Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld

by Christine Pope

  He dragged a hand across his bristly chin then scratched at his cheek. “You’ll come around.”

  I watched him walk away. The heavy steel door opened. A guard acknowledged him before pulling the door closed and twisting the lock.

  Alone, I clenched the bars in my warm hands and tilted my head back, closing my eyes. Stefan was locked beyond the veil in a world that despised him where every rippling shadow might kill him. I’d been there. I’d lived much of my life in the netherworld, most of it on my knees in chains. Stefan was alone, and he’d trapped a Prince of Hell with him. I couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d survive, but he would. I had to believe he would. He’d survive until I could get to him.

  I paced my tiny cell, hands laced in my hair.

  Stefan had lied to me. He’d dashed my hopes. I hated him and what he’d done to me. He’d tossed my misplaced love back in my face, but I couldn’t leave him there. He didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserved that. If the Institute wanted to waste their time and money training me, that was their mistake. As soon as I got my demon back, I would cross the veil. Val was there, waiting for me. So was Akil. It was madness to even consider it, but what else did I have? Anything that had ever mattered to me, gone.

  I stopped pacing and stood in the center of my cell, hands clenched at my sides. I’d work for the Institute. I’d play their game. I’d lie to them, let them believe me an ally, and when they trusted me, when they thought me one of them, I’d be back with Stefan to tear this place down around them.

  Epilogue

  The light had long ago given up the ghost, but I didn’t mind the dark. It suited my mood. The bleached-white light from the workshop spilled into the small office through the dusty window, pooling enough of a wan glow across the desk that I could see the scuffs on my boots.

  I heard the workshop door rumble open and glanced through the cobwebs covering the workshop’s little window. The white sheet covering the half-finished Dodge Charger bellowed like a skirt as the uninvited breeze slipped beneath it, then settled gently as the door closed.

  I counted a few beats before Ryder poked his head around the office door. He wouldn’t have wasted any time searching elsewhere for me. There was only one place I went when I needed to think.

  “You’re up. Demon, Class C, downtown.”

  I rocked my chair back, feet still resting on the desk. A Class C was a minor demon sighting, little more than a box ticking exercise. It was all I was permitted to do as a trainee Enforcer.

  Ryder didn’t hide his frown. He sucked in a breath and entered the gloomy office, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his grease stained jeans. I could smell gun oil and knew he’d been working on his collection of Institute guns. He was the go-to guy for the Enforcer weaponry, and despite his disheveled appearance, he was a damn good weapons expert.

  He scratched at an eyebrow and glanced back out the door, clearly uncomfortable with my silence. “Muse, you gotta talk to someone.” He smiled, but it looked sheepish on his face, as though he were embarrassed to even mention his next words. “It’s been months. You’ve not said a word about him; not mentioned him at all. It ain’t healthy.”

  It was sweet that he cared enough to raise the subject. Talking about feelings wasn’t one of Ryder’s strong points. “What do you know about healthy?” I smiled. “I’ve never known a guy who could survive on coffee and Doritos before.”

  He lifted his hands, guilty as charged. “All right. I’m not the guy to talk to, but you gotta talk to someone. This silence, it ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

  He was talking about the Institute and their incessant reporting. Ryder was my handler. My tutor. My babysitter. Everything I did, every move I made, every screw up, he reported to the Institute. It wasn’t his fault. He had a job to do. At least he didn’t lie about it. Who could I talk to? Nica hadn’t said three words to me since that night on the pier, blaming me for her brother’s sacrifice. I might not have felt so alone if they’d given my demon back, but she was off limits. All I had was Ryder.

  “I want my demon back.” I plucked at a loose thread on my jacket. “I don’t care about anything else.”

  “Not even Stefan?”

  I flicked my gaze up without lifting my head, peering at him through my lashes. “Stefan’s dead.”

  Neither of us believed it, but it was the right thing to say. The Institute needed to believe I’d given up hope, so that’s what I told them. Ryder knew it was a lie, but he played the same game I did. Only when Adam and the Institute thought I was entirely theirs, would I get my demon back. Only then could I go beyond the veil and go after Stefan.

  It had been months since Stefan had offered himself to the veil, locking both himself and Akil on the other side, and it would be longer still before the Institute trusted me. But if any half-blood could survive on his own in the demon realm, I had to believe it would be Stefan.

  A quirky smile chased away the concern on Ryder’s face. “C’mon, lil’ firecracker. I’ll race you there. Last on scene, buys the beers.”

  I made a show of examining my nails, then flashed him a grin. Ryder bolted from the doorway with me in hot pursuit.

  He always wins.

  Devil May Care, Book 2 in the Veil Series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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  Death’s Hand: The Descent Series, Book One

  SM Reine

  Elise Kavanagh doesn't want to hunt demons anymore. It's been five years since she killed her last enemy, and life has been quiet since then. She went to college. Got a job, and then lost it. Made a friend or two. Lived a normal life. Now her former partner, a powerful witch named James Faulkner, wants Elise to fight one more time. The daughter of a coven member has been possessed, and Elise is the only exorcist nearby.

