Knock Em Dead (Supernatural Security Force Book 2)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  The timbre and origin of its inhuman voice was unmistakably demon. That bastard was in here somewhere—and damn if I was going to let it stay. I took a deep breath and made my decision.

  “Gran, I want you to stay out of sight, okay? And if this goes badly, get my boss and tell him what happened.”

  “That delicious angel Adrik is your boss? Don’t mind if I do,” she purred.

  “Gran,” I hissed.

  “Yeah, stay high and dry. Got it. Go get ’em.”

  She flew up toward the ceiling, and I exhaled, centering myself.

  “This is for you, Dad,” I muttered as I rounded the corner into the open center bay of the warehouse with deliberate steps.

  The smell only got worse as I strode farther back, but I didn’t stop. And I didn’t slow. Screw this demon bastard. Whatever it was, however it got here, its squatting days were over.

  While I walked, I called up my inner beast and felt the tightening of my skin as it began to stretch and change. By the time I reached the back wall of the building, I was no longer on two legs but four. My boots were replaced by clawed feet, complete with talons that clicked over the cement floor underneath me, and my back had sprouted wings.

  My senses were heightened beyond any creature this world could produce. Between my fae senses and my griffin’s strength, my muscles strained for a fight I could only hope would feel like something of a challenge. If I was going to go to the trouble of taking my griffin’s form, it had better be worth it.

  That’s what Dad had always said.

  He’d died on two legs, and I knew without having to be told it was probably a regret of his. It was only fitting I could kill this demon in his natural form. Especially considering I was fairly certain a level five had killed him.

  I rounded a corner and stopped short at the sight of the mirrored glass covering the swinging double doors just ahead. The reflective coating offered me a warbled view of my beast.

  Large white wings rose from my back, so big they dragged on the floor behind me. My feathers were sensitive but coated in a sheen of crystallized poison that offered a quick death to anything unfortunate enough to get that close. My downturned beak and narrowed eyes were the only other bird-like features. Feathers ended where sleek, blonde fur began, covering my torso, paws, and tail with a lion’s coat complete with a soft, full mane.

  I’d always recognized the beauty and power in the griffin’s form. But I knew plenty of others saw the killer it could be. Out of all the creatures I’d seen and even taken turns becoming, the griffin was still the most formidable.

  I only paused long enough to take in the sight of me changed then continued on before the ache of familiarity could ruin my focus. I was the spitting image of my father now. I knew that because I’d spent years perfecting the art of copying his form exactly. He’d been the only other griffin shifter for five hundred miles, and now there was only me.

  Today, vengeance had a face, and this was it.

  Through the small window over the double doors, I watched as something moved. A flash of scales darkened the otherwise-white walls. Then it was gone.

  My muscles coiled and tensed, ready.

  I didn’t even bother trying to be covert and instead barreled right through the swinging doors so hard they banged against the walls on creaking hinges. I opened my mouth and let loose with a loud announcement for whatever waited for me inside. My roar was nearly deafening, but I fell silent the moment the answering snarl reached my ears.

  On the left.

  I turned and raced down the hall, my beast eager now to find its prey.

  My talons clicked, and my wings dragged behind me, but I was fast. Light on my feet, thanks to the fae blood in me. Another left, followed by a right, led me straight into the deepest part of the building, and when I rounded the final turn, I pulled up short.

  The demon that stood before me was larger than any I’d ever seen. It stood on two stubby legs with two more flailing from its top half like little T-Rex arms. Scales coated in mucus-covered its body, their pattern stopping only long enough for a snout to protrude from the center of its face. At the end of the snout, large nostrils exuded hot breath before the face gave way to a mouth below and four large eyes above.

  Four.

  All of them yellow and beady and each of them focused on a different part of me. One zeroed in on my claws. The other my wings. Another stared me down, unblinking and looking more and more happy with himself that I’d finally arrived. The fourth watched the door behind me, probably to be sure I was alone.

