Claimed by the Demon Hunter 3 (Guardians of Humanity)

by Harley James

  Whatever. Getting rid of the social section in mom and dad’s morning paper was priority number one. “I spoke too soon. I’m fine. Really. Let’s have one last toast. Torque happened because of all of you. Here’s to charting our own destinies!”

  Two endless minutes of convincing them of her sobriety later, she was in the parking lot and could breathe again. She stared up at the sophisticated blue sign of the nightclub, wondering about the man who’d made her forget her own sense of propriety so easily.

  Spencer Jameson.

  What a night. She wouldn’t forget her twenty-seventh birthday for a long time to come. She’d lost a measure of her dignity tonight, but it was a good lesson. She’d never let something like this happen again.

  Thank God the night was over.

  Chapter 4

  Before he was even halfway up the staircase, Spencer decided the night was far from over.

  The screams emanating from his office would delay his plans, but hopefully not for long. Especially since he was experiencing amplio, a heightened Guardian sensory response, for only the second time in four hundred years.

  He scowled at Pepper as they reached the landing. “You know I detest having the Possessed in my office.”

  Pepper whipped her black and white hair over her shoulder, then slipped a crucifix from the pocket of her black cargo pants. “We didn’t have time to bring him anywhere else because he was in the process of gutting a twenty-year old coed. Besides, this isn’t an ordinary possession. You’ll see what I mean in a second.”

  Spencer opened the door to his office and saw three things simultaneously: security team-member Atamu refilling vials of holy water; Father Angus O’Flannery’s powerful hands on a possessed sod who bucked on the floor in a makeshift Devil’s Trap devised with permanent marker; and Jinx Tanaka in her tight leather pants, barely-there tank top, and colorful body tattoos rearranging furniture, seemingly oblivious to the demon-purging rite currently in progress in the center of the room.

  “Is feng shui the new exorcism halftime show, Jinx?”

  The red-lipped smile on her delicate, porcelain face belied the lethal tendencies of her onna-bugeisha heritage. She’d been one of the rare female warriors who’d answered the call of duty alongside samurai men in early twelfth century Japan—all five feet nothing, one hundred pounds of her.

  Nearly nine hundred years later, she hadn’t lost her deadly touch.

  “Multitasking isn’t difficult for women, Jameson. I thought you’d learned that lesson in Tokyo last year.”

  He returned her smile. “Touché.”

  She’d saved his hide from a crowd of rephaim when he’d shown up unannounced to visit her club Iniquity. After his mortifying two-day recovery, he’d stayed in Tokyo for an extra week to train at her weapons school. He’d learned first-hand how calculating and vicious she could be one minute, then sweet and accommodating the next.

  That unpredictable temperament along with her disarming size had sent dozens of careless men to their deaths when she’d been alive so long ago.

  And it was why Spencer didn’t jerk her chain for the fun of it like he did Katherine’s.

  The Possessed opened his mouth to release another ear-busting scream, his fingernails drawing blood as his hands raked down his arms.

  Spencer turned his attention to Father Angus. “Will you please finish this up before the blighter bleeds out?”

  Pepper knelt down beside the pair with gauze. “Father has tried exorcising him twice to no avail.”

  What? “You must have done something wrong.”

  The Irish priest pinned him with the same look Spencer’s favorite Eton teacher used to make when he’d said something incredibly insulting. “I’ve done hundreds of exorcisms in the last two months since the Hell Seam opened at Nate’s club. Every damn one o’ them I’ve done the same. Now I follow the same ritual, and…nothing. Only more screamin’ and a-wailin’.” The veins stood out on the steel-haired priest’s colorfully tattooed arms. “You so bloody smart, lad, tell me why it ain’t working.”

  They had to be mistaken.

  Spencer bent down to where the Possessed lay in the center of the Demon’s Trap. He passed a hand in front of the man’s eyes, using his element to leave a trail of fire, distracting the Possessed long enough to check if his irises retained their natural color.

