by Larissa Ione
Curses flew, and someone fired a shot at the newcomer, who took the bullet in the chest with no more reaction than if he’d been stung by a bee. He scooped up the net, Hal with it, and in another flare of light, he was gone.
The man tightened his arms around Cara, and one of the men limped toward her, his left arm dangling, his face mottled with rage. “What are you?”
She blinked. “W-what?”
“I said,” he snarled, “what are you?”
“I don’t understand.”
His hand lashed out so fast she didn’t see it until her cheek stung from the blow. “What kind of demon are you?” he screamed, his spittle spraying her face.
Oh, God, these men were crazy. This whole situation was crazy. This was Crazyland, and she was the queen.
“Why…” She sucked in a ragged breath and tried to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when the man holding her in a vise grip against him was squeezing the air out of her lungs. “Why would you think I’m a demon?” Maybe they were religious fanatics, like the ones who had accused her of practicing witchcraft before she learned to hide her healing gift.
Her theory was blown out of the water when the third guy, the one who had been kneeling next to the dead man on the floor, stood and picked up the bullet that had been lodged in the dog. He held it out to her. “Because,” he said, in an eerily calm voice, “only a demon would heal a hellhound.”
Two
Hellhound?
These people were insane. “It was just a dog.”
“Really?” The red-haired, freckled one with the bullet, who reminded her vaguely of Carrot Top, spoke in a deceptively soft voice. “And was the guy who flashed into the room and took the dog just a man?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but what could she say? The guy had disappeared into thin air. “I… what else would he be?”
“Oh, maybe a demon. Like you.”
Keep them talking. And calm. Excellent plan in theory, but who was going to keep her calm? False courage gave her a voice, at least. “Who are you people?”
The one who had struck her whipped a strange, S-shaped, double-bladed weapon from a harness on his chest, and held the gold end to her neck. “Are you that stupid, or are you just playing that way?”
“Garcia.” Carrot Top put his hand on the weapon-wielder’s shoulder. “Look at her, man. She’s terrified. She doesn’t know who we are.”
“Stupid then.” Garcia dragged the tip of the blade down her throat, and she felt a sting and a warm drip. “I know you’ve heard of Guardians.”
“Guardians?”
He spun the weapon around and scraped the silver end down the other side of her throat, eliciting another sting, another drip. “The Aegis? You know, demon slayers?”
Seriously? These guys had issues. Maybe they’d played too many role-playing games. Or they were on drugs.
“I’m not—” She broke off to clear her throat of the hoarseness. Didn’t clear away the terror, though. “I’m not a demon. I’m human. The dog was hit by a car. And shot…” She trailed off when Carrot Top peeled back his jacket, revealing a pistol in a holster.
“We know.” The guy holding her spoke into her ear, his hot breath and cold voice sending a chill down her spine. “We’re the ones who shot the fucker and then tracked the hick who brought it here.”
“Then why would you think I was a demon? I didn’t do anything but take the dog from the man who brought him to me.”
“I already told you. Hellhounds heal quickly, but not that quickly.” Garcia frowned at his odd gold and silver weapon. “Neither of these metals affect you. We can try something else.”
Not affect her? She had two streams of blood running down her throat, thank you very much. She realized she must have spoken out loud when Garcia slapped her across the face. Her mouth had always gotten her in trouble.
“Dude,” Carrot Top said, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Here’s a thought. She might be human. A witch or shaman or some demon’s minion. So, duh, neither metal would affect her.”
Crazycrazycrazy…
Garcia appeared to consider that, but she had no idea whether what Carrot had said was a good or bad thing for her. “What kind of magic did you use to heal the hound?”
That she couldn’t explain. Because even though only a trickle had accidentally escaped her, what she’d done to the dog had been magic. Evil magic. Oh, some more open-minded people called it a gift, and some explained that what she did was really an intense form of Reiki. Whatever. She’d never found any literature that referenced the strength of the power she wielded.
When she said nothing, Garcia waved the weapon in front of her face. “We can make you talk.”
