Claimed by the Demon Hunter 3 (Guardians of Humanity)

by Harley James

  His smile made her gorge rise again.

  The axe.

  Please, no. She couldn’t remove it from the dead guy.

  That or die, though.

  If the demon-priest wasn’t bluffing about his speed, she’d never get the axe out of tattooed man’s back ribs before Joseph was on her. Too bad she didn’t have one of Jessie’s angel feathers.

  Distract him. “Why are you doing this?” She stuck her hand in her front jeans pocket to palm the small vial of chrism oil she’d grabbed before sneaking out of Spencer’s club.

  “Does there have to be a reason? Evil just is.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  “Are you really that stupid? Every minute we spend in a human host is one less minute in the eternity of fire.”

  “But why not be nice instead of mean? You’d fly under the radar so much better.” The chrism oil cover was off. Her aim had to be perfect...

  “Enough talking, Guardian whor—”

  The open chrism oil vial hit him in the face, the blessed liquid coating his skin as he lunged. He dropped with an inhuman scream that nearly made her pee her pants.

  She grasped hold of the axe handle and pulled with all her might. She staggered back from the axe’s sudden, sucking release. As soon as she found her balance, she backed toward the dock’s exterior door, knowing she only had five, four, three...

  Demon-priest flew at her, the momentum barreling her backwards, her body crumpling into the concrete in a split-second body wave—ass, shoulders, head. Her eyes scrunched shut, head cushioned by her bunched-up winter hood, but she struggled to breathe from the force of the impact and demon-priest’s weight on top of her.

  He bellowed as though in mortal pain, the fetid smell of his breath shooting like flames up her nostrils as they lay belly to belly. His hands, human-formed, rising up to her neck like slime and maggots, choking her.

  She gasped, sucking for air, and tried to buck him off. He roared as a warm flood of gooey substance soaked through her coat, her clothes. Her vision grayed in the already dim space until his hands loosened their hold from her neck.

  He slumped on top of her, his mouth opening to spew a carbon-colored colloidal smoke which swirled above her before shooting toward the brighter area of the warehouse.

  She panted and wheezed under the priest’s body, crying, bringing a flood of oxygen into her air-starved lungs. Her gloved fingers flexed on something hard between their bodies. The axe. Its blade now deeply embedded in the priest’s chest cavity. She screamed and shoved the limp form off of her, slipping and sliding in a pool of blood.

  I killed him! Oh, no. Oh, Lord.

  She shrieked, then gagged as she pulled the axe from his chest with that same sickening, wet, sucking sound. Get out. She shuffled the rest of the way to the door, her teeth now chattering from so much more than the empty cold of the space.

  Two feet away from the exit, the darkness illuminated. Warmed. Felt wonderful. She swung around to survey the carnage around her.

  Baal stood next to the exsanguinated priest, smiling pleasantly in his tailored black trench coat and shiny Italian shoes. “You gotta know that was unwise to leave Inferno, yeah? You shoulda listened to your Guardian.” His smile widened. “Too late now.”

  Oh, God. Sydney’s grip tightened on the axe, swallowing down the gorge that rose in her throat, the awful sense of doom in her gut. Keep it together. Her legs itched to run, but she was afraid to move. This entity was a top-level predator nearly begging her to give him chase. “Please, just g-go away. I d-don’t have anything you want.”

  Baal bent down to flop the tattooed man onto his back, then closed his sightless eyes with such tenderness Sydney was momentarily transfixed.

  He stood again with a beguiling smile. “Naw. Ya see here, you’re actually everything I need to bend Spencer to my will. If you should decide ta help me, I’ll personally guarantee your family’s safety. See, I know how important they are to ya...and I know where they’re currently being held…”

  No. He couldn’t.

  He cocked his head. “Up north, am I right? Yeah, yeah, I knew it. I mean, that’s where I’da put’em, too.”

  Sydney’s knees wobbled. Dear God. How’d he find them? Spencer had assured her that Nate’s club was the safest place for her family. How strong were the Guardians, really? And how bad did Baal want Spencer’s relic?

