Demon War: Shadowguard Academy Book 4

by Samantha Britt

  Demon War

  Shadowguard Academy Book 4

  Samantha Britt

  Demon War © 2020 by Samantha Britt

  ASIN: B085PRF2GY

  Cover Design by Book Covers Artistry

  Copyright notice:

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Samantha Britt

  Chapter One

  Heat, heavy and oppressive, pushes against my cheeks. I should lean away from the flames, but they dance in the massive fireplace, holding my eyes captive while thoughts consume me.

  It’s been weeks since that fateful day in that warehouse when I watched my father’s lifeblood destroy the block placed on my magic—weeks since I opened the gates of Hell. And there isn’t a moment I’m awake when I’m not haunted by the memories.

  I shiver despite the room’s warmth. January is bitterly cold, but the safe house does a decent job of shielding me from the winter elements. If only it could shield me from the horrors in my mind.

  “Is your plan to burn off your eyebrows? If so, I think you need to lean just a tiny bit closer to the fire.”

  I blink slowly. Seconds pass before I tear my eyes away from the fire.

  Belial stands in the den’s doorway. He looks casual in a pair of dark jeans and a gray t-shirt, nothing like the stoic and formal original demon I’d first met. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed, trying to appear relaxed, but I see the lines pulling the corners of his eyes. They’ve become a permanent feature on the demon’s attractive face.

  “You’re back early.” Most days, I don’t see Belial until the evening. He spends the majority of his time with Victor Bloodbane, one of the leaders of the lesser demon alliance—the group responsible for saving my life.

  “I am.” He remains where he is, eyeing me with obvious concern. “And I see you still prefer to spend your days alone in this den.”

  I shrug. “It’s warm.”

  “Indeed.” He pushes away from the door and crosses the room, sitting on the leather sofa in front of me. I turn my attention back to the flames, preferring their quiet movement to Belial’s silent scrutiny. He doesn’t know what to make of my behavior. I can’t blame him. I don’t know what to make of it either.

  Morose thoughts have turned me into a shell of myself. It takes all my strength not to drown in the emotions they elicit.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  My gaze flickers back to him. “Yes, Olina made sure of it.” The petite mundane demon had threatened to shovel the beef stew down my throat until I took the spoon and started eating on my own.

  Tension seeps from his shoulders. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  I don’t respond. I have nothing to say. I look back at the flames.

  “Have you spoken with your friends today?” A hint of hopefulness accompanies the question.

  “No.”

  “What about your family?” Belial pushes. “Lex?”

  “No,” I repeat with a frown. Just thinking about speaking with Lex or Cortney, or anyone for that matter, fills me with dread.

  When I’d first regained consciousness after my near-death experience, I’d been overwhelmed with relief. I’d even went so far as to seek comfort from Belial, the original demon whose interest in me brought Azazel’s attention to me in the first place. I let myself feel content even though my father had just been murdered before my eyes. I took solace in an original demon’s arms when my blood had opened the gates of Hell and unleashed Beelzebub into the world.

  And that moment of weakness kills me.

  But there is no way I’ll willingly admit any of that to my friends or family. I don’t care what anyone says, this mess is all my fault. And until I can find a way to make it right, I refuse to let myself feel comforted ever again. Especially by the original demon whose mere presence threatens to wrap me in a cocoon of protection, guaranteeing my happiness.

  I don’t want to feel safe and happy.

  I don’t deserve it.

  Not after what I’ve done.

  Belial, unaware of my self-deprecating thoughts, stares at his hands. “There will be a meeting tonight. Here.”

  He’s piqued my interest. That’s hard to do nowadays.

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “A strategy meeting. Our allies will be attending.”

  By allies, I assume he means Victor, his coven, and Gage with his fellow lycans, but I’m not sure if other lesser demons will attend. I haven’t heard anything from my grandfather since that fateful evening, so there’s no knowing if the warlock and his clan still consider themselves part of the alliance. Not after I killed one of their own.

  “Fabian and several members of the Blackstone clan will be attending as well,” Belial confirms as if reading my mind. Heck, he probably is. But I don’t have it in me to feel upset about it. Like I said, I’m a shell of a person.

  A pregnant silence settles as Belial waits for my response.

  I simply nod.

  He releases a pent-up sigh, and I feel the force of his gaze on my cheeks. “What can I do, Aspen? Tell me how to help you.” He sounds so forlorn—so defeated.

  “I don’t need help.” I need a time machine. I need to go back and save my father’s life and stop Azazel from opening Hell.

