by Michele Hauf
And more and more, she craved real.
* * *
“Who is that?” Stryke asked.
A beautiful redhead in a tight black lace dress strode toward the three men. She wore heels high enough to make a man jump for mercy. And her breasts vied to escape the low neckline. Well, well.
Kir whistled. “I’ve always loved blondes.”
“Blonde? She’s a redhead,” Stryke muttered with growing interest.
“Gentlemen,” Ed said quietly, and with a distinct warning, as he squeezed the river water from his shirt hem. “That’s not a woman. The Saint-Pierre idiot just called up the Dark Prince.”
“Ah shit.” Kir straightened and looked aside to avoid seeing what he knew was illusion.
Those who looked upon Himself saw an image of their greatest temptation.
“What do you mean?” Stryke asked. “She looks like Blyss, but instead with red hair.”
“Now is no time to be racking up brother-in-law points,” Kir hissed. “Get a whiff of the guy.”
Stryke inhaled, expecting some sexy perfume, and instead got a nostril blast of the worst sulfur ever. Hell. He had called up the devil Himself.
Heh. He’d called up Himself.
Now, to get down to business.
“Who the hell are you?” The gorgeous woman stood with hands on hips looking too painfully delicious. Her bright green eyes, framed by lush black lashes, took in the trio. Her tongue dashed out to lick red lips. Everything about her was so wrong. “I know the demon Thrash and Kirnan Sauveterre.” Her gemstone eyes fixed on Stryke and her teeth actually glinted, as if in a TV commercial. “But you don’t belong in Paris.”
“I’m Stryke Saint-Pierre.”
“Ah.” The woman smirked. “I remember a thing with your grandfather Eduoard Credence Saint-Pierre. Something about his daughter, too. Kambriel...” The name sifted from the woman’s lips with such lustful reverence Stryke shuddered.
He’d heard about Kambriel’s unfortunate stumble upon Himself after moving to Paris to find herself, and how the devil had fallen in love with her and seduced her out of her wits. She’d been lost for months in a trippy sort of head game, a virtual slave to the Master of Darkness, until Johnny Santiago had come along and rescued her.
Stryke needed to keep a cool head when dealing with this Demon of All Demons. And that was something he was expert at.
“Why are you after Le Diabolique?” he asked the Dark Prince. “Don’t you have enough power in this realm? And why unleash another überpowerful demon to torment the humans? You’ll get their souls soon enough.”
“Insolent!”
If getting sucker punched by a sexy woman wasn’t humiliating enough, landing the wall face-first and feeling his nose crunch was. Stryke swallowed blood, grinned and spun around. But, expecting to face off against a gorgeous woman, he abruptly halted his charge when before him stood Himself in his true guise.
The Demon of all Demons was formed all of black muscles and sinew, towering four heads higher than Kir, the tallest of the three men. His shoulders were as wide and bulky as a Barcalounger. Glossy black talons scythed out from the ends of his fingers, putting all horror-movie villains to shame.
At his temples were huge ebony horns just like a matador’s nightmare. The demon’s red eyes glowed above a haughty stretched-leather smirk that revealed an imperious glint of fangs.
“Now,” Himself said in tones that cut like ice down Stryke’s spine. “What is this about Le Diabolique? I banished the demon Xyloda into that stone centuries ago. Why do you think I would want to bring that bastard out?”
“Because the lair to perform Xyloda’s releasement ritual is set up below your Club l’Enfer,” Stryke said.
Himself cast a steaming gaze toward Edamite, who, still dripping with river water, bowed his head and stepped back. “I have no intel, Your Darkness,” the demon muttered.
Finding his courage, Kir stepped up beside Stryke. “It’s true. We saw the lair. Four demons of the twelve required for the blood sacrifice have already been captured. Surely more have been acquired since we’ve seen the place.”
Himself coiled his meaty hands into fists. Behind him, the river Seine actually steamed, mimicking the dark lord’s boiling anger.
