The Last Slayer

by Lee, Nadia

  I’d lost my first lover, Miguel, on the job while I was still an apprentice hunter. That had forced me to grow up fast. It didn’t matter what the counselor had said, some crap about how it wasn’t my fault. Jack had concurred, but refused to tell me what he’d Seen about that job, claiming memory loss from too strong visions. Cripes, he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to fib to make me feel better. That told me everything I needed to know. If I hadn’t been such a mass of fear and adrenaline, Miguel would’ve survived. And that was the main reason for my not working on teams or taking anyone into a real battle for training, although I’d never told anyone except Valerie. The official reason was that I didn’t need any distractions when I fought. And that wasn’t exactly a lie. But the truth of it was I didn’t want the guilt to get to me. Because it was there, and the second you start doubting yourself, wondering why you’re alive when it should’ve been your buddy or whoever, is when you forfeit your life.

  No exceptions.

  I looked down at my left hand, and the big silver ring winked at me. Valerie had suggested I take it off, but I hadn’t. Hadn’t and wouldn’t, not until I’d found and killed the incubus who’d murdered Miguel.

  Unlike some other guys, Miguel hadn’t wanted to use me as a stepping-stone to Valerie. He’d desired me, no one else. I hadn’t believed it at first. I mean, just look at me…and then look at Valerie. Not even my birth parents had wanted me enough to keep me. They’d tossed me on the steps of a church like a piece of trash. But Miguel had put up with my skepticism and prickliness and won me over. A man like him deserved more than a too-bad-so-sad, time-to-move-on from me. He had deserved everything.

  I shook out my hands, trying to relax. Dwelling on Miguel and the incubus wouldn’t solve any of my immediate problems. That odd slimy sensation still lingered over my skin, and it was really beginning to aggravate me. First thing tomorrow, I was calling Honishi, one of the partners who specialized in astral magic. Maybe he could do something about it.

  I brewed some coffee, which used up the last of my grounds. The moment it was ready, I dumped in a ton of cream and sugar and took the cup to my study.

  Stacks of books littered the floor. Well, “stacks.” There wasn’t really any carpet showing. But my superior sense of balance and athleticism rose to the challenge, helping me reach my desk without spilling my precious drink.

  “Let’s see…” I knew I had a couple of books on dragonlords. There were a few that had been written centuries ago, author or authors unknown. Nobody could vouch for their accuracy, but they were the only reference books that had survived. Mortals normally don’t commune with dragonlords, who generally consider anything with a lifespan of less than three hundred years as transient and beneath notice. There wasn’t much shared history to write about until the Twilight of Slayers, when the dragonlords killed all of their archenemies in a genocidal war. But afterward the dragonlords had cut all ties with mortals and yada yada yada.

  I spent an hour or so flipping pages, but none of the books gave me anything I hadn’t retained from the Stanford Academy of Mageship. The only one that was even remotely useful was a book of spells that I didn’t realize I owned. It listed a particularly interesting incantation called draco perditio, supposedly part of the forbidden ancient magic. From the looks of it, the spell required a hell of a lot of power. More than most mortals could command. Since the decimation of the slayers, certain mortals had taken over their role by hunting the low- to midgrade demons that plagued humans. But hunters could never be what the slayers had been. Nearly immortal, only the slayers had ever been able to bring the dragonlords to heel—the last time some six hundred years ago.

  Until the Twilight of Slayers, the slayers had taught us magic, hunting skills, divination, alchemy, medicine and so much more. Mighty empires had risen with the slayers’ help and fallen when they lost their favor. I drummed my fingers next to the yellowed page. The slayers paid for their opposition to the dragonlords with the eradication of their race. Compared to that, what Rome had done to Carthage was merciful.

  I took a sip of coffee and closed my eyes. Theoretically, mortals didn’t have the power to kill dragons, much less dragonlords. Being a dragon specialist didn’t change that. It merely meant I understood them better than civilians and could maybe engage in a battle of magic, which might delay them. But destroy one? No.

