by Sarah Piper
Demon Sworn
Copyright © 2018 by Sarah Piper
SarahPiperBooks.com
All rights reserved. With the exception of brief quotations used for promotional or review purposes, no part of this book may be recorded, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, organizations, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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Contents
About Demon Sworn
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Origins of The Witch’s Rebels
About Sarah Piper
About Demon Sworn
Bloodthirsty demons. Deadly, ever-shifting hellscapes. Brutal psychological torments. And that’s just day one.
When I ripped out my enemy’s soul and banished him to the Shadowrealm, I knew I’d condemned myself to the same fate, cursing my soul to eternal imprisonment while my body rotted away on earth.
No one ever said anything about my body coming along for the ride. Physical manifestation? It’s supposed to be impossible in the Shadowrealm.
So is escaping.
But I’ve never been one to comply with the natural order, and I’m not about to start now. Not when Asher and the witches are still trapped. Not when Emilio is making dangerous enemies in Raven’s Cape. And not when Jonathan is still hunting me, both of us battling for survival in this inhospitable realm.
Determined to help break me out, Ronan and Darius enlist the help of an unlikely ally and quickly track me down. But despite our seductive reunion, we all know that deals with the devil rarely come without consequences.
Especially when that devil already owns Ronan’s soul… And holds the contract to mine.
One
Asher
Fucking hell. What have you done to me, Cupcake?
I could still taste her on my lips. Still feel the silk of her hair between my fingers. Still smell the raw, earthy scent of her desire as she lost control at my touch.
My cock stiffened at the very recent memory; my heart was still hammering from the state she’d left me in.
But when I stared down at the ground outside my cell where she should’ve been lying, there was only cold, damp rock.
She’d attacked Jonathan. Sucked out his rotten soul. I kept waiting to see the iridescent bubble of her magical shield, but it never materialized.
In the blink of an eye, they’d both just… vanished.
If it wasn’t for his blood staining the ground, I might’ve thought I’d imagined the whole damn thing.
Had Gray known it’d go down like that? I knew she felt responsible for Jonathan, that she had to deal with him on her own terms. But where the fuck had she taken him? What was her end game?
“A little warning would’ve been nice, Cupcake.”
Shaking off the last of my shock, I pushed myself out of the chair and got to my feet. The room tipped, then righted, but this time it wasn’t because of the damn devil’s trap nano-whatevers that psycho hunter had injected me with. Gray’s power had neutralized them, replenishing my own power in spades. Raw energy coursed through me. I felt stronger and more alive than I’d felt in ages, all of my senses magnified.
My blood was absolutely humming with her magic.
It felt… fucking amazing.
As soon as you’re back, Cupcake, I’m going to return the favor… times a thousand.
I was just trying to figure out my game plan for finding the other witches in this dank-ass prison when I picked up on sounds in the corridor—heavy footsteps and conversation.
“…stringing along the little piss-ant for another week,” one guy was saying. “Two, tops.”
“You’re assuming he doesn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve,” another dude replied. “Far as I’m concerned, the sooner the old man takes control, the better.”
The footsteps stopped, and I heard the click of a lighter, followed by the unmistakable crackle of a cigarette being sucked to life.
In a rough voice, dude number one said, “Kid’s a fuck-up, Shears. Always has been. Smoke?”
“Fuck no. That shit’ll kill you faster than vamp blood.”
“Suit yourself.” Smokey Joe took another drag, then said, “Don’t hold your breath waiting on the old man. He talks a good game, but he won’t make a move as long as Jonathan’s alive. Can’t risk the kid fucking things up with Orendiel.”
Orendiel? The only asshole I’d ever heard of with a dickhead name like that was a fae soldier I’d met about fifty years back. From what I remembered, he was trying to work his way up the ranks in one of the dark courts, but he’d accidentally killed some prick royal heir and started a war instead.
Seemed to me those fuckers were always fighting, anyway.
Could it be the same guy was now working with this shitshow?
“You seen him lately?” Shears asked. “Kid’s going downhill fast.”
“So?” Smokey Joe laughed. “Last time I checked, he was still breathing.”
“We’ll see.” Shears waited a beat, then said, “Where is that little fuckstain, anyway?”
“Should be down in B-block. He went to deal with the witch and her demon pet.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? That was an hour ago!” Shears groaned. “Come on, we’d better check it out. Sounds like he needs some adult supervision.”
