by Nora Roberts
But first, there was the hunt.
By the time he pulled himself onto the bank and put on his jeans, she was strapping on her sword. He didn’t bother to think, just went with the moment. And tackled her.
She let out a surprised little grunt and studied his face with some approval. “I misjudged. You do have speed.”
“Yeah, right, it’ll help on the hunt. But right now . . .”
He lowered his head, all but tasting that beautiful mouth. And once more he went flying. But this time it was through the portal. The blast of light, and sharp, shocking pain.
He landed hard, with Kadra once more on top, on his kitchen floor. “Damn it!” He banged his head sharply on the base cabinet, felt the unmistakable shape of his gun dig into his bare back. “Give me some warning next time. A damn signal or something.”
“You have your mind too much on sporting.” She gave his shoulder a pat, then levered off him. Sniffed the air. “We will have more coffee, and plan the hunt.”
“Okay, Sheena, let’s reevaluate,” he said as he got up.
“I am Kadra—”
“Shut up.” He slapped the gun down on the kitchen counter while her mouth dropped open.
“You would speak so to a slayer?”
“Yeah, I’d speak so to anybody who busts uninvited into my house and keeps giving me orders. You want my help, you want my cooperation? Then you can just stop telling me what to do and start asking.”
She was silent for a moment. She had a ready temper, something even her intense training hadn’t completely tamed. To lose it now, she told herself, would be gratifying, but a sinful waste of time. Instead, she measured Harper, then nodded with sudden understanding. “Ah. You’re talking with your man-thing. This is a common ailment in my world as well.”
“This isn’t my dick talking.” Or at least, he’d be damned if he’d admit it. “I want answers. The way I see it, you’re looking to hire me. That’s fine. You want me to help you track down these . . . things. That’s what I do. I find things, solve problems. That’s my job. I work my way. Let’s get that part straight.”
“You are a seeker, and you require payment. Very well.” Though she thought less of him for it, she wouldn’t begrudge him his fee. “Come with me.” She started out, turned when she saw him standing firm. “If you will,” she added.
“Better,” he muttered, and followed her into the bedroom, where she scooped up the leather pouch she’d tossed on the bed earlier.
“Is this enough?”
He caught the bag when she flipped it to him. Curious, he opened it. And poured a storm of gems onto the bed. “Holy Mother of God!”
“I am told these have value here. Is this so?” Intrigued, she stepped over to poke a finger into the pool of diamonds, rubies, emeralds. “They are common stones in my world. Pretty,” she admitted. “Attractive for adornments. Will they satisfy your needs?”
“Satisfy my needs,” he grumbled. “Yeah, they’re pretty satisfactory.”
He could retire. Move to Tahiti and live like a king. Hell, he could buy Tahiti and live like a god. For one outrageous moment, he saw himself living in a white palace by the crystal blue water, surrounded by gorgeous, scantily clad women eager to do his bidding. Drinking champagne by the gallons. Frolicking on white sand beaches with those same women—not clad at all now.
Master of all he surveyed.
Then his conscience kicked in, a small annoyance he’d never been able to shake. On the heels of conscience nipped the lowering admission that the fantasy he’d just outlined would bore him brainless in a week.
He picked a single diamond, comforting himself that it was worth more than he would earn in a decade.
“This’ll cover it.”
“That is all you require?”
“Put the rest away, before I change my mind.” For lack of a better option, he stuffed the stone into his pocket. “Now, we’re going to sit down. You’re going to explain this whole demon deal to me, and I’ll figure out our first move.”
“They are out in your world. We have to hunt.”
“My world,” Harper agreed. “My turf. I don’t go after anything until I know the score.” He walked to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a T-shirt. “Normally I don’t meet clients at home,” he said as he pulled the shirt on. “But we’ll make an exception. Living room.” He headed out, took a legal pad from a desk drawer, then plopped down on the sofa.
However fantastic the client, however strange the case, he was going to approach it as he would any other. He made a few notes, then jerked his chin at a chair when she continued to stand. “Sit down. Bok demon, right? Is that B-O-K? Never mind. How many?”
“They were four. Sorak, demon king, and three warriors.”
“Description?”
She sprawled in a chair, all legs and attitude. He looked more scholar than warrior now, working with his odd scroll and quill. Though she had never found scholar appealing before, this aspect of him was attractive to her as well.
He has brains as well as muscle, she thought. Intellect as well as brawn.
“Description,” Harper repeated. “What do they look like?”
