Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) (5 page)

The existence of that amulet, however, was a secret they both kept for now, and for their own reasons. They knew far too much of each other, and neither wished for their weaknesses to be exposed.

“The Slayer has proven himself to be more than capable of besting a demon,” she was saying, “and even though the thief might wear the form of a woman, she’s still a spawn.”

The fire in his eyes cooled at the priestess’s words. She was right. There would be a certain advantage in having the Slayer involved if the little thief should get out of hand. But if she did get out of hand and the Slayer was forced to kill her, the Demon Lord might never know for certain if she were his.

He needed to know. He needed to know if she was the reason demons could no longer abandon this world and return to the heart of the universe, and to immortality. But more than that, he needed to know if she had been born to the one who had betrayed him.

Mamna claimed the spawn on the mountain was that of a priestess who had survived the fire. She said the goddesses had manipulated the spawn’s birth, and she had never been told for what purpose. She was the one who speculated that a spawn in mortal form might be the key to why demons remained trapped in the mortal world.

He did not trust Mamna. She hated the goddesses with the same passion he did himself, and if she thought this thief could be used against them in some manner, not even fear of him would stop her. By leaving Freetown under her control for all these years he had bought Mamna’s fragile loyalty, but she had her own scores to settle.

He would take no chances. “Spawn are mine,” he reminded her. “She is to be turned over to me.”

“And she will be.” The ugly little priestess did not flinch. She knew better than to show fear to a demon.

“Very well,” he said, “but make no mistake. I want her alive.”

Assuming his demon form once more, he set free his wings. They billowed like sails, catching and filling, lifting him into the starry sky. He headed for his desert home, away from the unfortunate mortal mother who had once been lovely enough to catch the interest of a demon but was now nothing more than food for scavengers.

Mortal women could be exceedingly beautiful, the Demon Lord conceded. He glided on a bank of warm air. But it was fleeting, and nothing when compared to the light and essence of an immortal goddess.

One in particular.

His memory filled with the sight of her walking across the warm desert sands toward him that final evening, a smile lighting her golden face, her translucent white gown outlining the graceful curves of her body. Light had shone from her pores, and he had known at once she was meant to be his.

The memory brought him no joy. The smile and body he’d found so irresistible had masked treachery. She had fought her battle armed with the weapons she had known would fell him, and the victory had been well and truly hers.

In the end, she had proven stronger than he. All he could do now was destroy everything she had once cherished, and hopefully, regain freedom for what remained of his followers.

Chapter Three

“What in the demons’ land would possess you to use such a mount?” Blade roared. He leaped awkwardly out of range of a sticky, razor-sharp tongue. His hat landed in the dust.

Hunter swung his saddle onto the squat-legged sand swift’s back. “Relax. Sally’s already eaten. She’s testing you.”

“Testing or tasting?” Blade grumbled. He kept a wary eye on the lizard-like creature and stooped to retrieve his hat.

Hunter drew the saddle cinch tight. He understood Blade’s suspicion. If not properly tamed, sand swifts were known to eat their riders, but Hunter had been raised in the farming region of the Borderlands. He knew how to break a sand swift, and once they’d been broken, they were fiercely loyal and protective. He never had to worry about Freetown’s murderers and thieves when he left Sally tethered at the mouth of the canyon to watch over him.

Besides, adult sand swifts were no real threat. Juveniles were another matter. They lived in these canyons, hiding from the heat among the rocks and the shrubs, and were continuously hungry because of their rapid growth rate. They were no bigger than Hunter’s fist, and their tongues contained a paralyzing protective property that adults of the species no longer required. They stunned their prey and then fed on them at leisure.

Hunter fastened down the last of his belongings and tested the straps. “Did you come out here to make fun of my mount?” he asked. He patted Sally’s scaly neck. “Because I have a thief to catch and I’d like to get started before the sun gets too high.”

The mountain beckoned him. He’d never been there, had never felt the urge before, although it loomed on the horizon, designed by the goddesses to be a constant reminder of their presence to mortals and demons alike. Probably not their smartest idea, given what the demons had done to it. And to them.

“I came to tell you I took a closer look at the money the assassin used to pay for his drink.”

Blade held something out and Hunter took it, turning the small coin over in his fingers.

At first glance it was nothing special—a thin gold coin, unrefined and common, with a few tiny threads of impurities. On closer inspection, however, the gold had an odd, fiery cast to it.

“It’s from the gold mines of the north,” Blade said.

The north was the land of the Godseekers, the goddesses’ favorites, and it was unusual for one of their assassins to be so far from home. Demons made certain any mortals who left the north did not do so through their territory.

