Master of the Abyss

by Sinclair Cherise

  Face set into calm lines, he watched her give one last high shriek and then stalk off on one of the myriad of trails leading away from the campground. Her poor victim walked into the tent. A minute later, a rolled-up sleeping bag hit the ground outside. Then a backpack. The boyfriend obviously planned to leave.

  Another brother hurt, perhaps damaged forever.

  He leaned forward and laced his hands together. The evil had gone up the trail, and the miasma of her passing floated above the ground, an ugly dark green like a bruise. His duty was clear; the world would be a better place without her.

  In his jeans, his manhood hardened. He hated disposing of demons, of the noise, the smells, the darkness—but the heavens had provided compensation, showing him that his way was right. The scream of the demons sent masculine heat through his body, and over the years, he had grown to anticipate the battles. And the time afterward when he would show in an unmistakable way that he had the victory.

  Taking his time, he wandered across the clearing and headed up the adjacent trail. Once out of sight, he slipped through the thin forest until he came to the trail the dark-haired woman had used. A heavy branch offered itself for his weapon, and he picked it up. The foul scent beckoned him onward.

  Dark would come soon.

  * * *

  Carrying a platter of raw hamburger patties, Kallie stepped out their back door onto the low cedar deck. The hum of conversation was broken by the occasional clanking of a horseshoe and victorious shout, the screams of the younger children enjoying the waterslide, and yells of disappointment at missing a Frisbee catch or a badminton swing. The scent of barbequing meat filled the evening air, and her stomach growled. Maybe she’d have a moment to eat soon.

  She set the platter on the to-be-cooked table to the right of the massive barbecue. Clad in a chef’s apron, liberally stained with grease and catsup, Morgan grinned at her and flipped another burger before returning to his conversation with Gina.

  Kallie bent to pet Mufasa, who had positioned himself strategically close to the barbecue, where Morgan could toss tidbits, especially when reminded by a paw placed firmly on his sneaker. The cat rubbed her hand and then returned his attention to important matters.

  After transferring cooked burgers and hot dogs to the long buffet table, she checked the offerings with the experience of a decade of Fourth of July parties. The ice under the salad section was maintaining well, enough buns were available, condiments not empty. Red, white, and blue paper plates and napkins vied with the sparkling pinwheels lined down the center. Parties went in three stages: first families with small children, secondly the ones with older children, and finally adults without children and older teens to close down the night. The first wave of hungry people had already gone through.

  “Hey, Kallie, hold up a second.” Gina patted Morgan’s butt before trotting over.

  “How are you?” Kallie asked.

  “Not bad.” Gina pursed her lips and gave Kallie a once-over. “And you’re looking very, very good.”

  Kallie flushed. “Thanks. Feels weird though.” Just before lunch, Rebecca had arrived like a military godmother with a mission, wielding makeup and clothing like advanced weaponry. Before leaving, she’d mentioned that prior to artist and cook, she’d been a manager. No kidding.

  “Maybe, but you’re getting a lot of interested looks.” Hands on her hips, Gina surveyed the pickings of men with an experienced eye. “And there are a lot more single guys this year to be looking. Nice job.”

  Kallie grinned. Some people were so easy to please. “Virgil has two of his cop friends here—the other two and the chief had to work—and Wyatt invited his buddies from the black-powder rifle club.” She nodded to the group of guys around Wyatt, most of them bearded, one with hair braided halfway down his back. “They had a great time this morning shooting and throwing tomahawks and knives.” And Wyatt had dragged her down to show off how well he’d taught her to throw a knife.

  “Mmmmh, mountain men. The one in the red T-shirt is downright hot. Then again, the two men in buckskins look really…primitive.” Gina fanned herself.

  “Stop drooling, or I’ll get you a bib.”

  “Hey, a girl’s gotta look.” Gina licked her lips. “And mmmhmm, there’s a gorgeous sight.”