Deep inside her, the gift she despised began to flow through her veins. Breathe… keep it together…
Once again, Carrot lay a restraining hand on Garcia’s shoulder. “You know the rules. If she’s human or human-based, we need to call a supervisor.”
“Fuck that. The new softer, gentler rules are for treehuggers.”
“Idiot.” The guy holding her shifted, bringing his heel down on her bare toes, and she bit down on a cry of pain even as her power throbbed at the walls of her vessels, wanting out. “Treehuggers are environmentalists.”
“You know what I mean. Fucking demon sympathizers.” Garcia grinned at her. “Even if she’s not a demon, she’s working with them. That makes her no better than them, and fair game.”
Her lungs grew tight as her breath became labored with some serious freakout. “Please,” she whispered. “Just go. I won’t tell anyone about this.” Wuss. Yeah, but she’d have to kick herself about it later.
If she survived.
Could one person get lucky enough to live through the same thing twice?
“Go?” Garcia leveled the tip of the weird weapon against the sensitive skin just beneath her left eye. “Not until we get some answers.”
Cara shrank back, but her head bumped into the chest of the guy who held her, and she froze before the blade pierced her eyeball. Tingles spread through her fingers. Her hand lifted, almost on its own, to touch Garcia. No! Dear God, what had she been about to do?
There had to be another way, but she had to think fast. These guys were going to kill her, and not without causing her a whole lot of pain first.
The phone, coated in dust and hanging on the wall behind Carrot, came into focus. If she could get to it… what? They’d kill her before she could dial the 9, let alone the 1-1. Still, she had to try. Give them what they want, within reason. Her self-defense instructor’s voice was a whisper in her ear and a welcome injection of steel into her spine.
“I’ll tell you anything you want,” she said, though she was unsure how much she meant that—or how much she actually knew. “Just let go of me.” She wriggled in the man’s grip, biting back a cry when he jammed his fist into her breastbone to still her.
“Oh, you’ll tell us everything,” Garcia said. “You don’t need your eyes to talk.”
“Garcia!” Carrot stepped forward as if to stop his buddy, and she took advantage of the interruption.
Remembering the instructor’s advice, which amounted to kick your attacker in the balls and run like hell, she brought up one knee, catching Garcia in the crotch, and at the same time, she rammed her elbow back, sinking it into the belly of the guy behind her. His grunt wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the way Garcia doubled over, but it gave her a chance to dive for the door.
“Fuck,” Garcia wheezed. “Get her!”
Arms closed around her, and Carrot spun her back to the man she’d elbowed, who wasn’t nearly as gentle in his handling this time.
Another flash of light flooded the room, and the nightmare got a whole lot worse.
Standing where the guy who disappeared with Hal had been was a huge man in leather armor, his ebony eyes hard, his expression uncompromising. In his hand was a sword as long as she was tall. As terrifying as the three demon slayers were, this stranger left them in the dust. She actually shrank ba
ck against the man who held her, as if he could—or would—help her.
The big guy in armor seemed to assess the situation in less time than it took for her heart to beat. He moved like a viper, lashing out with his massive arm and knocking Garcia and Carrot across the room. When the man behind her shoved her aside, the leather-armor guy struck with a closed fist, adding her captor’s body to the pile.
Cara didn’t even have time to scream. Or run. Or faint. In a single stride the newcomer was in front of her. She backed away, but was blocked by the exam table. He stalked her, his presence overwhelming, as if he owned the very air, and she had to struggle for every breath.
“You,” he said in an impossibly dark, deep voice, “have some explaining to do.”
Damned Aegis idiots.
Ares generally supported their efforts, had, in the past, fought alongside them in battles against demons. But the demon slayers tended to think that anything they didn’t understand was evil.
He glanced at the three Guardians—no, four. One was dead. The live ones struggled to their feet, pain twisting their expressions and murder gleaming in their eyes. The human female was backed against an exam table, her terror a tangible odor that was mixed with the scent of her blood, of the Guardians’ blood, and… of hellhound.
But there was no sign of Sestiel, the fallen angel Ares had tracked to this very room, and now, suddenly, Ares couldn’t sense the angel at all.