Smokey Joe laughed. “Maybe the witch needs some adult supervision. Preferably in the form of a spanking.”
Shears laughed.
“Think she likes it rough?” Smokey’s footsteps started up again, and I tried to hold myself back from leaping out of the cell and beating both their asses.
“You can’t fuck a witch,” Shears said, jogging to catch up. “She’ll turn your dick into a toad. You’ll croak every time you come.”
They both cracked up at that.
“As long as I’m inside that tight little ass,” Smokey Joe said, “I don’t give a fuck what it sounds like when I come.”
The power humming through my blood turned to rage, heating me from the inside, making me shake all over again.
Laugh it up, motherfuckers. I’m going to kill you in the bloodiest way possible.
They were getting close. A quick scan of the cell I’d been trapp
ed in revealed nothing useful—Jonathan had been careful not to leave any weapons or sharp tools around. I could take a chance and try to hit one of them with the chair, but that would leave me too exposed to the other guy, especially if they were packing weapons.
With no easy escape route, I dropped back into the chair and slumped forward. They were expecting a weak, impotent demon held captive by a devil’s trap injected right into my bloodstream.
So that’s what they were gonna get.
For a minute, anyway.
Smokey Joe arrived first. Dude was built like a tank, complete with a square head set off by a square buzz cut. A brutal scar curled around his neck, and his biceps were covered in tribal tattoos I was pretty sure he didn’t know the meaning of.
His inner forearm was branded with some kind of symbol. Celtic, maybe?
He took one look at the open gate and me slumped in the chair, and said, “Why the fuck is this open?”
I said nothing.
“Speak, hellspawn,” he barked.
I lifted my head, barely meeting his eyes. “Jon… Jonathan,” I panted. “Tormenting me.”
Shears appeared behind Smokey. He was about my size, with the same tattoos and Celtic brand as his partner. Both men were human, mid-forties, dressed in nondescript black T-shirts, camouflage pants, and boots.
Their pockets bulged, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t because they were happy to see me. They were packing, geared up like some kind of cave militia.
“Why the fuck would Jonathan give you a chance to escape?” Shears asked.
“Can’t escape,” I said, lowering my voice as though it was costing me a lot of energy to speak. “Can’t move. He… torments.”
Smokey Joe laughed, his lungs wheezing. “Gotta hand it to the little fucker. He makes torture an art form.”
The men entered the cell, daring to step closer.
“So where is he?” Shears asked me.
“Fuck Jonathan.” Smokey Joe grabbed his cock and laughed. “I wanna know where that little cunt witch is at.”
“Fuck… you,” I panted. Even a weak, impotent demon like me couldn’t let him get away with that kind of talk.
Shears grinned, pulling a baton from a metal loop on the back of his belt. It looked like a police baton, but it was carved in runes and symbols.
Another devil’s trap.
“I say we smoke him,” Shears said, touching the baton to my shoulder. I flinched for show, but I didn’t feel a damn thing.
Gray’s magic seemed to have immunized me from those symbols.
How is this even possible?
“Ease off, Shears.” Smokey fished a pack of Camels from one of his many pockets and shook out a smoke. He cupped his hands around the lighter to light it, even though there wasn’t any wind in here, and sucked in a deep drag. “Where is he, demon?”
Smoke clouded my eyes. I forced out a cough. “I said, fuck—”
He cracked my jaw with a right hook, damn near dislocating it. I heard the bone pop, but barely felt the pain. The bone was already sliding back into place.
It hadn’t even had time to swell up.
That was the power of Gray’s magic.
Thank you, Cupcake.
“Top… topside,” I moaned, slurring my speech a little. “Something about more… more witches.”
“What witches?” Shears asked. “Where?”
I didn’t respond. I needed them riled up and distracted. The more rage that blinded them, the sloppier they’d become.
Right on cue, Shears kicked the chair out from under me, sending me sprawling on the floor.
He was definitely the bad cop in their operation.
I moaned and groaned, then braced for the kick in the ribs I knew would come next.
The force of it cracked my sternum.
Damn, these assholes are predictable.
“Please,” I begged. “I’ll tell you whatever… Just… make it stop.” I gasped for air, but my ribs were already healed.
Short of beheading, it seemed there wasn’t much they could do to hurt me.
Smokey knelt down in front of me, blowing a plume of smoke in my face. “Tell us everything you know.”