  She’d hate to put Spencer in the awful position to choose between protecting her family and his duty to the relic. He’d feel guilty if something happened to her clan if he chose to protect the relic. She truly believed that. For as much as he wore a mask of indifference, he was a man who felt keenly, thought deeply, and, nowadays, acted on the right side of things.

  I should’ve slept with him when I had the chance.

  What a thought to have at a time like this. They’d come so close several times this week, but one or the other would always pull back. Him because of his infernal manners and sensitivity.

  Her because she was afraid of his mark.

  She didn’t know what she was more afraid of—the mark remaining after sex, or going away? And wasn’t that telling?

  I’m starting to fall for him.

  And of course, it was complicated.

  Whatever would become of those feelings, though, she first had to get out of this encounter alive.

  She shifted the axe to a one-handed hold and inched her other gloved hand into her coat pocket, fingers curling around the demon Molotov cocktail that Atamu had given her yesterday afternoon. She didn’t know if it would slow an archdemon down, but she didn’t have many other options at the moment.

  Baal’s gaze zeroed in on her coat pocket, and he tsked like an indulgent parent unhappy to pronounce punishment. “Sheesh, you’re quiet today. Ain’t that outta character for you?”

  His gaze rose to peer into her own, his smile melting into a look as serious as a heart attack. “Come on. You’re a realist, Sydney. If you take the time to weigh out this situation, I know you’ll come to realize you don’t have many choices right now. Either you help me recover something Spencer doesn’t give a shit about in the first place....or,” he shrugged with a half-smile, “ya displease me greatly.”

  “I don’t even know what it is, or where it is.”

  “But you could find out. I really don’t wanna hurt ya being you’re so smart and pretty an’all. I don’t know what that assclown Spencer has offered you, but listen… I gotchu.”

  He poked his chest with his thumb, a charming smile on his mug that made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. “I’m much higher on the food chain in Hell than he is on this side of the track. Listen here to this real talk, baby. I can give you power beyond your wildest imaginings.”

  Delusional, sick bastard. She took a step toward him like she was enthralled with his offer, the holy bomb—more powerful than the chrism oil she’d used against the priest—in her hand. It had to hit him square in the face.

  Then she had to pray there was no one beyond that exit door.

  She shivered, almost dropping the axe, but she tightened her fingers around the handle and sucked in a huge breath. “I don’t belong to anyone. I’m not a piece of property to be fought over.”

  Baal’s eyes shone with appreciation. “I didn’t say you’d be my slave, doll. You could be my queen. I’m a favored son of Lucifer, for chrissakes! I could send thousands of fucked up au-to-mo-biles to your cute, little shop. No doubt ya’d get your own reality show teachin’ every dame in the world how to know their way around their car.” His voice dropped, eyes gleaming, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together. “You’d make enough ca-ching to adopt all the homeless youth you want.”

  Sydney’s breath caught. Temptation. Its pull as strong as the urge to take a breath when she’d been underwater for too long. Baal shifted his weight and pushed his hand toward the grizzly scene between them.

  The bodies of the tattooed man and the priest flew across the warehouse beyond th
e scope of her view. The motion also swept away the blood, the rats crouching amid the shadows, the detritus, all the ugliness, leaving behind a clean sheet of concrete.

  How did he know all her motivations, her dreams?

  “I can help you achieve everything you want, Sydney. Truth is, those holy rollin’ Guardians gimme a bum rap, when all I am is a shrewd businessman.” His gaze dropped first to the axe, then to her coat pocket. “There are so many lies about Hell. If you wanna hear more, all ya gotta do right now is carefully remove your hand from your pocket.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t as concerned about the axe as he was by what was in her coat. Her fingers flexed on the Molotov cocktail, slightly loosening the cork like Atamu had taught her. The archdemon sounded so reasonable. And his offer!

  Take it, a quiet part of her mind counseled.

  Her grip relaxed on the Molotov cocktail.

  No! This was what demons did. Creep into your head, justifying and then minimizing their horrific acts. This was the entity who’d threatened her family and burned down her building when he didn’t get his way.

