Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “She’s a demon, Jack. A demon.”

  “Addison Monroe is not a demon. She’s a Naphil.”

  “Born from demon scum,” Micah spat out, his eyes narrowed as he snapped his burning gaze toward Jack. “I don’t get it.”

  “We don’t have to get it; we just have to do it. Think about it, Micah. This is our chance to end this thing, a chance at a normal life.”

  Micah reached for a bin filled with dirty dishes and turned toward the kitchen. “I got news for you, podna,” he said as he brushed past Jack. “The moment we let them brand us with that damn Guardian symbol, normal went buh-bye.”

  Jack watched Micah go, realizing the truth of that statement. He finished his cleaning duties before locking the front doors and turning off the dining room lights. He always offered to help Micah scrub pots and pans in the kitchen, but he needed a break from his partner’s surly mood. Micah was a powder keg of emotions ready to be set off at any time and he went from highs to lows with such ease, it could make your head spin. Nonetheless, Jack knew the reasons for that well enough. Micah carried a lot of guilt and anger that he tried to mask with a carefree personality and drown in moonshine. Every now and then, the mask slipped, and Jack remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d had to make sacrifices for the cause.

  Alone in the apartment, he trudged to the tiny bathroom at the end of the hall between the two bedrooms. Turning the shower on, he moved toward the mirror while he waited for the water to heat. Pulling his yellow, Mama Jo’s T-shirt over his head, he stared at his reflection and the symbol of the Guardians branded into his chest; a cross with a dove carrying an olive branch in its mouth etched into his dark skin in smooth, black lines—a way for him to be identified by others of his kind.

  Like Micah, he’d known his entire life about the order of the Guardians. His father and stepmother had taken custody after his mother’s death; from then on, the importance of his heritage had been drilled into him. All the Bennett men became Guardians, and they passed the gene on to their sons. As a kid, he’d always been captivated by the idea of being a hero like his father, fighting a battle against evil demons, and being privy to a secret world others knew nothing about. When his ability first manifested, he’d been ecstatic. At long last, at the age of fourteen, he became good enough to stand beside the others and take his place as a Guardian.

  Of course, over time, the allure had worn off, leaving him to wonder if it was all worth fighting for. It seemed pointless. The world had to end sometime, and when it did, everyone already knew who would win. For Lucifer, it wasn’t about winning, but about taking as many souls with him as he could when the final battle saw him trapped in his own Hell for eternity.

  This isn’t about winning or losing, his stepmother, Sarah, had always reminded him. It’s about saving as many souls as we can before the end.

  He knew that, just as he knew destroying Eligos’ ten and closing their portals proved key to that objective. In clear violation of the rules governing the war, they had to be dealt with. At the same time, he often wondered what would happen if the Guardians laid down their weapons and just gave up the fight. If demons wanted the world that bad, he didn’t understand why Heaven just didn’t let them have it. Politics, environmental destruction, murder and rage, war … it seemed everyone headed in that direction, anyway.

  With a sigh, he shed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower. He winced from the heat, but remained under the steaming spray, allowing himself to adjust and his tense muscles to loosen.

  It’s worth it for one, his father would have told him. Out of billions, if you only save one, it would still have been worth it.

  Then why did he feel like such a failure? Years of fighting, with almost nothing to show for it. He didn’t know if he was being tested, or if all the failure rested on him and Micah’s shoulders. Just because he wasn’t as vocal about it as his friend didn’t mean Jack didn’t agree with him.

  This could be the last mission, he told himself as he washed. This could bring an end to the fight against Eligos and his ten.

  It didn’t matter what Micah said; life could be closer to normal for a Guardian. As a kid and young adult, he’d lived that normal life with his parents, whose sole assignment had been the protection of a Naphil kid named Elian. Life hadn’t been uneventful, but it wasn’t a constant onslaught of demon attacks, either. His hopes didn’t have to be completely dashed just yet.