  “You can’t continue like this.” Belial shakes his head. “You’re wasting away.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Am I?” Anger creeps into his tone. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?

  “Wait. Let me answer that for you,” he continues without giving me a chance to respond. “It’s obvious you haven’t. Olina has reported on your lack of self-care and morose state. I wanted to give you time and space to process your emotions, but now I see you aren’t bothering to try and heal your mind. You are determined to wallow, and I am done indulging you.”

  His vehemence startles me. Enough to draw my attention away from the fire.

  The original demon’s purple eyes glow bright. Worry, mixed with exasperation, hit me with full force.

  I blink. “What do you want me to do, Belial?”

  Emotion thickens his voice. “Anything. I want you to do anything, little mountain.”

  I shake my he
ad. I consider calling him out on the lie. There’s a reason he picked today as the day to confront me about my behavior.

  But I don’t have the energy to care.

  I climb to my feet.

  Belial does the same. “Where are you going?”

  “My room.” My borrowed room isn’t as spacious as the one at Belial’s mansion, but it’s still larger than my bedroom at the Van der Klay house. But it wouldn’t matter if the room was tiny. It affords me privacy to “wallow”, and that’s all I want right now.

  I take a step toward the door.

  Belial shifts to block my path.

  I stare at the spot where his sternum hides under his shirt. “Please move.”

  “I’ll move once you talk to me.”

  “I’ve been talking to you.”

  “Tell me what I can do, Aspen. We can’t go on like this. The lesser demons need you.”

  Frowning, I lift my gaze. “What do you mean?”

  A flicker of relief crosses his face, but he quickly masks it. “The meeting tonight,” he begins, trying not to sound too eager, “It is to discuss the best methods to seal the Gate of Hell. The warlocks and witches have tried several binding spells, but none have worked.”

  Well, of course none have worked. My blood was used to open the gate. I assume they will need my blood to close it.

  I say as much.

  “That is precisely why the lesser demons need your help.”

  I connect the dots, and my limbs grow cold. “They need my blood, or do I need to sacrifice my life like Hermona did?”

  The first female Guardian had spilled her blood to seal the Gates of Hell many centuries ago, ending her life in the process. I, as her only known living descendant, share that powerful blood. And, I suspect, the ability to seal the Gates of Hell from the mortal world.

  Which the warlocks and witches are bound to figure out—if they haven’t already.

  Belial growls low in his throat, sounding more animal than man. His expression hardens with protective determination. “I can guarantee that won’t be necessary, little mountain.”

  Can he though?

  If the only way to stop Azazel was to sacrifice myself, would the lesser demon alliance ask that of me?

  Would I be willing to do it?

  For years, I worked my butt off to one day become a member of the Shadowguard. I’ve dreamed of protecting humans from the evils brought onto this world by demons, but do I have the guts to give my life in order to save mankind?

  I’m ashamed to say, I don’t know.

  “Will you come to the meeting?” Belial asks when I remain silent.

  I weigh my options. Finally, I shrug. “I guess.”

  I don’t really have a good reason not to attend, other than my lack of desire to do anything other than stare at a fire…

  But I doubt Belial or the others would consider that a valid excuse to not show up.

  “Good.” Again, I see relief slide into his expression.

  Then, his tone shifts.

  It’s no longer placating. It holds the familiar arrogance I’ve grown used to hearing from the original demon. “You will need to shower. We can’t have our allies seeing you look so… unkempt.”

  I don’t even have the energy to roll my eyes. “Fine.”

  He deflates a bit. “Come on, little mountain. Where’s that fighting spirit that I’ve come to adore?”

  It’s back in the warehouse… where I watched my father die.

  The cold travels from my limbs into my chest, settling around my heart.

  “I’ll go change.”

  This time, when I try to move past him, Belial doesn’t block my path. He watches me leave, and I feel the weight of his troubled stare all the way out the door.

  Chapter Two

  The walk to my room is short. The den I like to hide away in is located on the same floor, meaning I don’t have to exert too much energy traveling from one to the other each day. Which is great, considering I don’t have the resolve to do much of anything.

  I enter and find Olina standing in the center of the bedroom. Through the bathroom door, I hear water running.

  “Master Belial says you are to prepare for this evening’s meeting.”

  How he managed to tell her that so quickly is beyond me.

  I nod. “Seems like it.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s start with a bath.”

  Geeze.

  Do I reek or something?