  Lies. How easily they fell from his smiling lips.

  But his eyes didn’t match his mouth. They were hollow somehow.

  “Sydney.” His voice, the same, yet not, the tones darkening along the vowels like some other voice was fighting to break through.

  She fought to smooth her tense facial muscles. A droplet of sweat rolled between her breasts, the movement like spider legs across her chilled skin.

  What do I do?

  He took a step toward her and a fresh flood of adrenaline flowed through her body. Her right hand came up, flinging the bomb at Baal’s face. Time slowed. Breath suspended. His hand shot out preternaturally fast, reaching for the glass vial as it sailed end over end through the air, the cork slipping from the vial’s neck, spraying—

  BOOM!

  His body burst into flames. The blaze licked at her bloody coat and singed her hair as she fled the engulfing heat, racing toward the door behind her.

  She slammed her shoulder into it twice, then bashed the door handle off with the axe before it finally gave way, lurching her into the gloomy afternoon pall. The back lot was surrounded by tall buildings covered in heavy, wet snow. She gripped the axe handle near the axe head and ran across the slippery pavement onto one of the main thoroughfares toward Inferno. I’m so sorry, Tiana!

  As she ran, people who saw her coming made way for her macabre approach—some shrinking back with gasps of panic as though she’d slaughter them, others with gaping mouths or speed dialing on their phones.

  A sudden roar seemed to suck all the air out of a two-block radius. People collapsed around her as she continued to run on trembling legs. Dead or just unconscious? If it was Baal…my fault! The sky shaded to gray with swirling white and black clouds spewing razor-edged snowflakes. Still, she ran.

  Five blocks to Inferno. “Spencer, please hear me now!”

  She turned a corner and slammed into Baal, the axe sailing out of her grip, her scream rising, a cloud of frigid air, as his melted face healed before her eyes. “I now see the appeal of a dame who plays hard to get.”

  He reached out a hand, but before she could slap it away, a blur of light barreled into the archdemon, knocking him to the ground.

  “Spencer!” Sydney gasped and moaned in a twisted mixture of terror and relief. The Earth trembled with the confrontation between Guardian fire and demon ice. The sounds of their battle awful and unforgettable as Spencer drove his now-gleaming sword deep into the shoulder of Baal’s human host, pinning him to the street.

  A wide, charcoal fog rolled down the street, seething with ghostly black wraiths, as Baal roared and drove his body upward, the sword remaining in the street, shredding tissue and bone as he freed himself.

  People on the ground started to awaken, released from the struggling archdemon’s hold. Sydney crawled on wobbly legs to the nearest human and helped her sit up. The middle-aged woman’s eyes widened as she took in the shadowy forms of people staggering through the icy fog. “Earthquake?” she gasped.

  Sydney nodded, struggling to keep calm. “Something like that. Get home as fast as you can!” Rising to her feet, she yelled at everyone within shouting distance to do the same.

  When her gaze shot back to the quasi-immortals, Spencer was circling Baal who stood in a crouch, his hands transformed into a pair of matching, razor-sharp machetes, the hole through his right shoulder where Spencer’s sword had staked him to the street already beginning to heal.

  Please, please God, help Spencer!

  As she hurried from person to person, she couldn’t keep her gaze from darting to the opaque sky where the dueling adversaries had taken their vicious fight, the prayer for her Guardian on endless repeat. She wasn’t sure how much of the combat the bystanders could see because of the unnaturally dark, dense fog, but they had to be hearing the horrible sounds. Growls and shrieks and low rumbles of a language that made a ball of dread form in her gut.

  Spencer had come for her.

  How did he know? Did he hear her calling for him?

  Heart in her throat, she looked around for something to help him, but, heavens—what can I use?! The Molotov cocktail had been the last trick up her sleeve.

  She heard their crackling descent before they even smashed to the street, their bodies spraying chunks of asphalt like C4 explosives. Sydney cried out as a projectile lobbed into her back shoulder. In shock but feeling no pain, she lunged behind an SUV, covering her head with her arms, street material raining down in blistering slabs. Panting, she tried to reach behind her to assess the damage to her shoulder. Luckily, her thick winter coat had cushioned the blow.

