Haunted by the King of Death

by Heaton, Felicity

Grave launched his own attack, drawing his katana and rushing around behind the demon. He focused hard, but it took little more than a thought to turn himself solid, and he snarled as he slashed up the demon’s back, catching one wing and ripping the leathery membrane.

  The male flapped those huge wings, battering Grave with them and driving him back.

  He let go of his solid form and the wings went straight through him. The demon growled and turned on him, lashing out with his claws, swiping them through the air. They passed harmlessly through Grave’s throat, tearing another feral roar from the demon, this one filled with frustration.

  Grave grinned at the bastard as he attacked again, meeting with the same result. Every blow he tried to land went straight through Grave. Gods, he had hated the idea of being a phantom before, but he was loving it now, embraced it as it made him feel invincible.

  He had thought it would weaken him, making it impossible for him to fight and defeat the demon.

  He had thought wrong.

  It made him stronger, gave him the edge he needed over the demon prince, and for the first time he felt as if he could win.

  He could protect his family because of what Isla had done to him, turning him into a phantom.

  Grave sought her and his heart beat a little harder as she majestically shifted from phantom to solid in the middle of an attack, her right blade clashing with the demon’s left gauntlet and driving his arm upwards, and became a ghost just as he thrust at her with his broadsword, so it went straight through her stomach.

  She sidestepped, leaving the demon’s sword behind, and twirled her weapons in her hands, so her thumbs were against the hilts and the metal blades ran along her forearms.

  The demon beat his wings, turning quickly as she came up beside him, her right hand flying up in a fast arc, cutting towards the male’s side. The demon snarled and slammed the flat of his hand into her arm, and she cried out as it snapped back, and quickly became ghostly again. The male was catching on.

  Damn it.

  “Antoine, get everyone out of the theatre.” Snow didn’t take his eyes off the demon as he issued that command.

  “I am not leaving,” Antoine snapped.

  Snow grimaced, huffed and then sighed as he readied his blade and the demon turned on him. “Please. I need to know you are all safe. Think of Helena.”

  Grave could almost feel the glare Antoine directed at his older brother for using Helena as a means of getting him to leave a fight he clearly wanted in on, and Grave couldn’t blame Antoine for wanting to be a part of taking the demon prince down. If someone had threatened his child, he would have wanted to butcher them too.

  But Snow could sense what he could, that Antoine was too close to the edge, in danger of rousing his bloodlust and giving it a firmer hold over him. Neither of them wanted that, so Grave weighed in on Snow’s side.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if it would ruin any relationship they had.

  Antoine already hated him after all.

  “Take the females and children, Antoine. It is your duty to protect them now.” Grave held the demon prince’s gaze as he circled him, trying to keep the male’s focus on him and away from the more vulnerable members of the group behind him. “Payne… you can teleport. Take them all somewhere remote. Somewhere safe.”

  The demon’s glowing gaze slowly inched towards Payne and the others.

  “The cabin,” Payne said and Snow grunted in agreement as he launched at the demon.

  The two collided, solid muscle hitting solid muscle, and both staggered as they grappled with each other, Snow somehow managing to get hold of the demon’s forearms to hold in him place and stop him from teleporting to the others.

  On a mighty roar, Snow threw his head forwards and cracked his brow against the demon’s one, tearing a muffled grunt from the bastard and making him lose his balance. Snow landed on top of the male and hammered him with his fists, knocking his head left and right, his knuckles growing bloodied as he kept up his savage attack. The male let out a slow, low growl that rolled into a roar, and bucked up, dislodging Snow.

  His cousin quickly sprang to his feet and launched back at the demon.

  The male teleported before he could hit him and Snow ran straight through the spot where he had been and staggered to a halt near the edge of the roof.

  “I would not,” Aurora said and Snow swiftly turned, wild red eyes seeking her, and Grave snapped his focus to her and the group too.

  Aurora stood between the demon and the group near the exit, her arms outstretched, her white dress and the soft waves of her raven hair fluttering in the cool breeze.

