Dark Gift

by Kim Richardson

  My heart slammed into my chest. She was going to burn the grimoire!

  I stood, and a jolt of trepidation spiked through me. Backing up, I saw the same realization in the cat’s face, but then his features crinkled in fear at what he saw on my face.

  Tyrius hissed. “No! Don’t you dare! You crazy-ass woman!” he protested, his voice barely above a whisper.

  But I wasn’t listening. I had to get it. Without the grimoire, I was screwed. I couldn’t do the spells or the summoning without it. I needed it. I needed it badly.

  Heart pounding, I vaulted over a fallen tree trunk—

  A dark figure blocked my way.

  Fear slammed into me and I halted. The dark form shifted and stirred. Panic tightened my shoulders as I stared at the shadow that solidified into a man. Shafts of black fell from him to reveal an exquisite three-piece pinstriped dark suit and polished black oxford shoes. He looked like a gangster from the 1920s, complete with his dark hair slicked back and glossy. He was taller than me, probably around six-foot-three. And his eyes... god help me... they were blood red.

  A cloud of inky darkness rose all around him like a veil. A pulse hit me then, cold and undulated. A darkness like I’d never felt before. This was no werewolf. Or vampire.

  This was a demon. And a super powerful one.

  “Oh, crap,” I breathed.

  And then the demon started for me.

  15

  There was no time to think. I moved on instinct.

  Ignoring my fear, I yanked out my soul blade and shot it at the demon. The blade soared through the air toward him, straight and swift like an arrow, and he caught it in one hand as he turned to me with the attitude of a man slightly impressed.

  An impossible catch, even by the best demons.

  “What in hell?” I cursed.

  Tyrius was staring slack-jawed at the approaching form as he assessed the new threat with his fur bristling around him, making him appear twice his size.

  The demon came to a halt before us, his right hand outstretched with my soul blade, holding it by the blade, which he shouldn’t be able to do without great pain or the skin of his palm melting.

  The demon’s red eyes met mine and he smiled lazily, as if pleased that I’d tried to hurt him. There was a pop, and my soul blade burst into flames with a mixture of gold and white. He dropped my blade and in a matter of three seconds, it was nothing but a pile of ash at his feet.

  “Holy shit, Rowyn,” breathed Tyrius. From the corners of my eyes, I saw my tiny cat take a few steps back. “Do you know what he is?”

  I shrugged, pulse fast. “A bastard for destroying my soul blade.” Okay, yeah, he was a very powerful demon, a big baddie, but I was still ticked. That was my last soul blade, and I didn’t want to have to ask the angel-born for more. Especially not Jax.

  Fear was a cascade of sparkles through me, and I shuddered as I tried to stay calm. He didn’t stink like demon, the usual sulfur and rot. But maybe that was just because the overpowering smoke was affecting my senses.

  I didn’t know why a demon decided to show up like that, uninvited. But now the demon was in the way, and I was starting to get pissed. I didn’t have time for this.

  Small wrinkles formed around his playful eyes. He looked to be in his late thirties, but I knew that was just a façade. He could be a thousand years old for all I knew. Probably was. Yikes.

  Despite my anger, I squirmed as his red eyes moved from Tyrius to me.

  “Not the welcome reunion I was expecting,” said the demon as he pulled on the sleeves of his red suit, his voice sounding eloquent, well versed, and normal, totally not what I was expecting.

  “Reunion?” I laughed, feeling some courage returning to my body. “Are you smoking crack? What the hell do you want?”

  “Hell,” said the demon, a sly smile on his lips. “Interesting choice of words.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small metal box, flipping it open and plucking out a cigarette. He put it to his lips and lit it with a metal lighter. The demon puffed for a second and then dropped the lighter and metal box inside his jacket pocket.

  Moving my hands to my waist, I yanked out my hunting knife. It wasn’t a soul blade, but it was all I had. I wouldn’t go down without taking a piece out of that demon with me. I didn’t care how powerful he was.

  “I’ve been trying to get your attention for quite some time,” said the demon. His voice grew airy, almost sarcastic, and it triggered something in me.

