The Slayer

by Brenda Huber

  A boy wearing a baseball jersey and cap rode by on a bike, his catcher’s mitt dangling from the handlebars. His knees, one hip, and his shoulder were dusted with reddish brown sand. He hopped the curb, peddling madly beneath the glowing streetlights. A couple of kids stood outside the pet store, pointing and gesturing at the fuzzy, gray and white kittens climbing through a carpeted kitty condo. The light changed. Stepping on the accelerator, Kyanna eased into the intersection, turned left at the next block.

  Life went on all around her. Filled with everyday concerns. Everyday hopes and dreams. Normal. All of it so normal.

  Why can’t I have normal?

  Chapter Two

  Two of the demons took one look at Xander in all his demonic glory and vanished. A third—already palming a plasma ball—gaped at him. The plasma ball in the third demon’s hand sputtered, then fizzled out completely.

  Pansy.

  The remaining nine rushed forward. Xander offered them a fang-filled grin, taunting them, challenging them to dance with death. No one who’d ever tangled with the Slayer lived to brag about it. Ever.

  The oncoming horde of demons didn’t pause in their forward rush, but several of them—he was pleased to note—had lost a bit of that burnt-orange color that marked them for what they were.

  Only thing worse than a pansy?

  A dumbass.

  Chuckling gleefully, he let one of the plasma balls loose, aiming for the pansy. If that demon stood there shaking in his bloomers like that any longer he’d wet himself.

  Only thing Xander hated worse than a dumbass? The smell of demon piss, which usually came right after some moron with delusions of grandeur finally realized he had about as much chance of surviving combat with the Slayer as Frosty had of surviving a five-minute vacation to the steamy eastern borderlands of Hell.

  Pansy exploded in a screaming firestorm, taking three others with him.

  Sweet Saint Christopher, this crap is so old!

  Whipping his arm around, Xander let loose with another plasma ball and took two more down. That gave the remaining five pause. The plasma balls they held sputtered out. They lifted empty hands in surrender and began backing up.

  Xander tsked, shaking his head. Already poked the beast. Too late to throw the stick away and play nice now.

  His grin stretched wide. Malevolent. Lethal. Energy built, writhing, twisting, frothing through his veins. Crackling in the air around him. Darkness lurched up inside him, greedy to devour. It clawed and gnashed for release. A live, sentient thing.

  Death. Destruction.

  Good.

  Raw, magnificent power.

  So good.

  Xander walked a fine line now as he let the beast within have more and more freedom, his grip on control hanging by stubborn threads. Deadly cravings held him in their talon sharp grip. Yet he managed to retain some semblance of sanity. Always, somewhere in the back of his mind, was the awareness of where he was. Awareness of the fact that this was a tourist town brimming with innocent human life.

  He couldn’t let go, not completely.

  If he did, he’d be a far greater threat than an entire legion of the worst demons Hell had birthed. He’d already proven that, once upon a time.

  With another unholy roar, he pushed the wave of energy out from his core, using his palms to direct the flow. The demon front and center exploded from within, splattering his compatriots. The three that had spilled from the building a moment ago immediately beat a hasty retreat at the sight, tripping over each other in a mad dash to hide. No more demons were forthcoming.

  Nifty little trick he’d stumbled upon several millennia back when he’d been far less judicial with his powers. Too bad it was an unreliable power that came and went with the tides.

  The last of Xander’s opponents skidded to a halt, glancing uncertainly at each other.

  Like that, did ya? Well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby.

  And just like that, it was on. Xander shimmered into their midst, literally standing upon the pulpy remains of his last victim. Spinning, he planted a solid roundhouse kick to the breadbasket of the demon to his right and knocked him down and out for the count. He reached around and grabbed the demon on his left by the base of his horns. Giving a brutal twist, he ripped the demon’s head from his body.

  The next demon went down just as easily. His companion finally—finally!—displayed the first shred of intelligence he’d seen out of these yahoos all night. Crossing his arms, thwapping clenched fists to his shoulders, the demon dropped to one knee and bowed his head in submission.

  Slowly, Xander straightened. Without taking his gaze off the kneeling demon, he stretched out a palm, ignited a plasma ball, then tipped his hand over and dropped the blazing ball onto the chest of the unconscious demon. Within seconds, flames consumed the fallen demon’s body. The corpse erupted in a shower of embers and ash.

  Xander didn’t so much as blink.

  “M-mercy,” the kneeling demon begged, his head tilted so far down Xander couldn’t even see the tip of his burnt-orange nose.

  “I am the Slayer,” Xander snarled, aware that the harsh rasp of his voice struck fear just as his demonic appearance did. He dropped his chin to his chest and gave in to the darkness seething inside him. “I have no mercy.”

  Snapping his hands open at hip level, palms out, Xander let heat build and flow once more. He’d never tried to harness the power again this quickly after using it. Could he control it? Or would he end up blowing himself up instead?

  Giving a small mental shrug, he encouraged the power to sizzle through his veins.

  “I-I have i-inform-m-mation,” the demon squawked, visibly trembling.

  Truth, the deep, demonic voice hissed in the back of his mind.