“He… he was talking to Gray about a… a coven. In town somewhere.”
“And the witch?” Smokey asked.
“Took her as… bait. A way in with the other witches. Surprise attack.”
“What else?”
I pressed my advantage, recalling their earlier conversation about “the old man” who was supposed to take over for Jonathan. “Something about… finding his own way. Secret experiments. Didn’t want the old man to know.”
“Shit.” Smokey Joe glanced up at Shears, and I knew I’d hit the mark. “Get Duke on the line.”
Shears removed a device from another pocket—some kind of souped-up cell phone—and made the call.
“The kid is AWOL,” he said to Duke. “Topside, we think. Some kind of coven. Yeah, send someone to investigate.”
He glanced at Smokey while Duke responded, then said, “What do you want them to do when they find him?”
Smokey didn’t hesitate. “End it.”
“You heard the man,” Shears said, then disconnected the call. Kicking me again for old time’s sake, he said, “So, we smoking this motherfucker or what?”
Smokey Joe got to his feet and shook his head. “The old man wants all prisoners kept alive.”
Shears shrugged. “Fair enough.”
He wound up once again, and I prepared to make out with the business end of his boot.
The douchebag didn’t disappoint.
Smokey Joe flicked his spent butt at my face. “Thank you for your cooperation, hellspawn. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again real soon.”
Count on it, dickless.
I waited until the two of them turned their backs.
Then I leaped to my feet and charged.
I took Smokey Joe first, grabbing his head and twisting it around until his neck snapped. He dropped like a sack of bricks, and then I was on Shears.
He was no match for my strength. I wrestled him down and bashed his head against the ground.
“And for the record,” I said, “those are some bullshit tattoos.”
After a brief recon down the corridor to make sure no one else was in the vicinity, I returned to the cell and searched the guards, removing the devil’s trap baton, Smokey’s lighter, a pair of high-tech stun guns, four knives, a flashlight, and a fat wallet full of what looked like black credit cards without numbers or names.
I also took the comms devices—souped-up phones, just as I’d suspected. They worked underground, and also contained GPS trackers and maps of the entire cave system.
Since Shears and I were similar in size, I stripped off his clothes and quickly changed into them, especially grateful for the steel-toed boots.
Yeah, the ol’ switcheroo was probably the oldest trick in the book, but there was a reason it was such a classic move: It usually worked.
Plus, I looked damn good in camo.
Locked and loaded with my new gear, I grinned at the men slumped at my feet. “Thank you for your cooperation, assholes.”
Then I lit the bodies on fire and headed out in search of the witches of Blackmoon Bay.
Two
Gray
Fire, ash, and blood.
It was all I could see, all I could smell, and—no matter how hard I tried to spit it out—all I could taste. My throat burned as I panted and gasped my way across a barren, rocky terrain in search of water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had any.
How long had I been wandering this forsaken place? Days? Weeks?
I was exhausted, my body little more than a collection of bruises and bloody gashes that throbbed painfully with every beat of my heart. I had no shoes. It hurt to walk. To breathe. To exist. And the magic I’d worked so hard to unlock with my book of shadows ritual had all but fizzled out. Tapping into it now felt like trying to
start a campfire in the rain. A spark, then a fizzle. A puff of smoke that quickly disappeared.
The possibility that my magic was permanently spent was frightening enough. But if I didn’t find water soon, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have to worry about magic—or anything else, for that matter.
Where the hell am I?
I reached the top of a jagged black ridge and sat down to catch my breath, scanning the horizon. Acrid smoke roiled in the distance. With every painful breath, it singed my lungs and brought tears to my eyes. The wind kicked up, and a storm of ash swirled around me like snow, falling endlessly from a sky so black I wondered if I’d been swallowed by some great, terrible beast.
I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and waited for the wind to die down again.
One thing I’d learned about this place: the fires were a constant.
So was the thirst.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, trying to chase down a memory—a clue—but nothing came. The last thing I remembered clearly was being at the safe house. Falling asleep on the couch, curled up in Asher’s arms…
Asher…
I gasped as a sliver of memory peeked through the fog. It was no more than a flash—a whisper of warm breath ghosting across my neck, rough hands running up my back, a kiss that tasted like cinnamon—and then it was gone.
Damn. The memories were so close to the surface, but the harder I chased them, the faster they ran.