Godseekers believed the Demon Slayer would help bring salvation to the world. Hunter believed they were all crazy.

He tossed the coin back into his friend’s outstretched palm. “Godseekers have never tried to kill me before, although I must say, it’s a nice change. I never much cared for being worshipped.”

“Don’t laugh,” Blade said.

Hunter slammed his hat onto his head. “I’m not laughing.”

…

A week later, and many miles from Freetown, Hunter still was not laughing.

Here he was, approaching a sacred mountain, hunting a woman on behalf of the very creatures he hated more than anything else in the world. He did not believe Mamna’s claim that the woman had demon blood, although part of him hoped it was true. Then he could hand her to Mamna with an easy conscience, and maybe this knot in his stomach, the one that said he’d finally gotten into something over his head, might go away.

The sand swift lashed out with its tongue and caught a saucy graybird that ventured too close, methodically grinding it to pulp before swallowing. A ripple trickled down the length of its body that Hunter could feel beneath his thighs.

“Why a bird?” he asked, patting its scaly hide. “You aren’t fussy. If you have to snack, why not on something that nobody likes?”

Once Hunter crossed the river that signaled the true end of the desert region, the land turned greener, with rolling foothills and grand trees. Here and there, thrusting through fields of long grass and overgrown brush, poked the blackened stone-and-mortar remains of burned-out settlements.

The last outpost he passed was nothing unusual, no more than a place for the poor and the greedy to congregate and moan about their lots in life.

But then came the mountain…

Sunshine saturated the surrounding air, warming the sharp scent of pine stinging his nostrils. Hunter breathed it deep into his lungs, and for the first time in many years, was stricken with a wave of homesickness. He had grown up on a ranch at the edge of the desert, and it was not the smell of the mountain that struck him so much as the freshness of it, and the peacefulness.

He had been a small boy when the demons set fire to the goddesses’ mountain, but to this day he remembered the odd, greenish glow of the sky and the white fall of ash that had rained throughout all the lands for days.

The devastation caused here by the fire had been replaced by new forest growth, and while not as glorious as it once must have been, the mountain was recovering.

He rode up a narrow path that he guessed led to the temple. The path skirted a small lake cut from the rock, its waters clear and deep.

Movement on the other side of the path caught the sand swift’s attention. Its broad head swung around, nearly unseating Hunter. He grabbed at the reins and slid from the saddle, putting the beast between him and whatever had distracted it, his free hand dropping to his six-shooter. He swore at his own inattention. Twice now, he had been taken off guard.

He was getting too old for this business.

He scanned the scarred rocks and trees, searching for what the sand swift had seen, and caught a flash of long black hair and a filmy white sleeve buried in the dappled shadows beneath a tangle of brush.

“I know you’re there,” he called out. “Show yourself.”

The bushes rustled. “I need help,” a woman said. “I’ve injured my leg.”

Hunter, who’d bested demons in battle, was not about to fall victim to such an obvious ploy. If this was the thief he was hunting, it amazed him she had not been caught long before now.

The sand swift, however, was not showing any undue signs of alarm. When agitated, its tongue flicked whiplike back and forth, a warning for all to stand clear. Its mouth remained closed and its color stayed a steady greenish brown, not changing to the vivid purple signifying danger. His amulet, too, lay silent next to his skin.

Hunter relaxed, loosening his grip on his weapon but not on the reins. “I don’t help thieves,” he said.

“I’m no thief!” Indignation quivered in the feminine voice.

The bushes parted and her head poked through, and Hunter could not help but stare.

She had the face of a goddess, with smooth, golden skin and full lips a deep shade of ripe-apple red. Thick black hair absorbed and reflected the light. Her eyes, dark as a moonless night, gazed up at him in reproach for his lack of chivalry.

If this was his thief, she was not at all what he had expected. Or been led to believe.

Hunter quickly collected himself. He had seven—six now, he corrected the thought—beautiful sisters, and he was not easily swayed by a lovely face. Even though he had not seen them in a number of years, he remembered this feminine trick quite well. They played most men for fools.

That didn’t mean a man could not enjoy being made a fool of every once in a while. He had loved his sisters. He liked women in general. But they were far from the fragile creatures they sometimes portrayed.

“I need help,” the woman repeated.

Here was the test. “You have another leg, I assume, and two arms. Come out where I can see you first.”

Her glossy hair hung in curls to her hips, he saw when she emerged upright from the bushes. She favored her right leg, although it was hidden beneath her long skirt so he could not see an injury. He noticed no weapon, which meant nothing. The blouse and skirt could hide any number of interesting but dangerous things.

