The Last Slayer

The Last Slayer

By Nadia Lee

Ashera del Cid is a talented demon hunter, but when she kills a demigod’s pet dragon, the hunter becomes the hunted. Her only potential ally is Ramiel, a sexy-as-hell demon. Now the two must work together to battle dragons and demigods…and the chemistry crackling between them.

Ramiel has his own reasons for offering Ashera his protection. He knows her true identity and the
real
reason the demigods want her dead. What he
can’t
predict is how she’ll react when she discovers he knew who she was all along…

Ashera is shocked to discover that she is the only daughter of the last slayer. To claim her destiny, she and Ramiel must join forces to face down danger and outwit their enemies. Only then will she be able to truly accept her legacy…

102,000 words

Dear Reader,

I hope you’re reading this Carina Press story on the brand-new e-reader, tablet, smartphone or other fun device you got this holiday season. There’s something magical about the combination of a new toy and a new story, isn’t there?

But even if you didn’t get a new device for the holiday, this Carina Press story is still up to the task of helping you forget about holiday stress, bills, to-do lists and maybe even those few extra pounds you acquired thanks to the holiday cookies.

This December, let our authors sweep you away with stories of love, passion, lust, betrayal and revenge that run the gamut from erotic romance to historical romance to urban fantasy and science fiction.

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~Angela James

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Huge thanks to my husband, who encouraged me before anybody else, read countless early drafts of all my manuscripts and offered many invaluable suggestions that not only strengthened each work but made me a better writer. I send May much love for beta-reading my drafts, listening to my mad ideas and keeping me sane. Kate Pearce deserves a medal for mentoring me with infinite patience and wisdom.

On the publishing side, I’m fortunate to have an agent extraordinaire, Diana Fox; every writer deserves a champion like her. A special thanks goes to my editor, Mallory Braus, who made numerous excellent comments and asked questions that helped me further clarify and improve the story. I owe a big shout-out to the Carina art department and Frauke Spanuth for the beautiful cover.

To the members of Romance Divas and Absolute Write, thank you so much for your generosity and willingness to share your knowledge. Hugs to the fellow members of Magic and Mayhem Writers—Amanda Bonilla, Shawntelle Madison and Sandy Williams—for being there.

Last but not the least, to my readers—you are the best.

“Here, have some Sex.”

I looked up from my desk at the sound of Valerie Johnson’s voice. Thirty years old, she was my sister—well, foster sister. Anyone looking at us would know we didn’t share a drop of common blood. Valerie was the only child of my benefactor and a partner at the firm founded by her great-great-great—repeat that many,
many
times—grandfather. I’d just made junior partner the year before, the youngest such in the firm’s illustrious five-plus centuries of history. We took care of all types of supernatural matters: hunting trespassing demons, casting made-to-order wardings, detoxing demon poisons, brewing specialty potions, performing exorcisms and divinations.

Valerie tossed a vial at me and leaned against the doorframe. With her hip cocked, she looked like a model who’d just stepped off a glossy page in a fashion mag. There were artful red streaks in her auburn hair, and a ruby halo formed around her head under the fluorescent lights.

I caught the small bottle and wrinkled my nose. “Fresh?”

“The very best.”

Damn. The higher the quality, the worse it tasted.

“Don’t be a baby, Ashera. You know you need it after a hunt.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you’re planning on getting it from the source?”

That was a joke. Everyone knows that the ultimate source of Sex is the Federation of Mageship, and Valerie was well aware that I was on their shit list. I sighed, opened the vial and sniffed. Strong musk and lemon, a combination I didn’t care for. But there was something else. “What the—is this
flavored
?”

“Cinnamon. I thought you might like it better.”

I could feel my face scrunching. I swallowed the murky goo and clenched my teeth to keep it down. There was way too much spice, and it burned my throat.

“Quality stuff, huh?” Valerie said, a smile in her voice.

“Ugh! Next time stick to the regular unflavored kind.”

“Can’t. Supplier wants to sell those. We get seventy-five percent off retail.”

“Still twenty-five percent too expensive.”

She shrugged. “Everyone else liked it.”

Translation: everyone else who didn’t have to take this swill regularly. Valerie never had to drink it since she didn’t hunt. I should’ve moved to some seedy place with lots of strip joints and streetwalkers. And learned how to collect and store Sex—assuming the Magical Enhancement Agency would take me. I was more likely to get hit by a falling plane than be accepted into their ranks.

“Now that that’s taken care of, we need to talk.” Valerie’s large green eyes were blank and pleasant.

Uh-oh.

“I was getting ready to leave, but come on in,” I said, keeping my voice as blank and pleasant as her eyes. Much as I loved her, she had a nasty habit of springing bad news on me at the last minute, and I didn’t want to give her any advantage.

