Silver Blade (3 page)

He tried to get comfortable in the too-small seat as he provided directions.

“So you’re a bounty hunter?” she asked.

No, actually I’m a demon hunter.
“Yep. It pays the bills.”

“How did you get into that?”

“I always wanted to be in law enforcement, but things don’t always work out as we plan—”
Like when a bunch of demons shoot up your town, your wife, and yourself.
“—so I ended up becoming a bounty hunter.”

“Well, you are still getting some of the more unsavory elements off the street.”

“Yeah, although it’s a little less glamorous. Turn left,” he said pointing ahead.

“You don’t strike me as someone who is in it for the glamour. My brother wanted to be a cop. He was in a car fire, though, his third year of high school. It ruined his chances at a football scholarship and his future as a policeman. But he did well. Went on to be a park ranger and loved it. He still got a uniform, and a chance to serve and protect.”

“You and your brother close?”

“We were. I’m actually on my way back from burying him.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. How did he die?”
If it even sounds like demon work, I promise you I’ll advance the fiend to the top of my to-do list.

“Wrong place, wrong time. He survived fire, and grizzlies, and all sorts of crap. He was out running one day and got hit by a car. Drunk driver—hit and run—in the middle of the afternoon. The guy just left him there. There is some justice in the world, I guess, because the driver ended up crashing his car into a tree about ten miles further. He was dead when they found him. The driver, that is. They say it was about two hours before someone noticed Bobby and stopped.”

“Fuck. I really am sorry, Angel.” Another time, another place and he could see himself spending time to comfort this beautiful lady.

“Thanks. Anyway, as I said, I was on my way back home when I saw the accident, and well, you know the rest.”

“So, where is home?” he asked.

“Vegas. Ever been?”

“No. I’d like to visit some day though. Did you and your brother grow up there?”

“We moved around quite a bit. I was actually heading to California to be a dancer, but I never made it past the bright lights of Vegas.”

“What kind of dancing do you do?”

“What kind of dancing do most girls do when they end up in Vegas?”

“You’re a stripper?” Oz sounded surprised. “Hot.
Very
hot.”

Yes, it certainly was. Why did he have this effect on her? She opened her window a little more. “I was, for all of about three days. I mean, I didn’t go to Vegas planning to be a stripper, but it was easy work and paid well. At least I thought so until I found out the extra things my boss wanted me to do. So I quit. I worked here and there for a year or so, and then I was auditioning for one of the casino shows when an opportunity came up. The casino wanted attractive girls who were smart enough to deal blackjack while wearing a bra and chaps, and who could still concentrate while being hit on a hundred times a night. Pays good; tips are great.”

“Hot and smart. Nice combination. Pull in up there.”

Angela turned at the nameless gray mailbox and began the short trip down the dirt drive. The tiny farmhouse sat lonely, surrounded by an empty expanse of grass and then forest. She pulled to a stop in front of the small two-story structure.

“Look, Angel, I would love to invite you in right now for lunch, but after that stripper story and watching you walk around in those jeans and boots all morning, I have to be honest—food is the last thing on my mind.”

Angela’s gaze fell to Oz’s lap. His obvious erection fought against the green hospital pants. She chewed her lip as she glanced back up to meet unabashed lust in his eyes. Forget being held in his arms, she ached to feel his powerful hands all over her body. Desire warmed between her legs.

She turned off the engine and opened her door. “Luckily, I think lunch is the most overrated meal of the day.”

She followed him the short distance from the car to the house, and then waited while he opened the door. What had she gotten herself into? Alone at a stranger’s house out in the middle of nowhere. No, he wasn’t like that. She was certain.

Oz preceded her into a small kitchen, and she jumped as the screen door slammed closed behind her. Her hands shook as Oz took her coat and purse from her. He dropped them along with his own coat into a nearby chair.

He shucked off his boots and kicked them into the corner, then scooped her up in his arms before she had a chance to look at the house.

“Oz, be careful,” she began, but her warning went unheeded. Oblivious to the injured shoulder or the tape around his ribs, he carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.