  Kallie followed her gaze. Logan and Rebecca walked around the side of the house. Then she saw Jake, and her libido gave a massive roar like a Harley that someone’s boot had kick-started. She couldn’t blame Gina for lusting after him. The summer had darkened his skin and put gold streaks in his collar-length brown hair. He’d dressed fairly casually in jeans and a white polo shirt, where the sleeves stretched around his hard biceps in a way that made her fingers want to touch.

  “I’ve never seen them at any party before,” Gina commented. “Only the ClaimJumper now and then.”

  As Wyatt sauntered over to greet the Hunts, Kallie said, “I got the impression they’re more sociable now because of Rebecca.” Standing here gawking at the man wouldn’t do, especially since she had no idea of her place in his life. Him and his damned “for one night only” rules. Did he want her to ignore him or pretend to be a casual acquaintance?

  This was so confusing.

  “Well, I’m going to be…sociable…and say hi to Jake,” Gina said, her eyes bright. “It’s been a couple of months since we went out last; maybe I’m close to the top of the rotation.”

  Oh. Damn. “Ah, Gina?”

  “Yeah?” Gina paused.

  “Never mind.” What could she say? That the man had taken her so many times that her jeans rubbed uncomfortably over her still-swollen private parts? Yesterday morning, he’d kissed her good-bye, and she hadn’t understood the look he’d given her. All the way home, she’d worried over it. Had that been a the-night’s-over-and-so-is-our-time-together look or a this-was-wonderful-I’ll-be-calling-you look. She’d sure jumped to the wrong conclusion last time.

  If she went over there, he’d probably give her another of those chilly greetings. Maybe she should encourage Gina to have at him? No no no. Before she could decide, Gina sashayed over to hug Rebecca and say hi to Logan. Then she turned on the flirt switch for Jake.

  When Jake greeted Gina, his smile lightened his lean face. Kallie’s throat constricted. Not mine. Never mine. Maybe she’d go check on the kitchen for a few minutes. To provide an excuse for fleeing the scene, Kallie picked up a dish that had held cherry pie. Stepping back, she bumped into someone. “Oh. Sorry.”

  The guy in the red T-shirt, one of Wyatt’s friends from the mountain-man club, grinned down at her. “Totally my pleasure. You can bump into me anytime you want.”

  She blinked at his flirtatious expression and smiled. Thank you, God. Right now she needed someone to help make her feel attractive. “I saw you shooting a muzzle loader earlier. You’re good.”

  His smile widened. “Yes. I am. Very good.” He ran a finger down her arm and glanced at the dish she held. His voice dropped suggestively. “Cherries. I love a good cherry, you know. Maybe you’d like to see?”

  Ew. Some men looked interesting until they opened their mouths. This one should have stayed in the gutter where he belonged. She took a step away. “Well, I—”

  An arm encircled her waist and yanked her back against a rock-hard body. Jake’s baritone sounded rough enough to take someone’s hide off. “If you’re a black-powder reenactor, you should know how to talk to a lady. Apologize.”

  The guy’s mouth dropped open, and his face turned the color of his shirt. To her surprise, he manned up and said, “You’re perfectly correct, sir. My apologies, ma’am, for getting out of line.” Not waiting for a response, he gave a short bow and retreated back to his cohorts.

  Kallie tried to step away, but the arm around her waist didn’t loosen. Instead Jake swiped her fingers in the leftover cherry filling, lifted her hand to his mouth, and licked her fingers.

  The blast of heat swirled from her hand straight to her pussy, and her legs wobbled. His embrace tight
ened, keeping her shoulders against his chest. She could actually feel his cock thicken and press against her butt, and her lower half grew liquid—ready to be taken. Damn him.

  She pulled in a shaky breath and tried to get her hand back.

  “Don’t move.” His sharp nip on her thumb streaked straight to her groin. Taking his time, he finished cleaning her fingers, sucking on one after the other. And she felt each pull of his mouth as if his lips circled her clit instead.