  “You know what I am.” Her voice was low, a warning in it, and her eyes glowed brighter as she stared at the demon and he at her.

  He growled through his fangs and stalked towards her. “A little fallen angel does not frighten me. You belong to Snow… so you will die first.”

  “Sorry, but you are wrong.” Aurora whipped her right hand through the air and a white blade appeared in it. The demon slammed to a halt. “I am not technically fallen.”

  She kicked off, launching towards the demon, and swept the blade up as she neared him, a swift and brutal attack the male didn’t have time to dodge. The demon threw his head back and bellowed in agony as the white sword sliced up his chest, sending him staggering backwards, and the rich smell of his blood flooded the air.

  “I will help,” an unfamiliar female voice put in, a slightly disappointed edge to it that didn’t quite dampen the teasing lightness of it when she continued. “Although, helping out the incupire isn’t normally my style… so you know I still hate you and I’m just doing this to keep me in the lead on the ‘who’s awesomest’ scoreboard, right?”

  Payne chuckled, the sound out of place in the thick night air. “I still hate you too, Succubus, but this time you’re going down.”

  “I like going down… but I also really hate missing a good fight, so let’s make this quick and then we can come back and kick arse. Race you!” The female was gone from his senses a moment later. Sera, Antoine and Helena disappeared with her.

  Payne muttered something and he too disappeared, together with Night and Lilian.

  “I will go too… but I will be back, and I will not hear a word against it.” Aurora’s normally soft voice brooked no argument, but that didn’t stop Snow from huffing and pulling a face that said he wanted to go ahead and tell her that she had to stay away with the others.

  She disappeared, taking three with her.

  Grave sensed Payne reappear below him in the theatre, and then disappear, taking more with him. Aurora and the succubus did the same, until the building was empty.

  The demon stomped around the roof, growling as he held one arm across his chest to stem the flow of blood that ran in thick rivulets down his bare stomach and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his broadsword. A trail of crimson followed him, dark in the moonlight. It ran down the plates of the armour encasing his legs and hips too, turning the dull black metal shiny in places.

  He beat his wings and Grave could sense his fury mounting as he circled him, his blade at the ready, monitoring his every move.

  Blazing gold eyes slid towards Snow.

  He was singling out the weakest in their group.

  Big mistake.

  Snow couldn’t turn ghostly, but he was hardly the weak member of their trio.

  His cousin’s lips peeled back off huge fangs as he snarled at the demon and hunkered down, lowering his big body into a crouch, his muscles coiled tight beneath his black jeans and t-shirt.

  The demon twisted on his heel and kicked off, raising his broadsword as he closed the distance between him and Snow.

  Snow waited, crimson eyes almost glowing in the moonlight, his lips twisting in a savage sneer as the demon approached.

  The male roared, gripped his sword with both hands and raised it over his head. He brought it down hard as he beat his black leathery wings, increasing his pace and therefore the intensity
of his strike.

  Snow didn’t move until the last possible second.

  He swiftly lunged to his right, rolled and came onto his feet just as the demon’s blade struck the black tar where he had been, slicing deep into the roof. Snow loosed a feral roar of his own and launched at the demon, his crimson eyes blazing like the fires of Hell as he swept his blade down at his side and then brought it up in a devastating arc.

  The demon glared at him and disappeared.

  And didn’t reappear.

  Grave turned in a slow circle, his senses stretching around him, mapping everything. No godsdamned way the demon was gone. He was injured, but Grave knew the look that had been in his eyes, because it was the same look he gave his enemies on the battlefield. He wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t.

  It was death or glory.

  He licked his fangs, itching for the demon to reappear, and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

  Even in his phantom state, his bloodlust still affected him. It slowly rose within him as he waited, silently goading the demon into returning. Gods, the bastard could bring an army right now and he would take them all down.

