Demon Marked: Book 1 of the Venandi Chronicles ( An Urban Paranormal Romance Series)

by Sara Snow

  I looked almost longingly at the old computer, wondering if I would ever see it again. So much for catching up on my schoolwork. The nursing profession would have to wait for me just a little longer.

  15

  Georgia

  After we left my apartment—this time I double-checked the locks—Carter drove me to a nightclub called the Abyss. On the way to the club, he gave me the run-down on our mission that night.

  “This place is a real dive,” he cautioned. “It’s not the kind of club you’d want to frequent alone. Lots of low-life demons and soul-eaters mingling with the bottom-feeders of humankind.”

  “Gee, it sounds delightful,” I remarked. “The perfect kind of venue for our first date.”

  Carter glowered over the steering wheel. “This isn’t a date, Georgia. We’ve got some serious ass-kicking to do.”

  I had a cheeky retort for him, but I held it in. I needed to save my energy for the confrontation we were about to have, not waste it fighting with Carter.

  “Whose ass are we kicking, anyway?”

  I twisted a strand of hair around my index finger, around and around until I felt the pain that told me I was cutting off my blood circulation. I didn’t want Carter to see how nervous I was. I wished I were back in my apartment right now, hunched over my computer while working on that never-ending care plan.

  “There’s a succubus in the neighborhood who’s been killing men she picks up at this nightclub. Succubi take over human souls and turn their victims into husks. We need to find this creature and slaughter her before she can kill anyone else.”

  “Can a succubus disguise itself as human?”

  “Most definitely. In fact, you’ll rarely see one in its demonic form. They love human bodies. Once they’ve stolen your soul, they’ll occupy your body and go around wreaking havoc in your form. It’s a great way to demolish your reputation.”

  “She, or it, must be quite the hot number, picking up all those guys.”

  “Oh, yeah. Succubi are hyper-sexual demons. Their mission in life is to seduce mortals and steal their forms. They don’t always kill their victims, but this one definitely has a murderous streak.”

  “What’s my role in this scenario? If this demon likes to seduce men, wouldn’t it have been better to bring a stud like Eli?”

  I thought I saw Carter flinch when I called Eli a stud. I might have been imagining it, but I thought I even saw a flash of hurt on his face. Did he and Eli have a sexual rivalry going on? Or was Carter just jealous of the younger guy, who was admittedly hotter than he was?

  “Eli was supposed to come with me, but he had a commitment he couldn’t break. Kingston and I talked about it, and we decided that you should be my backup. Your job will be to protect me this time, while I play the bait for this succubus.”

  “Me? Protect you?” I burst out laughing. “Oh, Carter. You’re dead meat. I barely know how to protect myself.”

  “But you’re doing a damn good job of it. You’re better and stronger than you think you are. I have no doubt that once your adrenaline kicks in, you’ll be able to destroy this demon.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out an all-too-familiar object. My gut clenched at the sight of the iron blade that I had used on the burlap dummy at the training center. Could I attack a real demon the way I’d ravaged that thing?

  “I know you’re doubting yourself,” Carter said. “But believe me, you’ll do fine. Don’t forget—you have more than the moves I taught you. You have the power to throw objects around the room. Don’t hesitate to tear up the bar if you need to. The Abyss badly needs redecorating.”

  “I hope you’re right. Because if you’re not, we’re both gonna be toast.”

  The Abyss lived up to its name and then some. The club was a hole-in-the-wall not far from a meat-packing plant. The stench of urine stung my nostrils as Carter and I entered the dank, dimly lit bar room. I had my ID with me, but no one bothered to ask me if I was of legal drinking age. The whole of the clientele appeared to have something illegal going on.

  Carter ordered us both club sodas.

  “Couldn’t we have something stronger? Vodka tonic, maybe? I could use a little liquid courage right now.”

  “Booze is the last thing you should have. You need to be one hundred-percent sober to deal with this succubus. Drink your soda like a good slayer.” Carter winked at me and held up his glass in a toast. “Here’s to new adventures.”