  Becoming a hero again would mean risking discovery by old enemies. But digging into the case reveals that it might already be too late--bodies are disappearing, demons slither through the night, and the cogs of apocalypse are beginning to turn once more. Some enemies aren't willing to let the secrets of the past stay dead...

  Part One: Before

  Prologue

  RUSSIA – FEBRUARY 1998

  James spotted a splatter of blood through the tree boughs. It marked the snow like an ink stain on paper.

  He pushed through the pine needles, and her bare feet appeared, blue-toed and limp. He saw the curve of a calf and a knobby, bruised knee. He saw the jut of ribs under her skin and an arm thrown over her face. And the next thing he saw was the twelve other bodies.

  Nausea gripped James, but he covered his mouth and maintained composure. His guide was not so lucky. The other man dove behind a bush, gagged twice, and vomited across the frozen earth.

  Elise was already dead. He was so certain of it that he almost walked away at that moment. But what would Isaac think of James abandoning his daughter’s body? The indignity of leaving her naked on the ice for the birds to devour was too much, and he came so far to find her remains.

  Yet he couldn’t bring himself to step foot in the clearing. Elise looked peaceful, but the others were twisted in agony. Blood marked their fingernails. They had gone out fighting.

  Each of the twelve other bodies could have been siblings. They had pale skin, slender forms draped in white linen, and white-blue eyes—he could tell, because they were frozen open. The snow around them looked fluffy, as though it were freshly fallen. Something about that struck him as wrong. It was cold, but it hadn’t snowed in days, leaving the earth a solid sheet of ice.

  Taking a closer look, James found it wasn’t snow—the clearing was covered in feathers.

  His guide had recovered and began babbling in Russian, but he spoke too fast for James to understand. He heard one recognizable word—chort, devil.

  James hung back in the trees, fighting the urge to leave. He adjusted his balaclava, tuned out the guide’s shouts, and stepped into the c
learing.

  The hair lifted on his arms. His skull began to buzz.

  He tried not to look at the other corpses, but it was like they reached for him, pleading for escape. Their teeth were bared. Their tongues were purple and twisted.

  That one had been stabbed in the chest.

  The body by his feet was disemboweled.

  Those two bodies had died clutching hands.

  He couldn’t look at them anymore. He focused on his feet and forced himself to take a step once, twice. Again and again. When he reached Elise, the buzzing grew so loud that he could no longer hear Maksim’s protests.

  James hovered a glove over her body. All the energy vanished. The clearing went silent.

  He pushed the arm off her face to examine her. Dirty, frayed bandages were wrapped around her hands, so tattered that they looked like they might blow away.

  Elise had her father’s auburn hair and his strong nose, but her soft chin belonged entirely to Ariane. Her eyelashes were sealed by ice. How had she died? There wasn’t a mark he could see.

  He moved to unwrap one of her hands.

  Her eyes fluttered.

  “Maksim!” he shouted. Her broad lips parted to exhale silver fog. “Maksim! She’s alive!” He forgot to speak in Russian, but his message didn’t need translation.

  His guide shouted and ran to the van. James shed his parka. The cold seeped through his undercoat as he wrapped her in his furs. Alive. It was impossible. Nobody could have survived an hour naked in the killing frosts of Siberian spring.

  James watched the other bodies, waiting for them to jerk to life and creep forward, but they remained lifeless. Elise was the only survivor, even though it was impossible for one small girl to have survived an attack that killed a dozen others.

  Unless she had been the one to do the killing.

  He carried her out of the clearing without touching the other bodies. There was nothing he could do for them. He wasn’t sure he would have anyway.

  The guide opened the van, letting steam escape the back end. As soon as James climbed inside, laying Elise between their extra gas tanks and a rattling space heater, he closed the doors again.

  “Hurry!” James said, reverting to his limited Russian.

  “She’s a demon,” repeated Maksim as he climbed to the driver’s seat, and then he continued to speak so quickly that James couldn’t understand if he tried. He picked up a word here and there—devils and hell, curses and fear—but he was too busy to translate.

  He cracked heating packs open and pressed them to Elise’s underarms, her groin, and the back of her neck.

  James pulled a glove off with his teeth and touched his bare fingers to her throat. Her pulse was slow but steady. Color began to flush her cheeks.

  A demon, Maksim said. Maybe. But she was also Isaac and Ariane’s daughter, and James promised to bring her back safely. He kept all of his oaths, no matter how unpleasant.

  His driver shouted and gestured. James interrupted him to say, “Town. Take us to town!”

  The van bounced and groaned over the path. He had to brace his back against the fuel canisters to keep them from falling on Elise as he searched her body. He found no injuries. Aside from a few bruises, she was unharmed.

  Surely a girl that young couldn’t have killed so many people without injury. There must have been someone else in the wilds—someone he hadn’t seen. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  He peeled the bandages off and flipped her hands to look at the palms.

  No.

  James turned her hands over again, heart racing.

  It was the first time James wished Elise had died on the tundra, but it was also far from the last.

  Elise woke up five days after James found her in the forests near Oymyakon.