“We’re trying to stop the release from happening,” Stryke said, finding his stance and not fearing another hit from Himself. He was still swallowing his own blood from the punch, but at least he was standing and had his wits about him. “If you’re not involved, then tell us who is, and we’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it?” Himself tilted his head at him, the horns moving dangerously close. One slice from those could take off his head or half his body. “You, a frail werewolf, and his idiot cohorts? Of what value does it serve you to stop Xyloda’s release?”
Stryke splayed out his hands before him and offered, “I like my world as demon-free as possible.”
Edamite coughed.
Himself sneered. Steam hissed from his black nostrils. But he did not move toward Stryke for another punch.
“So your heroic quest has nothing to do with the tasty bitch who can’t decide if she wants to be wolf or human?”
Stryke lifted his jaw. “It has everything to do with Blyss. And she’s happy with what she is right now.”
“You don’t know her very well, boy.” Himself eyed Kir up and down and then Ed. “I will not tolerate Xyloda’s release. I will end this right now. But the three of you won’t escape without proper recompense. I will ensure those who stole Le Diabolique are aware of exactly who wished their plot foiled.”
Kir and Stryke exchanged looks that said “can’t we get a break?”
“That’s for the comment about the world having fewer demons,” Himself said to Stryke. “If that is all, then, gentlemen, I’ll be off.”
“I’ll go with you,” Stryke said, pausing the Dark Prince. “To stop the demons from releasing Xyloda.”
Himself tilted his head, considering the offer. “You watch too much television, werewolf. This isn’t a supernatural buddy episode.”
“Yeah, but I sure as hell wish it was. At least then I’d know a happy ending waited for me. I need to finish what I’ve started. I promised Blyss I’d take care of matters between her and Thrash regarding that diamond. And until that big black stone is found, it’s dangerous.”
Himself blinked, and when he eyed Stryke this time his corneas were black around the red irises with a slit of black in their centers. “Your offer amuses me.”
The demon king clapped his hands together once, and Stryke suddenly stood in a dark chamber carved from dirt and limestone. Torches lit the vast space, and when he took in his surroundings he found the twelve cages were all filled. And he wasn’t sure what number, exactly, denizens equaled, but he guesstimated a good twenty to thirty demons standing to one side of the room, each of them lifting their heads to eye Stryke and Himself.
Chapter 18
Stryke muttered to his demonic cohort, “I’m going to need a weapon.”
“How about this?”
Stryke’s left arm jerked as a medieval mace suddenly appeared in his grip. The spiked ball must’ve weighed ten pounds. He gave it a test swing and the spiked iron ball almost sliced his leg open.
“Something a little more modern?” he hissed.
Himself shook his head and grumbled, a rattly death thunder that birthed in his throat. The demonic denizen approached with caution.
A Lightsaber with purple beam appeared in Stryke’s hand, startled him on his feet. He swung it and it actually made the noise it should. But seriously? “Are you kidding me?”
“Be specific, insolent!”
“Salt and a blade, if you don’t mind.”
A pistol replaced the Lightsaber, and in his right hand manifested a long, scythed blade that he felt could take off a demon’s head with but a slice.
“Nice.” Stryke eyed the closest demon, who sported enough hardware in his nostrils, ears a
nd at his temples to make a punk rocker jealous. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
Stryke’s blade sliced through a demon’s neck. The head toppled, only to reveal yet another demon standing behind him, snarling its wicked double rows of fangs and swinging the silver scepter—which happened to sport Le Diabolique.
“A little help here!” Stryke called.
Himself stood off to the side, by a cage, watching as Stryke had taken out half the denizen. At one point when Stryke had been held down on the dirt floor by a nasty demon drooling some kind of caustic saliva onto his neck, he looked up to see Himself studying his talons most intently.
“I thought you said you had this one!” Himself called back.
“I said I wanted to help! I thought I was doing the buddy sidekick role.”
“Ah. Always be specific.” The Dark Prince stepped into the fray and with but a slash of talon took out the demon wielding the scepter.
