with creosote bush. It was obvious shelter that any search party would be inclined to explore, but the hideaway was so close to town and in the same direction from which the last riders had returned, it was very likely they had already checked the spot.

  He deposited her in the shade, his back and shoulder muscles groaning with relief. The relief quickly turned to worry when he realized he had nothing to bind her with. He sat beside her beneath the long, leathery leaves of a graying yucca and rested a contemplative wrist on one knee as he surveyed her still form.

  Around her neck she wore an amulet on a long, gold chain. He had seen such replicas before, although this was of higher quality than most. It was not a goddess amulet. Fashioned after the one the Demon Slayer possessed and made from common red soil hardened by desert varnish, people purchased them from corrupt dealers on the mistaken belief that they offered physical protection from demons.

  He eyed her dress. It was already beyond salvation. He doubted if the plain, lightweight fabric could hold her if she truly wished to be free, but he suspected she would not be aware she was restrained unless she became coherent. It wasn’t likely to happen in such a short time after the bite and was a risk he would have to take. He gripped the hem of her dress and began to tear strips from it. When he got to town he would try to find her something more practical to wear to replace it.

  The rapid movement of her eyes beneath their lids as he worked indicated she was hallucinating again, although this one didn’t seem as violent as the others. Once he tied her down, he covered her as best he could with his coat so she would not be so…exposed. Then, he stood and stared at her for a long moment. At the curve of her throat and the feverish blush to her cheek. At the short, soft riot of curls he had tucked behind one pretty ear. He breathed in her unique, subtle, and tantalizing scent—roses and warm desert sage.

  Leaving her tied like this seemed cruel, but he had done far worse things in his life and for less noble reasons. He had no other choice. And she was not as delicate as she appeared.

  He swallowed hard. He would return as quickly as possible.

  …

  Creed did not know what to make of the disturbing rumors of spawn that had reached the Temple of Immortal Right. All he knew was that the rumors meant trouble.

  Despite the chill air that blew through the mountain range and into the valley, sweat rolled down his naked back and dripped off his face. He swiped at his forehead with the crook of his elbow, his eyes already stinging, and he blinked several times to clear them. As he circled the small enclosure, stalking the fierce trainer he faced, it was Raven he worried about. If personal experience was any indication, then the departure of full-blooded demons was turning out to be a mixed blessing for mortals. Yes, they were gone, but his demon talents had increased exponentially. And Raven was far more demon than he.

  The trainer, deceptively agile for his advanced years, brought forward the long, heavy staff he carried in his gnarled fingers, smashing Creed across the side of his smooth-shaved head with it. The blow was not gentle, and Creed, although almost twice the trainer’s size and less than half his age, had trouble shaking it off.

  “Pay attention,” Siege said, his voice laden with disapproval.

  Creed blocked the next strike with a hand, then shot out his forearm in a blow aimed at the old man’s chin. Siege leaped aside even as he laid the staff whiplike along Creed’s back and shoulder. A loud crack filled the air. When the adrenaline wore off, Creed knew he would have a number of welts purpling all over his body.

  A crowd had gathered to watch one of the temple’s brightest talents spar with the aged and well-respected leader of the Godseeker assassins. A Godseeker in his own right, it was said the old man had once survived an attack by three demons. Creed had no idea if the story was true or something that had simply been embellished over the years, but he did know one thing for certain—fights, even these training spars, could not be forfeited or ceded. If he did not tap into his demon, the old man would best him.

  Standing head and shoulders above most men, losing a fight was not something Creed had much experience with. Even though Siege was armed and he was not, their size and age differences, and the rumor that the old man had a bad heart, made Creed heavily favored to win. Bets on the outcome had already been exchanged.

  He had never called on his demon to help him in these sparring matches, though, and he would not start now. He had no inclination to take unfair advantage, regardless of the skill level of his opponent. Siege was the more experienced fighter today, plain and simple, and Creed wanted to learn from him more than he wanted to win.

  With his usual good nature, Creed took the beating he received in stride. Siege showed him no mercy, and he expected none. Twenty minutes later, he was on the ground with Siege’s staff pressed against his windpipe. The ringmaster called the fight in the elderly assassin’s favor.

  “A ten-year-old girl could have beaten you this morning,” Siege said. White eyebrows touched over the bridge of his hawked nose as he glared down at him in contempt before releasing the pressure on his throat. “Go get cleaned up. You’ll spend the afternoon reading in the library.”

  As a punishment, this was meant to humiliate—many of the assassin trainees came here illiterate. But Creed was not one of them. Columbine, Raven’s mother, had taught him to read, and he enjoyed any time spent in the library. It was well stocked with books on Old World history and ancient technology from the period before the Demon Occupation.

