Blood Secret

by L. J. Langdon

  A Blood Demon crawled along the underside of the archway, a bony claw flashing within its dark form. The sound as it scraped and dug into the stone was worse than nails on a chalkboard to my sensitive ears. It came to a shadowy halt at the same time a second Blood Demon settled a little closer on an English “Jeans Only” sign. It sat like a foul vulture ready to swoop down and consume the carrion below.

  There would be no swooping. I was not prey.

  I stiffened. Most Blood Demons would have run away at the sight of a Soul Guardian, but these two just watched us. Their passive observation was more than unsettling.

  “Oh fuck,” Emma gasped as she stared in horror toward the Blood Demons. “It’s them, they’re back.”

  What the hell? Emma could see Blood Demons?

  But she was human, and in their current form, they should have appeared as nothing more than shadows to her.

  I pushed her behind me and started to back away toward the well-lit square.

  She clutched my shirt from behind, and I felt her bury her face into the fabric.

  “Not real,” she whispered. “Not real.”

  I bared my teeth in warning, willing the Blood Demons to back off. Instead, the one on the archway crept forward, keeping pace with our retreat.

  Goosebumps crept along my skin, and the back of my throat ached as I swallowed down the bitter taste of dread. The last time a Blood Demon had acted so boldly, my best friend had died.

  No. This would not do.

  No one would die this time.

  Chapter 5

  Emma

  * * *

  “Not real.” I repeated the desperate chant over and over. The hard warmth of Kristof’s muscular back was the only thing keeping me grounded instead of losing myself to hysterics. I drew in his masculine scent as I continued my chant. “N … not bloody real.”

  “It’s okay, Emma. I won’t let them near you.”

  Kristof’s statement snapped me out of my near panic.

  “You … you can see them too?”

  It was too much to hope for.

  “Yes, and I’m going to kill them.”

  I wasn’t the only one who could see them? Relief swamped me and I covered my mouth, unable to talk.

  He pushed me back, away from him, but didn’t take his eyes off the creatures before us.

  “Run to the square,” he commanded. “Run through it and around to the left. There’s a church only two hundred meters away. Find it. Get inside.”

  I couldn’t move.

  “Go!” he yelled as he stepped away from me and fell headfirst toward the hard cobblestone ground.

  I screamed and grabbed at the air like that was going to stop his fall, but just as his head might hit, he reached his arms out, and two powerful, furred legs hit the ground.

  My brain misfired. Kristof was gone, and in his place was a huge muscular wolf. His silver coat glowed in the moonlight as he ran.

  “Not real.” I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the hallucination of the wolf to disappear. People didn’t just transform into wolves.

  I drew in a slow breath and cracked open my eyes to check again.

  The wolf was the embodiment of otherworldly power and grace as he ran toward the creatures.

  I clutched my arms around my stomach as a wave of cold realization washed through me. It was official. My mind had finally snapped. For years Father had told me I was sick, that I needed to listen to his advice.

  God, was he right?

  I blinked but nothing changed. The wolf was still there.

  The creature perched on the shop sign didn’t have time to react. The wolf launched into the air and snatched it by the throat like a cat would snatch a bird from a branch. As his paws hit the ground again, he shook his head from side to side and growled as he tore the thing’s throat out. Goosebumps ran up my spine as a cloud of ash engulfed the wolf. The creature in his mouth was gone.

  Now only one remained.

  It had moved high up the sandstone wall to grip a window ledge about three stories up, well out of reach of the snarling wolf below. It wouldn’t leave. The wolf growled and snarled at it as he paced back and forth on the ground below. It was like he was daring it to come down from its roost. The creature moved a little higher. And a little closer to me. I stepped back. A snarl came from the wolf again as he put himself between us. He pressed his flank against my thigh. His fangs dripped with saliva as his lips curled back with menacing promise. It should have disgusted me. It should have terrified me. Instead, the warmth of his muscled fur and the sight of those deadly incisors brought a sense of reassurance and safety.

