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Authors: Kresley Cole

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General, #Fantasy, #Occult & Supernatural

Demon From the Dark (10 page)

BOOK: Demon From the Dark
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So what was
it
?

           
With darting eyes, the green demon said, "We go now!"

           
Asmodel stalked closer to Carrow. "I go nowhere without this female." More drool dripped from his lips. "She would be worth her weight in water! Even used."

           
"You'd risk facing
it
?" Sneethy said.

           
Apparently so, because Asmodel seized her arm. She kicked down on his instep, but it didn't even faze him. As she fought, he dragged her along deeper into the woods.

           
"Stop struggling!" he ordered. "You'll be our concubine--or the beast's dinner. And it nears even now."

           
What in the hell had spooked a gang of demons like this? As they all plunged into a copse of petrified saplings, the fleeter ones darted ahead, the slower ones lagging. The young trees had grown so close, it was like wending through a smoke-laced cornfield. Good cover.

           
Yet the demons grew more uneasy, drawing their weapons and crouching low. Asmodel pulled a wooden club from his belt. Sneethy sniffed the air again and whimpered, raising his spear.

           
The green demon drew a hunting knife and muttered, "It stalks us." A
demon
worried about being stalked?

           
When she heard a gurgling yell behind them, her eyes went wide. She ceased any resistance, fleeing with them when the gang began running. At intervals, she glanced back, as unnerved as they were.

           
Then, directly on the path ahead, they came across one of the faster demons--beheaded so recently his body was still kneeling.

           
As the corpse collapsed, Asmodel sneered, "No, the beast
plays
with us."

           
Another demon's scream warbled from behind them. They'd barely gone a dozen steps in the other direction when something that sounded like a boomerang sailed through the air overhead. Blood rained down from it.

           
The
beast
had flung a severed leg like a Frisbee to land in front of them.

           
Beside the mangled leg lay a pair of demons, one body toppled over the other. And their heads looked to have been severed--not with a sword but with
claws
.

           
"A single blow took down two." Asmodel swallowed loudly as he jerked her around in a circle, scanning for an escape.

           
Something had beheaded a pair of immortals with one strike? Then gone to slash off the leg of another? "No, there's got to be more than one," she said. Beings were dying in all directions, screams like a chorus.

           
"One," Asmodel snapped.
"It!"

           
Sounds of carnage echoed through the trees, the cracking of bones and the unmistakable tearing of flesh. She began shaking too hard to run, stumbling twice in rapid succession.

           
Asmodel promptly abandoned her, taking his chances, sprinting through the saplings.

           
The few remaining demons followed suit, scattering in different directions. She trailed after Asmodel, the biggest one, while all around her the others screamed.

           
Then she slowed, squinting in disbelief through the smoke. Ahead, something like a shade seized Asmodel with a staggering speed. Asmodel looked as if he were being lifted by an unseen force. Whatever it was ruptured the demon's body in midair--limbs separated, blood spraying over dust.

           
He'd never had time to scream.

           
The shadow vanished. Silence fell. Only the sound of the wind could be heard. Had they all been taken out? Or were they hiding?

           
What
was
this thing?

           
She twisted around, her eyes darting. When she reeled back from a nearby sound, she tripped over a legless, beheaded torso, tumbling beside a pool of gore and entrails.

           
Sneethy. She recognized the spear still clenched in his hands.

           
Choking back bile, she crawled from the leavings into a patch of petrified brush.

           
Her first impulse? Ball up there and hide. What use was fleeing? Death awaited in any direction.

           
Then she grew ashamed. Though young, Carrow was an inducted mercenary of the Wiccae and a leader among their vaunted warrior class. She'd face this beast fearlessly--even to the end.

           
"Show yourself, coward!" At once, trees began to topple in a line coming straight for her. A monster on its way. Before, it'd been soundless. Now it crashed toward her.

           
It was playing with her as well.

           
Carrow would be damned if she was going to sit here, helpless, like some offering to King Kong. For the first time in her life, she had someone depending on her. She would fight.

           
And if she couldn't match its strength, she'd use other talents. She could be cunning ... deceptive.

           
She pried Sneethy's spear from his gnarled fingers.
You're about to see what would happen if Fay Wray were a witch!

           
Just as she dragged the weapon into the brush behind her, the attacker plowed into the clearing.

           
Carrow craned her head up. And up ... She lost her breath.

           
The being's body was nearly seven feet tall and splashed with blood. Large horns curved back from above his ears. His lips were parted, exposing upper and lower fangs. Another demon.

           
And, gods, this one was big. His broad chest and brawny arms were covered in a mesh chainmail shirt, his muscles rippling with strength under the metal. He was clad in leather pants, and they too were spattered in crimson. His long hair was tangled around those horns and hung over his dirty face. A sparse beard covered his cheeks.

           
Surely, this couldn't be ... him. Her target. Nothing about his appearance indicated vampirism.
Please don't let it be him.