  After finishing up in the bathroom, he wrapped a towel around his waist and trudged out into the hall. He could hear Micah in his room, picking at the strings of his guitar. He had just pulled a pair of boxers over his hips when the music stopped. A few seconds later, Micah appeared in his doorway.

  “I reckon I’m done bein’ a rascal. Now you know I’m all for demon slayin’. That bit about the Naphil just …”

  Jack waved a hand in dismissal. “I get it. I miss her, too.”

  Micah’s jaw hardened and he avoided Jack’s gaze. He didn’t like to talk about his sister, and that always made moments like this difficult.

  “I’m headed out to Bourbon,” he continued, pulling on a clean shirt and choosing to change the subject. “Reniel said Addison Monroe works at Temptations.”

  Micah arched one blond eyebrow and smirked. “Are you tellin’ me that our only hope of winnin’ this fight is in the hands of a half-demon stripper?”

  Jack snorted. “We don’t know that she’s a stripper. She could be a bartender or a waitress.”

  “Twenty bucks says she’s a stripper,” Micah challenged.

  “Does that mean you’re coming? I wasn’t expecting you to want to tag along.”

  He shrugged. “The way I see it, Eligos and his ten are gonna know we’re onto a way to beat ’em. That means before long, the demon attacks are gonna start. You think I’m leavin’ my neg to face that alone?”

  Jack chuckled at that. The first time Micah had called him ‘my neg,’ he’d almost eaten Jack’s fist for lunch. He’d then explained that ‘neg’ was a Cajun term for ‘friend.’ Jack had grown used to it, and all of Micah’s other colorful phrases.

  “You just want to come because there will be naked girls.”

  “For true, podna,” Micah confirmed with a nod. “For true.”

  Half an hour later, they stood in the entryway of Temptations. Through the pounding of the music’s heavy bass, the low hum of voices filled the room. On the t-shaped stage jutting out from the back wall, four poles stood, occupied by dancers. All around the room, waitresses in barely-there shorts and tank tops served overpriced drinks, while more of the same worked behind the long, gleaming bar. Red velvet curtains separated the main room from those where private dances took place.

  “Did Ren give you a description?” Micah bellowed in his ear as they made their way toward the bar.

  “No!” Jack shouted back. “But he did say she’d be here tonight.”

  Micah’s broad shoulders, paired with his stony features, were always good for clearing a path in a crowd, tonight being no exception. A gap opened up at the bar as they approached and Micah slid into it, glaring at the guy nearest him until he moved, making room for Jack. Sitting at one of the barstools, Jack waved down the nearest bartender.

  The girl had cinnamon-hued skin and tacky, blonde extensions running down her back, her breasts spilling out of the tank top she’d shredded to reveal as much skin as possible.

  “Hey, honey, what can I get you?”

  “Rum and Coke,” he answered. “And you can point me in the direction of Addison Monroe?”

  The bartender frowned. “Addison?”

  One of the other bargirls came up behind her, toting a tray full of dirty mugs. “You know Addie. The one they call Red.”

  The blonde bartender nodded. “Oh, yeah, Red. She’s backstage, but she’ll be performing soon, I’m sure. She’s one of our more popular dancers. You got a thing for redheads?”

  Jack shrugged, dismissing her question, and the girl went about making hi
s drink. Micah’s gaze burned into the back of his head, yet, he refused to turn around and acknowledge him. But the big Cajun wouldn’t let it go without rubbing it in. His heavy hand clapped down on Jack’s shoulder as he guffawed.

  “Pay up, podna. I was right. Demon stripper.”

  “Naphil stripper,” he grumbled, reaching into his wallet. He paid for his drink and handed a twenty to Micah, who used it to pay for a beer and a Jager bomb. “According to the bartender, she’s also a redhead.”

  Micah shook his head. “I dated a redhead once. Gal had a temper like you wouldn’t believe. Best lovin’ I ever had, though, for true. Though I reckon you wouldn’t know it for lookin’ at me afterward. All them scratches ’cross my back, you’d think I’d laid with a cougar. Come to think of it, I also dated a stripper once, but that’s another story.”