  I didn’t return the gesture. I hated club soda unless it had alcohol in it. The tickle of the flavorless bubbles in my nose was simply annoying. Carter and I found two empty stools at the bar—a miracle, considering how packed the dive was—and watched the door.

  “She usually comes in at exactly nine p.m.,” Carter explained. “We have about twenty minutes to wait.”

  “I didn’t know demons were so punctual.”

  “This one is a creature of habit, and this habit has paid off well. She knows that if she struts in at nine, she’ll meet the late happy hour crowd when they’re more than a little buzzed, but not quite plastered. That’s the perfect time for her to hook up.”

  “Wow, you really know this babe. Have you ever messed around with her?”

  Carter shuddered. “I’d rather eat razor blades than have sex with a succubus. It’s a one-way ticket to madness. Or death, if the poor guy gets lucky.”

  He finished his club soda and ordered another. I hadn’t touched the first one. Even if I’d liked that stuff, I would have been too nervous to drink it.

  “Okay, here’s how it’s going to go,” Carter said over his second drink. “You stay here and keep an eye on me. You have your phone, right?”

  I nodded, hoping I’d remembered to charge it.

  “When I need you, I’ll text you. I’m going to find a seat at the other end of the bar and pretend to be a lonely, single guy who can’t get laid to save his life.”

  “That shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”

  “Hah, hah. If only you knew!”

  “So, tell me. Do you have anyone special in your life? Some smokin’ supernatural babe?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. But she’s so sarcastic that I never really know where I stand with her.”

  Before I could ask any more questions, Carter set his glass down and moved away through the crowd of sweaty drinkers. I turned back to my glass of soda. I could see a trio of bulky men with greased-back hair eyeballing me. I pulled my hoodie over my head and tucked my long hair inside. Then I hunched over my glass, hoping that anyone who got any weird ideas about me would think I was just a puny dude from the meat-packing plant.

  No such luck. One of the greasers slid off his stool, hiked his jeans up over his belly, and strolled over to me.

  “Whatcha drinking, honey?” he asked, sharing the scent of his last meal as he swallowed a belch. “Let me buy you another.”

  “No, thanks.” I deepened my voice and rounded my shoulders in a protective shell.

  His paw landed on my back, heavy as a flatiron. He started to massage my shoulders. I tensed. He rubbed harder.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be an uptight little bitch. Let me buy you a drink.”

  His offer had the tone of a death threat.

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  I knew I didn’t have a chance against this meatball, not if I tried to fight him physically. I scanned the back of the bar for something that wouldn’t shatter—no need to risk anyone else’s safety. My eyes landed on a metal scoop sticking upright in a bucket of ice. I focused all my energy on that scoop, thinking of every monster who had ever manhandled me.

  The scoop rose slowly from the ice, hovered for a moment, then flew at the meatball’s head.

  “Ow! What the fuck did you do that for, Charlie?” Meatball shouted at the bartender.

  The skinny guy tending bar shrank back, shaking like a chihuahua. “I didn’t do nothing, Hank. The thing just kind of flew.”

  Hank rubbed his forehead, which had a red gouge f
rom the edge of the ice scoop. He scowled at Charlie.

  “Yeah, right. You were trying to break in on my action, weren’t you, you little shit?”

  “No, Hank. I swear! I would never! Here, let me buy you and the guys a round.”

  Charlie began frantically pouring whisky shots. I pitied the poor bartender, an innocent bystander of my newfound power. Under my hoodie, I smiled to myself.

  “So, where were we, beautiful?” With the round of free shots, Hank’s mood had lifted again. “Why don’t you have one of these shots? Heck, have two or three. That’ll warm up that frozen pussy of yours. Or maybe this will.”

  Hank slid his hand up my thigh and settled his hand possessively on my crotch. I wheeled around on the barstool, about to give him the ol’ double-eye poke, when Hank suddenly flew backwards, knocked flat on his back.

