by Mila Young
He flung the lasso toward Cyra, the loop catching her raised arm. With two hands, he yanked her aside.
She stumbled sideways, tripping over her feet, yelping as she fell to the ground. His Kawasaki slammed into the house, a breath’s whisper behind Cyra.
The collision was deafening, and he cringed. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Fear throttled him. He lunged to her side, crouching alongside her, and cupped a cheek. “Cyra! Talk to me.”
Her gray eyes were filled with terror. Her silver hair blended in with the snow around her pale face. Snowflakes tumbled onto her cheeks. She cranked her neck up and stared at the motorcycle, inches from her boots, and back at him. “Gunn? What the hell?”
“Are you all right?” he asked, his whole body trembling that he could have killed her. How the fuck did he lose control of his bike so easily? He thought back to the last job he was at with a poltergeist who played tricks on the house it haunted. Sonofabitch!
Shock blanched her face, and she pushed herself up, groaning, so he lifted her by her armpits to her feet as she weighed next to nothing. Her lips twisted, and she shoved him aside. “You almost killed me, you idiot! Why were you driving like a psycho? And why would you ride a motorcycle in winter?”
Gunn wiped a hand across his mouth, guilt chewing his resolve. Her brother had called him in a panic, insisting he come over right way and check on Cyra. There was dread in his voice over the phone like she had already been in trouble, so he did what any best friend would, he raced over. Hurting Cyra was the last thing he’d wanted when his intention was to protect her.
“I was at another job near my place, saving a possessed teen, but I think the bastard demon messed with my brakes. They snapped right in front of this house as my tires skidded on a patch of black ice.”
She tilted her head, studying him, the bridge of her nose creasing. The sight had him grinning because he’d seen the look before. The numerous times he’d been over to Chase’s place and she’d been there, she’d worn that look whenever she’d been telling her brother to back off and stop being so overprotective.
“That’s why you roared down the street from miles away,” she stated in her matter-of-fact voice.
Laughter bubbled in his throat. “Honey, it took me forty-five minutes to drive here. And I just avoided a crash with a car that had lost control and almost collided with me.” He moved over to his Kawasaki Vulcan and shut off the ignition. His insides curdled at seeing her red fenders scratched. And he’d just had her serviced. The tires had marked up the building, leaving black streaks across the brick. Looked like he was spending next weekend fixing his bike.
Leaning over, he checked the brake lines. Something had definitely chewed on them all right. Goddamn demons. Next time he crossed paths with one, it would pay.
Footfalls followed him. “Don’t call me ‘honey.’ Why are you here? My brother sent you, didn’t he?”
He straightened, rubbing his lower back, which ached from the earlier fall, watching Cyra pace in a circle. “Gorgeous” didn’t come close to describing her. There was a sense of classic beauty to her with her ivory skin and those stunning high cheekbones. His gaze settled on her pouty lips. Didn’t matter how many times he told himself to forget Cyra, she radiated something that called to him, an irresistible temptation he couldn’t get out of his head. She wasn’t flawless, because he had caught the slight limp in her walk. At first, he’d thought her injured, but Chase had told him she’d fallen off a swing as a child and broken a leg. But to Gunn, that made her unique and adorable.
Still, it was her shyness that undid him… Well, at least the shyness she exhibited whenever they bumped into each other. She would always look away, her cheeks blushing before she made a hasty retreat. But he never made a move on his friend’s sister. It was their rule, even if he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head for the past month since first meeting her.
Now she seemed a different person entirely. Fiery and ready to rip his heart right out of his chest. And hell, if he didn’t admire this side of her.
“Ass! I told Chase I was fine. But no, he had to send his macho friend over to check on the helpless girl.”
Gunn picked up his lasso, then clicked the button on the base of the weapon. The loop retracted into the rod. He jammed it onto his belt. “‘Macho’ isn’t how I’d describe Chase or other hunters.”