  “Oh my goodness!”

  Behind us, a well-dressed woman in an evening gown and fur coat backed up against the wall. Her gloved hand pressed to her mouth. She pointed a finger, both in fear and accusation. “You need to put a leash on that mutt, it’s dangerous.”

  She was pointing at Kristof.

  I wasn’t the only one that saw a wolf instead of a man. Maybe I hadn’t lost my mind after all.

  I stole a nervous glance at the creature. It was still there, but more shadow than substance. The woman seemed to be oblivious to its presence. She was too worried about the mutt that now sat at my feet, leaning his head against my hip, tongue hanging out and tail thumping on the ground in a happy rhythm. The tension in his muscles and faint quiver of his fur belied the casual act. He kept scenting the air, and more than once he peered back toward the creature.

  I looked back at the woman. Our gazes connected, and her thoughts hit me. My gums tingled and my eyes burned into her soul. The dark insanity that always resided within me whispered a word through my being.

  Greed.

  I knew her innermost wishes. She wanted more. She wanted money. She wanted status. She wanted privilege. I could give her that … for a price.

  She took a step toward me.

  The physical contact of the wolf at my side was secondary to everything else. There was only the woman and our connection. This was why I always avoided eye contact—it made the voices louder. It made everything so much worse. I’d made it a rule. I’d made myself lots of rules to keep the madness at bay, and I’d just broken the most important one.

  Don’t look people in the eyes.

  Kristof stepped between us, barking and growling.

  The spell broke, and the woman stepped back and shook her head.

  “This is unacceptable.” She pointed her finger at Kristof. “That beast needs to be restrained. I’m calling the authorities and having you fined.”

  She turned her back and rushed away. The creature on the windowsill scuttled after her.

  I took a step toward the direction the woman had gone. I don’t know what I thought I could do, but I had to do something.

  A large hand gripped my forearm and brought my attention back to the man who now stood beside me. Kristof. The wolf was gone, and a fully-clothed man stood before me. The woodsy masculine scent I’d taken refuge in earlier was stronger, and I drew in another breath.

  “W… we have to stop it, it’s after her,” I stammered.

  “No, if she invites it in, then that is her choice. I’m not permitted to interfere.” His voice had a growly edge to it that wasn’t there before the fight. He let go of my arm and started rubbing his hand on his jeans.

  “You … you turned into a wolf.”

  He looked away from me for a moment, and then his gaze returned to mine.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t deny it. He didn’t try and tell me I was crazy.

  I rubbed at my forehead as a sinking feeling hit my stomach. How was this possible?

  I looked him up and down. Black boots encased huge feet, jeans clung to muscular thighs, and a black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. I had an urge to lean in and feel his warmth. Huddling against the heat of his back had felt good; being cocooned safely against that chest would feel amazing.

  Those were dangerous thoughts, thoughts that threatened the str
ength and independence I was fighting so hard for.

  “What happens to your clothes?”

  “Magic.” He grinned and flashed his dimples at me.

  Magic? My brow pounded at the mere suggestion that such a thing existed.

  I indicated the pile of ash on the ground. “Does that always happen when you kill them? They turn to ash like that?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “They are real then? Those … creatures?”

  “Yes.”

  Just one simple word, and it completely changed my life. What I saw was real. And Father either couldn’t see them, or he’d lied to me. The idea my whole life was a lie caused rage and fear to swirl in the depths of my being. I wasn’t ready to know more. I couldn’t ask any more questions.

  When I said nothing else, Kristof strode over to the pile of ashes left by the dead creature. He squatted beside the mess and raked his fingers through the debris like he was trying to create patterns in the sand of a Zen garden. He shook his head, stood, dusted his hands off against each other, and strode back over to me. He gave me the assessing look of a predator.

  “You could see them, the Blood Demons?”

