Blood Demon (Demon Assassin Series Book 1)

by A C Wilds

  Mammon sticks around after they leave and turns to me, seeking counsel. “Princep, I ask you to reconsider my plan. The Dark is ruining life in this Realm. They are the cause of these attacks.”

  “Now who’s lumping the errors of the few with the rest of us? My biggest goal as princep is to avoid war. I may be a Blood Demon, but I don’t want it spilled in the streets of New City.”

  “For now, I must listen to you. However, it’s only a matter of time before the balance tips in their favor. Once it does, you will have to admit I was right.”

  I growl, knowing my eyes have turned red as blood spilled from a freshly cut vein. My teeth elongate as I stare down my second. “You may be the VP, but you would do well to remember how you should speak to your king. We may not be in the Demon Realm anymore, but I am still your master.”

  His skin turns ashen, but he quickly recovers. Lips pursing into a thin line, he bites out, “As you say, Princep.”

  He gets up from his chair and stalks out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Tenebris witches act entitled and superior to the demons because we couldn’t get close enough to them to do much damage when we invaded. They defended their land, but at a cost.

  “Princep,” a nervous voice says from the entrance. Tara walks through the door, her blond hair swishing in a ponytail and brown eyes bright with emotion. She’s a vampire—a blood servant to the Blood Demons. A human who chooses blood above her own people.

  “What is it?” I ask, still perched at the head of the table on my throne.

  “I have some information you’re not going to like. I would have gone through Mammon or Caymn, but I think the less people who know, the better.”

  Gritting my teeth, I wait for her to continue.

  “The Tenebris have gone too far this time. They’ve put a contract out on you.”

  “Fuck.”

  Anima

  Bobby’s isn’t the greatest bar, but they make the best burgers in New City. Thursday’s crowd is flush with regulars and early starters from the weekend crew. Laughing and talking assaults my ears as I weave through the throng to find Shelley.

  Alone at our usual booth, she sits in the back corner, leaving me the chair that allows me to see every exit. Shelley quickly learned what made me comfortable. She’s a good friend.

  She’s left her beautiful blond hair loose instead of in its usual top-bun, thick glasses conceal her blue eyes, and her plump red lips are enough to make any girl jealous. Shelley’s a knockout, even if she can’t see it. She’s quiet and smart, but put that girl in a dress with a pair of heels, and the world is apt to stop turning.

  “You look like shit,” she says in greeting. She grins into the beer she raised to her lips, taking a full sip before examining me again.

  “Thanks, Shel. Always glad you can keep it real with me,” I reply, rolling my eyes and having a seat to the left of her with my back to the wall.

  “No problem. What has you… looking like this?” She makes an up-and-down motion, gesturing to my ragged clothes and the dark circles under my eyes. My wrinkled tank top and faded black jeans make me look like a hungover college kid.

  “Besides not sleeping for two days? Rahna gave me an assignment I’d rather saw my arm off than take.” I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, rubbing my face before I shift toward her.

  “Tell her no.” For Shelley, life is simple. She’s a human trying to navigate in a supernatural world. Everything is black and white. But I know better.

  “This is Rahna we’re talking about. The second I say no, her assassins take me out. I trained most, so I know how good they are.”

  Her face scrunches up in concern. Placing the bottle down, she leans closer to whisper, “What does she want you to do?”

  “Kill the president of Hallowed Grounds.”

  Sometimes, I forget how shocking my job can be. I’m an assassin who chose this life of being surrounded by death. Shelley sees the aftermath, but I don’t think she tries to personalize it. Much too grim if she does.

  “That’s one hell of a mission.” Her posture goes rigid as what this mission will cost me sinks in.

  The waitress approaches our table, and we give her our order. It will be good to eat a decent meal and then sleep for twelve hours before I have to start recon on the princep.

  “The biggest problem I have, though, is why? It’s not like he hasn’t been doing what he does for the last thirty years. He’s a princep, the president of the Hallowed Grounds MC. I’m sure his hands aren’t clean of the blood his kind lives for, but what has he done that makes him so evil to put a contract on him now when they never have before?” The words pour out in a rush, almost tangling around my tongue. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to talk through all this.