  He knocked lightly and entered the room. There were no hotels in the small Russian village, so he had been staying in a house full of laborers under the guise of an ordinary traveler. Since bringing home the girl’s body, their friendliness turned to uneasy whispers, and James seldom left Elise sleeping alone in what had once been a tiny closet.

  James sympathized with their wariness. Even he had to steady himself when he found her crouched in the corner of her bed, staring at him with eyes rimmed by dark circles, and he was the one who had brought her there.

  “The women told me you were awake,” he said. “They say you’re refusing to eat. Please lay down. You must conserve your strength.”

  She remained so still that she might have been a painting.

  There were three bowls on the rickety table by her bed. It didn’t look like she had touched any of them.

  “The stew is safe to eat, I assure you. Babushka is an excellent chef. I’ve eaten a dozen of her meals since I arrived, and she has yet to poison me.”

  Her gaze flicked to the table and back to him.

  James moved to sit on the stool next to her, but he caught a glimpse of something shining amongst the sheets. She had somehow stolen a knife from the kitchen. He froze at the sight of the blade.

  Tension hung suspended between them. She didn’t move to stab him, and he didn’t show his fear.

  “My name is James Faulkner,” he went on after a long moment, speaking in the voice one might use to soothe an angry hawk. “The woman you were staying with, Pamela Faulkner, is my aunt. I found you three days ago. We’re in Oymyakon now.”

  “Where’s Pamela?” Her voice was throaty and hoarse.

  He shut his eyes. He could see Pamela’s body as he found it in her house: slumped against the wall as though she had decided to rest for a few minutes. Her body was mostly unmarked, but blood stained her ear canals. Her beautiful black hair, streaked with gray only at the temples, was in its perpetual bun with only a single hair astray.

  James had been very close to his aunt as a child. She was the high priestess of their coven, and she revolutionized ritualistic magic when she invented paper spells. Pamela had arguably been one of the most powerful witches in the world.

  Very little could have caught her off-guard. Even fewer things could have killed her.

  “She’s dead,” he said.

  This didn’t seem to cause any emotional reaction in Elise. She got to her feet, letting the sheets tumble to the ground, and the sight of her skeletal frame made James’s stomach flip. Even swathed in a simple dress borrowed from one of the village women, he could see every curve of every bone in her body.

  She took a step toward the door, knife clutched to her side, and staggered. Her hand slipped on the dresser when she tried to catch herself.

  James stood to help her back to bed, but the look she gave him burned with sheer loathing, so he hung back without touching her. That glare made her look just like Isaac.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She carefully made her way toward the door, gripping the frame to lift herself to a standing position once more.

  “Please, Elise, sit down and eat. I assure you, we’ll leave as soon as you can walk. If He doesn’t know where you are yet, then we’re a step ahead of Him, and we don’t want to lose this brief advantage.”

  Her nose wrinkled, like the idea of going anywhere with him revolted her. He was almost offended.

  She fumbled for the doorknob.

  “You’re very weak and it’s hundreds of miles to the nearest city. You won’t survive alone.”

  Elise’s only response was a silent glare. James was struck by the feeling that she was more of a feral animal than a teenage girl. He probably wanted to be trapped with her as little as she did, but neither of them had a choice in the matter.

  She opened the door. James stepped in her path. She tried to shove him out of her way, but even though she was surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she should have been dead, he was stronger.

  “Your parents asked my aunt to watch you until they came back. Since she died, the responsibility of your care falls upon me. I’ve sworn to keep you safe. I intend to keep that promise.”

 
; She transferred her grip from the doorway to a fistful of his shirt. He felt metal press against his stomach through his parka.

  The knife. He tensed.

  He breathed shallowly and forced himself to speak calmly. “I’m not safe now that I’ve found you, either. We need to stay together. It’s the only way either of us will survive.”

  Elise radiated silent fury. He was struck by her resemblance to Ariane, although he didn’t recall the sweet witch who had birthed her ever being so angry.

  And then she released him and sat on the side of the bed, stubbornly ignoring his hand. With careful, measured movements, she lifted the stew to her mouth and drank its broth without dropping her gaze from his.

  When the bowl was drained, she ate each piece of meat one by one and set the bowl down again. She already moved without shaking. James doubted he would be able to keep her under control for long. It wouldn’t be long before she was much, much stronger than him.

  He wondered again if she had killed all those people in the clearing.

  “I don’t trust you,” Elise said. “I will never trust you.”

  It was the last thing she said to him for a very long time.

  December 1988

  Isaac Kavanagh gave his daughter a pair of twin falchion swords for her seventh birthday. Wickedly sharp and too big for her hands, Elise accepted them with a grave nod before turning to kill her first demon.

  She skewered it. The demon shrieked and wailed.

  “Good,” Isaac said with a proud smile. “Very good.”

  Later, they will say this day marked the beginning of the end of the world.

  This is only half true.

  Part Two: Retirement

  Chapter 1

  MAY 2009

  Steam drifted from the surface of Marisa Ramirez’s coffee. She blew on it gently, cupping the mug between her hands to warm her chilly fingers.