  “Is that what they’re called?” My voice was barely a whisper.

  He nodded.

  My body shivered, and I pulled his jacket tighter around me to inhale the woodsy scent that clung to the garment. I wasn’t cold. But he’d given my nightmares a name. Naming them made them real, not hallucinations. I didn’t know which was more terrifying.

  “Yes, I could see them,” I whispered. The need for further proof stabbed through me like an adrenaline spike. “And you could see them too.”

  He nodded. “Because it’s my job to kill them, but humans can’t seem them. Not when they are hunting in their shadow form.” His eyes had a sheen of accusation. “You shouldn’t have been able to see them.”

  I also shouldn’t have been able to stand there and look him in the eyes without the usual whispers assaulting my mind.

  When I said nothing, he sighed and continued. “You’re coming with me. I need to take you back to the pack so we can figure this out.”

  “Well, good, because I’m not leaving your side until you tell me everything you know about those … those … Blood Demons.”

  The name of the creatures felt oddly familiar on my tongue.

  He smiled and hit me with those deadly dimples. “I’m glad you insist.”

  Shit. Fangs be damned, that grin was the deadliest part of him. I didn’t like its effect on me.

  He stepped forward and grabbed my hand. The warmth of his calloused palms burned into me. My whole being filled with the sensation of his touch. I’d never held a man’s hand before. Feeling my hand engulfed by a steady male hand made me feel safe, protected. The realization that I was drawing strength from his touch was like a slap to my forehead. My mother’s robotic gaze flashed before me.

  No, I had to learn to stand on my own. I couldn’t be weak. I wouldn’t be a woman powerful men like Father controlled.

  I backed away, trying to pull my hand out of his grasp.

  He frowned and tightened his grip.

  My palm grew warm and in the next moment, he hissed and jerked his hand away. A low growl emanated from deep in his chest as he rubbed at his hand. The sound chased goosebumps along my skin. Hard hunter eyes changed from dark sapphire to glowing glacial blue. Those eyes held a deadly accusation that forced me to take a step back.

  “What the fuck was that?” His German accent was stronger.

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  I shook my head. “Nothing, I … I didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t lie. Show me your hand. Give it to me now.”

  I clenched my fists together and held both hands by my side. I forced my chin up, despite the embarrassment that burned through me. The brandings were part of my upbringing. I’d expected them to start when I’d had my first menses almost seven years ago. Sure, each year I’d come to dread the next sacrament, but Father had told me accepting each one would make me stronger, and I wanted to be stronger. I needed to be stronger.

  “Show me!” he growled.

  His eyes glowed, feral, dangerous. Was his wolf going to take control and rip out my throat? I took a step back.

  “I … I …” I didn’t know what to say.

  He lunged forward and grabbed my hand. It didn’t matter how tight I clenched my fists, his strength was insurmountable. I was helpless to stop him as he pried my fingers open and growled at what was revealed.

  Father had tattooed two circles onto my palm as a guide. One was as large as my palm would allow, and the second was half the size of the larger one and lay centered within. He’d then divided the outer space into seven sections. At the ceremony each year, Father branded a sigil into one of the areas. A delicate red scar filled six of the seven sections.

  In two days, the final sigil would complete the sections, and a sealing sigil would be branded into the center and over the tattoo to complete the pattern. This was to be done on both hands, as Father said the hands represent the power of shaping. The same completed design would then be branded over my heart.

  I shivered. It was bloody pathetic that I was grateful the chest branding only had to be done once. I shook as the fearful image of what was to come grew in my mind. Once that was all done, Father said, I would be an adult and more reliable than any child he’d ever had. I was forbidden from asking about my older brother. He’d died when I was young, and I couldn’t remember him anyway.

  Kristof’s grip tightened on my fingers, and the pain brought my attention back to him.

  “Oww, you’re hurting me.” I pulled against him, and he released me.

