by Misty Evans
Jerking up, I realized I was naked. Rad was next to me. The castle was deathly quiet. I took a couple of deep breaths and massaged my temples.
Rad’s fingers touched my lower back. “What is it, Kali?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast. “Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”
His lips followed his fingers, kissing their way up my spine, but before I succumbed to them, a loud alarm went off downstairs.
My security system. I jumped out of bed, certain Parker Burkett had hunted me down. Throwing on my robe, I said to Rad, “Really? You had to date a Noctifector?”
He looked slightly confused. “First of all, I never dated her, and second of all, you don’t think that’s her, do you?”
Of course I did. Maddy met me in the hall and together we rushed downstairs and ran into my office, her to shut off the alarm and me to get a look at the security monitor. Rad stood behind me as I tried to make out who was at my front door as the doorbell went off.
“Well, unless Parker has turned into a man who’s six-foot two, weighs at least two-twenty, and,” Rad teased, “has facial hair, I’d say that’s not her.”
Smartass.
Maddy checked out our visitor on camera. “Sure isn’t Santa unless Santa looks like Thor. But hey, any guy who looks that good? I’m not complaining. Where’s that mistletoe?”
Make that two smartasses.
Maddy and I headed to the entryway. Rad followed. I grabbed the stun baton out of my cape and flipped the switch to activate it. “Who are you?” I called through the door. “What do you want?”
“Name’s Shane Wynter.” He boasted a heavy European accent. “Belphagor—I mean Salmad—said I could crash here.”
The three of us exchanged bewildered looks. “How do you know Salmad?”
“Same way I know you, luv. Of you, anyways. I’m one of the sins. You know, as in deadly sins. My demon name is Leviathan.”
No. Way. “So much for your Santa Claus theory,” I murmured to Maddy.
Unlocking the door, I swung it open, stun baton in front of me. The guy was dressed like a modern day Viking, his leather and jeans expensive distressed stuff he’d probably bought off the rack at Saks. His chiseled cheekbones and jaw sported a fine layer of beard. Not too much, but enough to add a tough air to his smooth skin and pretty-boy blue eyes.
A smile opened his full lips, showing off his pearly whites, and he looked me over from head to foot. “You’re a bit shorter than I expected there, Kali girl, but I love the sexy bed head look. Works for ya.”
Rad stepped out of the shadows and cleared his throat. “Why are you here?”
Shane raised a hand in greeting. “Bonjour, Frenchman. Didn’t my bud, Sal, tell you I was coming?”
“No.” I waved the baton at his genitals. “And I don’t like surprises.”
He stepped back, the grin faltering. “Why, I’m here to help you stop The Beast. A few of the others will be here before sundown as well.”
“I sent Maria to heaven…or somewhere. As long as all seven of us aren’t walking the earth, The Beast can’t rise.”
He gave me an incredulous look and chuckled like I was joking with him. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you, vengeance demon?”
A memory from my nightmare made me lower the stun baton. In my mind’s eye, I saw Rad’s chest decorated with runes. Heard Maria’s laughter ringing inside my head. For once I wished for the easy way.
“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, moving aside so he could come in.
“Strong and black.” He strode across the threshold, staying out of Rad’s way and winking at Maddy. “Better make a big pot. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the others get here.”
Shutting the door behind him, I pressed my forehead against it and sighed. So much for sleep and sex and all that other good stuff. “Merry fucking Christmas,” I said to no one in particular.
And then I turned on my heel and headed for the kitchen to make coffee.
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Rock on!
Glossary of Terms
Bambino—daughter
che cavolo—what the hell? Literally: what cabbage?
Damnat quod non intelligunt—They condemn what they do not understand.
del giorno—of the day
Dio cano—God is a dog
dire o sparare—that’s bullshit
faccia di culo—buttface
furor poeticus—a form of ecstasy; or the divine frenzy; or poetic madness
Il est trop malade pour voir qui que ce soit—He’s too ill to see anyone.
Il nous est impossible de laisser Alexandru seuls—It’s impossible to leave Dru alone.
Il pistolino—dick
Infernum—hell
Je vis pour Dieu et seulement pour Dieu—I live for God and only for God
Ludio demon—excels at sports
Madonna mia—oh, my God; literally: oh, my Madonna
Mai arrendersi—never back down
Mai più—never again
Merde—shit
non arrenderti mai—never give up
Non più—no more
Per Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum—through our Lord Jesus Christ
pseudothyrum—a secret door
Revenants—visible ghost or zombie that shares a number of characteristics with folkloric vampires
Sbagliando s’impara—one learns from his mistakes
Sweet Soldier
A Kali Sweet Urban Fantasy Story
Book 3
Misty Evans
Life is one battle after another...
Armageddon is coming and it’s up to me to stop the Four Horsemen and their heavenly army of angels. Unfortunately, one of the Horsemen happens to be my rock star boyfriend, Radison Beaumont. At least that’s what his ex-fiancée, Parker Burkett, claims.