  “Do you think he’s done something to piss them off? I imagine it has to be pretty bad if they want the one demon who fought for peace in this city to be eliminated.”

  I sigh in response. Witches know the truth about what the demons truly did when they first came here. The humans, however, were kept in the dark as part of the peace treaty. Under a forced hand, we allowed the entrance of the demons. Shelley only sees what they want her to.

  “If they put a kill order out on him, it’s something unforgivable. The contracts I get are mostly for demons who harm humans. This one doesn’t say what it’s for, which bothers me.”

  “No explanation—just ‘kill the president of Hallowed Grounds’? That sounds pretty shady.”

  Our waitress brings our burgers over. The smells of meat and cheese hit my nose, making my mouth water. Steam from the salted fries rises, making me squirm in my seat, happier than I probably should be.

  With my first bite, flavorful juices explode in my mouth, soaking the bun and crawling down my chin. I hum in ecstasy as I grab my napkin to wipe away the excess mess. “These are so fucking good.” Grabbing my beer, I bring it to my lips, letting the hoppy sour taste wash down the meat.

  “Hmm, you’re right. This is excellent. Better than sex,” Shelley growls, taking another bite. The balance between meat, cheese, bacon, onion, and mushrooms is euphoric.

  “I’ll have to try it then,” a male voice purrs from my left. I hadn’t felt him approach us, but my reaction is lightning fast. Before he finishes his sentence, my Sig Sauer 1911 is pressed against his manhood. Expression mildly amused, he glances down before meeting my gaze.

  The last bit of burger dislodges itself from my throat. “What the fuck?” is all I can manage to get out. My body is frozen in fear, and it seems like the world is at a standstill. I keep my eyes glued on his. My shadow smoke starts to make an appearance, crawling from my neck down my arm. His eyes glow bright red, rubies reflected in the light. There are no others with my ability, so it makes me the perfect assassin. With one touch, my smoke is capable of sucking out the enemy’s essence.

  “Guys, what is happening right now? Ani, your smoke is out,” Shelley whispers, breaking the connection between us.

  The male shakes his head, eyes turning a vivid garnet. He holds his hand out to Shelley. “Torque Sanguis.”

  3

  Anima

  Even with my gun pointed at his crotch, he’s as unfazed as if we were at a Sunday picnic. Shelley taking his hand snaps me back to reality. There isn’t anyone around, no minions lurking in the corners, so he’s alone. Interesting.

  He returns his attention to me. Once again, his gaze bores into mine. I can feel heat flush over my cheeks, and I’m lucky it’s dark in Bobby’s. As much as I’d like to play the alpha and indulge in the staring contest he wants, I pull myself taller and holster my weapon, making it clear I don’t consider him a threat, which isn’t true, not in the least. Torque Sanguis is one scary dude.

  Standing over six-and-a-half-feet tall, he’s all muscle. His t-shirt strains over his arms and chest, fitting like a second skin. A vest, or cut, is layered over it with a patch on the left breast that reads, ‘President’. Messy dark hair grows in just enough for th
e ends to curl. A five o’clock shadow covers his strong jaw, scruffy enough to seem mysterious. Tattoos in intricate patterns cover what appears to be his entire body—some I can see, but others are partially hidden by fabric.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to come over and introduce myself. You ladies appeared to be having an intimate moment with your food, and it was intriguing.” Deep and smooth, his voice is bourbon and smoke with a hint of honey. But the lies pouring out of it cause me to grit my teeth. He knows.

  “Does that line work for you with the ladies often?” I retort. His chuckle says he doesn’t need lines.

  “May I sit?” he asks, not waiting for a response. He pulls out the chair to my left, then folds himself into it. Not even a squeak comes from the chair.

  “What do you want?” Shelley questions. She’s as scared as I am. It’s clear on her face.

  “To chat—to Anima, specifically.”