  Slayers and dragonlords were the only ones capable of such a feat.

  Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. If I did attempt draco perditio, what would happen? Races born to magic, such as slayers and dragonlords, had a huge reservoir of power they could tap into. What we mortals had was pathetic in comparison. A bucket of water to a monsoon.

  Could a mortal even incant draco perditio without killing himself? And what would be the manner of death? Would it be just an expiration of sorts, a loss of power akin to the loss of life force from old age? Or would the person be sucked into some ravening extra-dimensional maw of sorcery, chewed up by unimaginably powerful occult forces for daring to try to harness them?

  It wasn’t a pleasant possibility to consider the day before you faced a demigod. Diplomacy better work, I thought and closed my eyes.

  Three

  The velvety moss felt moist and cool against the soles of my feet. The forest wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t bright either. Wide leaves on the trees filtered the light until everything was muted green and brown. I didn’t recognize any of the plants around me, although I smelled pine and honeysuckle. But pine and honeysuckle don’t have wide, gossamer-thin leaves with serrated edges, and their veins don’t shimmer in sunlight.

  A river murmured down a deep gorge that ran through and around the forest like Jörmungandr, the mythical ouroboros that held all the world within its tail-swallowing compass. With the sun reflecting on its silvery, multi-faceted surface, the water looked like a finely filigreed snakeskin. The wind shook the tree branches and made them crackle and ripple in green waves over my head.

  I followed the river, feeling as if I needed to go somewhere…but I didn’t know where. Penetrating deeper into the woods seemed reckless. You never knew what could be lurking in an ancient virgin dream forest. I’m no diviner, and I’ve always tried to avoid going into the dark places of my subconscious.

  The only things I had on were my stretchy black Under Armour leggings and top. I didn’t have my sword, and I would’ve given anything for it. Not that it was absolutely necessary. There were spells I could use. Still, it would have been nice to have a physical weapon to hold on to, a security blanket of sorts.

  Tree roots coiled like vipers near the river bank. I walked carefully over them. It would suck to twist my ankle. Anything that could limit my mobility was simply not an option, and that didn’t change just because I was asleep.

  You are marked.

  I made a face. It wasn’t like me to keep obsessing about something a loser demon had said. I was in my own dream while inside my heavily warded condo. What could go wrong?

  The water eventually led me to a wide clearing with a gigantic tree stump. It came up to my waist and had more rings than I could’ve counted in a day. The sight of its level surface angered me. Trees as old as this shouldn’t be cut down.

  Weary from my long walk, I lay on the stump and looked up at the uncovered sky. Fluffy cotton-candy clouds traveled across the endless blue. The soft whispers of the river and the breeze and the trees… My eyelids drooped, and my head lolled to one side.

  It was then that I saw him.

  When I’d been a kid, I used to dream of a prince to come to me and reveal that I was really the long-lost princess of a magical kingdom. It wasn’t such a bad fantasy for a girl raised in a series of foster homes for eight years, and later in a household full of decent people who nonetheless made me feel insignificant just by being naturally flawless and beautiful. And this man standing at the edge of the clearing looked just like the prince in my young fantasies.

  Elaborately worked armor and a matching helmet
, all in gleaming white, covered his body from head to toe. He took off the helmet and a mass of platinum hair tumbled to his waist. It danced in the breeze, loose and straight.

  This time, there was no glamour to obscure his magnificence.

  I gaped at the beauty of his face. There was nothing out of balance, nothing common. Divine perfection if there ever was such, if I believed in such things. Despite his easy stance, magic emanated from him like some sort of airborne honey, thick and seductively sweet. And I was drawn to it like an ant. I would’ve gone to him if it weren’t for the emerald eyes nailing me to the spot.

  “How did you find me? How did you get here?” I asked, my voice faint. Damn it. The last thing I wanted to do was sound weak and pathetic in front of a supernatural. Especially one like this. I tried to get up, but my limbs felt heavy.