Parker wants revenge on me for stealing Rad and she’s working with my archenemy, Queen Maria, a succubus who wants me back in her court of supernaturals. The only way I can stop them and the coming biblical apocalypse is to recruit an army—an army led by the king of hell.
Lucifer’s not about to help without getting something in return. Following anyone’s orders—even his—is not my style. I’m turning my inner demon loose on Parker, Maria, and the Horsemen—and saving the humans I love at the same time.
But what price will I pay for dealing with the devil? Going to the dark side has never been so sweet.
Dedication
To Mark—my Damon, Rad, Cole, and Dru all rolled into one.
Acknowledgments
Every story I write is a collaboration between me, my readers, editors, cover artist, friends and family. This third story in the Kali Sweet series had some very helpful input from certain people:
Kim—every time I write Rad’s character, I think of you now. What would Kim tell Rad to do? I ask when Kali’s pissing him off and an idea always surfaces.
Proserpine—Lucifer returns in this book because of you.
Amy M.—In the coffee shop that day, when I said, “Should Lucifer rescue Kali from Rome?” your eyes lit up and I knew I was on the right track. Thank you for brainstorming with me.
Amy R.—You told me after the last book that Rad needed to give up everything for Kali. I hope you like the ending of Sweet Soldier.
Much appreciation to my editors and beta readers, Michelle, Amy and Marcie. Thank you for catching typos, tying up my endless plot threads and helping me keep my characters straight.
Gratitude to Laura Morrigan for the fabulous cover art. I love how you make Kali come to life.
To the many friends and family who supported me during the writing of this book when my precious dog, Max, passed away, I send you love and light. Finding creativity in the midst of such great sadness is difficult, if no
t impossible, for me, but knowing I had your support and being able to channel some of my grief into this story saved the day. Max and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I miss him every day, and know that he’s with me in spirit.
“The more we seek the light, the denser the Shadow becomes.”
~ Introduction, The Dark Side of the Light Chasers by Debbie Ford
Chapter One
Life is one battle after another. Having lived three hundred years as a vengeance demon, I’ve won a lot of battles.
I’ve lost a few too. Those are the ones I remember most because each one involved a human I couldn’t save.
That’s me, Kali Sweet, a demon with a soft spot for humans.
A hundred or so of the humans I loved so much jumped and gyrated to electronic music in an abandoned warehouse on the South Side of Chicago. Their auras were all over the map and I tuned them out, instead tuning in to my overachieving sense of smell to track my prey. He wasn’t human although most of the time he appeared as such. The demon in question was bald with a meth-user, bug-eyed stare. He was also a good two hundred years older than the kids at the rave.
His aura was black.
Not in the sense of color, in the sense of magic.
I was still getting used to the aura thing. Reading auras was a new talent of mine. I don’t see colors like humans do, but rather feel emotions and the different kinds of magic various creatures—human and supernatural—project without realizing it. Like my hypersensitive nose, my sixth sense had grown extraordinarily perceptive in the past few weeks thanks to a dose of Master vamp blood. Reading everyone’s feelings and thoughts like a billboard advertisement was new territory for me. It took getting used to.
As far as raves went, this was a small one. The warehouse was undersized for this deserted part of town. In the 1920s and ’30s, the building had been a dry cleaner. One used by the most notorious gangsters of long ago Chicago. When you’re in the business of disposing of bodies, things get a little messy, so a cleaners comes in handy. Rumor had it the back of the building had been used for the disposal part and since it sat near a dock, the rumor was probably true. Who knows how many people had been fish food at the bottom of Lake Michigan? You could torture and shoot your enemy in the back of the warehouse, weight their feet and dump them into the lake, remove your soiled clothing and have it cleaned and pressed in under an hour. Hi ho, hi ho, back to work you go.
This was the third rave I’d attended in the past week looking for Lamir, the Bosnian demon who only came out of his hole every fifty years to feed on human young. The raves were a cornucopia of underage high-schoolers as well as college-age kids wanting to make the most of the night without realizing the night was filled with monsters wanting to make the most out of them. As in a seven-course meal.
Lamir was similar to a bear emerging from hibernation—hungry and cranky. He was a supernatural bully with three times the strength of a human and not an ounce of empathy. He liked to mark his victims with an X on their forehead before he ripped out their throats and ate their hearts.
I hate bullies. Demon bullies even more. Using my city to hunt, and my neighborhood in particular, would be Lamir’s undoing.
Two DJs pumped the crowd with loud beats, flashing strobe lights and words of encouragement between tracks. A layer of smoke hung near the ceiling from cigarettes and joints. The sharp tang of meth permeated the skin of several humans I passed. Nearly every hand held alcohol of one kind or another.
Demons have no trouble seducing humans so Lamir’s obsession with nabbing impaired humans from illegal raves made me wonder if he was getting lazy in his old age. Or maybe he preferred them with drugs and alcohol in their systems. Drugs don’t affect demons like they do humans but they do give human flesh and blood a different taste. Whatever his reasoning, Lamir had scored multiple human dinners at raves like this one in the past week and I was determined to stop him. Not only because it’s my job as the Bridge Institute’s enforcer, but also because, as I said before, I like humans.