  His heart pounded, pumping darkness through his veins. He felt Isla’s gaze on him but refused to look at her when his bloodlust gripped him, because he feared it would go away, tempered by his beautiful female. He had seen the way Aurora could calm Snow, and he had the sinking feeling Isla did the same to him.

  He didn’t want calm. Not right now.

  He wanted a tempest, savage and glorious. He wanted to ride the storm brewing inside him, the wild and wicked craving for bloodshed and death, and harness it, creating a force that would carry him to victory.

  Grave stoked the black fire in his veins, fed it with thoughts of battling the demon, sinking his fangs into the bastard’s flesh and ripping into him, spilling blood and painting the rooftop with his entrails. He would tear the male apart, and only once he was scattered in a thousand pieces would he be satisfied.

  Isla gasped.

  Snow roared.

  Grave didn’t hesitate.

  He focused on the spot where the demon had reappeared and the world streamed past in a white blur. He thrust his sword forwards before he even landed at the male’s side, his senses guiding him. They were a little off. He turned solid as he appeared, but rather than his sword turning solid through the demon’s chest as planned, it turned solid through his shoulder.

  The male grunted and slammed the flat of his palm against Grave’s chest, and the world twisted around him as he flew through the air. He landed hard on the rooftop near the exit, rolled and ended up face down. He groaned, planted his hands against the black roof and pushed himself up slowly, giving his brain time to stop spinning.

  Grave growled as he sat back and looked down at his now ghostly body.

  His sword was gone.

  He scanned the roof for it as Snow and Isla took on the demon, working in tandem to keep him off balance, forcing him to turn one way and then the other to block their attacks.

  His eyes drifted back a few feet and he huffed as he saw his sword resting against one of the roof vents. He pushed onto his feet and gritted his teeth as pain spread through him, streaking outwards from the centre of his chest.

  Grave looked down at his bare chest and curled his lip at the four deep puncture wounds that formed a crescent above his heart, visible even in his phantom form.

  The demon had taken the opportunity to sink his claws into him while pushing him away.

  He was going to pay for that.

  Grave staggered towards his sword and his legs gave out, sending him crashing to his knees.

  No. They hadn’t given out.

  They were solid and he hadn’t been prepared for it.

  He pushed onto his feet and his legs turned incorporeal again, and then they were solid once more. What the hell was going on?

  He raised his hands in front of him as they switched between ghostly and corporeal, and frowned at them. The sudden shift was dizzying, messing with his mind as his body tried to keep up.

  He wasn’t doing it.

  The demon sent Isla flying through the air and she landed in a heap a few metres from Grave.

  And remained solid.

  “Isla.” Grave rushed to her side and helped her up, and she stared at him with wide blue eyes that held a note of fear.

  “I cannot control myself.” She looked him over, and the panic he could feel in her grew stronger. “You too?”

  He nodded and wracked his brain for a reason, and then his eyes caught on two puncture wounds on Isla’s chest. He reached out and brushed his fingers across them, his eyebrows drawing down as he studied them, and then looked across to his left at the demon where he fought Snow.

  “He did something to us.” It was the only possible explanation. “He was gone for too long. He went somewhere and got something that affects us… to give him the advantage.”

  If they couldn’t control their phantom forms, they could only attack when they were solid and even then they were in danger of turning into a ghost during those attacks. On top of that, they couldn’t turn incorporeal at will, meaning the demon could attack them and land blows.

  Grave touched the puncture wounds on his chest and brought his bloodied fingers up to his nose. He inhaled deeply and frowned as he caught a sweet note among the tang of his blood.

  “It must be some sort of spell,” Isla said and edged closer to him, her slender fingers flexing around her blades.

  One the demon had administered to them when he had clawed them.

  “If he thinks this gives him the advantage, he does not know who he is dealing with.” Isla straightened, flipped her blades in her hands and stared at the demon, her blue eyes flashing like lightning in the night, matching the colour of her leathers. She slid her gaze across to him. “Nulla Misericordia.”