She glared his way, stealing any words away. “Yeah, right, so he sends you, who almost gets me killed. Great move. Don’t need a babysitter.” She tucked her long hair behind her ears and dusted the snow off her pants.
Yep, he shouldn’t have come on this mission. But the moment Chase had mentioned Cyra, Gunn’s mind had turned to mush. That spelled trouble, because Chase had already warned his friends to stay away from his sister. Hands off, unless it came in the form of looking out for her. That he could do. In fact, that was exactly what he was doing now: make sure she was okay, help her complete her first job, and head home. Since he’d first met her at Chase’s place, his insides had tightened. No one had ever affected him that way. He’d initially put it down to forbidden attraction—lust, crazy stuff. Yet over time, he realized it went deeper than that for Cyra. Her innocence, the care she showed when she patched up the hunters if they got injured, and her past called to him. She’d lost her parents at a young age, just like he had. Well, in his case, he was a loner. Still, Cyra might have her brother, but nothing compared to losing family and feeling alone in the world.
Fuck, he didn’t know why he let her mess up his head.
Plus, he’d noticed her stolen glances when they’d bumped into each other at Argos, and at Chase’s house. She always brushed him off. Perhaps she wasn’t interested, as indicated by the evil stare she was currently giving him. So he’d keep his distance. No flirting or imagining her naked. Nope. Hell, too late for the latter.
“And look what you did to this family’s house and yard,” she whispered loudly, glancing toward the front door.
Gunn shrugged. “Argos has insurance.” He patted down his jacket, which was sprinkled with snow. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.” The way she glared at him said everything.
He released a long breath, well aware of what everyone said about him. Who the hell gave a shit if he spent his spare time jumping out of a plane or off a building? He loved the adrenaline, and sometimes it was the only way to stop his memories from driving him insane. The memory that reminded him of what he’d done to his girlfriend, Cherri-Anne. How his decision had led to her death. For that, he’d never forgive himself, and that was the number one reason he had to keep his distance from Cyra.
He was there to look out for her as a favor to a friend. Nothing else. Then he could return to his life of catching demons and working on his bike. Simple and mundane. Exactly what he deserved.
Trudging across the lawn, he collected his helmet and motorcycle off the ground. He rolled the bike out of view from anyone looking to steal it and placed it alongside a tree.
A white cat slinked out from behind a shrub and meowed as it approached him. “Lucky you weren’t here a few minutes ago.” He leaned over and scratched it behind the ears.
“Didn’t take you for someone who liked cats.” Cyra bent over to collect a small bag, and his line of sight settled on her firm ass.
“You referring to that macho thing again?” He frowned. “I love animals. My foster parents used to run a rescue shelter.” Yep, he had a soft spot for felines and platinum blondes with long, toned legs clothed in black pinstriped pants, hips for him to hold on to, and a killer body.
When Cyra turned, her gaze narrowed. Gunn stroked the feline and said, “Better hurry along, little one.”
“Anyway, nice seeing you, Gunn.” Cyra picked up a plastic spray bottle from the ground and headed to a window. “But I’m here to work, not chat.”
Her stubbornness turned him on. She might use her bravado to push people away, but for him, it did the opposite. “S
weet. I’m here for the same reason.”
She spun toward him. “I don’t think so. This is just a ghost haunting...” Her words died as she focused on a window, lost in thought.
Even with his six-foot-two height towering over her, she didn’t seem to back down from a fight. But he wouldn’t be deterred. “Well, while you cleanse the place with your mojo, no harm in me checking out everything inside the property. Never know, there could be some demonic activity.” He winked at her, and she shook her head.
“My mojo? Right.”
He’d pissed her off with the almost-accidentally-killing-her thing. Sure, he’d be mad, too, but how was he supposed to know she’d be out in the yard as he attempted a crash landing? He didn’t want her hating him, so the least he could do was show her he wasn’t the prick she thought he was.
“Look, let’s start again,” he said.
Her mouth opened, but her words faded at the crunch of snow behind him. And her face fell faster than he’d tumbled off the motorcycle. He turned to find an older man in a puffy vest, his face pale and distraught. Must be the homeowner.