“They are deceptively human in appearance, and so often walk among people without detection. They are handsome, as you are. Though you have eyes blue as the marsh bell, and your hair is cropped short. Those who are foolish enough to be influenced by such things as beauty are easy victims.”
“We’ve established that you’re nobody’s victim, baby. Be more specific.”
She huffed. “They have good height, like you, but their build is less. It is more . . . slender. Hair and eyes are dark, black as a dead moon except in feeding or in attack, where they glow red.”
“Glowing red eyes,” he noted. “I’d say that’s a fairly distinguishing mark.”
“Sorak’s hair curls.” She demonstrated by waving a finger. “And is well groomed. He is vain.”
“They outfitted like you?”
It took her a moment, then she glanced down at her hunting clothes. “No. They wear a kind of armor, black again, close to the body, and over this Sorak wears the tunic and cloak of his rank.”
“Even in New York, body armor and tunics should stand out. Maybe there’s something on the news.” He picked up the remote and flipped on the television.
Kadra leaped up as if he’d set her chair on fire. Even before her feet were planted, her sword was out, raised high above her head in preparation for a downward thrust.
“Hold it, hold it, hold it!” He jumped and, as he might have done to save a beloved child, threw himself between the blade and his TV. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you did to the bathroom sink, but put one scratch on my TV and you’re going down.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, and her muscles quivered. “What is this sorcery?”
“It’s not magic, it’s ESPN.” He hissed out a breath, then moved in to clamp his hands over hers on the hilt of the sword. She tipped her head back so their eyes, their mouths, lined up.
“It’s television, which is arguably the national religion of my country. An entertainment device,” he said more calmly. “A kind of communication. We have programs—ah, like plays, I guess, that tell us what’s happening in the world, even when it’s happening far away.”
She drew a breath, slowly lowered the sword while she stared at the picture box where the machines called cars ran swiftly around a circle. “How is this done?”
“Something about airwaves, transmissions, cameras, stuff. Hell, I don’t know. You turn the thing on, pick a channel. This is a race. You get that?”
“Yes, a contest of speed. I have won many races.”
“With those legs, baby, I’ll just bet you have. Okay, I’m turning on the news now so we can see if there are any reports on your demons. So relax.”
“How can you use a thing when you have no knowledge of its workings?”
“Same way I can use a computer. And don’t ask. I th
ought you said you knew about this world.”
“I was given knowledge, but I cannot learn it all at once.” It embarrassed her not to know, so she went back to sprawling in the chair, giving the television quick, suspicious glances.
“All right, we’ll take it in stages. Just don’t attack any more of my household appliances.” He sat again, flipped the channel to the all-news station, then picked up his pad. “Back to your demons. Distinguishing marks? You know, like two heads, for instance?”
Feeling foolish, she sulked. He had nearly slain a spider with the weapon known as gun, but she had not made him feel loose in the brain. “They are Bok, not Loki.”
“What makes them stand out? How do you recognize them?” Even as she threw up her hands, he tapped his pencil. “And don’t say they are Bok. Draw me a picture.”
Taking him literally, she reared up, snatched the pencil and pad. In fast, surprisingly deft strokes, she sketched a figure of a man with long, curled hair, a strong, rawboned face and large, dark eyes.
“That’s good. But it’s going to be tough to pick him out of the millions of other tall, slim, dark-haired guys in New York. Doesn’t shout out demon to me. How do you recognize them—as a species, let’s say.”
“A slayer is born for this. But others might do so by their stench. They have a scent.” She struggled for a moment in her attempt to describe it. “Between the ripe and the rot. You would not mistake it.”
“Okay, they stink. Now we’re getting somewhere. Anything else?”
“Teeth. Two rows, long, thin, sharp. Claws, which they show or conceal at will. Thick, blue, curved like talons. And when they are wounded, their blood is green. Now we hunt.”
“Just settle down,” he said mildly. He listened to the news reports with half an ear. The usual mayhem and gossip, but no frantic bulletins about man-eating demons on the loose in New York.
“Why are they here?” he asked her. “Why leave one world for another?”
“Sorak is greedy, and his hunger is great. For flesh, but also for power. There are more of you in this place than on our world. And you are unaware. They can move among you without fear of the slayer. They will feed, gluttonously. First on animals, for quick strength, then on humans. Those that he and his warriors do not consume, he will change so he can build a vast army. They will overtake the world you know and make it theirs.”
“Whoa, back up. Change? What do you mean by change?”
“He will turn selected humans into demons, into slaves and warriors and concubines.”
“You’re telling me he can make people into things? Like, what, vampires?”
