by Angie Fox
I found myself inexplicably lured to the long, curving bar, backlit with frosted white glass. Odd, because I didn't really drink. If anything, I should make a lap of the bar until I found my quarry, or at least determined the best place to hold to the shadows and wait. But something was about to happen here.
Fighting the urge to glance behind me, I squeezed in next to an ordinary-looking man wearing a gray dress shirt and cuff links shaped like old-fashioned water faucets. The one near me said, "cold." I'd bet the other side said, "hot." I resisted the urge to compliment him on them. Who knew what constituted flirting? Not me.
Lights from the dance floor echoed off the white and chrome bar—green, white, blue—they pulsed to the beat of the never-ending dance track.
The bartender—who wasn't quite human—rattled a martini shaker, his eyes fixed on a point above the flowing curtains covering the back exit. He topped out at around seven feet, and if I wasn't mistaken, seemed to be of Hawaiian or Polynesian descent. I followed his gaze, and when I didn't detect anything strange, used his distraction as an opportunity to focus on the odd slant of his ears, and was that a five o'clock shadow… on his forehead? I couldn't quite tell in the dim light of the club. He felt smoky, not demonic. Not exactly friendly, either.
He caught me watching, and I managed a smile. Eyes narrowing, he thunked a Long Island Iced Tea down in front of the hot/cold man and bypassed me for a patron at the other end of the bar. Just as well. I wasn't here to drink.
The party girl on the other side of me squealed at something her date had said, nudging her bare tanned back against me. I was about to put some space between us when the man on my other side stiffened.
A pale, bony woman in a shimmering silver gown trailed her arm across his shoulders and glided into place on the other side of him. Gauzy hair wisped about her face and her entire body seemed to glow around the edges. Her features were as frighteningly regular as a plastic doll's. Seduction hung heavy in the air, along with unmistakable, infectious evil.
Succubus. I reached for my switch stars and felt them warm against my hand. Every instinct I had screamed at me to bury one in her chest. And I would—if she attacked. Problem was, if I struck, I'd be announcing my presence to every demon in Vegas. That's the trouble with slayer powers—they're like a bomb going off.
Add that to the two demons approaching outside, and one in the parking garage next door. I didn't want to reveal myself unless I had to.
The man groaned, arching like a cat, as she fed off the briefest contact. What would she do when she really got going?
Remember why you're here.
I'd come to find the hunter, not pick a fight with the she-demons of Vegas. One wrong move in this crowd and we'd have a lot of dead humans as well.
The energy of the room surged, like static before a storm. My nerves tingled and my stomach flip-flopped. Almost as if time stood still, I watched her hand on his shoulder. Only this time, it wasn't plasticky or uniform at all. Yellowed talons hissed and curled from an appendage that was more claw than anything. Tendons and muscles worked under the emaciated skin.
She was a devil who feasted on men. A cunningly masked locust. My throat tightened as I watched the air around her stir and shimmer even more brightly than before. Her pale body flushed with life. Her shapeless silver gown wound into a sleek black mini-dress, hugging her suddenly voluptuous curves. Thick brown hair tangled down her back, bouncing and curling the way hair always does in commercials but never in real life. Her nose was pert, her lips lush and full as she cast a seductive smile.
The man about choked on his cocktail. "Excuse me for saying," he said, his breath husky, "but you are about the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
I didn't doubt it. She'd tapped into his mind, rifled through his fantasies.
She threw her head back and laughed. My fingers clambered for my switch stars once more, positively itchy.
I didn't want to give up my identity or what I'd come here tonight to do. But I wasn't going to let her keep feeding on him, either. Where was the frickin' hunter?
Her perfectly manicured hand lingered on the man's forearm. "I could eat you up," she purred fetchingly.
No doubt she could.
Hell's bells. I was the only one around who could stop this. She hadn't given me a second glance, which was ideal really. I'm not that great at hiding my emotions.
