The Demon's Deal

by H. D. Gordon

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I stepped aside, waving a hand for him to enter. I noticed he looked better than he had for a while, not completely healed, but some color had returned to his face, and there were swirls of the old Caleb dancing through his aura.

  We sat on my bed, because there were no other places to sit in my crappy little apartment. Crappy as it was, I was going to miss it.

  Awkward silence hung between us for a moment, and then he said, “I’ve missed you.”

  I released a breath, a weight falling from my shoulders that I hadn’t fully realized was even there. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, blue eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry for what I said to you, for how I treated you. Can you forgive me?”

  “Only if you can forgive me,” I said. “I was a pretty crappy friend.”

  Caleb smiled. It wasn’t the brilliant, happy-go-lucky smile that had made me fall in love with him, but it was close enough. He wasn’t fully healed yet, but he was healing, and that made me happy. “Deal,” he said. “We are friends, though, aren’t we?”

  I rested my head on his shoulder, covered his hand with mine. “Always,” I said.

  We sat in comfortable silence for a while. Then, Caleb said, “You should know, Cross Corp’s stocks have plummeted this past week. No one knows why, but they don’t look like they are going to recover. Investors are pulling out like crazy. My father is anticipating closing several locations.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  Caleb’s smile was mischievous now. “I don’t know what you did, but honestly, I’m glad. No one should have that much power, that much money, anyway.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  He sighed. “If there’s one thing my father can be counted on for, it’s that he will make sure he comes out the other side. We might have to downgrade our lifestyle, but good riddance. We’ll still be better off than most.”

  I nodded, his words reminding me why I’d always loved Caleb Cross. When it came down to it, he was just a good person.

  “Also,” he continued, “I may have tipped off some high profile authorities about the labs of Halflings, and there might also be an article in the New York Times coming out about them this week. My father’s gonna be pissed, but he betrayed me first, anyway, and what they were doing in those labs was wrong. With the way the stock has dropped, he’d have had to shut them down eventually. I just helped speed the process along.”

  I kissed his cheek. He deserved it.

  “You’re amazing,” I said. “You know that?”

  Caleb brushed some hair away from my forehead. “Right back at ya, beautiful girl.”

  A purring sound at my window drew our attention that way. We looked over to see a black cat with vibrant green eyes staring at us.

  “You get a new pet?” Caleb asked.

  I shook my head, but opened the window to let the feline in when she didn’t go away. She weaved around my legs as if she’d known me a lifetime.

  Caleb laughed. “Looks like you’ve got one now.”

  He’d left shortly after that, with me agreeing that we could hang out sometime next week. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that, for me, there would be no next week. Instead, after he was gone, I wrote a third letter and addressed it to him.

  Three days before Saleos would come calling, Nick and Vivian gathered the scoop on the turmoil that was now the Peace Brokers.

  “Cynthia Shay is out!” Vivian said with uncontrolled excitement. “Word is, she’s been summoned by the High Superiors. The whole organization is a mess. Many are talking about deserting. No one seems to know what to do.”

  Nick and I had nodded, forcing smiles to our lips.

  Vivian’s brows furrowed. “Why do I seem like the only one who’s happy about this?”

  Nick and I had recovered as best we could, but my impending departure was weighing, and the closer it got, the harder it was to smile.

  “We are happy,” I said.

  “I’m glad that bitch Shay got what she had coming,” Nick added.

  Vivian nodded, not looking entirely convinced.

  “What do you think will happen now?” I asked.

  Vivian shrugged. “I guess there will be entirely new leadership, big changes. Only time will tell, I suppose. In theory, the Peace Brokers could be a good thing. I mean, that’s what we were supposed to be. Keeping the peace between the races, and all that. Maybe they’ll get back to their roots…and if they don’t, we’ll just upend their asses again.”

  Nick and I glanced at each other.

  Vivian looked confused again. “Right?” she asked.

  “Right,” Nick and I said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The day had come.

  No more running, no more fretting. Honestly, it was kind of a relief. The anticipation had been awful, but now that it was here, I was ready. Well, as ready as anyone can be to have their soul collected by a demon.

  I’d spent my final days wringing out every moment of happiness with my loved ones. Thomas and I had gone on walks through Garden Park, had watched the sunset on the rooftop of our apartment building. Sam, Matt, and I had played video games, eaten pizza, and argued over whom the best Batman was. We’d all agreed that we should take a break with the whole vigilante thing, and had instead just enjoyed each other’s company.

  In the final hours, I sat alone in my apartment, staring at the yellowed wallpaper. The three letters I’d written were laid out on the counter in my kitchen area, waiting for the recipients to find them. My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them on my jeans, wishing I could get this over with already.

  And of course, that would be the wish of mine that was granted.

  There was a knock on my door. I looked at it, sensing the aura on the other side. Of course the demon would be right on time. Wouldn’t want to waste another second of eternity.

  With a sigh, I pushed off the bed and opened the door.