She dropped to the ground, drawing her knee to her chest and rubbing her ankle.

Hunter hesitated. She did not appear badly hurt, and that made him more suspicious. On the other hand, if she posed a real threat to Hunter, Sally would have indicated so by now.

Although granted, a sand swift’s interpretation of a threat and Hunter’s could be two vastly different things.

He dismounted, tossed the reins over the sand swift’s neck, and walked toward her.

She bore an air of innocence difficult for most women in this day and age to feign. Even Blade’s ladies, although lovely and kind, had faces filled with too great an understanding of a harsh world.

This woman’s eyes contained not even the slightest hint of fear. She couldn’t possibly be the thief. Not with this guileless, trusting demeanor. For an instant, he had an ugly vision of what it would mean to turn a woman this young and lovely over to Mamna, and by default to the demons, and it was not nice.

A memory of his sister’s swollen belly, and the fear and pain etched on her dead face, also arose. Miriam might have given her innocence willingly to the demon she had professed to love, but their relationship had ended badly for her.

It had ended badly for the demon, too. Hunter had made certain of that.

He hesitated, looked at the sand swift standing calmly nearby, and then opted to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. “Where does it hurt?”

He crouched down beside her, eyes shifting to her ankle, and that brief opening was all she needed. The heel of her palm came up with lightning speed, connecting with the bridge of his nose. His head flew back and red stars burst from the blackness behind his eyes.

Acting on instinct alone, he rolled to the side and shot to his feet. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, surprised to find she hadn’t drawn blood, and equally certain she had held back. The blow had been well aimed.

She was on her feet now too, no longer favoring her leg. She was tall, he noted. Almost as tall as he was, but with the fine-boned delicateness of a woman, making the power behind the controlled blow she had delivered all the more surprising.

So much for guileless and trusting eyes.

He was more entertained than angry. He could accept that he had been played for a fool. She was good, he granted her that, and her restraint said she had not tried to kill him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said to him. “All I want are your packs.”

The pain behind his eyes ebbed to a dull, throbbing ache.

“And if I don’t give them to you?” he asked, curious as to how far she would take this.

Faster than he’d imagined possible, one of her booted feet caught him high in the ribs, toppling him to the ground. His hip landed on his six-shooter, and he forgot the pain in his head in favor of new ones.

She walked to the sand swift and worked at the fastenings that secured his belongings to the saddle. The indifferent sand swift showed not the faintest trace of agitation or aggressiveness toward her.

So much for loyalty and protection, too.

Much of his entertainment from the situation vanished. So did his good nature. If she wished to be treated like a woman, she should act more like one.

He went in low, intending to hit her in the center of her chest with his shoulder to knock her down.

She was quick—but so was he. He grabbed her arm as she tried to sidestep, hooking her feet from underneath her with his ankle. With a twist of his upper body, he hauled her off-balance, rolled her over his throbbing hip, and hurled her into the deep waters of the small lake at the side of the path.

The thief came up gasping, her hair streaming down her face, her wet blouse transparent. Hunter took the time to enjoy her appearance, and let her know he did, while rubbing his ribs where she had kicked him. His hip, he suspected, was already blue.

Enough was enough. Now that they’d both had their fun, he had to decide what to do about her.

Wincing a little, he extended a hand to help haul her from the water. He braced himself, fully prepared for her to try and pull him in too, but he was not prepared for her strength even though he’d had a healthy sampling of it already.

He shot headfirst into the lake.

He got his feet beneath him and surged to the surface, flipping his hair from his eyes. His hat floated nearby. It was not a gentlemanly thing to do, but this was no lady. He gave her a hard push, sending her into deeper water. Then he grabbed a handful of her wet hair, and wrapping it around his wrist, hauled her head under water.

Her arms flailed, but she didn’t strike hard enough to bruise. He collected his hat and settled it, dripping, back in place.

A few bubbles drifted up, then a few more. Hunter considered releasing her. Although Mamna hadn’t specified alive—that was an assumption—and his ribs and hip hurt like hell, he did not really want her dead. Being a thief did not make her spawn. Everyone needed to eat. But he hated wet boots.

He counted to ten.

Suddenly, the temperature of the water began to rise. Then the surface of the water boiled, stinging his skin through his pants. He dropped his hold on her hair and paddled a few paces backward.

She burst from the water, sleek black hair plastered to her cheeks and breasts, anger crackling like a halo around her. He did not have a chance to enjoy it this time. The flames that shot from her eyes had him floundering for shore.