She entered my office and closed the door behind her, completing the sphere of wardings cast around the space. Every single darkmotif was Valerie’s original design; wardings are her specialty. They protected us from uninvited demons—oops,
supernaturals
—didn’t want to offend anyone. Some people could be ridiculously politically correct about stuff like that.

Her eyes scanned my office, from the medium-sized desk with its heap of documents to the wall covered with certificates and awards, the closet where I kept the tools of my trade, and the two plush black chairs for those who deigned to visit my humble little space. I gestured for her to sit down, but she didn’t. Maybe that was how she kept her black Armani suit wrinkle free this late in the day. Or maybe she really was one-eighth fairy like everyone whispered. There’s nothing like fairy glow to enhance mortal beauty without really turning it otherworldly, and I’d never seen her less than impeccable in all the years I’d known her.

“Can you stop off somewhere on your way home?” she asked finally.

I leaned back in my chair. “For what?” I really don’t like it when people ask me to do something right as I’m about to leave. In this case it was especially irritating. I’d been working like a maniac to wrap up a mountain of paperwork. Hunts were great, but all the follow-up reports and forms? Ugh. I always put them off until the very last minute, and Jack had told me if I didn’t catch up on them this time I wasn’t taking tomorrow off, even if it was my birthday. I was considering hiring a freelance writer to make stuff up. I mean really, how many different ways can you say, “I came, I saw, I killed”?

“A new client,” Valerie said. “It’s urgent.”

“He can wait.”

“She.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Whichever.”

“She was referred to us by one of our former clients.”

“She can still wait.”

“Come on.”

“Come on yourself. You know my rule—I don’t extend my day for new clients. A current one, maybe. A new one, hell no.” Before she could argue, I continued. “The past few months have been crazy, what with all the incubus attacks. Last week alone I billed over a hundred hours. This was supposed to be my ‘easy week,’ and I’ve bagged thirty-one demons already. Besides, the ‘easy week’ was
your
idea.”

Valerie held up a perfectly manicured hand. “I didn’t want you burning out.”

“And Jack okayed it.” That should shut her up. The firm had two kinds of people: Jack, and everyone else. As the firm’s managing director and the only high-level diviner on the North American continent, he was the biggest cheese around. I’d seen politicians and top executives beg for Jack’s services without success. Also, he was Valerie’s father and my foster father.

“If you go tonight, she’s willing to double our rate.”

Ah. The real crux of the matter. Out of all the partners, Valerie was the shrewdest—or should I say the greediest?—when it came to finance.

“She’s been leached of all her Sex, it seems. Some creature of nightmare really got to her.”

Damn. I hated incubi even more than I hated working late. I twisted the silver ring on my index finger. It was inlaid filigree with a large
M
in the middle, a reminder of a vow I’d made to hunt down the one responsible for destroying the best chance at happiness I’d ever had. For a long time I’d gone after every incubus and succubus I could, but not anymore. I still wore the ring, but I also began to realize that the probability of my finding the one who killed Miguel was about the same as finding a needle in the middle of Nebraska.

Still, sooner or later, fate would deliver the bastard to me.

“Come on, Val. I need my beauty sleep. I’m officially not as young as I used to be, starting tomorrow,” I said.

She waved her exquisitely painted nails about. “You’re going to be twenty-seven, not sixty.”

“Send a team of junior hunters.”

“Can’t. She wants the best.”

Clever Valerie, appealing to my ego. I don’t want to sound immodest, but I am the best hunter in the country, if not the entire hemisphere. Countless framed awards and certificates on the walls, tiny jars of specimen samples—ones I had bagged myself, of course, since I wasn’t going to pad my collection with store-bought items like some other hunters I could name—and shiny trophies on my desk. There’s a reason I’m the youngest partner at the firm.

My specialties: dragons and creatures of nightmare. Dragons are rare, but creatures of nightmare are everywhere, just waiting for a chance to pounce on some unsuspecting mortal.

“If I sent someone else,” Valerie continued, “I’d have to tell her that you’re not the best in the firm.” The corners of her mouth bent downward into an expression of perplexed regret. Clearly, this would be a terrible turn of events.

I forced my body to remain loose and relaxed. Being the best hunter was my thing. A woman’s gotta have something to fall back on, especially if she doesn’t have the looks to smooth things out for her. Though Valerie would have tsked at the idea, the best I could aspire to—with hours of professional help, mind you—was maybe a five out of ten. On my own, I was a solid three.

My eyes were great—an electric blue—but the rest of me was lacking. An uneven complexion full of freckles, slightly asymmetrical facial features that created an unfortunate Picasso effect, a functional but overly lanky body and easily damaged frizzy brown hair did nothing for my sex life. But my hunting ability sure helped my career and consequently my bank account. And I’d be damned if some fresh-faced staffer got to be the “best” hunter.
I’d
held the record for the most creatures of nightmare captured for the past three years.