  “Leave her the fuck alone, sleazeball!”

  My rescuer was a six-foot-plus female. She had shoulders like a linebacker, accentuated by a black leather biker jacket, and breasts the size of honeydew melons. Her pale blonde hair was slicked against her forehead. She stood over Hank, the spiked tip of her heel poised delicately over his windpipe.

  “One move, and you’ll be breathing through a tube,” she said sweetly.

  Hank went limp. I could see the fight going out of him. My rescuer lifted her heel from Hank’s throat and helped him struggle to his feet. Then, she gave him a mighty shove, sending him back to his buddies at the end of the bar.

  “Wow. You showed up at exactly the right time,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I would have offered to buy her a drink, but I had no money, not even a maxed-out credit card.

  The woman grinned, full lips stretching over a set of gleaming white teeth. That grin was a little unnerving, but at least she was on my side. Hank and his greaser pals were slinking out of the bar. Hank gave me a menacing look over his shoulder, but I wasn’t scared of him anymore. If the bar hadn’t been so packed, I could have slashed his face to ribbons with flying liquor bottles without even lifting a finger.

  “Join me for a drink?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Sure. Why not? Let’s celebrate.”

  “What’ll you have? Anything you want.”

  I squinted at the bottles behind the bar. “How about a shot of Jose Cuervo?”

  Carter had warned me not to drink, but one shot of tequila wouldn’t obliterate my supernatural powers. If anything, a splash of fire water would fuel my rage.

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll have the same.” The blonde held up her hand and the bartender came scurrying over.

  “Thanks for taking care of that, Imogen,” he gushed. “I would have eighty-sixed those bullies if you hadn’t stepped in.”

  “I’m sure you had the best intentions, Charlie.” Imogen winked at me. “But now you don’t have to admit that you don’t have the gonads to kick anyone out of this bar.”

  Charlie slunk off to fill another order. I craned my neck, searching for Carter at the other end of the bar. He sat by himself, looking lonely and dejected. I wasn’t sure if that was his act, or if he really was feeling like a loser.

  “I’m Imogen.” The blonde stuck her hand out for me to shake. Her scarlet fingernails were so long and sharp that I was afraid she might slash my palm, but I accepted the gesture anyway.

  “I’m Georgia. And I appreciate you stepping in. I thought I’d taken care of that asshole, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I saw that ice scoop clock him in the head, and I assumed you’d picked it up and thrown it at him.”

  “I did. Sort of.”

  I downed the tequila shot that Charlie poured for me. The liquor burned a warm trail down my throat. I was already feeling bolder. Wherever that succubus was, I was ready for her.

  “Can I buy you another?”

  “No, that’s okay. I can’t afford to return the favor.”

  “I insist.” Imogen pulled a wad of bills from the neckline of the black bustier she was wearing, peeled off a fifty, and summoned the bartender again. Before I knew it, I was slamming down a second shot, then a third. Charlie had left the bottle on the bar, and my new best friend was pouring generously.

  I peered down the bar again. Carter was no longer alone. A curvy redhead had her arm intertwined with his. She held a glass to his lips, and he drank obediently. Carter was probably boozing it up, too. You couldn’t hang out in a dive like this sipping sparkling water all night.

  “Men are pigs,” Imogen was saying. Had she seen me staring at Carter and the redhead, or was she simply stating a general opinion? “Especially the ones that frequent this hellhole. I like to keep an eye out for my sisters in this bar. We all need backup now and then, right?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  Speaking of backup, I wondered if Carter needed my help yet. I peeked at my phone, but there were no messages from him. I glanced at the end of the bar and saw the redhead leaning so close to Carter that her cleavage spilled across his chest. She wore a studded denim dress that clung to her body like a second skin.

  I glowered. Denim was for blue jeans and possibly jean jackets. Any other denim garment was just plain tacky. Like the kind of cheesy country song that you could only tolerate after downing a six-pack of beer.

