Shadow Visions: Shadow Warriors, Book 2

by Gabriella Hewitt

  The realist in her knew that Galante would stop at nothing. He was a murdering bastard who had killed her family, and if he wanted her dead that badly, he wouldn’t hesitate putting a bullet into her abuelo in the process. The scared little girl inside her knew that demons did lurk in the shadows, and monsters lay in wait and killed for the joy of it. Such a monster was on the loose—could she afford to keep pushing away her heritage in hopes that the modern world would provide a solution to an ancient problem?

  Her visions had proven true so many times, and each time she had been impotent to prevent them. What if her next vision revealed she was next?

  Her abuelo always believed her abilities were gifts and yet they had brought nothing but misfortune to her doorstep. The gods were knocking—the big question was if she was ready to open the door and accept the warrior by her side and everything that he symbolized.

  Sunglasses hid his eyes and masked his expression.

  “Remove your glasses.” Using his free hand, he did as she asked.

  She studied the face of the man before her. When she interrogated men, she found their eyes revealed the truth. She noted each tiny scar and every single line of his handsome face. But it was his unwavering gaze that had her captivated. His golden eyes penetrated through her, down to her soul. In his eyes she recognized an old soul. Instinctively, she wanted to reach out and touch him, to soothe the demons she was certain he fought within himself. Instead, she pulled her hand away and took a step back.

  She couldn’t afford to make a mistake here. Every time she’d tapped into her power it had given her nothing but heartache. Looking at Manuel, she knew if she let him in that she would be risking the biggest heartbreak of all.

  Her tattoo remained warm, a tingly feeling that told her he was not evil.

  “Are you ready?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a smug smile on his face.

  “Perhaps.” She didn’t know if she was a hundred percent ready, but if it meant protecting her abuelo from a demon, then she would accept the shadow warrior and everything else the gods sent her way.

  “Good.” The smile faded from his face. “Then let’s get your abuelo.”

  Together they approached the door. She touched the door handle and inserted the key, when her tattoo flared up. Pain bit into her flesh, burning a trail up her arm. She turned back to Manuel, uncertain.

  His eyes glowed with golden fire. Manuel pushed her behind him.

  Fear crawled up into her throat. She reached for her gun and bent low.

  Manuel twisted the key and threw open the door.

  Galante looked up from where he was pulling picture frames off the living room wall and dropping them onto the tiled floor. A malicious grin spread across his face. Worse, he wasn’t alone.

  “Freeze! Put your hands behind your head, both of you, now,” Ixa ordered from behind him.

  “Get back in the car. It isn’t safe for you here,” Manuel practically growled at her. He could feel his eagle rising up, eager to do battle. Two demons would command all of his attention. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Ixa’s presence.

  “Your abuelo is not here, Detective. Where is he?” Galante dangled a photograph from between his fingers.

  “Stay the hell away from my abuelo, Galante. It’s me you want, not him.” Manuel heard the slight tremble in her voice. She feared for her relative. He had no time to reassure her, as he had to watch the movements of the two tzitzimime very carefully. Demons were tricky and deceitful.

  Galante blew on the photo and it exploded into flames. Ixa cried out and made a move forward. Manuel threw up his arm to block her.

  He cursed himself for letting his libido distract him outside.

  Galante cackled, while his partner let out a strange high-pitched giggle, the earsplitting combination loud enough to mess with his focus.

  Galante cut off his laughter abruptly. “I don’t give a damn about your old man. Metztli wants him.” He pointed a finger directly at Ixa. “After I deliver gramps to my master, I will cut your heart out.”

  Fury and fear mixed together, making for a potent cocktail. The warrior in him would not let the putrid demons touch his spirit mate. He would not fail her as he had his family so many centuries ago.

  He threw his hand in the air and called for his mystical weapon. “Atlatl!”

  The smooth wooden spear-thrower materialized in his hand. The deadly shaft-shaped bow held the dart in its cradle. The atlatl and its dart had been the weapon Cortez and his conquistadors had feared the most. And for good reason—the simplistic-looking bow and arrow had the speed and accuracy to pierce Spanish armor and had sent many a man to meet his maker.