  Saleos stood there with a wicked grin. I stepped to the side and let him in.

  He looked the same as the last time I’d seen him. A handsome face that hid a monster, neatly combed hair that hid horns, a charming smile that hid a predator’s fangs.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “If I say no, will you let me stay?”

  His smile was answer enough. “It won’t be so bad, you know. After a while, you won’t feel anything at all.”

  That sounded pretty bad to me, but I didn’t see the point in voicing it. “How do we do this?” I asked.

  Saleos held out a hand. I stared at his fingers a moment, every fiber of my being aching at the thought that I would never laugh with Sam again, never kiss Thomas again.

  I closed my eyes, and placed my hand in the demon’s.

  And nothing happened.

  After a few seconds, I peeked my eyes open, brows furrowing. “Um…Are you going to reap my soul or not?”

  Saleos looked confused. His hand tightened on mine, his eyes glowing.

  Again, nothing happened.

  Hope jumped in my heart, but I squashed it quickly.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  He released my hand and snapped his fingers. A thick stack of papers appeared on my kitchen counter, right beside the goodbye letters I’d written. Saleos strolled over to the stack and began to flip through.

  I trailed behind him, my confusion growing as I watched anger spike in his aura. “What did you do?” he asked after scanning the pages.

  I stepped up beside him, noting that the stack of papers was the contract I’d signed with him, the one that entitled him to my soul.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

  When he opened his mouth again, a forked tongue slipped past his lips, a chink in his misleading armor. “What did you do?” he repeated.

  I shrugged, stepping back a few
paces. “I didn’t do anything, you buttwipe.”

  “You must have done something,” he said, and pointed down at the contract. “It’s void, which means you must have made a sacrifice, a sacrifice that traded your life for another’s. You conniving little bitch.”

  A meow drew our attention to the black, green-eyed cat that had made a home in my apartment the past few days, and my jaw hit the floor when the air shimmered around her, and she transformed into none other than the Relic Guardian.

  Only she wasn’t a foot tall this time. This time, she stood taller than Saleos. “No need for name calling, Demon,” the Relic Guardian said. “The child broke the deal fair and square.”

  “She did, did she?” Saleos snapped.

  “I did?”

  The guardian smiled. “When you wished for Thomas to live instead of you, you made a trade of equal value,” she explained. “You could have wished to save your own soul, but you didn’t. As with any Demon’s deal, an equal sacrifice as that which was originally bargained must be made.”

  I blinked, not really believing what I was hearing. Then the forest Seer’s exact words came back to me. A sacrifice of equal value, she’d said. And when Thomas had assumed that meant sacrificing another, she’d called him, Necromancer who twists my words.

  “But…but my soul was already claimed when I made the choice,” I said. “How…?”

  The guardian shrugged. “Loopholes,” she said.

  “So I’m free? I get to live?”

  She nodded. “Yes, you get to live.”

  On the counter, the contract burst into flames and became nothing but ashes. I stood there with my mouth agape.

  Saleos was so angry I would not have been surprised if flames had erupted from his head. “To hell with that,” he snarled, and whirled on me. “You’re coming with me.”

  I backed up a few more steps as Saleos began to transform into his true shape, horns sprouting from his head, skin becoming black and scaly.

  “That’s quite enough of that,” the guardian said, and snapped her fingers.

  Saleos disappeared in a puff of smoke. When he was gone, I looked back to the guardian, so many emotions roiling through me it was hard to grab hold of one.

  “Where did you send him?”

  She shrugged. “Back to his own realm, where he belongs.”

  She wandered over to where the two pieces of my staff lie broken, clicking her tongue. She looked back and me and smiled. “A birthday gift,” she said, and waved her hand over the staff. I watched in silence as it repaired itself, mending as if it had never broken.

  Then she just disappeared. There one moment, gone the next, and I was left standing alone in my apartment, trying to process what had just happened.

  I pinched myself, not entirely convinced that I wasn’t dreaming. I stayed up all night, expecting Saleos to turn back up and steal my soul. When he didn’t, and the sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, I wandered over to my kitchen, looking down at the pile of ash that had been the contract, and the goodbye letters I’d written to those I loved.

  Picking up the letters, I stared down at the three names, my heart fuller than I could ever remember it being.

  A knock at my door nearly made me jump out of my skin. When I sensed who was on the other side, I released a heavy breath. I opened it to a smiling Thomas. There was a brown paper bag in his hand, the scent of ham, egg, and cheese drifting out of it.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  I closed the gap between us, my hand slipping around the back of his neck as I kissed him long and deep, savoring the feel of his lips, of his arms around me. When I was reasonably sated, I mumbled against his mouth, “Starved.”

  He chuckled, a rumble in his wide chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.

  “What’s that?” he asked, nodding down at the letters I hadn’t realized were still in my hand.

  I tucked them into my back pocket. “Nothing,” I said. “They’re nothing.”

  Thomas nodded slowly. “You’re a strange one, little Halfling. You know that?”