  He crossed the narrow compound to the showers.

  Their entrance was carved from the valley’s natural rock walls. The entire temple existed as a series of such rooms, interconnected and flowing from one to the other. Each had an entry from the compound outside, as well, leaving everything open and giving the inhabitants very little privacy and no opportunity to keep secrets.

  Low ceiling lighting flashed on in response to Creed passing through the door. At this time of the morning, when most men were at breakfast, the showers were usually empty. And yet as he entered, although he saw no one, he knew at once that he was not alone.

  Creed had demon skills other than fighting that he did not hesitate to call upon when needed. He had always deflected attention from himself and influenced the thoughts of others with ease, making himself almost completely invisible if he wished. He also had a sixth sense for other half demons.

  Those skills were growing too.

  In the corner of the room, near shelves stacked with towels, he spied a teenage boy in grimy clothes who stared around the room trying to figure out where Creed had gone. The boy had no weapons on him, at least none to be seen. Neither did Creed sense that he meant any harm, although there was an overriding sense of urgency to him.

  Creed crossed the room in a few long, silent strides, reached down to take the boy by the scruff of his ragged coat, and jerked him to his feet. “Are you crazy, coming here like this?”
he asked. “Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you’re discovered?”

  The boy’s eyes were wide and cautious, but also determined.

  “I need your help,” he said.

  Creed had to laugh. “You’ve come to the wrong place for that, my friend. Assassins work for Godseekers. They aren’t going to help a half demon.”

  “Not help from assassins. I need it from you,” the boy said. He wiggled around inside his coat so that Creed’s hold on it did not strangle him. “And it’s not for me. It’s for Raven.”

  Creed felt the smile fade from his lips at the mention of her name. The floor in the open showers was damp and slick with moisture, and he adjusted his footing so that he would not lose his hold on the interloper or be thrown off balance by him. “What’s wrong with her?”

  He listened in disbelief as he learned of the judgment against her and her subsequent escape.

  “What makes you think I can help her?” he asked. In fact, he couldn’t. He could not simply leave the temple without repercussion. She would understand that. He had to believe she’d learned something of survival from him.

  “There’s a connection between you. She trusts you. Tracing you through her was easy.”

  They did have a connection. One he had no wish for anyone to discover and had gone to great lengths to hide. Creed’s worry for her increased. Raven did not deflect attention, as he did. Instead, she drew it to herself, and usually in worrisome ways. If her talents had increased as much as Roam’s ability to find her suggested, and she could be traced back to Creed through them, she would bring trouble upon them both.

  Creed needed to think.

  “Who are you? And how did you get here?” he asked the boy.

  “My name is Roam. I traveled here through the boundary.”

  This was another revelation that caught Creed off guard. Hidden within the Godseeker Mountains, and protected by the temple, lay a boundary that the goddesses had put in place a long time ago in an attempt to confine demons to the desert regions of the mortal world. That boundary had remained impenetrable, even after the goddesses were forced from the world by the Demon Lord. What the boy said was impossible.

  And yet, here he was.

  “No demon could cross that boundary,” Creed said. “Not even a half demon. The goddesses saw to that.”

  “The boundary is immortal,” the boy insisted. “If the goddesses can use it, why would it be impossible for demons, who are also immortal, to use it too?”

  Creed ran a hand up the nape of his shaven head. Heat thrummed through the phoenix tattooed on his back and along his shoulders. He did not know what the tattoo represented, if anything—only that it had appeared with the departure of the demons and was not something noticed by others. He was changing. So were others like him.

  So was the world.

  “Why do you care what happens to her?” Creed asked. “Why involve yourself in someone else’s problems?”

  “There’s safety in numbers, and half demons are already banding together.”

  Creed did not like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  “Our talents are no longer as easy to hide. We’re no longer welcome. We make people nervous.” The boy shrugged. “We’ve got nowhere to go. Together, we can at least protect ourselves.”

  He studied the boy. A plan began to formulate.

  “If you help me, I will help you,” Creed said. “I need you to deliver a message for me.”

  Chapter Four

  Without food and adequate clothing, Raven could not get far.

  Justice slid from the back of his hross and tossed the reins to one of the young stable hands. His leg throbbed fiercely where she had stabbed him, although he would never admit it out loud. Weakness was not to be tolerated.

  Raven had made him look weak enough.

  “Hold its head steady,” he instructed the boy, then bent to lift the hross’s front leg. He brushed aside long black feathers to explore the fetlock with his fingers. As he’d suspected, the joint was hot and inflamed.

  He straightened, dusting his hands on his leather chaps as he did so. The long-legged, barrel-chested hross, suited for both drayage and riding, was a favorite. It would have carried him until it dropped of exhaustion rather than pull up lame.