  The redhead cupped her hand over Carter’s ear. Whatever she was inserting into that ear—dirty words, a tongue, who knew?—it was making Carter grin. He looked wolfishly handsome when he grinned like that, with those long canines of his.

  “Do you know that guy?” Imogen asked. “You keep checking him out. But he seems...busy at the moment.”

  She refilled my shot glass and I knocked back another lightning bolt of tequila. I had lost track of how many drinks I had. Carter didn’t look like he was going to need my help anytime soon. If he changed his mind and texted me, I’d be too drunk to notice or to care.

  “No. Don’t know him, and don’t want to know him.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Imogen lifted her shot glass to her lips and tipped it back. The glass was already empty.

  I realized that I hadn’t seen her take a shot since the first one she’d poured. She was feeding me drinks, but she was only pretending to keep up.

  That was odd. In that biker jacket and black bustier, Imogen seemed like the hard-drinking type. Above the curve of her right breast was a crude tattoo. A single black letter in some archaic script appeared to be embedded in her skin, almost like a brand.

  “What’s that letter stand for?” I asked. The question came out sounding like, “Whathhat letter shtand for?” The tattoo swam in front of my eyes.

  With my tequila tunnel vision, I was still able to see Carter stand up from the bar stool. His right arm cradled the redhead, who leaned into him as if he was dragging her out of a burning building.

  “Oh, shit!”

  The sight of him leaving cleared my head, at least enough to remember what I was supposed to be doing. I had been brought here to back up Carter while he played bait for the succubus. Now, he was disappearing through the door of the Abyss with a female who might be the killer we’d been waiting for.

  “What’s the matter, darling? Boyfriend running out on you?” Imogen’s mocking laugh rang in my head as I shoved my way through the crowd.

  I had almost stumbled to the exit when someone grabbed me by the hair—hard. My head jerked back. I felt a sharp, sudden pain in the back of my neck.

  “Ow!”

  I reached for the burning spot, but my arms went limp, flopping uselessly at my sides.

  The crowd around me blurred.

  The world went black.

  16

  Carter

  As soon as I led Georgia into the Abyss, I could have kicked myself for bringing her there. Barely twenty-one, she didn’t belong in a place like this. The fact that she had grown up around violence and depravity only made me feel worse. Here I was dragging her into a bar that must remind her of some of those so-called foster parents who had left her
home alone while they drank themselves into oblivion.

  Georgia’s cute nose wrinkled when she caught the smell of piss in the doorway, but she straightened her spine and entered with the grace of a princess stepping into a ballroom. Maybe it was best that she saw the reality of the world I moved in. After tonight, she’d have no illusions about what it meant to be a demon slayer.

  I hated to leave her alone at the bar. It would only take seconds for the sharks to start circling her like a baby seal. But I knew that the only way to catch the predatory succubus was to act like solitary game.

  Staring into my glass of club soda, I tried to look as pathetic as possible. It wasn’t too much of a challenge, not with my guilt over leaving Georgia weighing me down. I couldn’t even see her behind the wall of drunks that stood between her barstool and mine.

  “Don’t tell me you’re here alone for once.” A smoky purr filled my ear.

  I turned to find a stunning, if slightly road-worn, redhead standing beside me. She had one hand planted on her hip, her head tipped sideways to let her hair fall in a coppery cascade over her shoulder.

  “Hello, Twyla. Long time no see.”

  “Long time no suck, you mean.”

  Twyla caressed the side of my neck with her fingernails. Against my will, a current of desire ran through me. The vamp exuded sex. Her plump lips glistened, and her full breasts strained against the V-shaped neckline of her dress. In the dim light of the bar, you couldn’t see the wrinkles that circled her mouth. As much time as she spent drinking blood, she couldn’t help having those lines.

  In spite of her wrinkles and the papery bags under her eyes, Twyla looked pretty damn good for her age. She had never told me when she was born, but I guessed her to be at least five-hundred years old. Her face might be weathered, but her body was as firm and resilient as any thirty-year-old’s.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to buy me a drink?”