“I do not know this word. Explain.”
“Never mind.” Harper pushed himself to his feet to pace. For reasons he couldn’t explain, the idea of having human beings turned into monsters was more disturbing than having them served up as demon meals. “How do they do it? How are people changed?”
“The Demon Kiss. Mouth against mouth. Tongue, teeth, lips. A bite, to draw blood, to mix it. Then the demon draws in the human essence, breathes his own into his prey. They are changed, and are compelled to hunt, to feed. They remember nothing of their humanity. This is worse than death.”
“Yeah.” The thought sickened him. “Yeah, it’s worse. No way this son of a bitch is going to turn my town into his personal breeding ground.” When he faced her, his face was set, and the warrior gleam in his eye gave Kadra her first real hope. “Animals, you said. Cats, dogs, what?”
“These are pets.” She closed her eyes and searched the knowledge. “Such small prey would not please them. This would do only if the hunger was impossible. They prefer the flesh of the unicorn above all.”
“Unicorns don’t spend a lot of time grazing in New York. Horses?”
“Yes, horses, cows, goats. But there are no farms, you said. In the wild, they feed often on the lion or the ape.”
“Lions, tigers, and bears? The zoo. We’ll start there. As soon as we figure out how to outfit you so you blend in a little better with the general population.”
Frowning, she looked down at herself. “I don’t resemble the other females in your world?”
He scanned the breasts barely constrained by black leather, the long, lean torso, the swatch of leather over curvy hips. And those endless legs encased in boots. Not to mention a two-and-a-half-foot sword.
“I couldn’t begin to tell you. Let’s see what I can put together.”
When she came out of his bedroom fifteen minutes later, he decided she did more to sell a pair of Levi’s than a million-dollar ad campaign. And the old denim shirt had never looked better.
“Baby, you are a picture.”
She studied herself in his mirror, and agreed. “It is tolerable hunting gear.” Testing it, she executed several quick deep-knee bends that had Harper’s blood pressure rising. “It will do.” So saying, she picked up her sword.
“You can’t walk around outside with that thing.”
She glanced up, smirked. “So, do I slay demons with bad thoughts?”
“Aha, sarcasm. I like it. I’ve got something. Hold on.” He went to the closet, shoved through it and came out with a long black coat. “A little warm for May, but we can’t be picky.”
“Why do people in your world cover up so much flesh?”
“I ask myself that question every day.” He took another long look at her. Maybe, just maybe, if he’d been able to design his own ideal woman, he’d have come close to the reality of her. “You going to wear the little crown?”
Her hand went to the gold on top of her head. “This is the circle of my rank.”
“You want to blend in?” He lifted the circlet off, set it aside. “Put on the coat and let’s see.”
Scowling, she dragged the coat on, turned to him. “You’re still going to turn heads and star in a lot of male fantasies tonight, but you’ll do.”
Satisfied, he pulled on a battered bomber jacket, hitched it over his gun.
“I want one.”
He noted her look at his Glock. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t have one to spare.” He slid on sunglasses, grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.”
“Why do you cover your eyes?”
“Styling, baby. I’ve got a pair for you in my car.” He stopped at the elevator, pushed the Down button. “Try not to talk to anybody. If we have to have a conversation, let me handle it.”
She started to object, but the wall opened. “A portal? Where does it lead?”
“It’s an elevator. It goes up, it goes down. A kind of transportation.”
“A box,” she nodded as she stepped in with him. “That moves.” Her grin spread when she felt the shift. “This is clever. Your world is very interesting.”
The doors opened on three, and a woman and small boy got on.
“The elevator,” Kadra said politely. “Goes up and goes down.”
The woman slid an arm around the boy and drew him close to her side.
“Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” Harper hissed when they reached the lobby and the woman hustled her son away.
“I spoke with good manners, and made no threat to her or her young.”
“Just stick close,” he ordered, and took her hand firmly in his.
When they stepped outside, he thought it was a good thing he had a grip on her. She froze in place, her head swiveling right and left. “What a world this is,” she breathed. “Blue sky, great huts, so many people. So many scents. There.” She pointed to a sidewalk vendor. “This is food.”
“Later.” He pulled her along the sidewalk. “My car’s in a garage a couple blocks over.”
“The ground is made of stone.”
He had to jerk her up when she bent over to tap a fist on the sidewalk. “Concrete. Men make it and pour it over the ground.”
“Why? Is the ground poisonous?”
“No. It’s just easier.”
“How can it be easier? The ground was already there.” She