  “What the fuck have you done to yourself? Do you have any idea what those symbols on your hands are? They’re demon names.”

  What?

  The world spun. I couldn’t respond. My life was a lie. The things I saw were real. And apparently, the rituals that were supposed to make me stronger and allow me to enter adulthood were a very bad thing.

  “Did you choose to have them branded into your flesh? Who did this to you?”

  He fired questions at me quicker than I could process. Only the last two questions registered, so I answered them.

  “I had no choice. My father did it.”

  “Schieße. You always have a choice.” he snarled.

  The words were more growl than voice, but I understood. I didn’t, however, understand the rest of the profanities he let loose while pacing back and forth in front of me. Clearly, I hadn’t mastered the German language quite as well as I thought I had.

  I rubbed the scars on my palm and felt them burn and tingle.

  He stopped pacing and drew in a deep breath. “Whatever you are doing, stop it.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  He swore again and shook his head.

  “I can’t take you back to the pack smelling like that.” His eyes blazed with cold anger. “You’re coming with me. I have to figure this out. Come.”

  He turned and stalked away, expecting me to follow.

  “I’m not the dog here. Don’t talk to me like that.”

  He turned and growled. His eyes still held a faint glacial glow.

  “I. Am. Not. A. Dog. You’d do well to remember that.”

  No, he was not a dog. He was a magnificent beast that made me feel safe and protected and I responded to his harsh words despite myself.

  “Fine. But once you untwist your knickers, you’re going to tell me what the hell’s going on.”

  Chapter 6

  Kristof

  * * *

  Schieße, and now I was running from my pack.

  How the hell had that happened?

  I frowned at the dark road before me. It happened because when she’d activated those sigils on her hand, I realized that if Hamish or Gresham took one whiff of her, they’d attack. What if they killed her? Bile rose in the back of my throat,
and a part of me howled at the thought. I couldn’t let the Pack hurt her and I didn’t know if I could trust them not to kill her. If they smelled what I smelled, they might look behind the beautiful exterior and kill her anyway.

  Once we’d gotten in the car, Emma refused to talk. Silent tears tracked down her face until she’d fallen asleep less than twenty minutes into the drive. Six hours later, she still slept.

  I turned onto the forest track. My wolf lurked just below the surface of my skin, and although that allowed me to see just fine in the dark, I kept the headlights on as I maneuvered along the old dirt road. I wanted to get there before sunrise, and I was traveling too fast considering the track hadn’t been used in about fifty years.

  We hit another pothole and the momentum bottomed out the suspension with a bang I felt in my teeth. I slowed down, and I glanced over at my passenger. Emma looked delicate and ethereal in the dim light of the dashboard. Her head lounged back against the headrest and her mouth hung open, a soft exhalation escaping with each breath. Dark circles under her eyes hinted at prolonged exhaustion. A slight frown marred her otherwise perfect face. I would have been surprised if she’d been sleeping peacefully. Not after the night she’d had.

  She’d been terrified of the Blood Demons. Why were they following her? Were they trying to hurt her? My wolf had transformed and killed one of them without thought. My two halves in total agreement. Protect her—the instinct screamed at me and didn’t allow for argument.

  Dread hit my gut like a punch made of stone. What if I’d been tricked and failed to kill a new, more powerful Blood Demon? One we had no clue even existed.

  We’d discovered some Blood Demons had a new power—medallions embedded in their chests that enhanced their ability to use the seven deadly sins. What if Emma wielded another new power? I almost laughed at the idea of politely asking the feisty sprite if she would unbutton her shirt so I could inspect her chest.

  I drew in a deep breath, and her delicate floral scent filled the car. No hint of sulfur. She was most certainly something different.

  When I’d first seen her hand, one of the sigils on her palm had stood out to me. The symbol for the demon Asmodeus, the lust demon. It was the same sigil that was in the center of the stolen medallion. That meant she could be a lead, and I couldn’t let the pack destroy the only clue I had.