Dropping her on the bed, he pulled the tie on the medical pants, and stepped out of the scrubs and his briefs in one swift motion. His cock stood huge, perfectly proportioned to the titanic man. Maybe she
should
be concerned. She drank in the sight of him as she unzipped her boots and shimmied out of her jeans.

She just finished taking off her panties, when he was over her, crushing his mouth down on hers, trapping her breasts with the weight of his chest. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she moaned a welcoming response as her hungry hands took inventory of the muscles on his back.

Oz shifted, moving his mouth from Angela’s bruised lips to her swollen breasts. She arched her back, pressing herself into his mouth, and he sucked at the hardened nipples.

She shivered as Oz’s fingers lightly brushed her bare mons on their way to her hot, moist sex, and she shuddered when his two fingers smoothly slipped inside. Her muscles tightened around his fingers, and she moaned again as she struggled against the building pleasure.

He left her on the bed, breathless, while he plucked a condom from a nearby drawer and sheathed his swollen manhood. Using his legs, Oz parted her thighs, and penetrated her in one quick thrust. She gasped and cried out at the exquisite pain, amazed that she surrendered to his size with such ease.

He put his hands under her bottom, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist as he lifted her from the bed. Still inside of her, Oz sandwiched Angela against the wall. The rough texture scratched intimately at her back as she rode him faster and faster.

Oz’s tongue explored deep in her mouth. God, she couldn’t hold out much longer. The strength in his arms continued to lift her up and down, his shaft buried deep within her, and her fingers dug into the muscles of his back. Sparks ignited in her brain as the fire exploded in her core. She leaned her head back against the wall as the waves washed through her, and she could feel her lover jerk and shudder with his own spasms of release.

On shaky legs, he carried her back to the bed.

“Angel, you feel like heaven when you come,” he said and then collapsed them both onto the crumpled bedspread.

****

“You can’t stay.”

“I know. Is she still sleeping?”

“Who?” Oz feigned innocence.

Jared didn’t answer; instead, he raised an all-knowing eyebrow.

“Yes. She offered me a ride home, and—”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“How do you know?”

Another raised eyebrow. “We keep an eye on our own—you know that. I felt your danger and stopped by the hospital. She was asleep in the chair. Tell me what happened.”

Oz recounted what he could remember from the accident.

“Was it the same demon that scored you?”

“I can’t be sure. I didn’t see either of them. It was getting dark and the windows were tinted. I saw red eyes though in the passenger seat. I think it’s safe to assume at least one of the occupants was him.”

“Nothing is ‘safe’ until he is dead. He has your blood and he will not give up until one of you is dead. Try to stay inside for a bit. You’re protected as long as you’re here. The spells are on, yes?”

“Yes,” Oz confirmed. Somewhere far off in the trees, birds chirped; even they could not come close to the house unless he wanted them near.

Sometimes, like now, Jared’s parental concern struck Oz as funny since they were both about the same age in physical years—mid thirties. Jared, however, had died many years before and was therefore much older. Add to that the fact the great hunter had brought Oz back from the dead. Jared was his mentor and therefore in many ways like a father.

“I’ll gather some more of our brothers, and when I return we can go on a search for the monster. Perhaps a little…relaxation…with this new woman will do you good.”

“She deserves better,” Oz said. He stared at the worn floorboards, and kicked at a curl of peeling paint. She was beautiful, and funny, and sexy. Why would she want to involve herself with a man like him?

“You’re a good man, Oz. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”

“I’m a murderer.”

Jared placed his hand on Oz’s arm. “You’re a man of honor and duty. We kill to keep evil away and make the world a better and safer place, even if most people don’t know it. We are not murderers, and you need to cut yourself some slack. Relax and have some fun with your woman,” the elder hunter whispered. “Here she comes now.”

Angela padded down the stairs in bare feet. The voices on the front porch stopped as she got closer.

“It’s okay, Angel. Come on out,” called Oz’s deep timbre.

She pushed open the screen door and stepped out into the warm afternoon air. She inhaled the smell of pine needles and fresh country air, not something often experienced living in Vegas.