  Damn. This was the demon. The demon that had been killing the half-breeds to get my attention. It wasn’t Degamon. It was him. Bastard.

  “It was you,” I seethed, flashes of the mutilated witch’s chest flared in my mind’s eye. I felt cold and sick at heart. The sicko had carved my name into her chest.

  “It was?” asked the demon, looking mildly entertained. He blew out rows of smoke from his nostrils. “What was?” he asked, and what looked like a laugh was quirking his lips. The demon thought this was funny? It was all I could do not to jab my knife into his eye right there and then.

  “Oh, crap,” muttered Tyrius, meeting my eyes and reading my tells. The baal demon could read my emotions easier than I could read a billboard at twenty miles an hour.

  I narrowed my eyes, taking a step forward. “You mutilated those half-breeds, you sick son of a bitch.”

  The demon frowned at that, his blood-red eyes assessing me, thinking as he took another drag of his cigarette. His eyes were too bright, too clever for my liking as they traveled over me, lingering on my neck, and I resisted the urge to put my hand there.

  “Either tell me what you want,” I said, feeling more rebellious than I should, “or get the hell out of my way.” Now that I knew who the killer was, I just needed his name and we were golden. I threw my gaze past the demon’s shoulders and saw the female werewolf still holding on to the grimoire. But I knew it was only a matter of seconds before she tossed the book into the flames.

  “You are an odd sort of female, Rowyn dear.” The demon’s blood-red eyes landed on me. He took another drag and blew more smoke. “I’m here to save you, of course.” He looked over his shoulder in a very casual gesture. “I wasn’t about to let you kill yourself for that grimoire. If you want dark spells, I can help you with that. I can give you all the dark spells you could want.”

  I looked at Tyrius, seeing the same confusion mirrored in his eyes.

  Movement caught my eye behind the demon. When I threw my gaze back at the female werewolf, she tossed the grimoire into the scorching pyre.

  “No!” I cried, watching the book engulfed in flames instantly, like a roll of toilet paper.

  Several things happened at the same time.

  I shot forward with my hunting knife angled before me, my eyes never leaving the burning grimoire.

  And the demon snapped his fingers.

  There was a hissing sound, a thump, and then my ears popped. A blast of black mist sprayed out from him. The ground shook like a soundless clap of thunder and a massive, semi-invisible barrier sprang up around us.

  A bubble, at least fifty feet wide. And I crashed head-first into it.

  It wasn’t a soft soap-like bubble or even a water-like barrier. No, it was hard. Rock hard.

  Agony seared from my head at the point of impact, and I shook, falling back on my ass as the impact reverberated through me. I clenched my teeth, whining when my entire body spasmed in pain.

  “Ow.” I sat there for a moment, stunned and also a little embarrassed. My head came up and my breath heaved. I looked at the semi-transparent bubble of black haze, seeing only shadows of the trees, the burning pyres and the werewolves. It was like staring through a glass bottle where the figures were distorted.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” I hissed. I could feel a large lump on my forehead where I’d made contact with that bubble.

  The demon looked slightly irritated. He flicked the butt of the cigarette on the ground. “Like I said,” the red-eyed demon blew a mou
thful of smoke, “if you want dark spells, I can get you a thousand dark grimoires. Just say the word, and it’s done.”

  There was no point in trying to break out of this freak-bubble. The grimoire was long gone. But now I was trapped with a red-eyed demon. A very powerful one if he could create this type of demon magic at the snap of his fingers. Who the hell was he?

  I struggled to my feet, dizzy from the blow to my head, and I took a breath, steadying myself. Tyrius had moved next to me and was examining the bubble, his eyes wide as he kept a safe distance from the black haze.

  “Brave,” intoned the demon, as he pulled another cigarette from his metal case. “But incredibly stupid. You cannot defeat that many werewolves on your own.”

  “Shove it up your ass, demon,” I barked but then lowered my voice when I realized I was shouting.

  “They can’t see or hear us,” said the demon, having noticed my alarm. “So we can continue our conversation without the risk of being discovered or overheard.”

