The Demon and the Succubus (22 page)

Amalya glanced up into the rearview mirror and cursed. The two demons were running behind the truck, their supernatural speed gaining on them.

She upshifted, pressing the accelerator until the truck was at its top speed.

The demons slowly receded in the rearview mirror, but Amalya knew they would eventually catch up.

“We have to get to Oregon. Fast.”

Using
a crowbar, Jethro broke the lock on the eight-foot-high metal fence that surrounded the entire graveyard and separated it from the sharp cliffs on all three sides. To the right and left were rocky slopes too steep for easy walking and at the far end of the graveyard, just past the tiny church that had stood for centuries, was a steep drop-off to the Pacific Ocean.

The only way in was through this gate and the small courtyard beyond.

When he swung the gate wide, it protested with a high-pitched screeching that made Jethro wince and clamp his teeth together. He motioned Amalya and Levi past him into the courtyard that held only three unmarked thigh-high stone graves.

Amalya pulled out her switchblade and sliced her palm with a hiss against the pain. She trailed her bleeding hand over the wroughtiron bars that made up the fence of the courtyard.

Jethro shook his head and turned back to pulling the supplies inside.

“Are you sure this is the best way to do this?” Levi helped Jethro drag their boxes of supplies inside the gate and then pulled it closed. “We can figure out a better way.”

Rather than yell over the sound of the creaking gate, Jethro waited until it was closed and then pulled out several locks of various kinds from the boxes and secured the gate.

Locks and gates might not hold back the demons, but hopefully they would slow the damned things down, which was all he wanted. He didn’t expect to live through this, so he planned to enjoy pissing off and poofing back to Hell as many demons as he could before he died—and probably ended up joining them there.

Wouldn’t that be an ironic bitch of fate.

“We don’t have time to figure out another plan and you know it.” He handed more locks and the crowbar to Levi and hefted two of the boxes of supplies before he walked deeper into the courtyard past the first stone casket, then the second. With a grunt, he lowered the boxes on top of the second casket and then continued on past the third until he reached the back courtyard gate that gave way to the rest of the graveyard.

Silently, Levi shoved the locks into Jethro’s hands and, using the crowbar, popped the ancient lock that currently held the gate closed.

He straightened and met Levi’s gaze. “Protect her.” It was a stern warning, and when Levi nodded solemnly Jethro knew the man would use his last breath to keep that silent promise. “I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. Go.”

Jethro turned his back on Levi, intent on walking away and avoiding any drawn-out good-byes, but he nearly ran over Amalya who stood waiting right behind him.

A thousand emotions churned through him, each one more painful than the last and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. After all, what could he say that hadn’t already been said? And that she wouldn’t know for a lie immediately.

Instead, he reached out and slowly rubbed a strand of her blond hair between his fingers, memorizing the silky feel to take him into his last moments of life.

“I’ll see you on the other side, Jethro.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheek that made moisture and heat burn at the backs of his eyes. He blinked hard to keep from embarrassing himself in front of both her and Levi, and then she was gone, disappearing through the back courtyard gate with Levi right behind her.

As it should be
, he reminded himself sternly.

Levi made Amalya happy and could at least offer her some chance of matching her life span.

Biting back all the sarcastic replies to his internal thoughts, he methodically relocked the gate with six locks of various types and strengths before returning to his supplies. He would spend the end of his life in this small space, so he might as well get comfortable and set up.

He shrugged away the morbid thought and lifted the two large plastic jugs of holy water from one of the boxes. Unscrewing the tops, he walked the interior perimeter of the gate, splashing the holy water on the ground, the locks, and on the black iron bars of the fence, murmuring a prayer and essentially blessing the site the best he could with little to no experience.

With that complete, he tossed the jugs back into the boxes and lined up several refills of jacketed hollow points for his twin Glocks as well as a dozen bottles of whiskey.

“A damned waste of good whiskey,” he muttered as he uncorked the first bottle and took a healthy swig. The comforting burn of the alcohol seared down his throat as he held up the bottle in a mock toast to the oncoming demons. “Come and get me, you bastards.”

He grinned as anticipation spiraled through him. He welcomed a fight. All the running over the past few days had gone against everything he’d always believed in. He’d spent his life attacking situations head-on.

All except Amalya
, his conscience reminded him.

He shook his head. If he were honest with himself, he had known early on that she didn’t return his feelings. In a totally out of character and cowardly move, he’d resigned himself to be content with being her protector.

With a curse, he wrestled his thoughts back to the present.

He took another long drink of whiskey before he uncorked the rest of the bottles. Methodically, he stuffed rags into the neck of each one and then wedged the corks back inside to hold the rags in place. That complete, he fished a lighter out of his pocket and set it on the weathered stone grave next to the bottles so he’d be ready when the time came to light his homemade Molotov cocktails.

He’d never actually used anything like these. Back during his short stint in the army, he’d used grenades and some missiles, but there was something uniquely male and exciting about blowing things up using something handcrafted that appealed to him.

All the rest of his supplies he laid out within easy reach until they were needed.

The line of demons and other beings eager to cash in on the bounty on Amalya had just begun to appear over the ridge. They looked like a motley assortment of people who might be found at a crowded mall in any city. Apparently, demons liked to blend in since Jethro didn’t see any supermodels or other famous faces in the crowd, although he wouldn’t have been surprised to see some, which would’ve helped to explain some of the more bizarre behavior that set exhibited.

