The Demon Hunter

  With a growl, he snapped his large muzzle at Camile.

  Camile skittered back, the witch completely unprotected. “Devon, I could use some help!”

  She grappled with a pouch that hung around her neck. Lord, she was going to attempt a spell again? Whatever was in the pouch, he knew she couldn’t get to it fast enough. Devon burst forward, hitting the wolf and knocking the animal off balance. With a yelp, the wolf rolled down the lane, flailing his legs to regain his balance.

  “Camile, let’s go!”

  But before the witch could run his way, the dog was on his feet again. His back arched, his yellow gaze coming to focus on Devon. Camile stood between the two of them. “Camile, drop!”

  She glanced at him, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.

  “Drop to the ground, Camile!”

  She fell to her knees and Devon lifted his hand. Warmth rushed through his arm, to his fingertips and beyond. A fireball appeared, hovering over his palm. As the wolf leapt toward him, Devon threw the ball. The flame hit the mutt in the chest, exploding into a burst of light. The wolf cried out, a cry of pain, of torture. He fell back, the fire burning his fur as he wriggled and writhed upon the cobbled stone like a worm in sunlight.

  “Come on!” Devon latched onto Camile’s hand and jerked her down the footpath.

  “A werewolf?” she gasped, racing beside him. “We haven’t seen a werewolf in—”

  “About seven months?”

  She nodded, starting toward the pub.

  “Not the drive.” He led her toward the woods that separated the Pub from the town. Devon crouched low, hiding behind the branches of a fir tree. “We’re being followed.” He studied the town, just beyond the trees. No movement in those stone homes. No movement on the cobbled lanes. The wolf was dead. A pile of singed fur upon the ground. But he could sense the others, watching, waiting for their chance. Damn it all, he should have noticed the moment he stepped into town, but he’d been too focused on his human emotions.

  Camile knelt beside him, still gasping for air. “Leave me. Get help. I know you can transport.”

  Devon narrowed his eyes, studying her face for guilt. Damn it all, there was that unease again. Why did she want him to leave? Was she really that much of a martyr, or was it merely so she could speak to her allies, the werewolves?

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You’ll be dead before I’m back. Besides… there’re too many.”

  She rested her hand on his bicep. “Devon, if the town is being attacked, that means—”

  He turned and peered through the fir trees, attempting to decipher shadows from forms. “The demon is near. He’s calling them to his side. Gathering his army and they’re going to attack here.”

  “That would explain why the town folks are missing. But they would have told us,” Camile muttered. “If they were planning to hightail it out.”

  “Unless they didn’t leave of their own accord.”

  For one moment, they merely stared at each other, the enormity of the situation weighing down around them. The battle was closer than even he’d imagined. Where the hell were Ashley and Cristian? Surely they weren’t dead. Wouldn’t he sense their demise?

  “We’ve been through it before and we’ll get through it again,” he whispered, shifting his gaze to scan the shadowed fir trees. The pine needles were slick, but softened the sound of footfalls. Fortunately, as an angel his senses were better than a human’s. Better, even, than an animal’s. Something was out there. He might not be able to hear anything or see anything, but he could sense it.

  “I don’t want to head straight up the lane,” he whispered. “They could be waiting to ambush.”

  Camile tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “So what do we do?”

  “We ambush them instead.” Devon stood and started through the forest, sticking to the shadows.

  The low rumble of an approaching car surprised him. He froze, glancing back toward town. Camile paused beside him.

  “It’s headed to the pub,” she whispered. “It could be Ashley and Cristian.”

  She bolted toward the driveway. Devon grasped her arm, jerking her back. “We won’t be able to catch them and then we’ll be out in the open. Besides, it could be a trap. We need a spell.”

  She frowned, touching the pouch around her neck. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”

  He arched a brow. “Prove me wrong.”

  She sighed, glancing nervously around the trees. “I can produce a protection spell, but it won’t last long, especially under this much pressure.”