  Galante laughed, “What are you going to do with that stick, cabrón? Poke me to death?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  With the flick of his arm, the needle-sharp dart went flying into Galante’s chest cavity.

  Shock and anger contorted the demon’s face.

  Wounded but not down, Galante shouted at his companion, “Get him!”

  The second demon flew across the floor. Manuel ran forward to meet him, ramming into the second demon’s chest and driving him back into the wall. The last picture frame left hanging shook and fell, the glass crashing on impact. The tzitzimime clawed at Manuel’s back, raking the skin. His eagle let loose a loud cry and pushed to take over.

  Manuel ordered his beast back down. He had to maintain his humanity. He had spent so long tracking Galante he had not eaten for days and anyone who got in the eagle’s way was considered food, including Ixa. He could sense the eagle’s severe hunger.

  He threw the tzitzimime off.

  Cloying, black smoke filled the room. Manuel spun around searching for the second tzitzimime. His eagle eyes spied Galante through the smoky air. The demon pulled the spear from his chest. He broke the wood in half and threw it across the room.

  Manuel let out a warrior cry and went for Galante. The demon’s eyes blazed with a hellish fire, his sights set on Ixa. “I will be back for you.”

  Before Manuel could reach him, Galante disintegrated into smoke and poured out through the open door.

  Manuel cursed himself for being a second too slow. His failure could cost Ixa her life, just as it had his family long ago. A piece of his past reared its ugly head. He had underestimated his enemy before, and it seemed he was destined to repeat the same mistake. He vowed not to fail again. His eagle spirit screeched and clawed his insides, demanding to be released.

  Manuel turned to see Ixa squaring off against the remaining tzitzimime. This one looked scraggly and weak but no less deadly.

  “Police. Freeze.”

  “Get out of here,” he ordered.

  “I’m not leaving,” she snapped back.

  Damn stubborn cihuatl was going to get them both killed. His emotions warred with his eagle spirit. He had half a mind to drag her out of the house to safety, but the other half of him admired her bravery. Still, he would not be disobeyed.

  “Leave now. Your weapons are useless.” He called up his will and pushed it on her. He felt her resistance. He knew she was no ordinary human, but her level of power shocked him.

  “A bullet can slow him down and it’s all I have.”

  He wanted to argue, to tell her she wielded a greater power, but his momentary distraction was all the tzitzimime needed. The demon rushed him and they both tumbled backwards, knocking into a coffee table that broke under their combined weight. Manuel used both his hands to squeeze the tzitzimime’s throat. The demon tried frantically to break the hold. Manuel spared a glance towards Ixa and saw she stood in a police stance with one arm supporting the other.

  A gunshot exploded and black slime splattered from the demon’s arm. Green ooze dripped down, burning through skin and flesh. Manuel grimaced and the demon seized the opportunity to break free. The tzitzimime leaped off him and launched himself at Ixa. She ran behind a large recliner, keeping the piece of furniture between them. The tzitzimime grabbed the chair,
lifted it into the air and tossed it aside like a child’s toy.

  Manuel jumped on the demon’s back before he could attack Ixa. The demon whirled around the room, bumping into the sofa and a side table, trying to knock Manuel off. From the corner of Manuel’s eye, he caught sight of Ixa aiming her weapon.

  Another gunshot sounded. Pain tore through Manuel’s rib cage. His grip loosened and he fell to the cool tile.

  Excruciating pain seared in his gut and his lungs struggled for air. She’d shot him. He placed a hand over the exit wound in his chest. Blood poured between his fingers. He tried to keep his eyes on the demon and Ixa, but his vision blurred. He had to get back up. He had to take the demon down. He could not fail.