           
When their eyes met, she gasped. His irises were a light blue, as described in the dossier. Severely disturbed? Violently territorial? Affirmative.

           
The blue flickered, turning blacker by the second, usually a sign of lust or rage in a demon. Neither boded well for her.

           
Just as she studied his appearance, his gaze raked over her body, over her hiked-up skirt and bared thighs. At once, his horns straightened and flared back, signaling his attraction to her.

           
When he raised his face, his eyes narrowed, as if with recognition. He clenched his hands into meaty fists, then opened them, splaying his claw-tipped fingers. Again and again he made fists, then released them, like he missed something he'd long held on to.

           
His shaft was hardening--impossible to miss that. When he sucked in ragged breaths, grasping at his chest, a ridiculous suspicion arose, but she tamped it down.

           
This demon looked to be on the razor's edge of lust. For all Carrow knew, he'd been out in this wasteland for centuries without a woman, as hard up as Asmodel.

           
And if she didn't figure out a way around it, this one was about to be on top of her, his hulking body heaving over her.

           
"I-I'm asking you not to hurt me," she said, studying his expression. His harsh face evinced nothing, no comprehension of her words. So no English. Trothan native?
Check.
His only reaction was an ever-growing erection.

           
Just as she'd begun to suspect he was beyond any communication, he slammed a fist over his chest, then pointed at her, rasping something that sounded like
"Ara."
His voice was rough, as if it'd been dragged over gravel.

           
When he stalked closer, she spied a tattoo, a large one that looked like black flames licking up his side--his
right
side.

           
Hekate help her, this
was
Carrow's target, Malkom Slaine. And the Order had been woefully mistaken. There'd be no coaxing him anywhere.

           
Change of plans. She wasn't going to
lead
him to the portal. She was going to
lug
his unconscious body there. After repeatedly stabbing him.

           
But for her plan to work, she needed him to charge her, to fall upon her. Mentally steeling herself, she motioned for him, crooking a finger.

           
His eyes briefly widened, but he didn't speed up his approach.

           
Damn it, Slaine!
Charge me!

 

Chapter 6

 

 

           
Malkom had never been so astounded in his everlasting life.

           
On his way down the mountain, he'd caught this female's exquisite scent and had recognized what she was to him--the woman he'd never expected for himself.

           
With his horns flaring and his loins stirring to mate her, he'd leapt down from on high, then torn through the bone forest. But as he'd closed in on her, he'd also scented the demons surrounding her. While he'd slaughtered them, his heart had begun to beat, his lungs drawing breath, for the first time in centuries.

           
She was
her
. His. Fate had given him a foreign female with hair like night and emerald-green eyes. Her skin was flawless, as pale as a vampire's, though she had no fangs. She was some kind of immortal, but he didn't know what.

           
And her
scent
. She smelled as he'd always imagined a woman should. Not like those hardened, hollow-eyed demonesses who'd reeked of the males that'd used them.

           
Now the reasons Malkom had never had a female no longer affected him. This woman was perfect, her scent was tantalizing to him, and she was
his
.

           
What use had he for a female? The question no longer mattered.
I claim what's mine.

           
She was beckoning him, clearly recognizing him as her male.
She seeks what I have to give her.

           
Yet now he was battle-maddened, barely clinging to the last of his control. Demonic thoughts of slaking his lust on this fine creature warred with the vampiric urge to drink her down. He could almost feel his fangs planted into the creamy flesh of her bared thigh.

           
She moistened her lips and subtly eased her legs open, giving him a glimpse of the dark pink silk betwixt her legs.

           
Thought fled. He roared and leapt for her.

           
Just before he was upon her, pain erupted. He gazed down at his side in disbelief. She was jerking a spear up between them, slipped under his chainmail and between his ribs. Her eyes fierce, she buried it deeper.

           
Tricked. Rage seethed.
Losing control.
She needed to flee from him.
"Cotha,"
he gritted between clenched teeth.
Run.

           
This being hadn't even noticed the spear, hadn't registered the pain until she'd shoved it farther into his side.

           
He'd just continued staring at her with a look of consuming hunger. His desire for her had been so strong it was palpable, making her dizzy.

           
Now, with his claws digging into his palms until blood streamed from them, he gazed from her face down to the injury, then back up. His eyes boring into hers, he again grated,
"Cotha."

           
"I-I don't know Demonish." Ah, gods, only a few phrases! What was he telling her?

           
He threw back his head and bellowed,
"Cotha!"

           
Eyes wide, she dropped the spear and scrambled to her feet. Ducking away, she fled deeper into the forest. She could absolutely believe this male would put her head on a pike.

           
Within moments, she heard him behind her and tossed a glance over her shoulder, gasping at what she saw. He was
changing.
Through the swirling dust, she spied his upper fangs shooting longer, narrower.

           
A vampire's fangs. A vampiric demon. And he appeared to be mindless.

BOOK: Demon From the Dark
9.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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