  This man’s eyes were blue, not black, so the demon hadn’t completely overcome him. His soul could still be saved, thank God.

  Spencer stood up, everyone watching him. Even Jinx paused her infernal rearranging to stare expectantly at him. Could they feel his distraction?

  His teeth were practically on edge to set these endless responsibilities aside and return to Sydney where he could forget about his duty, his questions about the vanished demon Nikolai, and simply wallow in the amplio Sydney inspired.

  It had been eighty-four years since he’d experienced such saturated hues. How quickly one forgot how color enriched your life. His taste would likewise be enhanced, though he had yet to fully take advantage of that perk.

  But he would, starting with brandy lapped out of Sydney’s belly button. “Your delays cost this man precious time. Have a go at it again.”

  The Irish cleric mumbled several unpriestly-like phrases, but went through the ritual again, exactly as Spencer had seen it performed endless times. The Possessed shook like a great war was being waged inside him, spittle flying from his mouth.

  And yet, the demon would not be expelled.

  The human had thirty seconds of respite before the demon demanded its host rise up to seek more humans to terrorize, hurt, and carry to the dark side.

  Pepper stepped to his right side. “Have you ever seen or heard the like of it?” she asked quietly.

  “No.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “I expect Baal has done something to fortify demon possession.”

  “How could he do such a thing?”

  Jinx’s arm bangles signaled her approach. “Clearly, the archdemons we’re dealing with have learned from the mistakes made by those Nate and Katherine battled.”

  Spencer nodded, glancing over at her. “They’re biding their time. Learning our weaknesses.”

  Jinx folded her arms across her chest, watching Father Angus. “Luci’s the archdemon in my territory. She’s hardly rocked the boat at all yet.”

  Based on his meeting with Baal at the beach, he’d agree. “Baal has done something, but I don’t know what yet.” Did it have anything to do with Nikolai? And could finding the old demon lead to answers on why traditional exorcisms weren’t working? “Have you contacted Katherine? I’d like to know if she’s noticing the same problem with exorcisms.”

  Atamu, a Samoan giant who’d nearly gutted Spencer a decade ago in Bermuda and was now working on his security team, brought over a vial of holy water and handed it to Father Angus. “I got off the phone with Aqua moments before you got here. They’ve had no such issues since they figured out what was making Katherine sick. She and the priests on site have been able to exorcise as usual.”

  That certainly led credence to the idea that this was a special present from Baal. More complications. He used to thrive on matching wits with demons—the higher up the demonic food chain the better. Now, the thought exhausted him. He looked at his security team in turn. “Atamu, hit him with a Molotov cocktail to stun him long enough to lock him in the purging room. He can rant in there until we find a solution.”

  “What if he kills himself?” Pepper asked.

  “Then it’s one less problem I have to deal with.”

  Jinx smirked. “Better not let Michael hear you talk like that.”

  He took Jinx’s fine-boned hand and placed it on his forearm to escort her from the room. She didn’t say anything as they walked down the dark hallway, over the catwalk that spanned the dancefloor two stories below, toward his suite of private rooms.

  Once inside, he closed the door, and she immediately started wanderin
g around the room. He could feel her brain processing the mojo of the space, the placement of the furniture, the angles of the windows as they looked out at the South of Market District.

  He let her wander at will until she was satisfied. If he tried to rush her, it would backfire and take him even longer to return to the lovely, contradictory Sydney. Jinx was like a package of C4.

  Small, combustible, and deadly.

  She angled the Zen garden on his end table a quarter turn. “I’m surprised, Spencer. I don’t know that I could arrange this room much better than it’s been done. Who did it?”

  He walked to the bar and set out two squat goblets. “Does it matter?”

  She narrowed her eyes momentarily and then smiled, revealing small, even white teeth. “You’re in no mood for gossip, and as much as you’re trying to act casual, you want something from me and then you want me the hell out of your way tonight. Who is she?”

  He took a bottle from a cabinet. “Brandy?”