  I resist the urge to smell my armpit. Instead, I walk into the bathroom to not waste any time.

  Olina knows me well enough to not try and assist me in the bathing process. The first time she’d tried to help me wash my hair had seriously weirded me out. Now, she waits patiently in the adjoining room until I finish.

  I strip out of the pair of sweats I’ve been wearing for the past two days and nights and slip into the warm water. Water sloshes over the side, onto the towel I placed on the floor.

  “What would you like to wear to the meeting?” Olina asks from the other side of the open door.

  “I don’t know,” I call out.

  “Is it a casual or formal affair?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeat, dunking my head under the water. I come back up, wiping moisture from my eyes, then ask, “Isn’t that something Belial should’ve told you?”

  Olina hums to herself, then says, “You’re right. I will go inquire.” I hear the bedroom door open and close two seconds later.

  Alone, I sink down until my shoulders are submerged in the warm water. I try to relax, but my memories ensure that is impossible.

  Closing my eyes, I let out a heavy sigh. Part of me agrees with Belial—I can’t keep living like this. I need to right the wrongs I’ve committed. Perhaps I’ll find the opportunity during the meeting tonight. I’ve avoided speaking with anyone outside of the safe house since the night I almost died, but maybe that was a mistake.

  I rub my chest. I swear, I can still feel the sharp pain of Azazel’s dagger puncturing my flesh. I look down and confirm my skin is unmarred by a scar. The warlock and witches who healed me did a fantastic job. Their magic gives Guardian’s sigils a run for their money.

  I lather shampoo into my hair and continue to bathe. I am wrapped in a luxurious blue towel, dripping water on the bedroom carpet, when Olina returns.

  I turn away from the dresser, holding a fresh set of underwear, as she enters. “So, what’s the verdict?”

  “Tonight’s event calls for semi-formal attire.” The mundane demon glides to the closet, disappearing within the depths of expensive pieces to select my outfit.

  Relocating to this safe house had not hindered Belial’s extravagant tastes, nor his indulging habits. This home is just as finely decorated as his mansion, and he spares no expense for comfort.

  Olina returns with a pretty green turtleneck sweater and a pair of cream-colored slacks. “Will these do?”

  Honestly, I could not care less.

  “Sure.”

  Olina carefully lays the items across the bed. I disappear into the bathroom to put on the new bra and panties, covering up with the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

  I am rubbing the towel over my damp hair when I return to the bedroom. Olina stands behind the vanity table. Her red eyes are soft. “Will you let me blow dry your hair? It’s much more manageable than if you let it air dry.”

  What she means is my hair is a tangled mess, and she’s itching to tame it.

  I obligingly move and settle in the chair in front of the mirror, bundling the towel in my lap.

  Olina makes quick work of the knots in my long locks. She wields the wide-toothed comb expertly, leaving my damp hair in smooth, straight strands. Then, she exchanges the comb for a round brush, grabs the blow dryer, and begins the arduous task of drying my thick hair.

  Sitting in silence, I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. Dark circles mar my eyes, my cheeks are hollow, and my skin is paper white. Belial wasn’t joking�
�� I look like I’m wasting away.

  “How was your afternoon?” Olina asks, loud enough to be heard over the styling tool.

  “Fine.”

  “Do anything fun?”

  She already knows the answer. It’s the same every day. “No.”

  “Hm.” The mundane demon continues her task, trying to hide the worried frown tugging her lips.

  I exhale. I consider Olina a friend, and I don’t like the thought of her worrying about me.

  “I’m eager for the meeting tonight,” I say, hoping to offer her some reassurance about my mental state.

  “Indeed?” Her gaze meets mine in the mirror.

  “Yeah.”

  She cracks a smile, showing off one of her sharp fangs. “I was glad to hear Master Belial moved the meeting here. It’s about time you were involved.”

  Eyebrows furrowed, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  The smile falters from her lips. Olina continues drying my hair for several seconds before replying, “The alliance has wanted to speak with you for some time now, but the master thought you needed more time to heal.” She chews on her lip and watches me warily.

  I am surprised. “Exactly how long have they wanted to speak with me?” How long has Belial been keeping me from them?

  “About a week after your wounds healed,” Olina answers, albeit begrudgingly. It’s obvious she realizes she’s made a mistake and wishes she had kept her mouth shut. “But Master Belial believed you weren’t ready to speak with anyone from the alliance. And I agreed with him.”

  I agreed with him too. Until today, I hadn’t wanted to face anyone. Arguably, I still don’t.