  “One I’ve heard a hundred times,” Jack reminded him.

  The music changed and a booming voice announced over the speaker system the names of the four new dancers taking the stage. Candy, Toya, Tigris, and Red.

  “Heads up.” He nodded toward the stage.

  The four girls strutted out one at a time as the first notes of ‘Lick’ by Joi filled the club. Jack sipped on his drink, his eyebrows shooting up as the fourth girl took her place at one of the center-stage poles. She and a brunette that had to be Tigris—due to her black and orange striped costume—became the center of attention as the men closer to the stage clamored for their notice, bills floating down to the stage floor.

  Even from this distance, he could make out her curvy yet muscled build. Her arms and legs appeared sinewy, straining with strength as she used her limbs to execute some pretty impressive pole tricks. Her hair was a vibrant shade of red that bordered on maroon. It shimmered like fire beneath the stage lights, fanning out around her face as she danced. Her makeup was heavy, so Jack couldn’t decipher any features, her eyes ringed with smoky eye shadow and her lips shimmering a glossy pink.

  “Not bad for a demon,” Micah grunted, before downing his shot. He slammed the glass back down onto the bar, then reached for his beer.

  Jack lowered his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere. The typical guy response made it hard to look at Addison Monroe as just a part of their mission. He couldn’t talk to her about God and fighting demons if all he could think about was what she looked like naked.

  It was damn hard, but he managed to fix his vision on one of the many flat screens behind the bar playing one of several football games. By the time the song ended, his drink was gone and he’d grown restless from waiting.

  “She’s gone backstage,” Micah told him, setting his empty beer bottle beside Jack’s glass. “These places always have back entrances for employees. Gal gotta leave sometime.”

  Jack nodded and turned away from the bar. “We’ll wait for her outside.”

  6

  The Chosen One

  Addison peered out through the crack in the back door of the club, holding her breath. After her long talk with Elle the night before, she hadn’t slept a wink. As a result, she’d been unable to concentrate on anything all day. She’d burned her grits that morning, almost stepped into oncoming traffic, and had put on several articles of clothing inside out before having to try again. All because she couldn’t stop thinking about her parents— her father, in particular; whoever he happened to be.

  She still had so many questions unanswered. Like, who was her father? Did her mother know what he was? It would explain why she’d kept so much from Addison. But then, if she had some important destiny like Elle had said, why wouldn’t her mother have told her the truth? Maybe she had a reason for that. Maybe she’d only wanted to protect Addison.

  It was all enough to give her a headache, and she just wanted a night of reprieve from it.

  You’ll be visited by someone else soon, Elle had told her last night. They’ll tell you everything you need to know about your destiny.

  Apparently, she’d been chosen for some sacred duty, though why any god would want her, she couldn’t figure out. She was a white trash stripper with a demon for a father. What could God think she had to offer?

  Whatever the case, she didn’t think she was ready to hear it. She’d been watching her back all day, wondering if every person who looked at her for more than a second had come for her like Elle had predicted. Of course, this made stripping in front of a crowded room full of men a nerve-wracking experience.

  Finding the alley clear, Addison opened the door wider and slipped out, her gaze sweeping the area for any sign of movement.

  “Lookin’ for someone, cher?”

  She gasped as a man’s voice—thick with the accent of a Cajun—came lilting from the darkness. She moved away from the sound, only to end up with her back against a wall. A large, hulking figure started toward her, blocking the way out. Her heart leapt into her throat as he came into view—the biggest man she’d ever seen. Wearing a white T-shirt that appeared to be stretched to its limits by his bulging biceps, he lumbered forward, his boots pounding a heavy tread on the pavement. A messy mop of dirty blond curls fell in disarray around a rugged, hard face, the jaw covered in days’ worth of stubble. His piercing, cool green stare seemed a bit disdainful as he stared at her.

  Addison scowled. “Look, I’m off the clock, and I’m not that kind of stripper. Some of the other girls are down for this kind of stuff, but I’m not, so get out of my way before I kick your ass.”