  She sat on the cognac-colored leather sofa and crossed her legs, waving her right foot in a slow, measured sway. “Only if it puts you more at ease so you can hurry up and tell me what you’re dying to say in your oh-so-reserved British fashion.”

  Spencer smothered a grin. The most dangerous aspect of Jinx was her ability to conceal her shrewd mind under layers of frivolity. He delivered her glass, then took the chair opposite the sofa. “All must be quiet in Tokyo, or else you wouldn’t have heeded my call so quickly.”

  Jinx took a long sip of the brandy, then shivered and set the drink down. “Not entirely. As Lucifer’s namesake, I expected Luci to shake up the city in grand fashion. Instead, she seems to have rounded up all the power demons for a smackdown. The city hasn’t had this low level of demon-activity in decades.”

  “Must be planning a larger strategy.”

  “I’m certain of it. Otherwise, what would be the point? She’s determined to take my relic. Like Baal, she watched how Asmodeus and Leviathan handled their bids for Nate and Katherine’s relics. All the other archdemons won’t make the same mistakes. I’m sick of waiting. I’d much rather fight and be done with it.”

  He was relieved to hear it, for purely selfish reasons, of course. If she was still hungry for the fight, she would likely accept the added burden of his relic. “You will overcome, Jinx.”

  She paused while lifting the glass to her lips. “Of course I will. As will you. We will defeat all demons who are sure to follow the five already here. If we’ve learned anything in our centuries together, it’s that they will continue to come. It’s the way of good and evil.”

  Spencer held the glass up to stare at the amber colored liquor. “Do you never grow tired of it? All the fighting?”

  She frowned. “I don’t dwell on those thoughts, and neither should you. That road leads to discontent. As Guardians, this was our choice. The alternative is unacceptable.”

  The alternative was becoming the very thing he’d fought against for four hundred years. A demon trapped in a hell of his own making.

  The thought no longer filled him with dread. The thought made him feel...nothing.

  And if he couldn’t pretend to care anymore, how could he expect to lead or protect one of the most powerful holy items in the world?

  He breathed deep, then, “I need you to take the Holy Robe and keep it with your Chalice.”

  Jinx sputtered on her brandy, her delicate eyebrows stretching toward her hairline as she shot to her feet. “You are insane.”

  “I don’t trust myself to protect it any longer. I don’t care about duty. I don’t care about anything.” Well, maybe one fire-haired, independent human. But once the amplio she inspired faded—and it surely would—he’d be back to the yawning emptiness he’d felt for the last several years.

  Jinx closed the distance between them until she stood squarely in front of him, her hands on her hips. He’d yet to meet anyone who could move as quietly as her. “You can’t just walk away from your responsibility, Spencer. You chose this existence.”

  And all these years later, he still didn’t understand why. At the time of his death he’d been an ice-cold bastard whose irreverence for life was as strong as his hatred of his family name. “I feel nothing but weariness.”

  Jinx rolled her eyes and flung her hands to the ceiling. “Jesus. You big baby. We all get sick of this shit, but we keep going until those stupid trumpets finally blare.” She plopped down on the arm of his chair, swiveling toward him to pat both of his cheeks.

  He swatted her hands away. “Stop that. I’m not a child in need of consoling.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She stood, crossed her arms, and tapped her foot. “Now you listen here, Doom.”

  Spencer raised his eyebrows and would have smiled at her choice of nickname if her glare didn’t promise swift retaliation of the bloodthirsty kind.

  “We will never speak of this cockamamie idea again. You’re going to watch over your relic like a good little Guardian and find the woman who danced in your arms tonight. Let her remind you of how good life can still be. I know she brought color back for you, so don’t bother denying it. I saw it all over your face when I entered the club and saw you together.”

  He didn’t care for Jinx knowing he was so affected by the human. Didn’t like the idea that he may have acted like a sop either.

  He drained his glass. “If you refuse to accept my relic, you are as responsible as I should I fail to protect it.”