  “Wrap its leg and see that it rests,” he said. The boy nodded, then led the enormous animal off to the stable.

  The other men in his search party had dismounted to join those who had already returned. All were awaiting his orders.

  Justice considered his options. They had been up the entire night, which meant there was little point in sending them into the mines today. They were too tired to work. On the other hand, keeping them together would no doubt be wise. He could not risk taking a chance that Raven might convince one of the men to help her if he allowed them to go their separate ways. But neither could he risk rebellion by not letting them rest. Even though he was a Godseeker, his leadership in Goldrush was still precarious. The town was too new, and its inhabitants numbered less than two hundred—the majority of them men, all of whom would be susceptible to Raven’s demon charms.

  “Until she’s captured, no man is safe from her,” Justice said to the gathered men. “Go home for now. If you see her, send word to me. Don’t approach her alone. Don’t let her touch you. If she does, she’ll claim your soul.” He relaxed his face into an expression of profound sorrow. “I’m sorry for bringing this trouble to your lives. This is my problem, and I’ll be the one to resolve it.”

  Murmurs of sympathy swept through the crowd. It went without saying that women remained the responsibility of their men—even if they were spawn.

  The men dispersed. Those who had already seen to their hross headed for home, fatigue and worry etched on their faces. Despite the fact that the immortals were gone from the world, demons had plagued mortal men for too many years for them to be comfortable with the thought of spawn taking root in their midst.

  Justice walked the short distance to his own home, ignoring the pain in his thigh and tilting his hat to better shield his wind-burned face from the searing rays of the late-morning sun. Soon enough, the days would grow cold. Regardless, the mines would be fully productive long before winter. The men who had followed him to this new settlement were the best miners he could find, and the mines themselves well constructed and relatively safe. Security, both financial and physical, bred loyalty in people.

  His hand tightened into a fist. Loyalty had never been a quality his dead wife or her daughter possessed. Despite everything he had done for them, Columbine had remained a demon’s whore at heart until the day she died.

  And Raven…

  He intended to break her. She reminded him far too much of the goddess who had once exercised such enormous power over him. Those days were now gone. Immortals were not meant to rule men. And men were not meant to be whores.

  He climbed the front steps, spurs jingling as his riding boots struck the blackened, creosote-soaked wood. As soon as he entered the cool, dim interior of his house, he could tell that she had been here. The air reeked of rose oil. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in appreciation for a brief second before hanging his hat on a hook by the door.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called softly, although he also knew she was gone. Food and clothing were her priorities—she would not have lingered.

  The front rooms, shuttered to keep out the worst of the heat, were untouched except for the food she had stolen from the kitchen. As he moved through the stillness to the bedrooms at the back of the house, he wished he could have seen her face when she discovered what he had done to her belongings.

  He started past his bedroom, his attention focused on hers, when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his own door was partially open. It had not been left that way. He paused, listened, then pushed on it, the door swinging silently on its hinges.

  He stared into the room for a long moment, a mixture of emotions rampaging through
him. She had hidden something in the ceiling, something that she’d reclaimed. The open box on the floor indicated she’d also dared to steal money from him.

  She’d also taken the amulet her mother had once worn, an ugly piece of desert varnish that had been given to Columbine by her demon lover. She had claimed it protected her from other demons. That when she wore it, they could not touch her. He’d proven to her that it was, in fact, worthless, and demons would never rule him either. He would prove the same to her half-demon daughter. If Raven thought the amulet could help her, she was mistaken as well. All he had to do was send word to the assassins and have them track her down.

  He closed the box and slid it back under his bed. His jaw tightened when he saw the long scratch in the floor. He replaced the boards in the ceiling, his thoughts busy.

  Raven might have money and a small supply of food, but he had destroyed every stitch of her clothing and she had no way to acquire any more. She could not spend money in town without it being reported to him, and there were no other settlements for many miles. That meant she would need help. No woman in Goldrush would dare risk giving it to her, so her only help would come from the men she managed to possess. The townsmen, too, were now cautious. Strangers, although rare, might prove more susceptible to her true nature. Justice would have to mend any possible holes in that particular fence.

  The immortals were gone from the world—he did not want them back. But it gave him great pleasure to think of spawn serving man in their stead.

  Servitude would start with his arrogant and willful stepdaughter.

  …

  It was late afternoon by the time Blade arrived back in Goldrush.

  As soon as he reached the town limits, he headed straight for the general store. The main street was unusually quiet for the time of day. The men, he assumed, were either resting after the long hunt for Raven throughout the night or were at work, but he had to wonder what kept the women and children indoors. Everyday errands and chores would still need to be done.