Stryke stumbled against one of the cages. The demon within grasped him around the neck. Pointing the pistol over his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. Loaded with salt rounds, it hit its mark. He felt the demon scatter into flakes behind him.
With a clap of his hands over his head, Himself stomped the floor. All standing demons dispersed into flakes of red-ember ash. Demon blood spattered Stryke’s face and body. The room went black with the shrapnel. Stryke took aim at one demon standing near the doorway and fired the pistol. Right on target.
Himself turned and nodded acknowledgment. “Good one.”
Stryke returned the nod. “Are they all gone?”
The devil swept his hand over the piles of demon ash, and from beneath rose the scepter. And in the center of the room, up popped Le Diabolique. Himself snatched both. The scepter, he pointed toward Stryke.
“You want this for a souvenir?”
“I think I’ll pick up one of those flashing Eiffel Towers when I get topside, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself. This is mine.” Himself eyed the diamond in the murky darkness. His crimson eyes glowed brightly. He popped the diamond into his mouth and swallowed.
“That’s going to give you nasty heartburn.”
Himself’s chuckle didn’t touch levity. “One so heartless as I need not worry. But to show I’m not all treacle and brimstone, I do thank you for alerting me to this anomaly, Saint-Pierre. Ask for one thing and I shall grant it to you.”
“Like a wish?” Stryke scratched the back of his head where he was pretty sure demon blood had changed his hair color to black. He eyed the Dark Prince warily. “Are you for real?”
“I invite you to act as my sidekick and you still question me?”
Stryke shrugged.
“I’ve not the patience for your dally.”
Stryke didn’t want anything the devil could give him, olive branch or not. Although...
“Can you give me something to make a werewolf completely human?”
Himself actually rolled his eyes. “The woman again? You don’t know her very well.”
“So you’ve said. That’s what I want,” Stryke insisted.
“Very well.” Himself gestured dramatically with a sweep of taloned, black-muscled hand, and a glass vial appeared in his grasp. He stretched his arm out over the vast piles of demon ash and the fine particles streamed upward, filling the down-turned vial. A cork stopper appeared in the vial’s neck. Black wax melted about the rim. “Here you go.”
“This is filled with freaking dead demons.” Stryke caught the murky vial. A shake revealed the contents had turned liquid. Of a sudden the contents within the vial glowed red. “What the hell?”
“What is it they say in this abominable realm?” Himself said. “Have a nice day!”
The demon dispersed into ash that then swirled into a black smoke that followed the steel-walled aisle, which led up to the nightclub. And of a sudden Stryke wobbled, arms out to his sides, to catch himself from falling into the Seine.
Kir grabbed him by the front of the shirt and tugged him upright. “That didn’t take long. What happened?”
Stryke stood in the aqueduct. No demons. No cages. No devil. Guess his job as sidekick was now officially over.
Edamite peered over Kir’s shoulder. “Nice,” the demon said from behind them. “Thanks to you, I’ll have a gang of pissed-off demons on my ass. Good going, wolf.”
Stryke spun about, catching Ed by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. “I just did what you’ve been trying to do in a half-assed roundabout way with no success. I went straight to the source. And together we creamed those demons’ asses, and the Dark Prince ate the freakin’ black diamond. So now you’ve got what you wanted. No one is going to release Xyloda from the stone. And you’re going to do as you promised for Blyss. She owes you nothing. You don’t ever speak to her again.”
Ed raised his hands up by his face. “The deal was if she brought Le Diabolique to me she could have her pills. I don’t have the stone.”
“But you’ve the same results.”
“Do as he says, Ed,” Kir said from over Stryke’s shoulder. “Or you’ll have to answer not only to Stryke, but as well, me.”
Ed fisted the air. “Fine! The things I do for family.” He nodded toward the vial Stryke held. “What’s that?”
“It’s for Blyss. She doesn’t need your damn pills anymore. So I don’t care if you are her half brother. Stay. The hell. Away from her.”
“Did Himself give you that? Is it for Blyss?” Kir asked.
