The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge)

by Paula Altenburg

  Stone caught Creed by the back of one knee with the toe of his boot and dragged him off balance. Creed recovered, but not before Stone had managed to slide his fingers beneath the bone plating covering Creed’s chest. He jerked it, and with a searing agony, Creed felt the muscles and tendons holding it in place begin to tear. He brought a hammer fist down on Stone’s arm and the tearing ceased.

  Creed punched him in the chest, putting his full weight behind it in a solid and well-aimed blow that should have stopped Stone’s heart, but did no real harm other than to knock him down. Creed planted one large demon foot on him so that he could not rise, then pummeled his throat with a bone-enforced fist until the boy choked. When he lifted his arms in an instinctive reaction, Creed extended the claws of his right hand and drove them deep into the exposed flesh beneath Stone’s left arm. He dug his claws in as deep as he could force them until he reached the boy’s racing heart. With his other fist, he hammered the claws home.

  Stone let out a shriek of agony. Creed straightened, retracting his demon’s claws, and watched as the boy drew up his knees and writhed in the dirt. Red pooled around him, pulsing from his body with the final beats of his faltering heart.

  …

  Nieve tried to stop Airie from going farther than the front steps, even though she knew the house would not be enough to keep them safe. Willow would simply burn it down around them.

  Her concern, when she expressed it, made Airie smile.

  “Do you think I’m afraid of demon fire?” she asked.

  “I think you’re too pregnant to move very fast if you need to take cover,” Nieve replied. “What if she isn’t alone?”

  They stayed on the verandah, forcing Willow to come closer.

  She cocked her head to one side and studied Airie. Dust kicked up in the yard behind her, spun by the wind. Fire skipped across her fingertips.

  It was obvious to Nieve that the two women shared a common demon ancestor. Willow, too, was a very lovely woman, with the same dark hair and brown, fiery eyes. But she did not possess the ethereal beauty and gentle manner that marked Airie as truly unique. Willow was like a stone image of her—one crafted by a sculptor of no more than average talent. She had nothing inside her that set her apart.

  “I would know you anywhere,” she said to Airie. “We look alike.” Her glance slid over Airie, coming to rest on her round stomach, then jerked up to her face. “I had no idea you were pregnant. That changes things. It means I’ll give you a chance. Join me, and save yourself and the child.”

  “Join you in what?” Airie asked. Sparks glittered a warning in her lovely eyes, changing the deep brown to molten lava.

  “There are children who need us to teach them how to survive. Children like yours, who have been abandoned by mortals because they are so much superior to them.”

  “I don’t believe they’re superior,” Airie said.

  The fire trembled on Willow’s fingers. “Why do you waste your immortal heritage this way? Don’t you hear how mortals speak of us?” She glanced at Nieve, who shrank closer to Airie, and her eyes filled with contempt. “Do you see how they fear us?”

  “I don’t blame people for being afraid,” Airie said. When she spoke, it was with the patience of a mother for its wayward child, even though Willow had to be at least ten years her senior. “I take a certain amount of responsibility for it. If I hadn’t banished demons, our kind wouldn’t now be terrorizing the world the way you are. Because of me, the mortal world will never again be the same. I’d rather work for a peaceful existence between us all than bring more war and destruction.”

  The folds of Willow’s skirt snapped in the rising wind. “Our kind will make the world far better than it was before.”

  “No,” Airie said. “Not better. Different. We should be teaching mortals and half demons how to coexist, not force them to persecute and kill each other.”

  “The time for teaching is done.” Willow’s face hardened and became ugly with purpose. “If you aren’t with me, you’re against me. Is that how you wish things to be?” She glanced at Airie’s pregnant stomach in a way that made Nieve shiver. “Is that what you want for one of our own?”

  All remaining gentleness went out of Airie the instant Willow spoke of the baby with such possessiveness. “You have no claim on this baby and no say in how it’s raised. It has two parents to guide it.”

  “Two parents won’t always agree on what’s best for the child,” Willow said, “especially if their differences are as great as the ones between you and the Demon Slayer.” She looked to Nieve. “How do you think your son’s demon father would guide him if he were here? Which one of you does your son truly favor? Shall we find out?”

  Nieve tried to breathe. Willow planned to summon Ash’s father. Wherever her son was right now, Nieve prayed he remained hidden. She had no idea what the demon might do to him.

  A circle of fire erupted around Airie and Nieve. And still Airie did not appear at all concerned, although Nieve could not say the same. The catch of her breath preceded a rising panic.

  She did not want to face the demon, not because she feared he would harm her, but because she was afraid she could not resist him. And if she did not, while Creed would most likely forgive her for it, he would never look at her in quite the same way again. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were beautiful and special, and valuable to him. She did not want to lose that.

  She did not want to lose Asher again either, although at least now, she knew he was safe.

  “You forget,” Airie said to Willow, her voice soft but certain, “that while you may claim the Demon Lord is your father, he’s acknowledged me as his daughter. My mother is also a goddess. They’re both in perfect agreement as to what’s best for me. I can also say, with all certainty, that while I no doubt favor them both, I’m my own person as well. I can take care of myself, and those entrusted to me.”

