Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei (14 page)

As if it could hear her frantic, scared thoughts, the demon slowly and deliberately lifted a hand and curled it into a fist.

It punched through the window.

Erin blocked the blow with the hand holding the water bottle. At least, she tried to. The big, golden fist cracked against her arm and bones broke like chopsticks. The bottle flew out of Erin’s hand and bounced off the demon’s arm. Reflex saw the demon smack it aside so hard the plastic burst against the steering wheel. Water sprayed free and where it landed on the demon’s skin, smoke bloomed.

Screeching, the demon pulled away from the window. Blinded by pain, Erin tried to get her gun out of the holster. It was under her left arm and it was her right that was broken to the extent of white bone poking through the torn flesh. Before she could get even an awkward grip on the
Glock, the demon charged back in.

It hit and the car lurched, slamming back into the cement barrier on the side of the road. The driver’s door crumpled in against Erin, smashing into her already tortured arm. Then the car was lifted up, levered against the barrier. As it tilted toward the left, Erin looked down and realised the demon had attacked her while she was on an overpass. Below her was another road.

The demon gave a last shove and down Erin went.

Amaya’s summoner had been very clear.

“Kill the Night Caller then return to your circle.”

The barrier had dropped. She’d resisted the impulse for as long as she could. A whole three seconds later she’d been winging her way to where the summoner had told her she could find this Matt Hawkins.

A pity the summoner hadn’t thought to warn her about the vampire.

As a whole, vampires were little trouble. Most of those roaming the night were comparatively young and weak. A minor nuisance at most. This creature though, it was different. Its sense had been of a young one, but its strength and cognition had more in common with a vampire of a century or more. Odd. And never had Amaya heard of a vampire being sired by a human. Impossible, but that was how Hawkins and the vampire had felt to her. Creator and creation.

Confused and hurting, she’d withdrawn from the field while they recuperated. Condensing her presence into a tight, easily concealed point, she’d watched from the roof of a building as the vampire and woman had dragged the insensible Hawkins away. None of them had sensed her. The vampire had even assured the others the demon was gone.

Following them would have been difficult. Both legs broken, wings damaged from the blow that put her into the wall. Such a powerful telekinetic. Again, a heads up would have been appreciated. Perhaps her summoner knew little more than Hawkins’ game name.

Which would mean that despite his assurances he was an experienced demon summoner, he didn’t really know as much as he thought he did.

Amaya had let them go. She had their sense now. With a little bit of effort, tracking them would be easy enough. And after her first encounter with the Night Caller, things had changed.

He wasn’t what she’d expected. The vampire was definitely unusual, as was the strength of his psychic talent. He had the potential to do what no one else could.

He could send her home. Back to those who were upset with her, those who would want to punish her for fleeing.

And that was something she didn’t want at all.

‘Kill the Night Caller,’ was the summoner’s command and it was one she might actually appreciate doing now she knew he was a threat to her personally.

She perched on the scratched and chipped cement barrier. Below her, the white car had managed to land right side up. Though from here it looked more like a squashed beetle than a car. The wheels were splayed out to either side, three of the doors had popped open under the impact. The driver’s door was caved in and it would take the jaws of life to pry it open.

That first encounter had shown her several things. That Hawkins could hurt her, and that killing him wouldn’t be easy, especially if he had the females with him. Watching the human woman go off alone had been a temptation Amaya had given in to happily. Divide and conquer.

Amaya looked at her wounded arm. The skin was scorched black where the water had landed, the pain a dull ache she found all too easy to ignore. Pain was a constant for most demons. You either went mad or learned to desire it—or went mad because you learned to desire it too much.

There was pain in the car below her too. The woman was still alive. Her heart was beating frantically fast, her breathing ragged and panicked. She was hurt and confused and scared.

The Command rejoiced and Amaya grinned. It was what the bitch deserved for shooting her. Bullet wounds took much more effort to heal than did broken bones or even burns.
Working on the tissues of her body was easier than something foreign embedded deep inside them.

All that remained was to drop down there and finish her off. She wouldn’t be able to fight back now.