  Devon started toward the next tree, the next shadow, Camile following. “Anything will help.”

  She nodded and reached into the pouch that hung at her neck. “Praesidium.” She sprinkled a line of salt alongside them, dropping tiny crystals as they inched their way toward the pub. “Tutamen Tutaminis.”

  He could feel the shift in the air, knew the spell was working. But would it hold? And if so, how long? He still wasn’t sure if he could fully trust Camile, but at the moment, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t transport and leave her behind if she was truly innocent.

  “Stay to the shadows.” A shiver of unease raced over his body. Not even birds stirred in the forest. They, too, had left the area. “We’re being followed.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes large and luminous in the dusk. “By?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  A branch snapped. Not a vampire. They were too quiet. Something big, hulking… demon or another werewolf. He paused, his hands resting against the rough bark of the fir before him, and breathed deeply. No scent of death and rotting flesh, not a demon.

  “Another werewolf, I believe. Maybe two.”

  “A pack?” Camile whispered.

  He didn’t respond, for he feared that was exactly what they were encountering. He glanced up toward the tops of the trees. It wasn’t dark yet. The weak afternoon sun managed to send beams of light through the trees. There was no full moon, which meant they were harnessing power from somewhere or something in order to change. The demon.

  “Concentrate on the spell.”

  She nodded and began to mumble in Latin once more. Through the trees, just above the hill, he could see the pub. Was Ellie still outside practicing? An open target? He had to resist the urge to run to her. If he left the woods, he’d be walking into a trap. He knew it.

  A low growl vibrated from behind them. Shite, too late. Devon spun around just in time to see a furry beast speeding toward them, a blur of movement that crushed through the branches and vegetation.

  “Run!” Devon demanded.

  But Camile didn’t budge, merely stepped closer to him, grasping onto his arm. The wolf hit the magical barrier and fell back on his haunches. He lifted his lips into a snarl that showed large canines. Devon could see the air bending, knew the spell wouldn’t last long. A quick glance at Camile told him she would be of no further help. Sweat gathered on her brow as she whispered words of Latin, attempting to keep the wolf at bay.

  “Let him through,” he said. “Drop the spell.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. The crunch of leaves and twigs alerted him to another presence. Devon snapped his head toward the left. Glowing yellow eyes peered at him through vegetation. Another beast. Two, but he could tell by the howling in the distance that more were coming, and they were coming fast.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, lower it.”

  “Deleo,” she cried out.

  He saw the air bend and suddenly give way. The beasts felt it too. The first werewolf launched himself at Devon. Devon threw a fireball, hitting the animal just as the second wolf attacked. Too late. He felt the brush of fur against his arm, then sharp claws scrapped against his side, the cuts so deep the pain quickly gave way to a numbing sensation.

  Devon gritted his teeth, falling to his knees as warm blood dripped down his side.

  “Oh God, you’re hurt!” Camile fell beside him. “How
can they be so powerful without a full moon? I don’t understand. What the hell does this mean?”

  He pressed his fingers to the wound, feeling the flap of skin. “It means the demon has arrived.”

  A low growl vibrated through the woods. More werewolves.

  “Shite,” Devon muttered.

  “Don’t worry, I have everything in hand.” Camile wrapped her arm around Devon’s waist and dug into the pouch around her neck. She tossed tiny crystals into the air. They caught the light and sparkled like raindrops. “Effluo!”

  Suddenly, the world disappeared.

  Chapter 18

  “Ye all right?” Cristian asked as they stepped from the vehicle and surveyed the pub.

  Ashley nodded, but she didn’t look well. She looked ill, her face pale, her eyes flashing with anger and deep down, a horror he knew she’d never be able to forget. They’d driven for hours, yet she’d barely spoken a word. He worried about her.

  He’d seen disgusting, heart-wrenching things before, situations even worse than what had happened in that castle. Yet, never before had his father been responsible. The old man had truly gone off the deep end.