Home versus work. Me versus Valerie. Watching the latest foreign soap—thank god for the Internet—and eating extra spicy General Tso’s chicken versus beating the hell out of an incubus. Hmm…dilemma, dilemma.

“All right,” I said finally. “But you owe me.”

Valerie smiled. “Of course. The client sheet is ready for you.”

Valerie left, and I stared at the closed door. She had totally outmaneuvered me. But then it was my fault for hating the creatures as much as I did and having such a huge ego.

With a long sigh, I got up and unlocked the closet in my office. I wasn’t going on a hunt in a suit, even if I had probably paid less than a third of what Valerie had paid for hers. I changed into Under Armour, all black, all formfitting, and grabbed a hunter pack. Although I always carry my primary weapon with me, I kept two packs, one at home and one in the office. You never knew when you’d need something. I’d thought about carrying one in my trunk too, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving hunting gear there. Some idiot might steal my car, do something stupid with the weapons and end up disemboweling himself.

Then sue me for damages.

I walked out of the office and saw Sandy. She was our receptionist/administrative assistant, beautifully tanned, green-eyed, and just the kind of snotty bitch who made the unpopular girls’ lives hell in high school. In a word, a bully. But she was good at her job.

She handed me the client info sheet. “She goes to sleep early so you shouldn’t have any problem. Oh, and nice outfit, Ashera. It really complements your complexion.”

I glanced up from the paper. “Thanks,” I said blandly. Black doesn’t complement anything, and Sandy’s smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. I sniffed and wrinkled my nose delicately. “You should get some sleep tonight and burn off that tequila you had yesterday. Partying two nights in a row… Not a good idea during the workweek.”

Sandy’s jaw dropped and it was all I could do to leave without bursting out laughing as she surreptitiously checked her breath. I’d happened to overhear some gossip that afternoon about a rather rowdy bar scene. Didn’t feel too guilty about using it.

The client info sheet was succinct and to the point: Selena Morales, twenty-five years old, SWF, her address and the directions to her place in Fairfax, just a mile off the junction of Route 50 and I-66. She was expecting me at eight, and I had just enough time to get there.

So no dinner. But I never eat anything right before a hunt anyway. You never know what will happen in the dream world, and I didn’t want to risk eating something and then heaving it. Clients really hate it when you puke all over their dream.

Of course, there was the small possibility that this woman could be a faker—an exhibitionist who liked to have someone watch her have sex in her dream. If so, I might ask Valerie to triple our normal rate.

Valerie was in the parking lot, waiting for someone on her phone. “Kick some ass,” she said.

“Screw you,” I muttered and heard her laugh. Lame, I know, but it was late and I had low blood sugar.

The drive to Morales’s Fairfax townhouse didn’t take much time. Fortunately, I was going to the suburbs instead of downtown. I didn’t want to be in the city just then. With the rumors of the Triumvirate of Madainsair’s impending visit, Washington, DC, had turned into the world’s biggest cluster-fuck.

Selena’s neighborhood was immaculately groomed and impeccably maintained. Not a tree branch stuck out the wrong way, not a sparrow dared to sing off-key. Boring but reliable Toyotas and Hondas dotted the driveways. A few family vans and SUVs provided diversity to the otherwise all-sedan collection.

I parked and grabbed my hunting gear from the trunk of my brand-new silver Audi. The address on the client sheet pointed me to an end-unit townhouse. The streetlights lit dark red bricks and ostentatious white bay windows. Yellow lilies burst open like miniature fireworks in front of a row of dwarf bushes. Very nice, very upper middle class.

The door had a small talisman, the kind you can buy from a cheap fortune teller’s stall at a county fair. It was made of silver, tarnished now from a long period of neglect. The circular shape with a few nonsensical inscriptions might have fooled a layperson, but to anyone with even minimal training it looked about as real as a Las Vegas Elvis.

I rang the doorbell and waited. As the seconds stretched, I thought maybe Selena wasn’t there, which meant I would get to go home and the firm could still bill her. The idea perked me up.

I had started to think seriously about leaving when the door finally swung open. A pale blonde stared at me. Her runway-model height made her look excessively thin, to the point of gauntness. If I hadn’t known better, I might have labeled her a cocaine addict. Her murky brown eyes slowly focused on me, never blinking. They reflected the lifelessness of a spider’s food post-feeding, an empty dry shell, and suddenly I found myself infuriated. We gave supernaturals equal rights under the law—okay, property rights only, but they count for something—and this was how they repaid us?

“What?” Her voice was rusty, as if she hadn’t used her vocal cords in a while. Or maybe she’d just been screaming in ecstasy too much.

“Ashera del Cid.” I extended my hand. She didn’t take it, and after a moment I dropped it.
Friendly.
“You wanted to talk to a creatures of nightmare specialist?”

Frowning, she pursed her lips. “I wanted a hunter.”

“That’d be me.”

“The
best
hunter.”