Amaya spread her wings, her weight shifting forward, ready to plunge down and kill the woman.

No!

She caught herself before she could fall.

Go! screamed the Command. Finish the woman off. Get that one step closer to killing Matt Hawkins.

Yes. Kill Hawkins, destroy the threat to her summoner’s plans and get rid of the person who could ruin her life by exorcising her back to the demon realm.

But something held her back. Something fought the pressure of the Command.

Guilt. It flooded through all the parts of Amaya the Command couldn’t touch. There wasn’t much left un-contaminated by the Command, but it was the part that reminded her about free will, about how she’d riled at Nick for keeping her a prisoner and that despite the pain she’d inflicted, this woman wasn’t any sort of threat to Amaya.

The guilt twisted inside her, sickening and unsettling. It was a human emotion, one she should never suffer. At least not if she was still a true demon, and maybe she wasn’t anymore. Perhaps she never had been.

Yet she could be summoned, bound and commanded like any other demon. She could be made to murder someone for a crime no worse than not listening to a warning. She could be made to kill a man because he might uncover something better left under a rock.

Her summoner had commanded her to kill Hawkins only. To do that, she needed to separate him from his most powerful allies. It didn’t necessarily mean they also had to die. At least the human didn’t.

And she wasn’t dead—yet.

Light fanned over the rise in the road the BMW had landed on. It arced up and grew until its source crested. The truck wasn’t large, a medium sized removalist van, but it was coming very fast. The smashed car sat at the bottom of the decline, invisible until the truck began its downward hurtle, a trip that would take very little time.

There was no hesitation this time. Amaya dropped from the overpass. Her wings flared and caught the air. She aimed for the BMW, to lift it out of the way.

Red bodies streaked up from the trees alongside the road. They swarmed in on Amaya, piled into her like tiny bulldozers. They drove her upwards, away from rescuing the woman. The imps clung to her hair, her arms and legs. They burrowed their tiny clawed hands and feet into her wings and immobilised them. Amaya screamed at them, tried to dislodge them, but they clung on and, fleshy wings buzzing like a hundred buzz-saws, they pulled her over the edge of the overpass.

The squeal of tyres braking too hard, followed by the crash of the truck hitting the BMW, tore through Amaya. She shrieked and grabbed at the lesser demons. For each one she pried free, another would take its place. They bit and scratched and their poison crept into her body.

Individually, imps were nothing. They were ineffectual pests, something to be stood on if seen. But in swarms, they were the equal of any of the greater demons.

Strength fading, Amaya cursed herself for not realising this might happen. She knew the imps were here, infesting dark corners and hidden holes. Though they usually avoided the greater demons, if provoked, they attacked mercilessly.

As the world dimmed, Amaya wondered what she’d done to annoy the little bastards. Then everything went away…

Her wings hurting was the first indication she was alive. One felt crushed and cramped. The other was held out awkwardly and tiny, bright sparks of pain punctuated the dull ache. She forced her eyes open. It was dim, wherever she was. The floor beneath her was hard, cold and dry, but her body was cushioned on the bulk of one wing. Rolling to her back to take the weight off the limb, she saw her other wing being held out by a horde of imps while others plucked feathers from it.

Amaya hissed and they looked up, startled. She lunged for them weakly. The little pests scattered, though they were sure to keep hold of her feathers. Lesser demons believed if they possessed a part of a greater demon, it would protect them from that particular threat. It was a false belief Amaya would happily beat out of these blighters. As soon as the last of their poison was worked from her body and she had the strength to stand again.

“Imps,” she muttered, falling to her back. “Summoned by amateurs and defeated by imps. Neither a feat to be proud of.”

“Indeed not, my daughter.”

The chilly, deep voice rolled over Amaya’s skin, leaving it prickled and her whole body trembling.

Fear. An emotion demons knew all too well. They loved to inspire it, but hated to suffer it even more so. Being scared meant you’d been beaten and whatever had beaten you would not believe in mercy.

Amaya twisted about and hauled herself into a sitting position. Her wings, heavy and uncooperative threatened to pull her over, but she managed to balance them out. Then she faced her father.