I could feel my teeth clench, the rage boiling inside. I hated her and everything she was about. What she wanted to do to the man at the bar, what her kind had done to my uncle. I wanted this one dead.
Before I did something stupid yet supremely satisfying, I felt the hunter. I hadn't even realized how tightly I'd drawn my shoulders until I released them. He was close. I could see him in my mind's eye. He drew me with the kind of magnetic pull that was completely unnatural and at the same time, felt right—like finding a kindred soul.
He approached her from behind, eyes on me the whole time. If it were possible for a man to glow, he did. He radiated power, from the gold of his honey-blond hair down to the ease with which he handled a switch star. He carried himself like a Navy Seal, his angled features betraying a hint of trouble.
He'd be an interesting one to deal with.
And let's just say he didn't look like the type who would screw around. No talk, all action—which was perfectly fine with me. He dug a red switch star from his belt. The blades spun like a chop saw the minute he hooked his fingers into the otherworldly metal.
Without so much as a flicker of emotion, he slammed it into her back.
She blinked, stunned. But she didn't die.
My jaw dropped as the hunter cupped her heart-shaped face and drew her mouth to his.
"Hey, wait—" the man in front of me stammered as the hunter drank from her in an all-consuming kiss.
Without missing a beat, the hunter grabbed a fist full of crisp gray dress shirt and shoved the man away. I couldn't hear what mister hot/cold said next. The crush of conversations and beat of the club music drowned out everything but "asshole," before the world's luckiest man disappeared into the crowd.
But I could hardly take my eyes off the succubus and the hunter. She groaned and thrust herself forward as she willingly gave herself to him. He dug his fingers into her hair and took her deeper, each kiss harder, darker than the last. He embraced her as her beauty faded. Her flowing brown hair thinned until it was once again white and willowy. Her skin shriveled and shrank back from her talons. She sank four long claws into the hunter's shoulder as she moaned into his mouth.
No mistake—he was somehow feeding off her.
He kissed her, devoured her, ground her body against his. She issued mews of pleasure, twisting in his arms, coiling against him, willingly giving herself. He used her like a lover, arms around her and driving himself against her. It was the most erotic, disturbing, addictive surrender I'd ever witnessed. My breath quickened and I felt myself go wet. I wanted to be her, even as he consumed her.
Her talons tore into his shirt as she struggled to pull herself closer to him, to take more, give more. A living, breathing, skeleton of a thing, she gave him everything she had. And still he kept taking, until there was almost nothing left.
A wisp of the creature she'd once been, the succubus clung to her executioner, barely more than a living shell. She pressed closer, still desiring him. And then, with a long echoing groan and a gasp, she collapsed upon herself, her body crumbling into a fine powder.
Only then did he release her, her ashes flittering away on an invisible breeze as a papery thin black dress pooled on the floor. She was dead. And he was… a monster.
Shocked, I raised my eyes to find the hunter watching me.
Moisture glistened on his lower lip, making his hard features arrestingly sensual. His amber eyes held an almost dazed quality, one of indulgence and—if I read him right—satisfaction.
And the demons outside didn't move. They didn't know.
He dipped his head slightly, in a co
urtly gesture of greeting and leaned uncomfortably close. My fingers trembled against my switch stars as the beat of the music anchored me to the here and now. I breathed in the light, spicy scent of him, mixed with the sulfur of the demon.
"I wasn't expecting one so early," he said, his voice husky from the kiss. "Thanks for distracting her."
Early? I drew back. It was nearing midnight. And as far as what he'd done… "What are you?"
His mouth spread into a toothy Matt Damon grin, which would have completely disarmed me if I hadn't known exactly what he was capable of. He held out a hand, palm up. "You must be Lizzie."
"Who are you?"
"Call me Max," he said, his warm hand closing on my arm. "Come with me, and I'll tell you everything."
A tempting offer, if I had any reason to trust him. My demon slayer essence seemed to recognize him on a certain, uncomfortable level. The part of me that had itched for a fight realized he was on my side. Still, something about him wasn't entirely right. And even after that display, I still didn't know everything a hunter could do. He hadn't exactly been friendly with Dimitri last night.