  I can’t help it. Closing my eyes, I curse whoever is up there fucking with my fate. My target knows I’m after him. This is going to make my job so much harder.

  “I’m going to the bar to get the next round. Be right back.” Shelley jumps from her seat, making a beeline for the bar like her ass is on fire. Great, abandoned and thrown to the demons.

  “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” he asks, amusement playing on his lips. He thinks he’s caught me. Well, two can play this game.

  “There isn’t any point to this small talk. We’re both aware of the situation that has brought you here. Tell me what you want, and let’s get this over with. My burger is getting cold.”

  He laughs. I’m a pawn in his game, a mouse caught by the giant cat. He’s playing with me until he gets bored enough to take me out. Too bad I’m not the mouse he believes I am.

  “How much?” Shifting in his seat, he graces me with all his attractive glory. I try my hardest not to drool.

  “Money can’t buy the contract. I have a duty. I’m not some dirty dark witch who’s going to watch you torture more humans while counting my ill-gotten cash. This isn’t the part where we become friends.”

  Studying me for a moment, he pulls a card from his pocket, placing it on the table and pushing it over with one finger. He leans in, sniffing the air between us. Gods, he smells amazing—like campfires and chocolate. Add a marshmallow and he’d be a delicious dessert.

  “If you change your mind.” Glowing eyes meet mine. There’s no hope in controlling my reaction. It’s a fraction of a movement, but my body leans forward. My smoke makes a comeback, trying to grab him and make him mine. This is so fucked up.

  Torque

  That did not go according to plan. The huntress is the exact opposite of what I expected. When people said she was the biggest threat in New City, I pictured a seven-foot-tall Amazonian with a harsh face and muscles to match. Not a five-foot-nothing goddess with raven hair and piercing silver eyes.

  Despite her looks, I can sense the danger swirling inside her. Magic surrounds her aura, steeped as thick as cement. Ready to whip out and take down the strongest demon. It’s intoxicating. Her blood sings of death and destruction, and I want nothing more than to wrap her around me and sink into her, with my teeth and other parts.

  Rising from the chair, I take my leave before I do something stupid like kiss her. Anima’s friend is still at the bar, trying hard not to sneak glances at me while I pass. I give her a nod through the back mirror before pushing through the door.

  The night air wraps around me, cooling my heated skin. Having this type of reaction toward Anima isn’t good. Killing her is going to be quite disappointing.

  “How did it go?” Mammon asks from where he stands beside our bikes. Grabbing my helmet, I swing my leg over the leather seat, sinking into a comfortable position. There’s nothing like having a hellbike underneath me.

  “She’s…not what I expected.” When I kick-start the bike, a loud purr comes from the engine, cutting through the silence. Mammon mirrors my movements, shooting me an odd look. He can obviously sense something is up.

  “You mean she’s hot,” he says with a grimace. He shifts the handlebars into a straight position, then starts to back out of the spot.

  He got it in one, but it doesn’t change what I have to do. It’s either her or me. In New City, people look out for themselves. Right now, I’m more important than a witch who smells like sex and sin.

  4

  Anima

  The impromptu meeting has me on edge. His essence is still inside my nose, coating my insides like a caress. My reaction to him has shaken me. Normally, a gorgeous face and tight abs are great—nice to look at, sure, but never have they made me doubt my mission.

  Bored, I prop my hip on the rooftop pile across the street from the Hallowed Grounds clubhouse. I climbed up here shortly after I left Shelley at her front door, but that was hours ago.

  My butt tingles from forced inaction. Exhaustion is trying to take over, but nothing interesting has happened. Torque showed up around ten PM, spoke about a shipment—nothing incriminating—and went inside. He hasn’t come out.

  “This is bullshit. The witches have no idea who they’re fucking with. We’re demons, rulers of the realms, and they have the audacity to try to take us out? I say a war is what we need.” Two demons stalk through the streets underneath me toward the clubhouse. Their cuts are identical to Torque’s, except the patches on the front are different.