  I nodded, smiling brighter than I could ever remember. “But you love me anyway, right?”

  He tugged me closer, kicking the door of my apartment shut behind us. “More than you’ll ever know…. Are you okay?”

  I swiped away a tear that escaped, and answered around a chuckle. “Yes, actually, I am.”

  And for the first time in what felt like forever, I really was.

  The End

  Want more from H. D. Gordon?

  Read on for a sneak peek at Moon Burned (The Wolf Wars Series: Book 1)…

  Story Summary

  Moon Burned

  Shift, Fight, Survive—Those are the rules of The Ring. Two wolves enter, one wolf leaves.

  My name is Rukiya Moonborn. I am a slave, a werewolf whose master forces me and many others to fight to the death for the entertainment of the wealthy.

  Named 'Dogs' after the lesser beasts, wolves like me live short, violent lives. The masters dangle the illusion of hope in front of us by insisting any wolf who survives 100 fights in The Ring can win his or her freedom.

  I am on my eighteenth fight against the West Coast Champion—the biggest she-wolf anyone has ever seen. As if this weren't enough, I find a wolf pup who is destined for slavery as a Dog, and help the child escape the master's clutches—a crime easily punishable by death.

  When Ryker—the master's handsome right-hand—catches me in the act, I embark on a journey that will be the ultimate test of my courage and strength.

  Copyright © 2017 H. D. Gordon

  Published by H. D. Gordon Books

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  For all the brave & beautiful women of the world

  Chapter 1

  The summer sun blazed down over Dogshead and the surrounding lands as if it had been personally insulted by the mere existence of the place.

  I leaned against the squat wood structure that housed a bar and gambling den, stealing some of the shade cast by the wretched building, drawing deeply of the smoke balanced between my first and second fingers.

  The clank and clatter of someone striking a tin bell rang through the square, and people began to emerge from the wooden edifices. The unpaved, dusty street—not having seen a good rain for nearly two weeks—sent up plumes of dirt as children and stray dogs darted here and there. Others gathered under the shade cast by the squat structures, leaned on fence posts, and sat beneath the awnings of hotels, hostels, and various dens of iniquity.

  I remained where I was, smoking my square. It was the first of the month, the time when the new Dogs would be brought in, which was always a spectacle.

  It was also a fight weekend, and I was one of the unlucky Dogs on the roster. When the unforgiving sun set tomorrow evening, I would step into The Ring for the eighteenth time—a number that matched my approximate age. I would be forced to shift into my Wolf form and fight another to the death.

  I knew he was behind me before he spoke, and I tilted my head in the slightest to let him know it was so.

  “You got a fight tomorrow, don’t ya, Rook?” His voice was gravelly and somehow inherently offensive. I turned to see Murphy step out of the shadows cast by the adjacent building like a scarecrow come to life—which was actually an apt description of the male.

  He limped toward me, his broken gait as familiar as the stench that floated off him and carried on the wind. In t
he dirt square before us, the procession of incoming Dogs had begun. Wagons with large cages full of newly acquired slaves began to roll through, guided and guarded by Hounds and Sellers, whips hanging ever coiled at their hips.

  “You know the roster,” I replied after taking time to drag from my square, my body subconsciously angling away from him. Murphy was the kind of Wolf that females knew well; the kind that set instinctual alarm bells ringing in the stomach.

  But the Masters protected him, so it was best to just ignore him, to keep my mouth shut and opt for being civil.

  Murphy sidled up beside me, the scent of death and fresh-turned earth lingering on him like cheap aftershave, his beady eyes fixing on the procession of wagons. After the fights, Murphy’s job was to take out the dead Dogs and bury them, their bodies nourishing the soil for the crops of the coming seasons. It was a lucky job for a Stray, an easy ride that those like me, who were forced into The Ring, resented.

  In the hierarchy that was Werewolf society, the Gravediggers were a step above the Dogs, but that one step may as well have been a leap.

  Gravediggers didn’t have to fight to survive, after all. Dogs did.

  “You thinkin’ about running?” Murph asked, and I could sense the brown-toothed grin that was tugging up his lips without having to look at him.

  I didn’t respond to this. I drew on my square, held in the smoke, and released it.

  He moved a bit closer, and the hair on the back of my neck went up, the Wolf in me raising its hackles. It would be no large matter for me to sink my teeth into his neck and tear his throat out, no issue I’d lose sleep over.

  But as much as being a Dog taught one to live by violence, it also made it imperative to choose one’s battles wisely.

  “Because you know,” he continued, his warm breath brushing over my cheek, making the rabbit I’d consumed for breakfast gurgle wretchedly in my belly, “they catch every Dog that desserts. You know that? Every. Single. One… Then they bring you back here and make an example outta you. Strip you naked and string you up.” His eyes roamed over me. His voice lowered. “When it’s done, I get your body.” A wet sound as his tongue slithered over his lips. “I get to do what I please before I bury you in the fields.”