Oz stood with another man, slightly shorter and of leaner build. He was dressed in worn leather and black jeans, similar to the outfit Oz had been wearing. Even the dagger-like pendant around his neck was similar, although the stranger’s held a red stone. Like Oz, the man had an air of confidence and authority. She wondered if perhaps the two were brothers.

“Angela, this is my good friend, Jared.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Angela.” He extended a hand.

“Likewise,” she said, and offered her hand in return. She couldn’t place the accent.

“Jared heard about the accident and dropped by to make sure I was okay.”

“Yes, and since my job here is done, I’d best be on my way.”

“I was just about to make lunch. Would you care to stay?”

“Not this time, my friend. Duty calls. I will return soon, however, as we discussed. We can talk more at that time.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can go back inside.”

“No, my dear, I really must be going. Besides, I’m sure your beauty is more soothing to Oz than the ramblings of an old…friend.”

Angela stood on the front porch as Jared got into his car. Not until his visitor turned out of the driveway did Oz open the door to go back in to the house. He waited for her to enter first.

“I hope you’re okay with eggs and toast. I didn’t have much else available on short notice.” He walked over to the counter where everything was already laid out.

“Eggs are fine,” she replied, sitting on one of the cracked vinyl chairs. She smiled sadly as she ran her hand along the cool Formica table. Mom, and Bobby, and blueberry pancakes. Childhood.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she replied as the sound of Elvis’s voice sang out in the distance.

Oz looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“My phone,” she explained. “My purse is…?”

“Over there on the chair.” He directed with a spatula.

She tugged the purse out from under her coat, and spilled the contents of the bag all over the floor. Lipstick and eyeliner rolled toward the fridge, while Bobby’s gun fell and landed with a heavy
thunk
on the floor. They both stared at the weapon while Elvis sang the last bar of the song and then the phone went quiet.

“Ah, what’s that?” asked Oz, arms folded, and spatula in hand.

“A gun.”

“I know it’s a gun. But why do you have it hidden in your purse?”

“It belonged to Bobby. It’s one of the few things I decided to keep. I figured I would get a license for it when I got back to Nevada. I took it out of the trunk when I stopped to help you. In case the guys in the SUV came back.”

“Is it loaded?” asked Oz.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you even know how to use it?”

“Not really. I figured I would take lessons when I got back home.”

“Well, then, I’ve just figured out what we’ll do after we eat.”

****

They stood in the warm sunlight behind the house. Oz had nailed a paper plate to an old picnic table that he had turned on its end. A football field of empty grass stood between them and the dense forest surrounding his home.

She tried to ignore the spicy scent of Oz’s cologne and the pressure of his powerful chest against her back. She tried not to think of his well-defined arms as they encircled her, or the strong, calloused hands that covered her own. Focus on the gun. Smooth. And hard. And deadly.

“Now aim at the center of the plate,” Oz directed. Nearby, an old door sat across the arms of two ancient lawn chairs forming a table. The empty revolver case sat open on it. Oz walked over and retrieved a sweating bottle of water.

Angela squinted along the barrel of the revolver as he had shown her and fired.

The deafening echo of the first shot rang loudly. Now she understood why police on television wore ear protection at the firing range. Maybe she could ask Oz. Yeah, right. Did he look like the sort who wore ear muffs to fire a gun?

“Not bad, Angel. Try again.”

She lifted the revolver and shot three more times at the paper plate. Two of the bullets found their target.

“Won’t your neighbors call the sheriff?” she asked, turning to her teacher.

“Angel, baby, lower the gun. Remember?”

She regarded the revolver pointed at Oz’s flat, yet scarred, stomach. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Now, what were you asking?”

“Won’t your neighbors be concerned about the gunfire?”

“Well, there aren’t really too many neighbors around to worry, but out here the country folk only worry when a single shot is fired. Shots like ours and folks know we’re practicing or hunting. Only one, and people wonder if someone got caught with someone else’s wife or if some idiot accidently shot themselves.”