  To her surprise, he laughed, his chest trembling with amusement. “You, hurt me?”

  “Leave her alone, Micah.”

  Addison started and turned to find that the wall she’d knocked into was actually a person. She backed away as he peeled himself away from the shadows.

  “I apologize for my friend,” he said.

  He had a bit of an accent, but he wasn’t Southern. New York, maybe?

  “He doesn’t have manners, which is why I never take him anywhere,” he continued.

  “My foot!” the one named Micah protested. “I got more manners in my thumb than a Yankee like you has in his whole body.”

  Addison heaved a heavy sigh, relieved she didn’t need to kill these guys. They didn’t seem to be a threat, and if they’d wanted to hurt her, they would have already. She scowled and turned back to the Yankee. He was tall, but not as intimidating as his friend. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and his skin a beautiful shade of dark chocolate brown, his features full-bodied. Gray, soulful eyes hooded by dark brows stared back at her. Tension around his mouth hinted at more beneath the surface. This guy looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was killing him a little each day. She instantly empathized with him.

  “You must be the ones Elle told me were coming,” she said. She supposed the reprieve she’d wanted wasn’t an option here. It seemed that once God decided something was going to happen, He worked fast. “Let me see your marks.”

  The dark man with the glittering gunmetal eyes smirked at her. “You met Elle?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, and she said I could trust you, but to ask for marks first because there are demons out there that might want me dead.”

  Reaching up, he loosened the first three buttons of his deep red shirt and pulled it aside, revealing a wide swath of bare, smooth chest. Addison leaned close to better see the dark tattoo. She swallowed noisily as his spicy scent met her nostrils.

  “You can touch it if you need to,” he murmured, gazing down at her. “To make sure it isn’t fake. It won’t rub off. It’s burned into my skin.”

  Addison took several steps back—the last thing she needed was to touch him. “I believe you. I know a tattoo when I see one. How about you?”

  She turned to the big Cajun and waited.

  Pursing his lips in annoyance, he yanked at the collar of his t-shirt, revealing the matching black mark branded into his suntanned skin. A cross with a dove carrying an olive branch perched on one of its beams; Elle had told her about the symbol of t
he Guardians.

  “I guess you guys want to talk,” she said. “We shouldn’t do it out in the open, though. If you want, we can go back to my place and I’ll hear you out. I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”

  “Jackson Bennett, Jr., but everyone just calls me Jack,” he said, extending a hand to her. “This is my partner, Micah Boudreaux.”

  Addison lifted one eyebrow. “Partner?”

  Micah cleared his throat. “All Guardians work in pairs. We aren’t those kinds of partners.”

  Jack seemed amused by that, but didn’t remark on it. “We’ll come with you. I’m sure Elle already dropped a lot of information on you, and I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to add to that load. We need to know how much you’ve already been told so we can fill you in on the rest.”

  “Works for me. Come on, it’s not far.”

  They took the twenty minute walk in silence. Once the noise of Bourbon Street faded away behind them, the silence became stifling, but Addison didn’t know what to say. Should she ask questions? And then to ask what? It unnerved her, being near them. Micah was just plain intimidating, and she couldn’t ignore the way he’d stared at her before, as if she were some gross thing he wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. While Jack seemed less intimidating than his partner, he set her even more on edge. He seemed too astute, his stare far too penetrating. As she led them, she could feel his eyes on the back of her head, as though he could see right through her. It made her feel even more exposed than dancing half-naked on a stage in a crowded club ever could.

  They reached her building and she led the guys up the wrought-iron stairs to the second floor. Shame heated her cheeks as she swung the door open to reveal her cramped, one-bedroom apartment. The building sat in a seedy area of town, far from being the nicest on the block. She used every spare penny she earned for her education, and didn’t have the time or money to make the place appear homey. Her walls looked stark with peeling, grayish paint, the little furniture she owned old and worn. No, her place wasn’t Buckingham Palace, but it was hers; she kept it clean, and unlike some of the other girls who lived in her building, she didn’t earn the money to pay for it on her back.