  I took a breath to tell him to screw himself, my words going unsaid as my head seemed to want to detonate. I was pretty sure I had a concussion.

  “I won’t let you kill me or my friend,” I voiced instead. “I’ll fight you, you chain-smoking demon. Even with this puny blade.”

  “Kill you?” laughed the demon, an unlit cigarette hanging on his lips. “Now, whatever gave you that idea? Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

  “You’re a demon. You’re evil.”

  “Yes, there is a lot of misconceptions about me going around.” The demon lit his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. “Evil? I’m not evil. I just do evil things to evil people who deserve it. Entirely different.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded, studying the demon and not liking the way he was smiling at me. “I’ve never met a demon who didn’t try to kill me in the first few seconds.”

  The demon squinted at my defiance, making me even more nervous as he leaned one way and then the next, seemingly evaluating me like a painting.

  “Me?” questioned the demon finally, pointing at his chest. He met my eyes and the smile he gave me sent a chill through my soul.

  Smoke curled from the corners of his mouth as he said, “I’m your father.”

  16

  I’m your father...

  I flinched, his words chilling me. I was not expecting that. My fear was quickly replaced by anger as I gripped the hilt of my knife.

  Tyrius’s jaw dropped. “Is it me, or did he just steal Darth Vader’s line from Star Wars? Dude, you don’t mess with the classics.”

  The cunning smile on the demon’s face only ticked me off more. I didn’t have time for games. “I had a father,” I said, practically growling like an animal. “His name was William. And he’s dead, no thanks to your kind.”

  “Our kind,” corrected the demon, making me scowl. He watched me for a long moment, holding his cigarette between his fingers. “The angel-born male raised you, yes,” said the demon. “You even have some of his DNA, some of his traits, but the rest is all me.”

  Oh. Hell.

  I swallowed hard. Twice. “You’re... you’re the...the archdemon...”

  The archdemon grinned. “You can call me Daddy.”

  “I don’t think so.” I thought I was about to puke. No, I was going to puke. My mind whirled. Archdemon. The most powerful demons in the Netherworld. Once archangels, but now the fallen, and the darkness in the light.

  “Rowyn,” came Tyrius’s voice, though I wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you knew about this?” The accusation in his tone cut me like my own hunting knife. When I finally looked at him, his eyes were creased in anger. Damn. If I lived through the night, Tyrius was going to kill me.

  My insides twisted. I hadn’t told Tyrius about the archdemon blood in me. Part of me was really freaked out, and the other part was hoping Lisbeth had lied. It wouldn’t be the first time that manipulative old bat screwed with my head.

  But if what this archdemon said was true—apparently not.

  “When did you find out?” asked Tyrius, his voice sour as he sat on the ground between me and the archdemon, looking positively pissed.

  My eyes met the cat’s. I didn’t want to have this conversation right now. Especially with an audience of the demon kind.

  “Lisbeth told me,” I said, shifting from foot to foot, both my head and heart pounding. “Just before Sylph Tower came down.”

  Irritation crossed the cat’s face. “And you didn’t think to share this bit of information?”

  I shook my head, feeling like an asshole. “I didn’t think it was true.” I had prayed that it wasn’t.

  “Oh, it’s true,” said the archdemon, showing off his perfectly straight teeth. “I agreed to give my blood to that old angel-born once I heard of her plans to make a more powerful race of angel-born.” The archdemon took a long drag of his cigarette. “But you’re not truly an angel-born,” he continued, his words mixed with coils of gray smoke. “You never were.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I mumbled, wanting to go home to get drunk on wine and binge-watch a series on Netflix. “Why would you agree to something like that? Angel-borns kill demons.”

  The archdemon’s lips quirked. “I have no reason to lie. I gave my blood willingly. But she wasn’t creating angel-borns, now, was she? She had me believe she wanted to remove the angels’ claim on her kind. She was tired of having to abide by their rules, tolerate their government.” He brought the cigarette to his lips. “Angels love their slaves.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest but kept my hunting knife in my hand. “Weren’t you an archangel before you were shunned? Cast out of Horizon?”