  It pawed at the floor, claws scraping, and I caught sight of a black pentagram drawn over the space in some kind of chalk.

  Fuck me.

  Had this thing been summoned here?

  Who in the hell would be dumb enough to call up a greater demon into the heart of New Orleans? And a Gorscht demon at that? These guys were beyond gross and not very subtle either. Whoever had done this was sure to get caught.

  The gorscht snarled at me, and all questions leaked away at the sight of its yellowed teeth dripping with the same disgusting mucus that coated its body.

  Questions could be asked later.

  Right now, it was him or me. And I really didn’t want to die before I’d gotten laid again. Or seen the Aquaman movie. They were, in some ways, the same thing anyway.

  The demon’s snarl turned to more of a roar. I decided to take it as an invitation to come closer.

  “Kick that twatdemon’s ass, baby girl.”

  Gran’s encouragement was faint enough that the demon seemed to not hear her, thank the angel.

  My wings lifted me so that my running start turned quickly to an airborne launch, and then I was sailing through the air with claws outstretched. I went for its throat, hoping to find the weak spot where its pulse beat hardest.

  All I got was a mouthful of mucus-coated scales.

  I landed on my feet, momentum forcing me to tuck and roll. I came up again, spitting and growling at the disgusting taste of slime on my tongue.

  “Ugh. Gross.” My disgust turned to a growl, and I raised my head, ready to try again.

  The demon eyed me warily now. I approached slowly, eyeing the small nick I’d left along the demon’s scaly throat.

  Time to finish it.

  My tongue coiled in disgust at the idea of eating more of that slime, but the beast I’d become wasn’t backing down. It wanted blood—even if that blood was the color and consistency of a sinus infection.

  Ugh. Why couldn’t I have found a rata demon or something?

  I crouched, ready to spring for another attack.

  A small noise and movement from the corner distracted me.

  I glanced over to see a blur of movement streaking in behind the demon.

  A broad-shouldered figure in black pants and matching jacket moved inhumanly fast and struck the monster from behind with some sort of weapon.

  The beast faltered and tipped its head back in a howl.

  I used the opening to go for its throat and felt the sickening yet satisfying crunch of scaly flesh give against my iron jaw. The demon’s body shuddered, and I bit harder, tearing angrily at the flesh until it ripped away from the body and hung from my mouth. I tossed it aside and doubled back for more.

  From somewhere above, Gran hooted in triumph.

  “Get fucked, closet monster,” she yelled.

  The stranger who’d just come to my aid looked around in confusion at the empty voice tossing out curse words.

  Lord help us all, I did not want to explain her to someone else.

  The demon writhed, flinging itself just out of my reach. It hit the cement floor with a hard thud that shook the walls, finally offering me a clear view of the figure in black.

  I blinked, struck dumb and more than a little panicked at the sight of the man standing on the far end of the dying demon. I’d half-expected Adrik or maybe another SSF agent or even Murphy, who was still unaccounted for.

  But instead, it was an al
l too familiar face—the last one I’d ever expected to see again. And especially not here while I was in the middle of an unsanctioned demon kill.

  Without thinking, I shifted.

  My talons and feathers vanished. Four legs became two. I’d done it so many times it took little effort anymore. One second, I was a griffin, and the next, I was me.

  Gem.

  Blonde hair cropped short. Leather jacket clinging to a petite, though deceptively strong, frame. Eyes—one brown, one blue—that flung daggers at the man before me.

  “Jax McGuire?”

  He smiled smugly back.

  I frowned, following his gaze down to my clothes. My black leggings and matching tank were right where they were supposed to be. No holes or missing pieces, which sometimes happened during the return shift. I looked fine as best I could tell.

  “What?” I demanded, realizing too late he probably would never have recognized me if I’d just stayed a griffin. Dammit.

  Jax’s lips curved, and he nodded, first to himself clad in all black then to me. “We match.”