“What happened out here?” he gasped, his eyes widening. He scanned Gunn’s bike then the damage to his wall. “I was informed only one person would assist us. This isn’t the place for your boyfriend to visit.”
Her cheeks burned bright red. “Oh, no, no. H-he isn’t my boyfriend,” Cyra fumbled over her words. “He just works with me.”
“Two people attend each job for security reasons,” Gunn blurted out. “Sometimes hauntings can get out of control.” He extended his hand toward the man. “Hi, I’m Gunn, your friendly neighborhood supernatural hunter.”
Cyra rolled her eyes, and the old guy shook his hand, then broke their hold. Yet the darkness beneath the man’s words told Gunn his problems had zilch to do with the torn-up shrubs and skid marks on his wall.
“Everything good?” Gunn asked.
“Of course not.” Cyra turned in his direction. “You messed up his yard, remember?” Facing the man, she said, “Listen, Henry, we’re so sorry. I’ll have the plants replaced and arrange a cleaner to fix the damage.”
But the man wasn’t listening as he kept moving his jaw from side to side, deep in different thoughts. Gunn had worked at Argos for the past five years, catching and bagging demons that claimed people and objects, so he recognized the look on the man’s face. Not that Henry was possessed, but Gunn was familiar with the worrisome fear paralyzing Henry.
“Did you want me to come back another day?” Cyra asked. “I can return on my own after Christmas perhaps.”
“No. I need—”
A blood-curdling scream streamed out from within the house.
The man jolted as if he’d been prodded by electricity and turned toward the front door. “Nora!”
Gunn launched himself past him up the steps and burst into a lavish marble hallway with paintings everywhere. Was he inside an art gallery? His frosty breath floated in front of his face.
When the scream came again, from farther to his left, he darted after the sound, footfalls catching up behind him. He rushed into an enormous living room with fancy red drapes tied at the sides of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Christmas decorations adorned the wall, fairy lights hanging over the display cabinets. Leather couches filled the room and an active fireplace tossed shadows across the plush rug.
In the far corner stood a woman in her late sixties. She had streaked gray hair and was pulling her yellow cardigan around herself. Her skin looked whiter than milk.
Gunn ran toward her, weapon tight in his hand. “Are you hurt?” He scanned her from head to toe, the faint aura around her clear and transparent. Not a single blotch or stain of darkness. Everyone working at Argos had undergone mandatory eye surgery that allowed them to see the dark aura of anyone possessed. Except, this woman was clean. Sure, terrified and trembling, but safe for now.
He clicked open the lasso and laid the loop against the woman’s forearm. No flinching or hissing. Yep, she had no demons inside her.
“Who are you?” Her voice quivered, the creases at the edges of her eyes deepening.
The old man nudged past Gunn and took Nora into his arms. “It’s all right, dear. He’s here to help. They both are, I think.” He guided her to the couch, and they sat close together like doves perched on a branch. He felt for the pair. The husband rubbed Nora’s hands, reminding him of his foster parents when he was growing up—always hugging, always smiling at each other. He couldn’t have asked for more caring guardians. Until they’d died in a home invasion, and Gunn’s life had turned to hell. With a deep breath, he shoved those memories back to the recesses of his mind where they belonged.
Gunn sat on an adjacent sofa. Cyra stood nearby. “What happened?” she asked.
Nora lifted her head. “I saw…” She paused and laid a hand on her chest. “I must be hallucinating. This has never happened before. We’ve lived in this house for thirty-four years.”
“What did you see?” Cyra persisted.
“A silhouette rushing down the hallway toward the kitchen. It moved extremely fast, but it was like a large man and dark. Then the TV and lights flicked on and off.” Her breaths caught in her throat and she curled into her husband’s arms.
“How many times did they flick?” Gunn asked.
Nora didn’t respond at first. “It was six, I think.”