  Inside, his eagle raged for freedom. Losing blood and strength, he was unable to control his beast any longer. The eagle rose up and pushed to the surface. The eagle didn’t hesitate. In a flurry of bone and feathers, the eagle reshaped his battered body. The eagle pressed him down and took over. Maneuvering within the narrow confines of the living room, the eagle moved with speed and agility, taking the demon by surprise. The bird of prey plucked the eyes from the demon’s head. The demon screamed an agonizing sound that shook the house’s structure. Deep within, Manuel watched his eagle make another pass, coming in like a heat-seeking missile, its beak aimed for the tzitzimime’s chest. Hunger and the desire to kill drove the great bird forward. It ripped through skin, bone and muscle, and yanked the heart from the body. The demon sank to the floor. Victorious, the eagle let out a screech.

  In the middle of the living room a shimmering circle appeared—the doorway to the netherworld. The eagle heard the woman cry “Wait!” but it didn’t care. Deep within his animal spirit, Manuel tried to get the bird to turn around but his beast refused to bend to his will. The smell of fresh meat and the need to satiate its hunger were too strong. The eagle spread its wings, and with a great push of wind, picked up the tzitzimime’s body in its talons and headed directly for the netherworld.

  Chapter Five

  Ixa stared at the wall where Manuel had disappeared carrying the demon’s broken body. Her hummingbird tattoo no longer throbbed with pain, but the nausea in her stomach wouldn’t subside. She had shot Manuel. A moan sounded low in her throat. Blood, traces of green ooze, and black slime spattered the tiles and walls, testimony to the fierce fight.

  Her gun hand trembled, shock and anger mixed together in a tumult of emotions. Ixa dropped the offending weapon. Around her, the room vibrated with a wind that threatened to blow the house apart.

  She fought to keep her emotions together. “Why are you doing this?” she screamed to the empty room. “What did I ever do to you?” Power surged to her fingertips. She squeezed her hands into fists. All her life the gods had played a game with her, one with rules she didn’t understand, and deadly consequences. Visions of death plagued her—of her family, strangers—and every time she was helpless to stop them from coming true. She had hoped and prayed for guidance, but all she ever got in return was silence. So she had shut the gods out just as they had shut her out.

  She looked at the wall where Manuel had disappeared with the demon. “I’m listening now. You sent me Manuel and then you took him away, just like everything else in my life. Am I not good enough for you?”

  Despair welled up in her system. What if she wasn’t? Manuel had called her a warrior, but she was no better than the demons. All she ever did was hurt the innocent. She had hurt Manuel. Shot him. She had played it by the book because doing so was supposed to keep people safe. Only it hadn’t. Her rubber soles crunched over the broken glass and her heart twisted as she recognized the photo of herself as a very young girl standing between her parents, one of her hands in each of theirs, her sister on her mother’s hip. It was the last picture they’d taken together just before her parents and sister died in the fire. Those she loved ended up dead because of her. And now her abuelo was in danger.

  Her heart squeezed in agony. He was all the family she had left. She couldn’t afford to lose him. If only she had listened to Manuel.

  “Abuelo?” she shouted as she went from room to room. There was no sign of him and her mood darkened with each step. Her abuelo’s bedroom appeared as neat as usual, the recliner he sat in with his electric blanket empty and the walking stick he rested next to it gone. She prayed he was out for a walk and that any minute he would materialize out of thin air.

  All she could think of was the evil grin on Galante’s face.

  Papers and knickknacks funneled up in the middle of the room. A gust of wind blew out a window. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “No. No.” She hugged herself, unable to stop the storm she had manifested.

  Alone, abandoned and afraid, Ixa felt like a six-year-old girl again. Memories she had buried erupted forth, a Technicolor storm that bombarded her from all sides. She recalled sitting up in bed in her pink nightgown, her strawberry birthmark stinging her arm. She’d had the nightmare again. Only this time it was real. Hearing the glass break, she had run to the living room where she saw Galante gun down her father. She should have grabbed her little sister and mother and gotten them out—instead, it all played out like in her vision. Galante threw gasoline on them, missing her, and lit a match. His evil grin stamped across his face when flames leaped to life. The fire spread quickly. She had to put it out. Tears streamed down her face. The screams of her mother and sister ripped through her. It was then she had felt her power rise within her, billowing around her body. At six, she knew nothing of fire extinguishers or blankets—she was a child and she did as a child would do. She blew on the flames, hoping they would snuff out like birthday candles. It was then her power came with a burst of wind that fanned the blaze. She screamed for the gods to save her, to save her family, but all that answered was the crackle of fire consuming her house and the laughter of a deranged man who had called her a freak and run from the fire to save his own miserable life.