“Asmodeus.” Her head bowed of its own accord. Even after all this time, her instinct to survive when in the presence of her lord was as strong as ever.

“Amaymon,” he crooned. “It has been too long since I last saw your beauty. I have not been pleased these past years without you.”

He sounded sincere. She snuck another glance at him from under her hanging hair.

Asmodeus was glorious. Seven feet tall, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. His body was that of a swimmer, runner and warrior all blended into one, perfect sculpture of finely defined muscles, toned thighs and powerful arms. Dusky skin glistened with a silvery sheen, hair and wings so black there was no flaw in their colouring. They drank in the light around him, cloaking him in shadows even in the too bright atmosphere of their home realm. Like her, he only wore a kilt about his hips, his belted with braided strands of hair, Asmodeus’ trophy of choice from his conquests. Three strands of her own hair were amongst the thousands of others.

“My child, look at what this place has done to you.” He knelt gracefully in front of her, wings closing around them both. “You have been compromised by these human emotions of guilt and regret. The flame that was once
Amaymon, that once burned so brightly it blinded her enemies, has died in this miserable, dark place.”

Being within his embrace again brought back a flood of memories. Of running into the circle of his wings as a child, of looking up at their gorgeous expanse and wanting nothing more than to touch them, to sink her fingers into their softness and strength, to feel them beat against her. Then as she grew and she’d learned the reality of those wings, of what it meant to have them around her, she grew to fear them. A perfectly normal reaction. Familial relations among demons did not last. As soon as a young one was capable of hunting down its own dinner, it was tossed from the nest and became an enemy.

But to be Asmodeus’ enemy was to be the object of his desire.

A feathery tip caressed her back. She shuddered in fear and this pleased him. A sensual smile curved his full lips and his reaction flooded back to her and turned her fear into delight.

This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be feeling this. It was his want, his craving, not hers—worse than the Command. This was what she’d fought to be free of, why she’d fled her home and come here. Being bound and commanded was rarely as bad as this.

Amaya dredged the depths of her body and found the energy to lift her wings. She used them to batter his aside and then she rolled away from him. The last of her strength fled and she ended up in a corner, wings pulled in tight around her. She glared at him. He just smiled.

He’d given her this act of defiance. Even at her full strength she was no match for him.

“You were always the strange one,” he said, his voice soft and musing. “When you were born, you loved me with more passion than any of your brothers or sisters. When you grew, you hated me in the same way you loved me.”

Asmodeus stood and stretched his wings out. They brushed the walls of the room, and it was a double car garage.

“I’ll be no one’s slave,” she hissed.

He tilted his head as he regarded her. “But you are. Enthralled to two masters, I believe. This is not the Amaymon that battled her way free of her siblings and came to this –” His wide shoulders shuddered elegantly, an action that extended to the tips of his wings, which he then folded tight about his body. “– place. This is some human’s plaything. A convenient body to fuck whenever he wants. A tool he can wield when he wants someone dead. Amaymon, this is not what you are. Come with me and leave all this behind.”

There was the urge to crawl to him, to let him gather her up and make the Commands vanish and the human emotions along with them. It was a compulsion, but not like those laid on her by the humans who managed to bind her. This wasn’t Nick’s unconscious commanding and it wasn’t the summoner’s intentional demands. This was Asmodeus and his soft voice and his lovely blue eyes in his dark face. This wasn’t a forced compulsion to obey. She could reject him—if she wanted to.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she wanted to.

He sensed her confusion. His wings opened slightly and he took a step toward her. “My daughter, you have forgotten yourself. Come back to me. Come back to the one who loves you most.”

Amaya snorted. “Love? What do you know of love?”

His sensual smile returned and her body quivered in response.

“Am I not the Lord of Lust?”

“Love and lust are two different things.”

Asmodeus chuckled. “A human affectation to let them think they are not animals.” He crouched before her again, touching her cheek with the long, fine fingers of one hand. “You loved me once.”

“Then I learned the difference between love, lust and hate.” She jerked away from his touch. “Did you give my name to the one who summoned me? Is being bound and commanded my punishment for running away from you?”