  “I was,” said the archdemon, a mix of resolve and irritation on his face. He was silent for a long while, blowing smoke from his nose. “Lisbeth is an impressive liar and trickster,” he said. A small, devious smile showed on his face. “But you can’t trick a trickster. Me. An immortal. The God of all tricksters. I knew what she was doing. Yes, my essence would make you powerful, more powerful than any other angel-born,” he drawled, “but it’s so much more than that.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, or the way the archdemon’s eyes were wide with wonder and admiration. A pang hit me, making it hard to breathe. Was I truly looking at my father? This was so messed up.

  Tyrius cleared his throat. “This is the lamest family reunion I’ve yet to attend. So what the hell do you want with Rowyn?”

  The archdemon moved his eyes from Tyrius and settled them on me, his expression thoughtful. “A father protects his children. And he wants to give them his very best,” he added with a drag on his cigarette.

  “Really?” I mocked. I shifted my weight. My feet hurt. I wanted to take off my boots and walk back barefoot. But first, I had to get rid of this crazy, chain-smoking archdemon who supposedly thought he was my dad. “If that’s true, why didn’t you save the other three? If we are truly your offspring, why didn’t you stop Degamon from killing Samantha, Karen and Cindy?”

  The archdemon flicked another cigarette butt on the ground, making me a lot more worried and causing my anger to resurface. “The truth?” he said, as he clamped his metal case shut. “I simply didn’t know.” He lit another cigarette. “I’m a very busy demon. I have an empire to rule. Mundane issues like mortal children do slip my mind from time to time. I had no idea you were being hunted. And by the time I was made aware of your existence—because it’s plausible you might not even have been born—three of you had been killed and you had slain Vedriel.” He flashed me his pearly whites and leaned forward. “Very good work, by the way. He was my least favorite brother.”

  “Damn,” cursed Tyrius. “And I thought my family was dysfunctional.”

  The archdemon raised his eyebrows, but his eyes never left mine. “Technically, you killed your uncle.”

  I rubbed my temples, feeling this chaotic mess turning into a chaotic migraine. “What’s you
r real name?” Please don’t say Lucifer. Please don’t say Lucifer.

  “Not Lucifer, eh?” said the archdemon reading my mind.

  “Don’t,” I exclaimed, feeling a little violated. “Reading people’s minds is creepy.”

  The archdemon straightened, reminding me just how tall he was. “I’d much prefer you call me Daddy—”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Fine,” the archdemon sighed, flicking some ashes from his cigarette. “You can call me Lucian.”

  Thank God. He wasn’t Lucifer.

  “Lucifer is my younger brother,” said Lucian, grinning, holding his cigarette with his thumb and index finger, and looking like a mobster from hell—literally.

  Crap. If he was older than Lucifer, what did that make him? More powerful? More evil? At least we were getting somewhere. “What do you want from me, Lucian?”

  Lucian was silent, as though he was waiting to get my full attention. He tapped his cigarette with his thumb and said, “I’m here to offer you a gift.”

  Tyrius snorted and Lucian shot him an irritated glance.

  “A gift?” I asked, trying to get his attention off my cat. “Like those poor bastards you left strung up dead? No thanks.” When the archdemon did nothing but stare at me curiously like I was the first mortal he’d ever seen, I asked, “What kind of gift?”

  The archdemon’s face turned serious. “A father can give his only daughter a gift. Can’t he? And this gift is unlike anything you’ve ever received.”

  “What kind of gift?” I asked again.

  Lucian’s red eyes widened, his expression empty of emotion. He took another drag of his cigarette and said, “A gift of power.”

  I stifled a shiver, trying to disguise it by shifting my weight. I looked at Tyrius who was scowling at the archdemon like he wanted to scratch out those red eyes.

  “I know angels put a bounty on your head,” said Lucian and I moved my gaze over to him. “The angels, the archangels, the Legion—they all want you dead.” He took a breath, though I wasn’t so sure he needed to. “I want you to live.”