  Gods, his mate was wonderful.

  “Nulla Misericordia.” He picked up his own blade and Isla broke away from him, circling around the other side of the demon, flanking him.

  Snow grappled with the towering male and managed to sink his fangs into the demon’s shoulder. His cousin growled as the male bellowed, and ripped his head away, cleaving vicious deep grooves in the male’s flesh. Snow grinned, flashing bloodied fangs, and brought his knee up, landing a hard blow between the male’s thighs.

  The demon doubled over and Snow swept around him, grabbed his left horn and pulled his head back, forcing the male to bow forwards.

  Grave roared and ran at him, sword aimed for the demon’s stomach. He cut a fast hard arc towards it and growled in frustration as he turned phantom just as it struck, and all he could do was watch it harmlessly pass through him. This was going to be more annoying than he had thought.

  Isla didn’t seem dissuaded by his failure. She sprang into the air and sailed through it on a war cry, her twin blades pointed downwards towards the demon. Her right one turned ghostly but she sank the left into the male’s right hip.

  The demon unleashed another bellow and swung his arm out, catching Isla and sending her flying through the air again. She landed hard at the edge of the roof and rolled into the small wall that surrounded it.

  Grave checked her with his senses, reassuring himself that she would be fine, and then launched his own attack, striking hard at the demon male. The male shook Snow off and blocked Grave with his forearm, so his blade struck the black metal gauntlet that protected it.

  He pulled his sword back, shifted his feet to move his weight to his right leg and struck again, and this time he put all of his strength into it and actually aimed for the male’s raised forearm. The force of the blow drove the male to one knee on the roof and the demon snarled as he shoved upwards with that arm, knocking Grave’s sword away.

  The demon beat his wings but Snow grabbed one, sinking claws deep into the membrane and puncturing it so he could grip the connecting spur of bone. The male tried to turn on him but Snow kept behind him and gr
owled as the demon tried to batter him with his other wing. His cousin blocked each attempt with his arm, and between each one tried to grab hold of the wing.

  “These are fucking annoying,” Snow growled as he finally got hold of the second wing. “I think they need to go.”

  He pressed his knee into the demon’s back and heaved backwards, pulling on the male’s wings. The male roared and arched forwards, and for a moment it looked as if Snow was really going to tear the wings off a demon.

  But then they disappeared, shrinking out of Snow’s grip, and the demon turned on him so quickly his cousin couldn’t evade him, his eyes blazing with gold fire and his horns flaring forwards as he brought his right hand up in a fast blur.

  Snow roared in agony as the demon’s clawed fingers ripped into his left side, tearing through his flesh. The rich scent of his blood flooded the air and he staggered backwards, his hands quickly coming down to cover the wound as he pulled away from the demon. Blood pumped from between his fingers and Isla rushed over to him, catching him as his backside hit the roof.

  Darkness poured through Grave’s veins, blacker than he had ever felt it, and he knew from the look on Isla’s face that the red in his eyes had been almost completely swallowed by that darkness, leaving only a ring of crimson around his elliptical pupils.

  With a vicious roar, he ran at the demon’s back.

  He dropped his sword along the way.

  The only weapon he needed was his bloodlust. He harnessed it, stoked it and embraced it, let it flow through his body and soul and claim hold of him. His claws extended into sharp points and his fangs bit into his gums as he growled through his clenched teeth.

  The demon slowly turned to face him.

  Not fast enough.

  Grave kicked off and launched at him, landed heavily on the male’s back and didn’t give the bastard a chance to react. He struck hard, sinking aching fangs into his neck, and snarled as he pulled on the male’s vein. Thick, rich blood burst into his mouth and, gods, it sent his bloodlust spiralling higher, consuming more of him, demanding more from him.

  He dug his claws into the male’s shoulders as he tried to dislodge him, clawing and grappling with him. He didn’t feel the pain as his flesh tore open, couldn’t feel anything but the powerful need for more blood. More violence. More death.