  My senses are superior to a human’s, but I still use binoculars to get a closer look. The face of the crumbling, chipped-brick building is lined with a tin sign sporting the Hallowed Grounds logo—a skull with blood on its maw and scythes behind it. Roses growing from the eye sockets make it resemble something from the human tradition of Dia De Los Muertos.

  One of the demons is a short, squat man with a pockmarked face, a flat nose, and a deeper red skin tone than his companion. His shirt says, ‘Suck These,’ with a picture of acorns stretched to the max. His potbelly hangs over his belt, making it even more obscene. Vomit threatens to crawl up my throat, but I force it down.

  The other is taller. He’d remind me of a rat if one could be six feet tall with scrawny arms and greasy black hair. The demons lean against the side of the building, both puffing on cigarettes. Scorn twists their already shifty expressions. Don’t like competition, huh, boys?

  “We should have killed them all when we took over this disgusting planet. They think they’re superior to us, yet they kill without remorse and cut down those who don’t deserve it. I may be a demon, but at least I’m not a savage.”

  Rat-Man shifts his position as he answers Potbelly. “The only reason they’re still alive is because of that magic, and not their natural kind either. It’s that Holy Magic. I bet the boss would kill to find out where it comes from.”

  What are they talking about? Tenebris witches use black magic. There is no such thing as Holy Magic. I move closer to make sure I don’t miss anything.

  “I don’t know, man. I never saw anyone use it, but remember when the invasion first happened?”

  Rat-Man nods, and I roll my eyes. How could anyone forget the day the demon horde showed up and destroyed the planet?

  “I heard it was used then. Wiped out one of the…” The door slams open, and Torque steps out. His face is contoured in anger. Power rolls off him as he measures up the two demons in front of him.

  “Are you two fucking finished?” His voice is low, anger riding a thin line. At any moment, he could snap and kill them both.

  “Sorry, Pres. We were just shooting the shit.” Rat-Man takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender.

  “You were running your mouth about things you know nothing about.”

  “It’s just us, Pres. No one else is out here.” It was the last thing Potbelly says before his head is pressed against the bricks, Torques’ hands around his neck. His fangs lengthen, the red glow of his eyes bright against the dark night.

  “You aren’t alone,” he growls, shifting the man towa
rd my direction. All three stare at my exact hiding spot.

  Not letting any fear show, I straighten, releasing the shadows and jumping to the street. A normal witch or demon would have killed themselves if they’d attempted the feat, but my smoke comes with a lot of cool tricks.

  “Hello, boys. Nice night, isn’t it?”

  “What the fuck is she doing here? How long have you been there, witch?” Rat-Man spits. The word witch sounds synonymous with trash. Apparently, he really doesn’t like my kind.

  “Long enough to hear you two idiots slip up.” I smile, crossing my arms over my chest. If Torque decides to charge, I’ll have to go for my sword or gun. The Sig rests easily in my side holster, ready to go, while my sword, which is strapped diagonally across my back, sings with anticipation. Hubris wants blood.

  Rat-Man takes a step toward me in challenge. I raise my left eyebrow at Torque. Does he want to lose another lackey?

  “Get inside, both of you,” he shouts. Potbelly runs in, not hesitating for a moment, but Rat-Man sticks around for several beats. He stares me down, committing my scent to memory.

  A thrill of excitement comes over me. Distributing my weight evenly, I wait for the attack, but it never comes. Torque’s snarl makes the baby hairs on the nape of my neck rise, but I won’t back down. Not now.

  “I said for you to get inside.” It’s no longer issued as a warning. Now, it’s a threat. If Rat-Man doesn’t heed it, I imagine I won’t have to kill anyone tonight. Torque will do it for me.

  Scurrying away with one last glance, he disappears into the building, leaving me alone with Torque. An empty street lay between us—no witnesses and nothing to stop this from happening. I pull my sword free, the singing getting louder as I unleash Hubris. It’s not a melody, but a low hum. I don’t imagine anyone but me can hear it, but it sounds like the soft buzz of a field of honeybees. It wakes up all my senses like a call to war.