  Though he continued to hold the threat of an excruciatingly painful death over the demon’s head, Xander gritted his teeth and waited, the epitome of impatience, and growled, “Speak.”

  This better not be another dead end. Like the one indicating the Guardian of the Arc Stone was in Scotland. That lead had taken Sebastian, the Demon of Vengeance, on a pointless two month jaunt. Or the information they’d uncovered on a possible Chosen One that Mikhail had followed to Tibet. Another dead end.

  Seemed as if one lead always led to another. And then that lead led to another. And another. He’d personally seen the inside of every craphole and demon-dive between Argentina and Zimbabwe. He wasn’t ready to start the Grand Tour again.

  But the thing that seriously sucked? Every one of his “informants” honestly thought they were telling the truth. And if anyone would know, he would. That had been his special little gift from Lucifer upon his fall, the ability to determine whether someone was lying.

  Just call me Mr. Polygraph.

  “I know you search for the Sacred Relics. For the Arc Stone,” the demon whimpered.

  And here we go. Again.

  “I-I don’t know where the stone is—but I know where th-the s-scrolls are,” the Demon stuttered.

  Heaving a sigh, Xander waited. The demon truly thought he knew. Much as he wanted to just end this, Xander owed it to his comrades-in-arms to listen.

  ’Cuz you just never knew.

  “Where?” Xander rasped.

  “H-here.”

  Xander let his scowl deepen. Even now, even in the demonic, he could feel his strength ebbing. His wounds must be worse than he’d thought. He didn’t have time to toy with this miscreant. Asher, a demon mercenary with an impeccable reputation, had pointed them in this direction. Now this demon was confirming that a relic was here. The Scrolls of Prévnar.

  Oh, for the love of—

  Something better damned well be here this time.

  “Where?” He let the increasing sizzle of a plasma ball finish his threat.

  “Th-there.” The demon tipped his head toward the ba
ck face of a two-story building not far away. The red brick façade was old, but well maintained.

  “Treasure Box?” Xander read the black-and-white, stenciled sign indicating the rear entrance designated for deliveries.

  “We’ve d-determined the scrolls are i-ins-side.”

  “Why have you not gone in after them?” The horrific sound of his own cursed voice grated on his ears, but he was too interested in getting answers to quibble over speaking more than he normally did.

  “P-protected,” the demon spit out. “Ward stones. Angelic e-enchantments. W-we couldn’t breach them.”

  Angelic enchantments?

  Only a Guardian would have knowledge of angelic enchantments. For the first time since he and the others had started this farce of a search, hope began to bubble in Xander’s chest.

  Until a wave of vertigo swept over him.

  Then again, perhaps it was just the venom working its way deeper into his system.

  Under the guise of an impatient sigh, Xander drew a careful breath. His vision had begun to waver, his hands to tremble. He needed to dispense with this conversation, and with this demon, before the demon figured out exactly how weak he really was and tried to take advantage of the situation.

  “What of the employees?”

  “Th-there is only one. The owner. Sïnsobar attempted possession, but he f-failed.”

  Xander’s brow creased. Sïnsobar, otherwise known as Sin, was Carpathï, a legendary shape-shifter that specialized in infiltration and possessions. If he’d failed in the attempted possession, there was definitely something going on here.

  “I-it appears to b-be a hereditary line of Guardians.”

  Hereditary equaled human, then. But what about the angelic enchantments? How would a human obtain them? And the ward stones? Where would the owner have gotten ward stones, much less the knowledge of how to use them properly?

  Was it possible the owner was under the protection of an angel? And then another thought occurred to him. One far more shocking.

  Could there be a blood-tie?

  Had some naughty little angel come down and done the dirty with a human?

  It had happened before. Though unlikely since the Great Fall, it was still possible.

  Following that startling line of thought, he pressed for a reaction. “Which line is the owner descended from? Seth? Marcus?” Apprehension balled like ice in his gut. The very idea was a stretch, but given what Xander knew of his angelic counterparts, it would have only been a matter of time. And so he queried, “Gabriel?”

  “W-we don’t know y-yet.”

  Truth.

  “Who is your allegiance to? Who sent you to find the relic?” Another wave of dizziness nearly took his legs out from under him.

  The demon took his time in replying. “Sïnsobar.”

  “Wrong answer,” he snapped as the demon’s lie crawled over the back of Xander’s neck like a thousand spiders.

  He let the power in his hands grow again. A big risk, considering the way his insides quivered. Blood ran down his chest in streams, soaking the waistband of his camo pants.

  “W-wait—”

  The demon’s gaze shifted. The only warning Xander had before the darkened alley exploded in a torrent of plasma balls once more. Damn, he must be weaker than he’d realized. He hadn’t even sensed the arrival of three more demons.

  Xander vaulted over his informant’s head, taking said appendage with him as he went. He landed on his feet and staggered to the side under the loss of so much blood. Already focused on his next opponent, he chucked the dismembered head. Xander spun and dove for cover, as he randomly hurled plasma ball after plasma ball, praying he hit something vital. His vision had dimmed further, was blurring so badly he feared a total blackout was imminent.