  No response. He came closer and bowed, the motion elegant and economical, his hair tickling my bare feet. He smelled like sandalwood and spice. And power so overwhelming that my head spun. There was a quiet control in him, centuries of refinement. This wasn’t good. Gallant demons are generally more dangerous than rude ones.

  He went down on one knee. I realized that his right hand was closed in a fist. He opened it, and tiny strands of fine golden hair flew from his palm like puffs of dandelion fluff blown by a child. I watched them float toward the sky, twisting and glinting like needles in the air, then turned my attention back to him.

  “I’ve been waiting for this moment, Ashera Isabella del Cid.” His body heat radiated over me as the air grew colder.

  I’d seen some horrifying things in my years as a hunter and a supernatural expert, but nothing compared to this. I mean…he said he’d been waiting, and there was only one thing he could be waiting for: my slow and painful death. The soothing voice didn’t fool me. Thousands of supernaturals wanted me dead, and he’d come into my dream, uninvited, without a link, and knew exactly who I was. My full, true name, which nobody knew. Jack had spent a fortune and called in several favors to ensure it. This was wrong, all wrong.

  “Happy birthday.”

  I blinked. “How did you know?” Dumb question. If he was targeting me, he’d know everything about me that was public knowledge. “What do you want?” Smarter.

  He dipped his head, hair falling like an opalescent curtain. “Let me show you.”

  He slipped an arm under my waist and picked me up as if I weighed nothing more than a dress. Even his armor was warm. The heat loosened my muscles and liquefied my bones.

  Focus, Ashera.

  Damn it. I could barely even move. His magic pressed on me like a thousand sheets of silk. Now I wished I’d had another bottle of Sex. Vile tasting or not, it was better than this feeling of helplessness.

  He carried me to the river. Was he planning to drown me?

  “Look into the water,” he said.

  I thought about saying no, just on general principle, but what would I gain by it? I glanced down and gasped. The water had stilled, forming a glasslike surface. In it, he was holding someone, but that someone wasn’t me. It was a breathtakingly gorgeous woman with blond hair and deep violet eyes. Despite a small smile on her lips, she looked sad, like a trapped bird.

  “What kind of trick is this?” I said.

  “Do you not recognize her?”

  “No.” I would’ve remembered someone who looked like her, even if I’d only seen her in passing. It was the image of a goddess.

  He chuckled, but it had little humor. I didn’t like the sound.

  “Who sent you?” I said.

  “Your mother.”

  Uh-huh. “Let me rephrase my question. Who did I piss off?”

  “That depends on what you mean by piss off.”

  So he wasn’t going to tell me anything. How uncool. “Let me go.”

  “As you wish.” He placed me carefully on the ground, and my feet sank into the river-dampened moss as I stepped away.

  Hmm. I’d figured he’d refuse. He was either really dumb or more powerful than I’d imagined.

  It would’ve been nice to have my sword, but I could make do. This was my dream, after all, and I was in charge, Sex or no Sex. And unlike most mortals, I know how to control my dreams. I gathered what remained of my power and let it build inside me. It coursed through my core, humming and swelling, before plunging down through the soles of my feet into the soil.

  The earth beneath us drank my magic greedily, then puckered in fifty places and spat spikes at him. The diamond-shaped rock missiles penetrated his armor with the sound of hailstones on a tin roof, hitting all his vital points. The dragonmotifs on his armor came alive, hissing and slithering over the dents and holes, and covered them up.

  Too late, suckers.

  With a flick of my wrist, I brought fire down upon him. He made a pretty silhouette surrounded by blue-white flames. Damn, I was good. I didn’t even have to recite the spell. It was liberating to be able use magic, really let myself go, without worrying about hurting a client.