"Actually," I said, careful to maintain eye contact. "I have a few questions first."
The man had some explaining to do. He'd just drunk a succubus like a milk shake.
He tilted his head, sizing me up. "Either way, I suggest we leave immediately."
"More succubi?" I asked.
"There's that," he said, indicating over my left shoulder, "And it seems you've brought trouble with you."
I turned to see Grandma arguing with Ant Eater near the entrance.
God bless America.
The last thing we needed would be for Grandma or the Red Skulls to get hurt.
"Come with me," he insisted, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as he drew me through the crowd toward the back, muscles taut, every bit the soldier under his tailored blue club shirt.
"Yeah right." I barely went to bars, much less left bars with strange men.
"We're kindred souls, Lizzie. Don't bother denying it."
I could and I would. We might both kill demons, but the similarities ended there. I caught a glimpse of his chest through one of the rips the succubus had torn in his shirt. Eerie white scratches laced his body, glowing faintly in the darkened club.
Impossible. That creature would have ripped me to pieces.
His lips curled into a sideways, entirely too intimate, smile. "You can strip-search me if it makes you feel better."
Somehow, I thought that could be just as lethal as his kiss of death.
The man could literally consume minions of the devil. It didn't mean he was on my team, but it didn't give him a reason to kill me, either.
I took stock of him. The small bend on the bridge of his nose, the hard set to his jaw, the way his hair curled slightly from the heat of the club. There was an old demon slayer truth, Accept the Universe. Right now, it seemed the universe was directing me outside with this enigma of a hunter.
I offered him a handshake, ignoring the way his chest rumbled against my back. He could be amused all he wanted.
The hunter took my hand with unexpected, yet soothing force. "Lizzie Brown," I said, introducing myself.
"Max Devereux." He didn't bother to hide his satisfaction, or his interest.
"You want me?" I asked him. The games ended here.
His arm tightened slightly against my shoulders. "Yes." He said, his amber eyes bordering on predatory.
"You won't get me if you don't play one hundred percent straight from now on. And you might not even get me then."
He barked out a surprised, delighted laugh. "We'll see about that."
On the way out to his car, I sent a quick text to Grandma. Met the hunter. Name is Max. Back soon. She'd thwomp me for leaving with him, but I had to trust my gut. Besides, I'd been in worse places than the front seat of Max's black Mercedes.
I only hoped Dimitri would understand. I didn't have a boatload of experience with men, but the ones I'd dated hadn't been nearly as cool and unemotional as they liked to believe. Dimitri had to know I was doing this for him, for us. As soon as his ears stopped smoking, he would.
Max slid into the driver's seat, pulling the door closed with a silencing ka-chunk. I breathed in leather and spice and suddenly Max seemed much larger than he had before. He turned the key on a premium smooth-riding engine, light years away from the heart-pounding motorcycles I'd grown to appreciate. Despite myself, I longed for my fierce, kick-butt griffin boyfriend.
"Why did you attack Dimitri?" I asked as Max braced an arm on the seat behind me and pulled out.
The leather rumbled as his fingers tightened. "Is he your lover?"
"That's none of your business," I snapped.
"Because if he is, you've got a problem," he said, cold creeping into his voice.
Max's warning hung in the air as he pulled out of the garage and into the teeming traffic on The Strip. I wasn't about to start questioning this hunter about my boyfriend. He could either elaborate or not. I wasn't going to beg.
He kept his eyes on the road, the lights of The Strip flicked over his face. Finally, he said, "Dimitri Kallinikos claims to be a griffin, noble no less. But he's not."
"What?" I asked, not entirely understanding.
Max shot a long look out of the corner of his eye, sizing me up. "Dimitri is not entirely griffin. He has some slayer in him. Of course, he denies it."
My body froze into a thick, heavy lump of dread right there in the passenger's seat.
Hadn't I known there'd be consequences?