  “Aw, aren’t you two the cutest thing since Martha Stewart and Snoop hooked up?”

  Gran landed on my shoulder, and I bit back the string of curses I wanted to toss at her. Like grandmother, like granddaughter.

  “Do I know you?” Jax asked calmly, his eyes trained on the June bug that was my Gran.

  “Not yet, but that can be arranged,” Gran purred, and I nearly threw up in my mouth. “Gem. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she pressed when I didn’t say anything.

  “Gran, this is Jax. Jax, my Gran.” I spoke through closed teeth, and Jax’s lips twitched.

  “Pleasure,” he said.

  “Pleasure’s mine, honey—”

  “Gran. I am not going to tell you twice. You need to leave. Now.”

  “But the demon—”

  “I’m safe now. He’s dead. Go have a drink and relax. I’ll call you later.”

  I could feel her bug-eyed gaze on me, assessing. But I knew I had her at the mention of a drink. She was trying to become a professional drinker almost as determinedly as she’d become a professional curser. It was all part of her grieving process over losing my grandpa. Or that’s what she claimed.

  Finally, she sighed. “All right. I can see I’m a third wheel here. You two kids, be safe. Use protection.”

  “Gran,” I hissed.

  “I mean protection against demons. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  Jax muffled a laugh, and Gran buzzed away with a final, “Toodaloo.”

  When she was gone, Jax chuckled. “That was . . . interesting.”

  I glared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Between us, the Gorscht demon writhed and cried, but we both ignored the thing as it bled out slowly. Dying demons were serious drama queens. It only made it worse to give them attention.

  “Saving you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re welcome.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You did not save me.” I poked the demon with my boot, which only made it moan louder, and added, “I had this asshole dead to rights. In fact, you almost got me killed with that distraction you pulled. Thanks for nothing.”

  “Ah. An independent woman.” Jax snorted and took a step to the left in an attempt to round the demon and move closer to me.

  Pools of mucus were collecting along the floor, trickling dangerously close to where I stood. But I ignored that and took a step to the right, eyes narrowed at the alpha before me.

  Jax grinned. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, mostly to hide the fact that my nipples went hard over the fact that he’d just called me beautiful. “And you’re more full of it.”

  He laughed, and his eyes crinkled sexily—which kind of pissed me off. Whose eyes crinkled sexily? Wasn’t that a thing old men did? This was not fair. No guy should be this endearing when his ego was bigger than his—

  “So you do remember me?” he asked.

  My cheeks heated in the first real show of proof that I’d done more than just remember Jax McGuire. He was a panther shifter and alpha of the biggest pack south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Hotter than a Texas titty, as Gran would say. She wouldn’t be wrong either.

  After the kiss Jax and I had shared in the hallway that night at The Monster Ball . . . I couldn’t possibly forget.

  “You leave an impression,” I said wryly, my heart racing.

  I had zero doubt he could hear it too, considering his animal senses.

  As proof, Jax gave me a knowing smile and tried moving closer again, but I matched his steps, careful to keep our distance equally proportioned with the nearly-dead demon in a heap between us.

  The monster made some sort of mewling sound, and a puff of hot air shot from its nostrils. Jax and I both looked down at it. My hands curled into fists, and I landed a kick against its shoulder.

  “Just die already,” I demanded.

  When I looked up again, Jax’s brow had lifted. “Bitterness isn’t good for the heart, you know.”

  “Don’t judge me,” I said as I nodded at his knife, which I saw now was actually a giant, gleaming machete. “You just stabbed the thing with a weapon more suited for bushwhacking, so it’s not like you lack animosity toward demons.”

  “Did you just say bushwhacking?” he asked.

  “You don’t know what bushwhacking means?” I challenged.

  “Of course I know—” He stopped and started again. “I can’t say I don’t struggle with animosity. But self-defense is different.”

  “You weren’t in danger,” I pointed out. “I was.”

  “Exactly,” he said as if I’d just somehow agreed with him. “Protecting a damsel is even more justified.”