  The two demons fell in the blaze of a firestorm as the third demon ducked out of the way with the speed and skill of a weasel hopped up on steroids. Just as Xander began to summon the next plasma ball, the sound of an approaching car stilled his hand.

  Xander swung around. The demon stood motionless as it scented the air. Fortunately, the last flames of firestorm had evaporated, gone in a burst of demon ash, taking all demon remains with it.

  A battered, gray Taurus pulled around the corner of the far building and idled down the now dark alley. Headlight beams slanted across the brick and wood rear faces of empty buildings. Xander blinked, peering hard as the car pulled up near the back entrance of Treasure Box and the engine cut out.

  A minute later, a shapely, bare leg stretched out of the car, followed by its mate. He caught a glimpse of a long blonde ponytail being flipped over one bare shoulder and then a delicious, curvy bottom was thrust into the air as the owner of those gorgeous legs bent over and leaned back inside the Taurus.

  Xander cursed beneath his breath as a demon crept closer to the distracted woman. He needed to do something. Fast. She backed out from the car, a large, plain, brown box cradled in her arms. She eased around the door and elbowed it closed. The woman came to a dead stop and stared at the smoldering Honda Civic.

  “What on earth?”

  The demon crouched, ready to spring. Snarling, Xander lifted his hand, plasma ball palmed and ready to toss. He let it fly, but the demon was wily and dodged it, hissing at Xander like a scalded cat. The woman let out a strangled shriek and flattened herself against the car.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Xander summoned what little strength he had left and shimmered between the woman and the demon. Balls of fire erupted from his palms and shot out, deflecting an oncoming fiery projectile with one and catching the demon in the middle of his chest this time with the other. With a loud screech, the demon erupted into a ball of flames before he burst into ash.

  Preparing himself to deal with a hysterical female, Xander swiftly changed back into human form so as not to frighten her further. Hell, it probably wouldn’t matter. She’d already gotten an eyeful. He couldn’t think straight. Pressing a fist to his throbbing temple, he shook his head, then staggered a bit as the world around him continued to shake and spin. Gah! Maybe his head would simply fall clean off and roll around on the ground. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?

  No, not so much. Though it couldn’t possibly hurt worse than it did right now. Xander braced himself against the hood of her car, panting, knees shaking, head pounding, stomach rolling.

  The woman gave another strangled screech. The package slipped from her hands and landed on the pavement at her feet with the unmistakable tinkle of broken glass. Clamping her hand around a small crystal dangling from the long, thin chain around her throat, she edged backward and peered up at him.

  She had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

  “Who are you?” She scooted one foot back, easing herself away from him. Slowly. As one would from a dangerous animal. “What do you want?”

  He took a wobbly step toward her, stretched out a trembling hand. Her eyes. So blue. So. Big. So…

  Pretty.

  “Help…you.” He fought, battled with all his might. But he’d lost too much blood. It’d been too long since he’d last fed. His injuries were too severe. Black swirled around him, narrowing the scope of his vision more and more. He couldn’t catch his breath. Numbing cold settled all through him. Invasive. Suffocating.

  Darkness slipped over him.

  Chapter Three

  Kyanna examined the demon lying at her feet in shock. And there was no doubt in her mind that’s what he was. She’d gotten a good look at him, both before and after he’d done that morphing thing. A real live demon. In the flesh. Within poking distance.

  He was a mess. Drenched in blood. Horrible burns covered his shoulders, neck, and arms. Huge gashes snaked across his chest. Deep, vicious wounds. And his face—

  She bit her lip, wincing.

  Oh, his face! How is he still alive?

 
Wait! Where was all this sympathy coming from? She gritted her teeth and firmed her resolve—or tried to.

  Not human, Kyanna!

  But he’d saved her? It made no sense. His kind didn’t save humans. His kind hunted them. Tortured them. Killed them and gobbled up their souls like Summer scarfed down French silk pie.

  Confusion held her immobile and indecisive.

  A soft groan slipped from his lips, gearing her into action. She dragged her cell phone from her back pocket and thumbed it on. Only to turn it right back off and shove it back into her pocket.

  Who was she going to call? It wasn’t as if the local boys in blue had a special cell designed to detain—contain—creatures like him. She’d have better luck with something like that inside her own store.

  Growling in frustration, she dropped to her knees beside the injured…demon? Man? He sure looked like a whole lotta man right now.

  Non-demon?

  Regardless of what he was, he’d saved her from that monster-thing. Helping him in return was the least she could do. Right?

  Danger, Will Robinson! Not human, Kyanna! Do not soften toward him.

  A slim, silver chain glinted from around his throat. Her brow furrowing, she tentatively traced a finger over the smooth chain, did her best to ignore the warm flesh beneath it. Her fingertip paused as she reached the pendant. Power pulsed from the small crystals embedded in the silver and shimmered up her arm like a rush of warm liquid. Soothing. Blood smeared the stones, but she could still identify them. Brecciate jasper? Chrysoberyl?

  What would a demon be doing with something like this?

  According to the book, the recordings passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother before her, this man/demon shouldn’t even be able to come near these stones, let alone have them in constant contact with his flesh.