  She took several deep breaths to calm the panic before peeking around the back of the SUV. Baal was the first to his feet, snarling, as he advanced on Spencer with those machete hands. They circled each other this time, blood and exposed organs dripping from both of them as they slashed at one another with supernatural blades.

  She started crying, terrified for Spencer, furious at her helplessness, then ran to a lady half a block away, grabbing the cell phone from her hands. “Sorry!” she yelled, running back to where she could still see the combatants as she dialed Inferno.

  She’d only entered half the numbers when Baal and Spencer slammed into a skyscraper. The deafening grind of metal against metal sent her to her knees, the pain in her ears like she’d laid her head on an anvil and someone had come along and hammered her cranium with the blunt end of an axe.

  The axe!

  Where had she dropped it?

  “Spencer, there’s an axe!”

  “Goddammit, run, Sydney!”

  Too late. A massive cloud of dust and sharp objects spattered the ground and pushed outward in a mushroom-shaped, rolling cloud. A third entity. She didn’t understand how, but she felt its presence.

  Her legs quaked, and she collapsed to her butt on the curb. As the cloud of dust swallowed her, she coughed and wheezed, bending over at the waist. Darkness pressed in, disorienting her. The air concussed around her, but she couldn’t see what was happening.

  Someone called her name.

  “Spencer?” She squinted though the smoke, but it was dark and cold and her chest felt so unbearably tight. Howls and groans. Some human, some metallic. Fear curled in her belly, making her nauseous.

  Electricity crackled. Her fingertips tingled. Nose assaulted with the scent of black licorice.

  My preciousss, beautiful girl.

  A nice voice. She frowned. Just want to lie down.

  Yesss, embrace the dark. Let it care for you.

  Too hard to think. Earth trembling, on the cusp of something.

  Sssubmit.

  She collapsed sideways onto the sidewalk, her bulky hood bunching up under her temple. The cold in her bones drained away like a sink full of dirty water, emptied, rinsed clean in a flood of liquid heat. Burning. Bones grinding, muscles compressing. Can’t breathe! Her eyes surged open in a
rush of awareness and pain, but she couldn’t process what had happened. Then…

  Heavy.

  Bewildering.

  Black.

  Chapter 30

  Spencer awoke in a room with murky shadows, his muscles tensing, senses flaring out, snagging immediately on the soft, warm form beside him. Sydney. Her breath softly feathered against his ear. Apple blossoms and sunshine.

  He angled his head on the pillow to look at her. She was asleep, curled next to him, her right arm slung across his chest, her chin on the edge of his shoulder. He exhaled shallowly, slowly, so as not to awaken her, his muscles easing, one by one.

  The sheets and blankets were tangled in her shins and feet near the foot of the bed. She was wearing a sports bra and underwear.

  He was naked.

  Skin-to-skin contact was how Guardians healed fastest. Especially when their soul mates provided the skin-healing. She’s not your soul mate.

  He pushed aside his messy feelings about that to remember what had happened. He shifted ever so carefully to pull her even closer, then noticed the bandages on various parts of her body.

  Rage pooled deep in his belly, igniting his element so it snapped across his nerves, making his scalp tingle.

  Battling with Baal, destruction of three city blocks, Sydney’s entrapment in the rubble, his fight to recover her, returning to Inferno with the last of his strength. It all poured through him again, the images sharp, his desperation returning in all its raw anguish.

  He pressed a soft kiss to the smooth skin above her forehead injury, then called to Pepper in his mind to ask what time and day it was.

  “Friday, December eighth. Eleven pm. Less than two weeks ‘til solstice. You damn well better have a plan by now.”

  “My thanks, Pepper. Nice to hear you’re hale and hearty, too.”

  She only laughed.

  He’d been healing for more than thirty-six hours. He shouldn’t be surprised after the way he’d come back, torn apart and babbling incoherently. Atamu had taken one look at him and held out his arms, catching him as he’d fallen across the threshold of the club.