  I glared, dropping my arms to my sides just so I could re-cross them again. “Call me a damsel one more time.”

  Jax’s eyes lit up like he was seriously considering doing just that if only to see what would happen next.

  In answer, I ground my teeth and let my skin ripple with the hint of a badger face.

  “A badger?” His brows lifted. “That’s your plan?”

  “No one wants to get eaten by a badger. Trust me, it’s a creature that sends a message.”

  He shook his head. “I sense a story here, but, alas, we’re out of time.”

  “Time for wh—”

  Before I could ask, the demon made a gurgling sound before exhaling another puff of breath and fell still.

  “Is it dead?” I asked flatly.

  “I’m not sure if that question is the most pressing— Ah, yes. There it is.”

  I followed Jax’s nod to where he was studying the demon’s scaly belly and stared in horror as the skin began to ripple and move.

  “What the hell is that?” I demanded.

  A small bulge appeared as if something was pressing on the demon’s flesh—from the inside.

  “Holy banana balls. Is there something alive in there?”

  Jax shuffled over, and rather than answer me, lifted his machete and brought it down hard in a graceful arc. The curve of the blade sank into the scaly flesh with a soft, wet sound that made my stomach clench. Black mucus leaked from the wound, pooling around the blade as Jax wrenched the weapon downward, splitting the scales and the flesh below them wide open.

  I pressed my hand to my mouth, praying the contents of my stomach would stay inside my body. Someone’s had to.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  “Just watch. I think—” Jax’s response was cut short by a loud suctioning sound.

  I watched in fascinated disgust as a tiny hand appeared from inside the opening. Next a head. Then a face. Every part of it was miniature, and every inch of its skin was bald and bared. Pink cheeks gave way to black eyes that lit up when they landed on mine.

  It gave a tiny squeal and began clawing at the scales in an attempt to climb free.

  “Is
that . . . its baby?” I asked.

  Jax looked up at me, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his handsome face. “Serious question,” he said. “Do you think it eats snot or actual milk of some kind?”

  I blinked.

  Jax didn’t wait for my answer—which was good since I didn’t have one. He just looked back at the thing currently trying to crawl its way out of the demon’s belly. Too-short arms made that impossible, and after a series of grunts that would have been adorable if the thing hadn’t been so weirdly ugly with its wrinkled infant skin and bug eyes, the thing stopped struggling and looked up at me with the worst kind of baby face I’d ever seen.

  “Dear God, it’s so ugly it’s cute,” I said.

  It made a mewling sound that I interpreted as something like “Help me,” and despite my best attempt otherwise, my heart melted a little.

  “Jax,” I said, but he was already reaching for the hilt of his machete again and pulling down to cut a larger opening. More fluid spilled out, this time pooling then draining swiftly onto the floor at my feet.

  I shuffled away from the goo while Jax reached over and lifted the baby demon out of its snotty womb.

  “Here,” he said, depositing the tiny creature into my hands before I could stop him.

  “What—? No.” I tried handing it back while the thing squirmed to snuggle closer. “I don’t want it.”

  Slimy little hands complete with stubby fingers reached for my shirt. When it managed to snag the fabric, it yanked suddenly, pulling itself up and onto my chest with a surprisingly strong grip. Then, it buried its face in the crook of my neck in the sneakiest, most disgusting little hug I’d ever been given.

  I froze.

  The wet feel of slippery mucus slid down my chest and into my bra. I cringed and looked up to see Jax grinning down at me, the soaked machete dangling from one of his tanned hands. He dropped it before shrugging out of his jacket and began using the inside lining to wipe the slime off the demon-baby in my arms.

  I could only stare with a half-open mouth, trying to understand the absurdity of this moment. Jax, however, was oddly at ease.

  “I didn’t know you wanted children,” he said when he’d given up on cleaning the thing. He wrapped the jacket around the baby, obviously fine parting with the item now that it was covered in snotty blood.