  Firemen rescued Ixa, but her parents and sister died. She’d tried to warn her parents when she told them of her visions. Why hadn’t they listened?

  She knew the answer, one as bitter as the tears that ran down her cheeks into her mouth. The gods had abandoned her.

  The same gods her abuelo believed in. He had taken her in, giving her the peace and acceptance she craved. But at what price?

  She sank to her knees, uncaring of the tears running down her face. There was no one to stop the onslaught of emotions.

  The house groaned and shook with her grief. The walls bowed and pressed outwards.

  A voice carried on the wind. “Ixa!”

  But she was rooted to the spot, her body unable to respond, caught up in a whirlwind of emotions.

  Strong arms came around her from behind and held her tight. Warmth spread over her body, chasing away the chill that had reached into her heart. The familiar scent of the mountains and the forest swirled around her, penetrating her brain, forcing her to snap out of her grief. “Manuel!”

  “My spirit mate. I am here now.” He pulled her back, fitting her against his solid chest, the feel of his body just perfect for her smaller frame.

  This time she allowed herself to sag against him. Her emotions ping-ponged all over the place, the effort to control them sapping her of energy. In Manuel’s arms she felt safe. As long as she didn’t depend on him, as long as she didn’t need him, she could take refuge in his strength.

  “That’s right, Ixa. Let me hold you.” His soothing voice made her heartrate slow down.

  “I thought you had left.”

  “I would never leave you.”

  Hearing his reassuring words pushed away the loneliness and fear. The wind died down. The walls stood still.

  Only when she felt her emotions come back under control did she find her voice. “I’m fine now.” He slowly released her. She turned to face him. He took her hand and helped her up to her feet, so they stood toe to toe.

  He wore his traditional garments, his bare chest marred with sweat and blo
od. Her eyes picked up on the spot where her bullet had torn across his side. Blood stained the right side of his rib cage.

  Shame lit her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.”

  “Do not worry. I am a shadow warrior. I will heal.” He brushed aside her wind-tossed hair, his hand light against her skin. “It is you I am concerned about.” His hands roamed over her body. The slight touch made her body quiver.

  “You are unharmed.” He let out a breath. His eyes glowed with a fierce protectiveness and his hands lingered on her hips as if he were hesitant to let her go.

  The woman she had grown up to be didn’t want his protection—she had fought her way up the ranks and stood up to bad guys on a daily basis. Yet a part of her wanted to lean on him and not worry about standing alone or feeling set apart, to be able to be herself and all that meant.

  Except danger lay in that direction. If she came to love him like she had her family and the gods snatched him away from her, too, she didn’t think she could survive.

  In her head she knew once his mission was complete, he would be gone. And she would be back to following the rules, fitting into the mold and proving herself so she could have a place in the world. No, it was probably better she keep her distance. She had nearly killed Manuel once—she didn’t need any more blood on her hands.

  As much as she wanted to stay in his arms, she extracted herself. They had a job to finish.

  His eyes tracked the destruction in the room. “You have power over the element of wind.”

  Ixa shook her head. “No, it has power over me.”

  “I can help you learn how to control it.”

  Feeling foolish and insecure, she did what she did best—she went into interrogation mode. “Finding my abuelo is what’s important. Now what did you do with that creepy, deformed creature?” She stared directly at him.

  His golden eyes glowed. His face became serious and unreadable. “I dragged the tzitzimime back to the netherworld. He is gone.”

  “The what?”

  “Tzitzimime. Demons, evil spirits that prey on the weak, steal their bodies and devour their souls. More than likely the demon struck a deal with an Aztec god bent on destroying the world and lost his soul in exchange for immortality. Too bad I destroyed him.” A wicked grin came over his face.