  As the flames licked higher, a light mist fell. The mist turned to rain. It did not touch Airie or Nieve, although the fire Willow raised sizzled and died away.

  Too late.

  He appeared in mortal form, broad-shouldered and terrifyingly handsome, his skin smooth, liquid gold. His thick braid of brown hair swung like a flicked whip as he whirled around, looking for somewhere to focus his resentment at being summoned. Glorious blue eyes, soulless and empty, raked over the three women.

  They came to rest on Nieve.

  The caress of demon compulsion—sensual, filled with temptation and a promise of pleasure—that had once lured her to disaster called to her again.

  Yet this time, as its thoughts slid over her, all she could think of was Creed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Willow watched the fire disappear. At first she could not credit that Airie had managed to extinguish it, or why she would do so when it left a demon uncontained.

  The rain continued to fall all around them, forming a new circle with the three women and the demon at its core. As drops pattered against the ground where demon fire had burned only seconds before, a fine gray mist of steam curled upward, creating a barrier that cut them off from the world.

  Airie had spoken the truth when she said her mother was a goddess. She had summoned goddess rain, which when it touched demon fire, turned to steam that held the demon more effectively in place than Willow could ever have managed. It seeped into the tiniest of cracks and between layers of clothing. This was what had banished demons from the world. The damp, pervasive mist was something they could not escape.

  The steam gradually drifted, inch by slow inch, toward the dry center of the circle. Willow touched it with outstretched fingers. While it did her no harm, it would no doubt send the demon back to the boundary in a few short moments if she did not take action.

  “I have no desire to hurt you,” Airie said to the demon. “Goddess rain banished you once before. Go back where you came from.”

  “Not until I claim what’s mine.” He watched Airie the same way a snake contemplated
prey. “No one can keep from me the one I have chosen. Not even the Demon Lord’s spawn.”

  “The choice is hers. She says she doesn’t want you,” Airie said.

  The tendrils of steam wrapped tighter around him, and Willow saw her careful plans begin to unravel. She had to do something.

  She made a move toward Airie, intending to stop the assault. The mortal woman, however, stepped into Willow’s path in an attempt to keep her from reaching Airie. Willow, impatient, thrust her aside with a hard shove that sent her sprawling to the ground.

  The demon concentrated those emotionless eyes on Willow in a way that made her more cautious of him, and forced her to consider her next move with greater care, but she would not allow him to believe that she feared him.

  The demon took a step toward the quivering mortal woman. She offered too great a distraction for him. Willow needed to shift his attention back to Airie, and find some way to stop the rain that held him in check. He had a promise to fulfill. If Airie would not join her, then she and her spawn could both die.

  Willow stretched out her palms. Balls of fire again appeared in her hands, although smaller this time, and not so bright, but they would be enough. They arced into the air, exploding into a sheet of flame that split as it fell so that the demon, the mortal, and Willow were penned into a snug circular dome together, with very little room to maneuver. It was enough to keep Airie outside of it, and the rain at bay, but only for a few precious moments.

  The circle tightened, contracted beneath the onslaught of rain. The heat of the demon fire increased, and while it would take far longer to affect Willow and the demon, the mortal woman was not so fortunate. The thought of her screams filled Willow with cold anticipation.

  The screams did not come. Instead, the demon positioned his body protectively around her.

  The rain began to pour, heavier and harder, and although Willow had been prepared for it, she couldn’t continue to hold the fire against it. Airie was stronger than she’d thought.

  The demon’s head lifted, and he looked at Willow with such hostility that she did not feel as certain of herself as she had only moments before.

  “There’s no demon in you,” he said. “That’s why you can’t answer my summons. It’s why you can’t cross to the boundary.” His lips curled in contempt. “You’re nothing. A mortal no demon would claim.”

  Anger reddened Willow’s vision. She willed the flames to burn brighter and higher despite the effort it cost her. “I am a true daughter of the Demon Lord. I possess demon fire. You’ll do what I say, as you promised me.”

  “I make no promises to mortals.”

  The demon reached for her throat, too fast for her to avoid contact. His fingers tightened as he lifted her off her feet. She choked and gasped, and clawed at his hand with her nails. The fire she wielded could no longer be released. It scorched through her veins, bubbling her blood into a boil. Pressure built inside her skull, stretching its ability to contain the contents.

  She fought for calm. The demon required proof that she was not mortal. If she did not show fear, he would see the truth of it and he would release her.

  She thought she heard a woman’s screams. Then her ears popped, and all went silent.

  The world shifted and the bottom fell out of the earth.

  …

  In all, when the gunfire ended, five children lay dead. So did several of the townsmen.

  While the demon part of Creed normally would have reveled in the smell of blood, and the fear that seeped from mortal and half demon alike, Creed found he could muster no more than a dull and impotent anger at the senselessness of what had transpired. No one with even a trace of mortal compassion could find anything to celebrate in this tragedy. Not even his demon could glory in it.