Stryke stuff the vial in his front jeans pocket. “It’ll do for her what the pills have done. Only permanently.”
“You really want your girlfriend to keep denying her true nature?” Ed blurted out.
Stryke slammed Ed’s head against the wall. “None of your damn business, demon.”
“Actually, it—”
Stryke growled at the man, and he ceased protest. He turned and strode away, not caring if Kir followed. The deed had been done. The Old Lad would not have another powerful demon running amok on his turf. Of course, Stryke had no idea what to expect from the demons when they discovered who had narced on them.
“Bring it,” Stryke muttered. “I want to smash in some demon skull.”
“Then you’ll need weapons,” Kir said as he joined Stryke’s side.
“I’ve got a salt pistol.” The thing was still tucked in his waistband. Must have dropped the scythe in the chamber. “You didn’t stay behind to talk to your brother?”
“Drop it, Saint-Pierre. You’ll never understand how family ties can forge relationships. All may look peachy right now,” Kir said, “but you’d be wise to arm yourself. And stay close to my sister.”
“That I can promise I will do. I’m heading there right now. We’ve a date.”
“Oh yeah? Somehow I suspect the demon-blood look is not going to go over well with my sister.”
Yeah. He’d better head home and shower first.
Stryke’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Can you do a pickup?” Rhys Hawkes asked. “In an hour?”
“As soon as I can get to a vehicle I’ll be there. Same place?”
“Yes. See you then.”
“You’re not going straight to Blyss’s place?” Kir asked as they landed the surface and the bright evening sunlight made them both blink. “I said you need to protect her.”
“I have a quick job to do for Rhys Hawkes. I’ll get to her within two hours. You can go check on your sister, you know.”
Kir glanced back down the tunnel they’d come from. Stryke suspected he had unfinished business below.
“When you talk to the demon you be sure he keeps his promise to stay away from Blyss.”
Stryke wandered off in the direction of the Île Saint-Louis. A half hour later he’d showered, decided the salt pistol was a good accessory to carry with him and headed out to meet Tor for another pickup.
* * *
Blyss stood in the shoe closet vacillating over the crystal-
laden Louboutins or the black velvet Viviers with the diamonds on the toes.
As a wolf, she’d ruin these precious things. If she shifted all the time, her hair would be a mess. She’d have to shave too often. Her fingernails would be ragged. She’d be a disaster.
Yet if she was a werewolf she could sense Stryke, go for a run in the forest with him. Have werewolf sex with him— What would that be like? Messy. Wild. Weird. Amazing?
She sighed.
“What to do?” She traced a finger along the Louboutins. “I love him. But do I love him enough to change for him?”
* * *
Tor presented yet another curious device to Stryke in a wooden box shaped much like a bread box.
“Is it going to jump out at me or otherwise attract demons?” Stryke asked, keeping his hands to his chest because he wasn’t too eager to open the box after the surprises he’d found.
“It’s sidhe related.”
“Faeries? So what’s inside? A bunch of twinkly dust?”
“Actually, it is.” Tor opened the box top and tilted it toward Stryke. Inside, the contents sparkled madly. “It’s the remains of a dryad. Can be used in magical spells, alchemical potions, and various rituals and/or occult ceremonies. Lots of power in this purple stuff. Tell Rhys to keep it under lock and key.”
Stryke accepted the box with some apprehension. “All that from a bunch of glitter?” He shook his head and whistled. “The things a guy learns. My brother Kelyn...” He suddenly had a desperate thought. “Is this what will happen to him when he dies? He’s faery.”
Tor shrugged. “I’m no expert on the sidhe. Probably. Who knows? How’d you manage a faery in your family?”
“My mother is faery.” And then, wanting to see the man’s reaction, he said, “Grandpa is a vampire.”
“Is that so?” Tor’s brow arched.
“He’d never do a thing to attract attention from the Order of the Stake,” Stryke clarified. “He fights the good fight. Actually keeps his eye on the local packs who believe they’ve a right to pit vampires against one another in the blood games.”