He gauged the situation, decided it wasn’t necessary to kill the Aegi, but he did need to know what had gone on here. It was critical that he find Sestiel before Reseph did, but the fact that the fallen angel might be in possession of a motherfucking hellhound was an added complication; the beasts acted like radar-jamming equipment, and as long as Sestiel was near the hound, Ares would be unable to locate him.
Then there was another, worse scenario to consider—that Sestiel wasn’t in possession of a hellhound, but rather that a hellhound was in possession of him. Which meant that Ares needed to glean every crumb of information he could get from the human female, and he’d get his answers one way or another.
Too bad for her. Seizing her arm, he tugged her to him, opened a gate, and stepped through the shimmering veil, unconcerned by the fact that humans came out on the other side of a Harrowgate dead. Nope, one of the cool advantages of a summoned Harrowgate was that humans could travel with the Horsemen. Not that it happened often. Not since their break with The Aegis.
A warm salt breeze hit him as they exited, their feet coming down on rock and ivory sand. A hundred yards away was his Greek manor, a sprawling white structure that sat atop an island in the Aegean Sea. The island was unmapped—invisible to human eyes and technology—and Ares had lived here for three thousand years, since the day he’d wrested it from the demon who’d built it. It was a great place, especially since he’d brought it up to modern standards and comforts.
But they weren’t going inside.
He spun the woman around so her back was to the sea, her bare feet close to the cliff edge. “Who are you?” He gripped her shoulders firmly, his fingers digging into the blue flannel pajama top dotted with penguins. She wore penguin pajamas.
“P-please…” The wind whipped her sandy-blonde hair into her face, and some weird impulse made him want to brush it away.
He resisted. “Who are you?”
“I’m not… not a demon.” Her breath sawed in and out of her so violently that he half-expected her to pass out.
“What is your name?”
She blinked as if she didn’t understand the question, and when he repeated it, she finally murmured, “Cara. It’s Cara. I’m not a demon. I swear, I’m not a demon.”
“You keep saying that.” He inhaled, once again catching the bitter scent of her terror, but also, the faint, smoky tint of hellhound. She’d been in direct contact with one. “Why were you handling a hellhound? Were you attacked?”
A tiny squeak came from her, as if fear had closed up her throat. Hellhounds could do that to a person. But he didn’t have time to coddle a delicate female through her trauma. He needed intel, and he needed it now.
He snapped his fingers in front of her face, startling her out of her freaked-out trance. “Did The Aegis save you?”
“The men? They… they tried to kill the pup.”
Ares couldn’t decide if she was a little… slow… or just scared out of her gourd. Maybe both. Even so, she should be a little more agitated in his presence, and he wondered what was up with that. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, even though he didn’t have the time or patience for this shit. “Yes, I’m sure they tried to kill it. It’s their job.”
“To kill dogs?”
“Demon dogs. You know, hellhounds?”
“This isn’t real,” she whispered. “I want to go home…” She shook her head, backpedaling wildly. “No, not home! Those men are there. This isn’t real…”
Shit. He was losing her. Before she could go into a complete meltdown, he gripped her by the shoulders and bent to peer directly into her eyes. Which were the exact color of the sea below when the sun hit it just right. Crystal blue with flecks of green and gold. Stunning.
“Listen to me. I need to know if you saw another man in that room. Long blond hair. Angelic.”
She nodded, her wide-eyed gaze locked onto his as if she were afraid to look away. As if he was a lifeline and if she let go, she’d plunge into an abyss of insanity. “Where is Hal?”
“Hal?”
“The dog.”
She’d named the hellhound? The things were mean as fuck, ravenous, horny… suddenly a sinking suspicion made his gut plummet. Had the hound given her a Hell’s Kiss? Nah. They never, ever did that to humans.