  And as Creed stood over Stone’s body, broken and somehow forlorn in death as it lay in the dust and dirt, a great sadness settled in his heart. It had not needed to be this way. While half demons could be fearless, that did not make them unfeeling. He truly believed many could be taught right from wrong, and rules within which they should live, the same as most mortal beings. There would always be an imbalance in the universe. The strong and the weak, the rich and the poor. But there was value in all life.

  With a start, Creed realized he retained his demon form. He released it, and in seconds was standing half-naked and exposed to the men silently watching him, fear and uncertainty etched on their faces.

  He could not blame them. They had watched him kill Stone, as well as a seemingly innocent young girl—and while Creed did not regret the girl’s death either, the need for it sickened him. She’d had all the outward appearance of a mortal, but inside had possessed the very worst instincts of her combined heritage. Her cruelty could not be blamed entirely on her demon heritage. He’d seen no hesitation or conflict in her. Her mortality had not warred with her demon, but rather, encouraged it. Creed had no doubt that there were others like her, or that more would be born in future generations, but hoped they’d be few and far between.

  He picked up the shirt he had set aside and put it on, and as he fumbled with the buttons, looked around to see where he could be of most help.

  The sheriff had not moved. Hunter was beside him, battered and bloody, but showing no signs of serious injury. Creed limped toward them, rubbing his chest where Stone had torn at his demon’s bone plating. The shift back to mortal form had repaired much of the damage, but the fierce pain had not yet dissipated.

  The sheriff could not take his eyes off the deformed child, still cradled in the pregnant girl’s arms as she wept over his body in the door of the temple. No one seemed to know what to do.

  “What is that thing?” the sheriff asked, unable to hide his horror and revulsion.

  “That is a child,” Creed interrupted, cutting Hunter off before he made some comment he might later regret. Creed knew what the other man had to be thinking, given his wife’s current condition. He met Hunter’s eyes. “He deserved as much of a chance as any other living being. He never had one. Whose fault might that have been?”

  Emotions warred across Hunter’s face. Seconds passed. Then, slowly, he nodded. Turning his back to the weeping girl and the dead boy on the steps, he took control of the situation.

  “Take the remaining children to the jail and lock them up as best you’re able until we can decide what to do with them,” he said to the sheriff and a few of the deputies who were not incapacitated by either shock or injury. “It may be time for us to consult with the Godseekers and find a way forward in dealing with half demons. They’ve already had to do so in the north.”

  Creed took advantage of the general distraction and uncertainty to walk away so that he could be alone in order to shield himself from those curious and fearful eyes.

  He passed the empty mercantile. Beyond it the private residences began, and since he had no wish to be shot at by frightened homeowners, he stopped. He had a burning desire to find Nieve, and to hold her in his arms. To feel that there was at least a part of him that was mortal, and not a monster.

  A small hand caught and tugged at the shredded remains of his trouser leg, and he looked down to find Nieve’s son, with his solemn face and sober eyes, at his side.

  He crouched so that he was at eye level with the boy. He knew Asher—or Scratch, as Hunter called him—could travel over significant distances, although he was as confused as Hunter with regard to how he accomplished it.

  He hoped the child had not seen the fighting. While Asher’s unknown past was disquieting enough, it was how Nieve would react to his being here that concerned Creed most. She would want to protect him from this horror—but for very different reasons than Creed did.

  Creed knew from personal experience the dangers of exposing half demon children to violence. They thrived on it. It strengthened them. And it brought out the demons they carried inside them.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Creed said to him. “Your mother and Airie will be worried.”

&nb
sp; The boy grasped his hand. His fingers were small and barely covered a quarter of Creed’s, but in that gentle touch, Creed understood the full force of Asher’s demon strength. All of its fearlessness, and the force of its allure, had combined with Nieve’s quiet, sweet-tempered determination. Asher had no more desire to harm others than did his mother.

  But he wanted something from Creed, and he intended to have it.

  “Well, well,” Creed said, rocking back on his bare heels in surprise. He did not pull away from that quiet insistence, but neither did he give in to it. He had strengths of his own. “Don’t try to persuade me to do something against my will. We both know that’s wrong.” He studied the boy carefully. Nieve had forgotten this child’s existence for more than a year. She had not done so on her own. She would never have put him so far from her thoughts if she’d had any real choice. “You do know that it’s wrong, don’t you?”

  The little boy nodded. The compulsion, however, did not abate. He tugged on Creed’s hand.

  Creed frowned. “Whatever you want from me, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

  A girl responded. “Willow is talking to the Demon Slayer’s wife and his mother.”

  Creed looked up. The girl who spoke was small and thin, and nervous in manner. Her thick hair was a tangled nest of dark ringlets that put him in mind of his sister when she was a little girl. Bare, skinny legs poked like sticks from beneath the hem of a skirt she’d outgrown. She had scabs and ground-in dirt on both knees, and long, shallow scratches on one shin, as if she’d been crawling through bramble bushes. This was another one of Willow’s children, and it disturbed him to find Nieve’s young and trusting son in her company.

  “What are they talking about?” Creed asked. Already he was on his feet and heading back to find Hunter, swinging Asher into his arms as he did. He could hardly leave the children alone. He motioned for the girl to follow them.

  She scurried to keep up. “I don’t know. But Willow is mad at them.”