I mashed my head back against the seat. I'd tried not to think about it since it had happened. Cripes, it had only been a week, but I couldn't get the sight of Dimitri's blood on my hands, or the gaping hole in his chest out of my mind. He fought so hard for me. I couldn't let him die. I did what I had to do.
"How do you know he has slayer?" I asked.
My only other witness had been Grandma, She'd knelt beside me when I used part of my essence to save Dimitri's life. Before I did it, she'd warned me nothing comes for free. At the time, I hadn't cared.
"I can feel it in him," Max said, tilting his head as if he could read my secret simply by looking at me. "I'm sure it's there. Just as I'm sure he'll never be one of us."
No. Guilt crashed down on me in wave after suffocating wave. Of course Dimitri denied it. He didn't know. His entire identity and future was wrapped in his heritage, the purity of his griffin ancestry.
He'd bet his soul on it.
I had to get him out of here. Tonight. Once I told him what I'd done, he'd probably want to leave.
The entire time I'd known him, he'd been working to get back to Greece, to fulfill his destiny as a noble griffin.
In one step, I'd taken that away from him.
At the time, it seemed like a taste of my power would only serve to strengthen him. I hadn't counted on the fact that it might open him up to a kind of danger he had no protection against.
Max's hands slid over the steering wheel, almost in a caress. His collar shifted, revealing a silver chain around his neck.
"I'm surprised you didn't sense the griffin's slaying power, however minor." Max said. "You knew me."
Did I ever.
But of course I wouldn't be able to feel Dimitri's slayer essence. I didn't sense myself. And that was what he had inside of him, a small part of my energy, a taste of my power—an indelible stain on the very thing that made him who he was.
Forgive me, Dimitri.
"He's a liability," Max stated. "He could have been a help if he were of pure griffin blood, like he claims. But his blood is tainted. Granted, it's slayer blood, but not enough to make him useful. He'll suck your energy dry trying to regain his strength."
"You mean like you did to that succubus?"
A wicked laugh rumbled from his throat. "I don't want or crave their essence. He wants yours, and he'll take it."
The memory of it chilled me to the core. "How
can you know he'd just take it?"
Max locked me into a smoldering gaze. "Who wouldn't?"
We drove for a long time until Max finally stopped the car along the side of an abandoned prison thirty miles outside of Henderson. Gray metal guard towers flanked rusted fences. Barbed wire coiled along the tops, sagging in spots. Weeds littered the ground and sprouted between the concrete basketball courts in the yard. A dented sign read Southeast Nevada State Women's Minimal Security Correctional Center. I wouldn't want to recite that each time I answered the phone. And I wasn't about to get out of the car, not until Max the hunter put my mind to rest about a few things.
I crossed my arms in front of me. "You think I'm too stupid to live?"
He seemed almost surprised. "Where did that come from?"
Oh please. "Let's see. Is it the dark, abandoned prison? Or the fact you could be a raving lunatic?" One who eats women. Okay, evil she-demons. But still…
He considered the question. "You know I'm a hunter," he said, eyeing me thoughtfully. "I've left you your weapons. My reaction time would have been pathetic if you'd decided to switch-star me on Highway 95." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, matching my stance. "You seem to be mated to a raging beast who could have killed me last night."
A smile tickled the sides of my lips. Go Dimitri.
Max seemed less than amused. "And, Lizzie," he said, abandoning pretext and leaning forward, his words clipped and biting, "if you don't screw up and get yourself killed, you're my secret weapon against an invasion of succubi the likes of which I've never seen."
Ice trickled through my veins. "What do you mean invasion?"
I almost didn't want him to answer. Because deep down, a part of me had already known.
"Come on," he said, "I'll show you."
Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:
Demon Slayer: In our hands, switch stars kill demons. Demon Hunter: A different breed of demon-fighting warrior. Hunters have the strength to throw switch stars, but only to stun or wound. To make the kill requires them to give up a part of themselves to the demons. Beware of the darkness that enables a hunter to choose this type of killing.