  He remained still. He hadn’t moved since my initial attack. Maybe I’d overestimated him and he was dead, skewered and charbroiled in his armor, as perfectly cooked as a chunk of filet mig—

  Suddenly the patch of ground under me shot up into the sky, taking me with it. The crushing speed of the ascent forced me to my knees, then to my side, then my back. By the time I could roll onto my stomach and look down, the trees of the forest were like dots of broccoli against a lighter grass canvas. The moss carpeting the soil I was on thickened until it created a soft mattress. Then the edges rose, curving up until they joined and created a perfect sphere around me. The sunlight penetrated the moss, and everything looked muted green. I pushed at the wall experimentally. It was soft, but solid as concrete.

  Trapped.

  He appeared next to me, looking as pristine as if he’d just stepped out of some Renaissance fair brochure. “So aggressive. Didn’t they teach you proper etiquette at that mage school of yours?”

  I glared up at him. His presence was as welcome as a cockroach in a crème brûlée. I take that back. His good looks and charisma made him even less welcome than a cockroach. And the fact that he was actually controlling my dream—it was infuriating and terrifying. Just how much power did this incubus have?

  “Who are you?” I asked, doing my best to remain calm.

  “My name is Ramiel. Now will you listen to me?”

  “No.” I wasn’t dumb enough to strike a bargain with a demon. Besides, there was no guarantee that his name was real.

  “I would never deliberately hurt you,” he said, as if he’d read my mind.

  Riiiiiight. “And I can trust you because…?”

  “The fact that I haven’t forced myself on you? I could take Sex from you if I so desired.”

  “Might be a little more difficult than you think.”

  An eyebrow went up. “Would it?”

  As if to emphasize his point, his voice caressed my skin like a mink fur, soft and sensuous. I suppressed a shiver. I didn’t like this at all. Actually I liked it a lot, which was the problem. “Mr. I-Invade-A-Lady’s-Dream-Without-Her-Permission.” I crossed my arms. “I’m a hunter, and not as easily seduced as other mortals.”

  “Of course.”

  The softness of his voice chilled me more than a shout would have. I regarded him with wariness and suspicion, tensed in anticipation of an attack. Perhaps he would use brute force, which would be the easiest to deal with, but I had a feeling that he was anything but easy to deal with.

  He reclined on the moss and watched me, his eyes glowing green.

  The cool air warmed until it thickened like syrup, surrounding me and clinging to my body like sticky fingers. Tendrils of…something…skimmed my skin and kissed my lips.

  I gasped. I might as well have been naked for all the protection my outfit provided. The thickened air moved over my body like invisible hands, stimulating my nerve endings. I could taste man on my tongue, smell the musk of arousal. My heart began to bea
t staccato. I thought I knew sex. I certainly wasn’t a virgin. But what he was doing wasn’t just groping my breasts or rubbing against my crotch. It was a total control of my senses.

  How could he do that without even touching me?

  As his magic teased my breasts, my nipples hardened and began to ache. My hands dug into the mattress of moss beneath me. The magic traveled over my stomach, making the muscles jitter with each ripple of power, and brushed over the slick junction of my thighs. It flicked my clitoris and licked the entrance to my vagina. I squeezed my legs tightly to stop him—a futile action that merely pushed his magic deeper inside me. I no longer knew if I was trying to keep it out or in. I wanted him to stop, but if he did, I’d scream.

  I closed my eyes, my head thrown back, breath coming harshly. I could visualize myself the way he saw me: a flushed woman responding to her first real incubus sex. Perversely enough, the image heightened my arousal, making me moan. My back arched as he circled my nipples while playing with my wet sex. I cried out at the continued torment.

  The magic within me rose, responding to the call of Sex from him. It was something I’d read about but never experienced. Magic and Sex combined with my intensifying need and expanded until I thought I’d burst. The potential for power frightened and excited me at the same time. If mine combined with his, a high spell could be cast. Now barely able to think, I wondered if that was his goal.

  His magic touched my lips, opening them, and slipped inside. It wasn’t a physical kiss, but the sensation devastated me, drugged me with its potency. Even with the complete lack of physicality, there was a sense of intimacy that seemed to invite him into my very soul.