Six was the devil’s number. Each possessed host had six days before their soul was claimed by Hell. Six seconds was all the freedom demons got outside a host body before being dragged back into the underworld. Argos hammered in these facts at every training session to their crew of hunters, trackers, and magic users, and Gunn had never seen anything to the contrary. So, could this be just a haunting, another poltergeist stirring shit up?
“Are you sure, dear?” Henry asked his wife. “You’ve been jumpy as of late. Could have been a shadow from outdoors. This man did drive his motorcycle into our house.” He narrowed his gaze over at Gunn.
Too late to undo that mistake.
Nora wrenched free from Henry’s hold. “I know what I saw. You never believe me, like that time I swore I spotted a shark fin out in the harbor.”
He had his hands up. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”
An awkward hush fell over the room, leaving Gunn feeling like the fifth wheel. He stared down at his boots, tipped with tiny piles of snow. Probably should have taken them off before running into the home.
Cyra broke the stilted silence. “All righty. I’ll check the kitchen then.”
Gunn was on his feet, joining her in a long hallway drenched in sunlight pouring in from the back door. He was glad to leave the heaviness in the living room behind.
“Good thinking,” he whispered and smirked. “Nothing like escaping when a couple argues.”
She didn’t respond. Together, they passed a side table topped with a fancy vase and fresh flowers next to a phone and a Morgana box. Those things tapped into the internet and answered any question a person asked. They also switched on certain appliances. This couple had money.
“What do you think is happening here?” Cyra stared at him, her expression frozen in business mode. A wrinkle captured her nose, and her lips thinned. Fine, serious mode it was.
“My bet’s on a speck demon,” he suggested. The bastards attached themselves to all kinds of inanimate objects, from a haunted doll seeming to move on its own to a treasure box enticing kids inside so it could lock them in and suffocate them. He’d seen it all before. It all came down to the same outcome—monsters taunting innocents and stealing their souls.
“I know you’re a super important hunter and all that, but not everything is demon-related. This could be a spirit in the house. Besides, not every speck is malevolent. Could be a non-malevolent one.” She held his stare.
“Maybe. Or something bad was already in the home and the owners unleashed it by undertaking refurbishments or finding a secret door in a wall. It’s happened.”
; Her shoulders squared as she huffed. “The Argos trackers confirmed it was a haunting. Strange footsteps. Apparitions. I’m thinking it’s a lost soul needing to reach the light.”
He didn’t buy the soft cutesy approach of a phantom teasing the family. That was how demonic possessions started. False pretenses. “I don’t agree.” Sure, Argos had trackers spending every hour pouring over unusual crimes, speaking with churches, following any leads hunters handed them, but it didn’t make them always correct. They made mistakes, too.
Cyra halted and faced him. “No one is in danger here. If the woman saw an apparition, then it isn’t a speck demon, as they’d be locked into an inanimate item. It can’t be a jumper demon, as they only possess people and no one is affected. It has to be a ghost. And, yes, I know my demonic lingo.”
“Never said you didn’t. Why are you still so mad?” He ran his fingers through his hair, still spotted with snow. Wiping his palm along his jeans, he continued, lowering his voice. “The more likely scenario is that they bought an object, and it came with a stowaway.”
“So how did it make itself visible to the woman? Specks can’t leave the items they’re in unless they draw energy from somewhere. Neither Henry nor Nora appear drained. I’m certain this is only a haunting, maybe by some nasty individual who used to torture animals when they were alive, so they want to scare Henry and Nora now.”
He hummed and stuffed his fists into the front pockets of his jeans. “Not sure I buy that. And I still haven’t worked out how it showed itself yet. It’s rare for a ghost to have enough strength to turn on the TV and lights while taking form.”
After a few moments of silence, she said, “You must have something better to do one week before Christmas?”
All he thought about was tasting those ruby lips, convincing her in different ways he was here to stay, no matter what she said. He’d made a promise to Chase and to himself to keep Cyra safe.
“Look, I don’t know why you’re against a helping hand. This way we get this done quick and both of us will be out of here soon enough.”