  Finally, when her body was in flames, he let her tug her hand away and turn to face him.

  “Mmm. Any more pie left?” he asked, his voice so casual she wanted to belt him one.

  She glared, dying to drag him to bed…after she punched him a few times. “I can’t believe you gave that man such a rough time, and then you do this.”

  “Ah, sprite.” He glided his knuckles over her cheek. “The difference is that we’re not strangers. I know what you taste like…everywhere, what your whimpers sound like. I have your scratch marks on my shoulders, and my sleeping bag carries your scent.”

  The air felt like the Mohave Desert, hot and thick, scorching her brain cells until she couldn’t seem to think. The sun lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “You know, sometimes you’re drop-dead beautiful…and other times you’re just damned cute.”

  Cute? Chipmunks were cute. Before she really could hit him, he grasped her upper arms, yanked her up on tiptoe, and kissed her so thoroughly every thought in her brain melted into goo.

  He tasted like cherries.

  He lifted his head slightly and whispered, “By the way, I like the top.”

  He’d noticed the sleek blue shirt Rebecca had given her—one formfitting enough to get a frown from Wyatt. Before she could wallow in the compliment, he took her lips again. When he pulled back this time, he had to hold her up or she would have staggered like a drunk. Chuckling, he drew a finger over her wet lips. “So if I promise to help with the cleanup, do you think I can get more of that pie?”

  Damn, she really was cute. As Kallie walked toward the house, Jake admired the snug fit of her jeans over her pretty, round ass. He might have thought his efforts had prompted the sexy improvement, but he’d seen Rebecca leave the lodge with a sack full of clothing. He owed her.

  He noticed Kallie’s stiff-legged walk and tilted his head. Not used to tight pants? Or she might be a tad sore. He’d taken her a lot the night before last. Wanted to again. He moved and adjusted himself surreptitiously.

  Why the hell had he kissed her? But he’d forgotten how quickly she turned him hard. And how she brought out every possessive trait in his dom’s nature. After seeing that asshole coming on to her—Face it, Hunt, you staked a claim as blatantly as a bear putting claw marks on a tree.

  Kallie wasn’t the only one with uncomfortable jeans. Even thinking of cold showers and mountain glaciers didn’t help. Annoyed, he walked across the deck. After grabbing a cold Sierra Nevada Stout from the ice-packed cooler, he leaned on the deck railing festooned with red and white streamers, and hoped his cock would ease eventually.

  Nice setup for a gathering. From the wide cedar deck, the lawn sloped down to a tree-lined creek. Picnic tables and patio chairs held various sets of people: a group of local merchants, a few cops flirting with some of Kallie’s friends, the buckskin crowd, and a handful of loggers who lived in the area. A batch of older citizens kept grandchildren running to serve their requests. Teens hung out down at the creek or playing board games, toddlers and moms had taken over the wading pool, older kids used the waterslide or kicked a soccer ball. Some climbed on the hay bales stacked two and three high and scattered around the lawn. Looked like two poker games going on in the shade, and dominoes reigned at a picnic table. He’d heard about the Masterson’s Fourth of July gathering for years but never realized it drew in the entire population of Bear Flat. And more continued to arrive.

  Just as he took a hefty drink of beer, something rubbed against his calf. He jerked his leg away and looked down. Kallie’s monster cat sat at his feet.

  Jake knelt on one knee and offered a finger. Hopefully the beast wasn’t in a bad mood, or he’d be drawing back a stump. “You know, I like cats, but I think you’re descended from something a lot bigger.” Maybe the tufts on his ears resembled a bobcat’s, but the thick fluffy mane looked more like a lion’s—if lions came in brown tabby coloring. And those paws were huge.

  The dark pink nose touched his finger gently. Jake petted it for a bit and started to stand. The cat deliberately lay down on Jake’s boot, all twenty-some pounds of him. “Ah-uh. If I move at this point, I’ll have scratches all the way up my leg, right?”