And yet… he leaned in, and as he got closer, the odor of fear and beast gave way to a more feminine scent. She smelled clean, like a spring meadow, with soft floral undertones. His cock jerked, the stupid bastard. The woman was terrified, human, and possibly shackled to one of the most vile creatures to ever have been spawned in Sheoul.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t reply. He touched his lips to hers. A shocked gasp escaped her, and damn, she tasted sweet. There was a faint mint tang of toothpaste on her breath, and as he stroked his tongue across her satin lips, he got the telltale numbing tingle of the hellhound’s kiss. Which explained why she wasn’t combative with him—by bonding with Cara, the hound had brought her over into the supernatural world. She was still human, but with… enhancements.
He should have retreated, right then and there, but her mouth was soft, her body ripe with curves, and he hadn’t kissed a woman—a real human woman—in thousands of years. Head swimming, he tugged her against him. This was unexpected, amazing—
Sudden, stabbing pain lanced his groin. He grunted out a curse, doubled over, and clutched his balls, which she’d cracked with her knee.
“Bastard!” Cara followed up on that by jamming that killer knee of hers into his nose.
While he reeled in surprise that she’d caught him off guard, she tried to launch past him, but she was too close to the cliff’s edge. Her foot slipped, and her shriek cut off as the ground fell out from under her.
Son of a—! Ares dove, skidded on his belly and barely snared her hand as she disappeared over the side. Rocks and dirt broke away beneath him as he struggled to hang on. A giant chunk of earth crumbled under his chest, and suddenly, he was hanging by his hips, his leverage lost, and in about two seconds, they were going to go over.
Waves crashed on the rocks below, the plumes of spray shooting up as though trying to grab at them, to drag them down to a watery grave. Well, grave for her, maybe. Ares would merely suffer in agony until he regenerated.
“Battle,” he called through clenched teeth. “Out!”
Cara clung desperately to his hand, but as she watched the smoke unwind from his arm, he thought she might actually let go. The wisp swirled up over his shoulder, and then he heard a snort, felt the stallion’s bite clamp d
own on his calf. Agonizing pressure shot up his leg, but the hard armor prevented the warhorse’s teeth from tearing into flesh.
Battle dragged him backward, and Cara with him. He tugged her over the edge and rolled with her to safety, coming to rest on top of her. For a moment, she stared, her wide, haunted eyes swimming with disbelief.
Then it all went to hell.
Screaming, she pummeled him with her fists and rocked her head up to bite him. He reared back, barely avoiding her teeth, and when Battle stomped one enormous hoof next to her head in a protective warning, her screams deepened, so full of raw terror that Ares felt the vibrations in his chest.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Cara, calm down…”
But there was no calming her, and he knew it. She’d been pushed beyond reason, beyond her ability to cope, and the only thing he could do for her now was knock her out or turn back the clock.
Well, he could pluck out her eyeballs and plug into her visions, but as ruthless as he could be, he preferred to use drastic measures only if necessary and, if possible, only against other warriors. Which meant that if any Aegi were still in her house, they were in for a little all-is-fair-in-war.
Unfortunately for Cara, she wasn’t going to get away unscathed either. If she was bonded to a hellhound, he needed her. The beast would come to her, either physically or in the dream world, and he could lead Ares to Sestiel. Cara would be the bait for Ares’s trap. All he had to do was return her to her home and wait.
“Battle, to me.” Ares swore Battle growled before he wound around his arm again, which, of course, set Cara off with a fresh round of screams. Tightening his arm around her, he summoned a gate, rolled them into it, and came out on the soft, green grass outside her home.
Before she could renew her hysterics, he waved his hand in front of her face. Her expression went slack, her eyes glazing over. He took a minute to readjust her memories… he couldn’t create new ones, but he could erase the most recent events. Being a Horseman came with some pretty cool tricks.
Once he was finished, he carried her into her house. The place reeked of blood and hellhound, and though it appeared that the Aegi had gone, he didn’t take chances. Silently, he laid her on the couch and performed a sweep of the rooms. All clear. A disaster, but clear. The Guardians had damaged the back door, probably when they’d broken in, and before they gathered their dead and left, they’d gone through some of her drawers and closets. Blood was splashed all over the room he’d found Cara in, some sort of veterinary office. She’d be confused as all hell tomorrow when she woke up.