  Cristian felt oddly numb about the realization. But then, really, he’d lost his father long ago, hadn’t he? It was difficult to believe the man had once been almost normal. He knew what those murders had been… a message to him, his only living son. The very son who had betrayed him. Yes, he knew deep down, his father had left those bodies for him to discover.

  “Camile’s back.” Ashley nodded toward the car sitting alongside the drive.

  Cristian frowned. Something was off. Not a soul was in town when they’d driven through the outskirts on the way here. The phone lines were down. The last call they’d received had been from Camile when she’d reached Devon’s home, reporting that he had been there. But that had been days ago. Where the hell was everyone?

  He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, focusing on any lingering abilities he might have retained since becoming human. His father wasn’t here now… but he was close.

  “It’s quiet,” Ashley said softly, coming to stand next to him. “Too quiet.”

  Dark clouds hovered in the distance, as if waiting to attack. The air was hot. Stale. “But someone’s here,” he added, scanning the windows. The curtains, which had been closed, were now tied back. And the aura of other supernatural beings hovered over the house.

  “Do you think they found Devon?”

  “We’ll find out.” He hoped they had, for everyone’s sake. They’d need all the help they could get.

  They started up the drive toward the door, their feet crunching over the gravel. No birds chirped by the fountain. They’d lost their wildlife, another sign his father was nearby.

  “Well, no one’s attacking us. That’s a good sign.” Ashley paused as they reached the front stoop. “I feel like I should knock on my own door.”

  Cristian had no such qualms and pushed the door wide. It looked normal enough. Yet, he could sense other’s in the building. The place was lived in. They’d painted walls, placed furniture in comfortable positions. They’d attempted to make it look as inviting as possible. Yet, there was always something there… like a ghost that would not leave, hovering in the background. Until they got rid of his father once and for all, the pub would never be a true home. He so badly wanted a life with Ashley.

  “Hello?” Ashley called out, her voice echoing through the foyer.

  The soft thud of footsteps sounded from the kitchen, coming closer… closer. Cristian narrowed his eyes, his hands curling at his sides. A female, young, by the speed, yet her footsteps were unfamiliar. Cristian reached behind him for his sword, only to realize he’d left it in the car. Damn, but his instincts were off since becoming human.

  “Umm… hi.” A petite woman paused in the hallway. Her hair black, her eyes dark, her origin of Asian descent, although her accent was Northern English. “Can I help you?”

  “You’re in my house,” Ashley said with a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

  She flushed. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m still trying to figure this all out. You must be Ashley?” She glanced at him. “And Cristian?”

  He nodded, attempting to read her aura. He felt no magic coming from her. His body relaxed, somewhat.

  She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “They’re out back training. They’ll certainly be happy to see you.”

  “They?” Cristian inquired.

  She nodded. “Rose and Ellie. Not sure where Camile and Devon went.”

  “Devon is here?” Ashley sank against him, her relief almost palpable. Even now her feelings toward the man annoyed Cristian, although he didn’t dare let her know. He wasn’t about to get into a brawl when they had more important things to fight about.

  The woman smiled. “I’m Miranda, by the way. Ellie’s friend.”

  “Who the hell is Ellie?” Cristian asked.

  Ashley frowned up at him and Miranda flushed in obvious discomfort. There were times he forgot to gentle his nature. Humans, in particular, took everything to heart. But hell, he didn’t care who he offended at this point.

  “Cristian,” Ashley warned.

  “I’m bloody tired of not knowing what’s going on.” He was tired in general. Being a human was more difficult than he’d expected, although he wouldn’t dare admit as much to Ashley. Tiptoeing around people and situations. Forced to discuss and defend his actions. Bloody hell, he actually had to sleep at night.