He swept his gaze in a wide arc, noting that from his position on top of the hill, if this didn’t work, he would be dead soon anyway. The thought was oddly comforting. He cursed himself for being a damned sappy fool to prefer death by demons over enduring watching Amalya grow closer to Levi. Even though she and the damned Brit fought constantly, Jethro could clearly see the bond and the affection growing and expanding between them.

Sounds from the demons grew louder as they moved in closer and he glanced up to check their progress. They were still far enough away that none of them had noticed him. There were no easy escape routes once he was surrounded, and they had to pass him to make their way toward where Amalya and Jethro would make their stand.

He didn’t for one minute really believe Amalya’s crazy plan would work, but as always, he could deny her nothing, so here he stood, ready to fight an army of demons just to buy her and Levi time to die as they chose.

A quick glance behind him allowed him to judge Amalya and Levi’s progress deeper into the cemetery. He could no longer see them past the assortment of mausoleums and gravestones, but if the moving column of fog was any indication, they were nearing the back of the property and pulling as many shades to them as possible.

He tipped his head from side to side, working out some lingering stress and reminding himself that at least he’d get in some great target practice before he died. He chuckled at his own joke, even though it wasn’t particularly funny.

A few stray shades that hadn’t joined the large bank of fog edged close, the icy slimy sensation that they left behind on his skin making him shudder. Jethro picked up a spray bottle he’d brought filled with salt water and sprayed it toward the opaque figures. They instantly shied away. “Go find Amalya and Levi. They’ve got lots of tasty energy to spare, and you’re going to miss out if you hang out here with me.”

Something nudged him from behind and he whirled to find another shade edging away from him. He grinned. “These clothes were soaked in salt water and then dried. I told you. Go find them and come back for me in a while.” He pointed toward Amalya and Levi’s probable position as the noise of the oncoming crowd increased.

Jethro cradled his twin Glocks, one in each hand, enjoying their weight as he waited and watched.

He knew the exact moment the first demon spotted him. A demon who looked like he inhabited an accountant, complete with an off-the-rack three-piece suit and gaudy tie, snarled and jogged forward leaving the crowd behind.

Jethro smiled and let him come. Might as well have a test case.

When the demon rushed forward and touched the large iron gate, it recoiled and jumped back as smoke rose from its hands a split second before the stench of charred flesh reached Jethro.

“I’ll be damned, that holy water actually worked. Or maybe it’s just the consecrated ground.” He laughed, the joyous sound echoing down the hill, which made several other demons snap their gazes in his direction.

The test case demon didn’t waste any time in edging the length of the fence and testing it for weakness, but Jethro lost track of him as the throng of demons rushed forward with the same results as the first.

As the rushing crowd behind them pressed in, they were shoved against the iron bars to smoke and char, their bodies twitching until loud pops filled the air as they were sucked back to Hell.

Enjoying the show of self-mutilation, Jethro turned in a slow circle, grinning as he watched the cursing, spitting hordes hasten their departure back to Hell.

A sudden charge in the air prickled the hairs at the back of Jethro’s neck and swept over him in a rush that left him gasping for air. He glanced around searching for anything that would resemble the electricity produced by a downed power line running through the graveyard.

The wall of bodies pressed against the fence not only made the entire area stink of burning hair, cloth, and flesh, but it also restricted his vision of what might be the cause of the new phenomenon.

Jethro raised the Glocks and took aim, squeezing the triggers several times and hitting several demons between or through the eyes.

Not bad for moving, squirming targets
.

Large holes blossomed in foreheads and eye sockets and several loud pops sounded as the demons were sucked back to Hell and the bodies, now lifeless shells, slumped to the ground to be trampled by the wave of those still possessed behind them.

As the first line of bodies fell, Jethro caught sight of three large demons easily seven feet tall and nearly half that wide—which meant the iron gate was only one foot taller. “Fuck.” A fresh surge of adrenaline spurted through his system, leaving him a bit light headed. “They brought out the big guns. Lucky me.”

Two of them looked like the bounty demons they’d escaped from back at Sinner’s Redemption and then the outpost store. The third looked like a cross between a wrestler on steroids and the Terminator. Its skin flashed silver and copper in the sunlight. It carried a long curved scythe in one hand; the other hand ended in a set of wicked-looking animal claws.

No doubt these three were the source of the sudden charge in the air, and Jethro had his doubts as to the effects of the holy water on keeping them at bay. Not that any of that changed his plan, which simply put was to send as many demons back to Hell as he could before he died.

He shrugged to relax his shoulders and began picking off several more demons, reloading as needed and reserving ammunition for those who had gotten creative and used the bodies of the dead to stack against the gate and crawl on top of them as if they were fleshy ladders.

The air filled with shouts, pops, and such loud sizzling sounds that Jethro briefly wished he’d brought earplugs.

When the lumbering bounty demons neared, they spread out to cover the entire length of the front gate.

“You’re ready to play, are you?”

Jethro grinned and holstered his Glocks as he picked up the first of the Molotov cocktails. He flicked the lighter, which brought the flame to life, and then held it under the rag allowing it time to catch fire. He watched the rag darken for a few seconds, making sure it was well lit, before he jogged forward a few steps and lobbed it up and over the fence.