My two sidekicks worked their way through the crowd on either side of me. Maddy, my teenaged vamp friend, and Arman, my shapeshifter blood slave, looked like ravers themselves. As I made eye contact with each of them, they shook their heads, telling me they hadn’t spotted Lamir.
That made three of us.
I’ve been hunting demons a long time. Nearly three hundred years in fact. My instincts are never wrong. Instead of parting more dancers and scanning the crowd with my eyes, I stood still, fine tuning my senses and letting them take inventory instead.
There were, indeed, supernaturals in the human mashup. My blood buzzed under the surface of my skin with a low voltage warning there were two Chicago House vampires besides Maddy in residence. I tucked that bit of information away for later.
A female shifter was making out with a frat boy in a dark corner. She was in full mating mode; he was in heaven. While I don’t judge, the situation rang warning bells. Things could quickly get out of hand if she developed feelings for the kid and tried to turn him. I’d have to talk to Ranulf, the local pack leader, about having her spayed.
Two low level demons were selling cocaine and ecstasy out back, but neither one’s aura indicated they were indulging in human snacks on the side. Still, I added them to my mental watch list and would include their information in a written report to Damon, my boss, when I got back to the Institute.
Chicago had taken action several years ago to battle illegal raves, giving its citizens the illusion they were dealing with the drugs, underage drinking, violence and date rape that often happens at large gatherings of young people. And like some cities, Chicago now had events called raves that were legal and endorsed by parents and kids alike. Hardcore ravers laughed at these ‘virgin’ raves and their PLUR—Peace, Love, Unity, Respect—credo, continuing to do what they’d always done…taking their movement to the underground.
A guy with curly hair and a cheeky grin bumped me from the right, bouncing off my protection spell and catapulting into a couple who were slow dancing even though the music was anything but. The male in the couple shoved the guy back toward me and I sidestepped his outstretched hands. He fell at my feet, looked up at me, and the grin widened. “Who are you?”
In the light of day, he would have been drop-dead gorgeous and old enough to play with. Under the strobe lights, he looked wicked and still of playing age. But he was all human and I wasn’t interested. “No one you want to know.”
“Xena, Princess Warrior or Red Riding Hood?”
The leather mini dress and thigh-high boots I wore conjured images of Xena, and the red cape hanging around my neck—technically a capelet, Maddy had informed me –with its interior pockets filled with weapons, often tagged me as a role-playing Red Riding Hood. In reality, I was more like the wolf in that Grimm storyline.
My demon blood made me attractive to males of all species. That whole predator-prey thing. Add in the vampire cocktail and I was irresistible, especially to human males. They flocked to me in droves, and I was like a bitch in heat, thanks to the demon and vampire DNA running amok under my skin. Every look, every gesture, turned me on. A sexy voice, the right shape to a jawline, a broad back and a tight ass…you name it, I was enthralled with the male species. Thing was…there was only one male I wanted. The only male I’d ever wanted.
Radisson Beaumont.
The rock god, half-Chaos demon, and il pistolino who stood me up at the altar three hundred years ago.
A group of females bopping up and down and yelling at the top of their lungs at something one of the DJs said nearly trampled him. A new song started—the Chaos Demons’ latest number one song—and the women squealed. Grabbing the back of cutie-pie human’s jacket, I hauled him to his feet. “Go find someone your own age to play with.”
He wobbled and tried to grab hold of my arms, but his hands slid off my shields. He cocked his head and stared intently into my eyes. The dopey grin left his face and the faked drunkenness disap
peared. “You a cop?”
The scent of metal and gun oil filtered through his aftershave and the beer he’d spilled on his shirt. His youthful appearance gave him a 21 Jump Street advantage with the current crowd, and I wondered who he was there for. The drug dealers? The underage kids? A particular criminal?
I gave him my best wolfish smile. “Takes one to know one, Officer...?” I let the question hang between us.
Convinced I was also undercover law enforcement, he gave me a careful once over. “Moreno. And it’s detective.”
Merde. I so did not need to come to the attention of a Chicago PD detective. “Detective Moreno.” We shook hands, and I kept my smile in place. “Homeland Security. Sorry I can’t give you details about myself or my assignment tonight, but I assure you I’m on your side.”
Homeland Security was a blanket Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card that worked on most law enforcement officials. Especially the younger, less experienced human variety.
Moreno may have looked young, but he hadn’t made detective by being easily brainwashed. “Credentials?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maddy headed my way. She gave me the signal—a two finger point to her right. Sure enough, the strobe lights flashed over the bald head of Lamir less than a yard off to her side.
“Again, Detective Moreno, I apologize that I can’t share more with you, but my suspect is about to exit the building and I’m charged with bringing him in tonight. Please excuse me.”