  But he didn’t want Ashley to feel guilty and God’s truth, he wouldn’t change his decision. But he had a feeling Ashley understood anyway. Even now she rested her hand on his lower back, rubbing him gently as if he was a damn housecat in need of comfort. Shite, if her touch didn’t make him feel better. Next they’d be sharing a box of Kleenex while crying over some chick flick.

  “Ellie is…Ellie.”

  “Well, that’s helpful,” Cristian muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Perhaps we should go out back,” Ashley said, fighting her smile. She thought he was acting the spoiled brat, but she never took his moodiness seriously. Lord, he loved it when her eyes sparkled like that. Almost immediately his bad mood disappeared.

  “Might be a better idea,” Miranda muttered, looking thoroughly relieved to be rid of them.

  Ashley gave the woman a kind smile, having much more patience for her nonsensical drivel than he had, and headed toward the kitchen, Cristian following.

  The house looked the same, yet felt different in some way. Devon’s damn aura had invaded once more. Over a hundred years ago the bastard had blamed him because his wife had been overly friendly. He and Devon had made peace, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be the man’s best friend. And he sure as bloody hell didn’t appreciate Ashley’s attachment to the angel.

  Yep, best to take care of good ole’ dad and they could all go along their merry, separate ways. And once dad was gone, they could have a life… a real life. The image of children had even popped to mind on several occasions. Sweet little lasses with Ashley’s fierce determination and hazel eyes. Lads with her loyalty.

  Ashley shoved the back door wide and stepped into the garden. A young woman stood in the middle of the manicured lawn, Rose across from her.

  “Yer not concentrating!” the old witch snapped.

  “I can’t,” the woman growled back, bringing a grin to Cristian’s lips.

  She had backbone. He liked her immediately. Ellie, he assumed, but the real question was, what the hell was she? Her power practically vibrated around them. She was shorter in stature than Ashley, but about the same age. Her golden brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her heart-shaped face fierce and frowning, sweat trailing down her forehead. The pretty young lady was doing her best to glare down Rose. She had no idea that the old witch wouldn’t be beaten.

  “Hello,” Ashley called out, interrupting their squabble.

  Rose turned reluctantly, not looking the least bit surp
rised to see them standing there. “About time ye two showed up. Been trying to call ye fer days.”

  Cristian ignored the old woman’s sharp tone. The fact that someone or something had interfered with their phone reception didn’t surprise him in the least. His father at work, no doubt. “Who the hell is she?”

  “Her name is Ellie and as far as I can tell, she’s the only one who can save yer sorry asses.”

  Ashley looked as stunned as he felt. That little slip of a woman was going to save them? Ellie was going to kill his father? He’d like to know how.

  “Hi.” With a reluctant smile she started toward them, that ponytail swishing back and forth over her shoulders. “I’m Ellie. I came with Devon.”

  She came with Devon, as if he was a box of cereal and she the prize inside.

  “Where is Devon?” Ashley asked. He could tell by the bemused look upon her face that she was just as confused as he.

  Ellie brushed her arm over her forehead, swiping away the sweat, then stuck her hands in the pockets of her short, pink skirt. “Not sure.”

  “And you’re…” Ashley glanced pointedly around the garden.

  “Training. She’s an empath,” Rose snarled.

  Cristian stiffened, his mind going back a hundred and fifty years.

  “What’s the next powerful being to remember, Father?”

  The man smiled down at him, the look of excitement in his eyes almost amusing. “An empath.”

  Cristian lay back upon the ground, gazing up at the blue sky. He wasn’t nearly as interested in supernatural beings as his Father, but he wanted to please the man and so he pretended. “What’s that?”

  He felt the whack to his head and bolted upright, rubbing the sore spot.

  Father glared at him. “Pay attention.”

  He knew, always knew when his mind wandered. “Yes, Father.”

  His father leaned closer, those steel colored eyes making Cristian shift in unease. At times there was a gleam to his father’s eyes that he didn’t understand, that made him nervous in some way. “An empath has the ability to be whatever he or she wants to be. And that, is the most powerful being of all.”