  A snort came from the direction of the beer cooler, and Jake glanced up.

  Kallie’s cousin Virgil, clad in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, opened a can of Coors. “Takes a lot to make him really mad. He’s more mellow than he looks.”

  Jake stroked Mufasa and grinned. The beast had a purr like an outboard motor. “You’re the only people I know who keep a guard cat rather than a dog.”

  “Yeah, well, Kallie was so upset when my dad’s cat got savaged and died, that he picked one not so tempting to the critters outside.”

  “Good choice.” The beast wouldn’t survive a cougar, but any fox or coyote would think twice before taking it on. Jake rose to his feet very, very carefully. His rest disturbed, the cat twitched its fluffy, raccoonlike tail and stalked away. Back to the food, Jake noticed. Not a dumb cat at all.

  “So, Hunt. Welcome to the party.” The flat tone didn’t sound welcoming, and Masterson’s eyes were as cold as the icy beer. They weren’t friends, although they’d exchanged greetings a few times. The man had a rep as being an honest, tough cop.

  “Thanks. Appreciate the invite.”

  “We’ve always invited you. This is the first year you’ve shown.”

  Uh-huh. The man’s voice matched his eyes. Protective family. Jake understood perfectly; he was that way himself. “Rebecca wanted to come.” He wiggled the bottle. “Good beer.”

  A corner of Virgil’s mouth drew up slightly. “Kallie likes that brand, so we indulge her, even though the rest of us prefer light. We like her to be happy.” Virgil gave him an unwavering stare. “And that’s why I’m not busting your chops right now. If she kissed you, then that’s what she wanted.”

  Jake leaned a hip against a picnic table and waited. There was obviously more to come.

  “I know about you and your brother and the games at the lodge. I’m not going to go into that.” Virgil scowled and then drew a figurative line in the sand. “Kallie’s got a soft heart, and she’s collected some hurts in her life. Don’t fuck with her heart, Hunt, or I’ll pitch the badge and beat the shit out of you.”

  “You could try,” Jake said mildly. “But I understand your concern. I don’t play games—but sometimes people get hurt anyway.”

  “I hear you. Best it not be Kallie.”

  “Fair enough.”

  As two other cops raided the cooler for beer, Virgil turned to greet them and introduced Jake. Warning delivered, the cop had moved on, shedding the animosity.

  Excellent control, Jake thought as he shook hands and listened to the cops complain about an incompetent coroner who apparently had just retired, to everyone’s relief.

  He watched her. She laughed often, almost sparkling with energy. She treated the children sweetly, like a mother, but demons could be devious. Sipping a beer, he stood in a group of townspeople, smiling at the jokes and evaluating the woman.

  She was small. Sneaky-sized. Black hair showed the darkness in her soul. Surely the evil had taken her. Surely he needed to act, to destroy her face, her body until pain forced the demon to sink back into the depths. He could almost hear the sound of the club striking flesh, feel the impact as it shattered bones. He shuddered at the memory of a demon’s shrieks as it was torn from the physical world—from a body.

  His stomach twisted with nausea. Sweat coated his skin. Forcing his muscles to calm
, he carefully swallowed some more beer. His job. To save his brothers, his world. He would do it no matter the cost to himself.

  He’d have his reward at the end, when he’d triumphed over the demon. His manhood rose, strong and proud, as he watched her.

  Chapter Seven

  Kallie smiled at the pies lining the kitchen counter, brought by the townswomen.

  On the first Fourth of July party, her uncle had been overwhelmed by offers to bring food. A man who loved rules, he created guidelines for what people should bring. Like the party itself, the guidelines turned into tradition. Women brought desserts, men over forty brought beer, men under forty brought munchies. Teens brought soft drinks. The Mastersons provided hamburgers and hot dogs, baked beans, and an appalling amount of potato salad.