  “Then you’d better damn well not fail, Guardian, because that would piss me off. And you know what they say about old-as-the-hills Samurai women who go on the warpath.”

  Well no, he hadn’t gotten wind of that one, but he certainly heard the door rattle on its hinges when she departed.

  Chapter 5

  Sydney wiped greasy hands on her jeans as she approached the service counter, butterflies break dancing in her belly. Three employees from San Francisco’s biggest floral shop were on their fifth trip into the building with large crystal vases chock full of the largest roses she’d ever seen.

  Passion pink, they’d said.

  The vases lined the eight-foot-long counter, two side tables, as well as the three-shelf bookcase she’d brought in to serve as a mini lending library. All told, there were twenty-seven vases.

  Twenty-seven looks good on you. ~ Spencer

  Sydney bit down on her lip to forestall a cheesy smile. He’d clearly been listening when Laura had told him where they worked last night. A pleasant heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a good look with her red hair.

  “Holy shit, Syd, you must’ve let him come over after you left the club. You little hussy! Spill all the details, right now. I need a vicarious thrill.” Liv fixed her raven-black ponytail, her booming voice probably carrying all the way down the block to the little coffee shop filled with potential customers. Customers who probably wouldn’t care to patronize a business run by a hussy.

  Time to schedule another tact and sensitivity training session.

  But first, she could spare a moment to stop and smell the roses, right? She didn’t even need to lean in to sniff the gorgeous blooms. The whole office smelled like a greenhouse.

  “Absolutely nothing happened.”

  “Oh my God, you are such a liar,” Laura barked. “Look at you blush! No man sends three hundred twenty-four roses to a woman who doesn’t put out. I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me!”

  “Wow, that’s some crazy math skills, Laura,” Esteban called from underneath a car hoist holding a Tesla Model S.

  Laura smirked. “I didn’t get to be office manager on my good looks and winning personality alone, you know.”

  “No, it was because you have dirt on the boss, and you’re a master at extortion. Sydney had to hire you or go to jail.”

  Liv grabbed one of the blooms and tucked it behind the ear of little Margaret Hollingsworth, the elderly woman who’d crocheted Sydney an afghan when she fixed her Buick for
free after her husband passed away last spring.

  Margaret was back with the Buick for her quarterly oil change. Smiling, she pulled a pocket mirror out of her huge-ass, I-keep-all-my-crochet-supplies-on-me-at-all-times purse to see how the rose looked tucked into her wiry gray hair.

  Liv tucked a flower into her own hair, too. “Looks like Syd’s finally learned her lesson not to share anything with your big mouth anymore.”

  “Fuck off, Liv.” Laura sent a schmaltzy smile Margaret’s way. “Pardon my French, Ms. Hollingsworth.”

  Margaret waved a hand dismissively, still admiring the flower.

  Liv pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll happily fuck off, but not until Syd admits something happened last night.” She lifted her phone and tapped the screen. “On camera.”

  Sydney would have continued to deny, deny, deny if she wasn’t feeling so spotlighted already. Time to find some paper to push around. She turned toward the staircase as inconspicuously as possible.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Laura tapped her shoulder. “You can’t come over here to gloat over such an obvious display of your conquest, and then bail on us without sharing even a little teaser of what happened.”

  “You guys are relentless.”

  “Thank you,” Liv and Laura said in unison.

  “We’re running a professional business here, not a gossip mill, ladies. Now get to work. Ms. Hollingsworth’s Buick won’t change its own oil.”

  “I’m sure Margaret doesn’t mind some juicy gossip,” Liv said. Margaret smiled sweetly and dug in her suitcase-purse for her crochet hooks, a deepening blush on her cheeks.

  “I only danced with Mr. Jameson that one time. After he was called away on business, I never saw him again. Cross my heart.”

  “Cross your heart about what?”

  Sydney spun around with a wide smile. “Dad!” Her smile dropped as soon as she saw the worry creasing every line on his red-bearded face. “What’s wrong?”