The Demon Creed (A Demon Outlaws Novel) (Entangled Edge) (4 page)

Desperation motivated her. Now that she had remembered him, her wrenching heartache was as fresh and raw as if it had happened seconds ago. She might not get another opportunity to find out anything about his whereabouts, and she dared not back down now. Bear could not beat her into submission, then expect her to be able to entice a man. She would do what she had to in order to get her son back, or at least to discover what his fate had been.

She curled in a tight ball. “You’ll only get what information I manage to extract from him. How hard do you think I’ll try if you deny me this?”

Bear glowered down at her. “What difference can knowing who bought the spawn make to you after all these months? He’s probably dead.”

He was not used to opposition from her and sounded truly perplexed. Nieve could hardly blame him. In the past year she had asked no questions about Asher—but only because she had not remembered him. She could not imagine how she had ever forgotten something so important and she swore she would not forget again.

Something else said by the men when they were outside in the yard niggled at her. The assassin claimed children were missing and the trail he followed had led him to Bear. Hope flared like a torch. There had to be a connection. She could ask the assassin a few questions of her own. If whoring got her that opportunity, then she would do it.

But Bear would only get what he wanted if he told her what he had done with Ash.

She got to her knees in the over-warm kitchen, one hand pressed to her sore stomach, the other ready to protect her head from any more blows. “I want to know what you did with him,” she said. “I’ll do anything you want if you tell me where he went.”

“You’ll do it regardless.” Bear stared at her, his anger with her changing to ugly frustration. Rather than striking her again, he lowered the fist he had raised. “There’s something not right about that assassin. I can’t quite place it. I don’t want him coming back here, or spreading stories. If you find out anything I can use against him, something that will discredit him with the Godseekers, then not only will I tell you who I sold the spawn to, I’ll set you free to go find him.”

Nieve’s heart expanded in her chest, squeezing her lungs. Under any other circumstances being set free was not something to anticipate, but to fear. A woman alone would have protection from nothing and no one. Wolven, while fearsome enough, were far from the worst predators she might face. But Nieve had grown up in the desert’s foothills.

“I’ll do my best.”

He brought the back of his hand hard across her cheek, a blow she was not expecting, and her head snapped to the side, wrenching her neck.

“That’s not enough to earn your freedom.” Bear went back to the table and his meal. His chair legs scraped along the floor as he sat.

Nieve groped for the counter and drew herself to her feet. Even though her cheek throbbed and her stomach ached, nothing seemed ruptured or broken.

He swung his head around to glare at her as he swallowed a mouthful of the thick, hot stew. “I want to know what led a Godseeker assassin to me. I want him to stop asking questions. And I don’t want him ever coming back here again. Even an assassin has a weakness.”

He glanced at her bruised face as if well satisfied with what he saw.

“And I think his might just be the weak.”

…

The small jailhouse in the tiny mining shantytown was not as secure as Willow had feared it might be.

Little more than a hastily erected shack, it had not been intended to hold anyone for more than a day at most. It had never been meant to contain a half demon. From her position in the shadows behind an abandoned shed, she waited for an opportunity to approach it without being seen.

The smells of human waste and the rotting, discarded remnants of meals filtered past the fresher tang of the surrounding mountain pine, and had her pressing a hand to her face. Willow’s disgust for the mortals who lived here, and in this manner, could not be suppressed. She had grown up in slavery. Never again would she—or any other half demon if she could help it—serve crude, filthy men such as these.

Her demon father had once ruled this world. He was dead now, killed by the Demon Slayer after another of his daughters betrayed him. That daughter had then joined with the Demon Slayer against her own kind.

Willow planned to avenge her father’s death. Then, she intended to rule the world in his stead. Godseekers would not be allowed to determine the futures of half demons. And no true daughter of the Demon Lord would be allowed to consort with the Slayer.

All was silent in the neighboring shanties, and had been for quite some time as the moon shifted position above her. Willow moved with swift, cautious steps toward the sagging door of the jail. She inched it open a crack, peering inside.

The lone man on guard duty sprawled in a crudely crafted chair, a stoppered flask clutched in his hand. Soft snores drifted from beneath the hat tipped to cover his face. His chest rose and fell in a deep, even rhythm. Other than that, he showed few signs of life. She wrinkled her nose. The stale smell suggested he was drunk.

So much the better
.

She slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her. It closed with a faint snick and she leaned against it, listening for any unexpected movements. The sleeping man stirred, shifting in his creaky chair, but did not awaken.

A lantern hung from a hook on the wall. Its frail streams of yellow light saved her from having to expend valuable energy by summoning demon fire. Willow snapped her fingers shut over her outstretched palm and lowered her hand as she examined the prisoner she had come to rescue.

A sullen boy lounged on the dirty cot in the single jail cell. He had a knee pulled up to his chest, one foot on the tattered gray wool blanket and the other firmly on the floor. His back rested against the wall. Unwashed brown hair, with a fine curl to its tips, touched the collar of an ill-fitting, thick plaid coat. A small hole, edged by a large, suspicious stain, plus an enticing coppery smell that made Willow breathe a little deeper, suggested that the coat’s previous owner had fallen victim to a gunshot wound.

“What are they holding you for?” Willow asked the boy.

He stared at her long and hard before answering. Then, “Claim jumping,” he replied with a shrug, as if speaking of an inconvenience and not a charge that was about to get him hanged.

“Is that how you got your coat?”

“So what if it is?” His eyes, filled with insolence, came back to her face and ran over her in a way that made her itch to slap him. She had killed the last man to look at her that way, but this was a boy—and if he wished to be a part of her growing family, he would learn some respect. Half demons would not turn on each other the way mortals did, and females would not be the servants of males.

“Do they know you’re a half demon?”

“What makes you think that I am?”

She did not think it. She knew. One of the children she had adopted in the past few months sensed others of their kind. Willow stayed clear of the ones living deep in the Godseeker Mountains. The mortal Blade, and his half demon whore Raven, had formed an alliance with the Godseekers and were too strong for her to confront on her own. She was not yet ready to raise another demon against them. Her ability to control the last one had proven too precarious.

Soon, though, when her children were grown and had learned to use their talents to defend each other, the Godseekers would die. Raven could either join her own kind or die with them. That choice was hers.

Willow gripped the bars of the cell, bringing her face between her clenched knuckles. The guard in the chair behind her remained asleep, but she had no idea for how much longer, and she was not taking unnecessary risks for someone who did not deserve it. The boy’s demon talents did not appear to be so great that she would endanger herself to have them, and the children she had already rescued became unruly if left unsupervised for too long.

“You can wait here for Godseekers to judge you, and possibly discover what you are, or you can come with me,” she said. “I won’t make this offer again.”

“I’m here for the three meals a day they bring me.” He shrugged. “When the time comes, I can save myself.”

Either he was lying, or he was not ready to reveal himself to mortals. Many of their kind, having suffered years of persecution at the hands of mortals, weren’t able to trust enough in their newfound talents to expose them. Willow wondered which it might be, and if this boy was already too old for her to have any positive influence on him.

Or perhaps he really did want those three meals a day. He was very thin.

She started to turn away. “Then by all means, do so.”

The boy rose from the cot and walked to stand in front of her. She’d been told he could shift to a partial demon form that gave him the outward appearance of one, with some added physical strength, but little else. She’d hoped his talent had grown over the past months, but it appeared that was not the case.

He blinked several times. His face broadened, flattening, and his shoulders hunched forward. Two tiny curved horns split through the skin above his temples. From the neck and cuffs of his coat, hard, red flesh encased in bone plating emerged.

She had seen real demons before. Had bound one of them to her with demon fire. So far, this child’s talent did not impress or alarm her.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“Stone.” The word rumbled from his throat like gravel grinding sand. He thrust his shoulder at the cool black iron bars. They creaked, and a trickle of plaster sifted from the ceiling, but they did not bend.

“Fool!” Willow snapped, whirling, but there was nothing she could do to prevent what happened next.

The guard was no longer asleep. His flask clattered to the floor. The sharp smell of whiskey splintered the air, along with a few blistering words. Bleary eyes captured her, registered her presence, and shifted to Stone. Willow saw the guard’s confusion, then the dawning fear at what appeared to be a demon standing inside the cell. His chair tipped over in his scramble to get to the door.

Willow had to act quickly. She withdrew a long knife from the sheath hidden in the folds of her skirt at her hip, and ran to intercept him. She caught him by the arm, intending to drag him back, but he was larger than she was and fear gave him added strength. He swung his head out of reach when she tried to catch him by the throat, and thrust one elbow into her chest as he shook off her hand. His fingers grazed the door handle.

Willow could not allow him to escape and alert anyone else to what he had seen. She drove her knife into the soft flesh at the base of his skull. The man was too tall for the blow to do what she intended. He clawed at the knife’s handle protruding from the nape of his neck, and screamed—horrible, mewling sounds, like those of a rabbit trapped in a snare. He went to his knees. Blood bubbled from the wound. The heady smell of it made Willow shiver.

But, while she could resist it, it sent Stone into a full, blood-lusted frenzy. He threw himself against the bars, again and again, despite her sharp commands for him to calm himself.

She snatched a handful of the greasy hair of the man she had stabbed, drew back his head so that it rested against her hip, and slashed his throat from ear to ear. The screaming ended abruptly. Hot blood spurted over her wrist and gushed onto the door and wall. She brought her wrist to her lips, tasting the blood with a flick of her tongue, then dragged the wet blade of the knife across the dead man’s shirt to wipe it as clean as possible before slipping it back in its sheath.

Already, shouts echoed outside as the miners in the dozen or so surrounding shanties called out to each other, demanding for someone to check on the jail. She had only a few minutes until they became even more curious about the sudden silence.

“Shift back to your mortal form,” she commanded. “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this. If they do, I’ll leave you here for the Godseekers to deal with. Do you understand me?”

Stone gave a single, jerking nod of his head. The red bone shell he wore melted back into his body, leaving flesh in its place.

Willow reached between the bars and grabbed him by the front of his coat to shake him. He might be half demon, but he was also very stupid. She was not certain any longer that she wanted or needed him. Or even if she could manage him.

She most certainly did not need this aggravation. Outside, in the path that served as a street, the sound of men’s voices was coming closer.

If Stone could not keep up with her, she would abandon him.

She released his coat, then forced fire through her palms and into the metal lock of the cell door. The metal smoldered and smoked before turning a bright, cherry red. When it was hot and melting, she pried the lock off.

It fell to the wooden floor. The planks turned black as they charred, then smoked, and finally, dry as tinder, caught fire. The hate darkening Stone’s expression turned to grudging respect as he swung the door open and stepped from the cell.

The fire on the floor was spreading fast. Willow ran through her options in her head. Her use of demon talent, even though slight, drained her physical strength. Her real abilities lay in her instincts.

They could not go out the front door. There were too many people blocking the way. That meant they had to make a back exit for themselves.

She grabbed the lamp from the hook and smashed it against the wall. The splattered oil ignited. That would slow anyone down if they tried to enter from the front. A window at the back, low to the ground and too small for Stone to climb through, was now their only means of escape.

“Give me your coat. I’m going to break out the glass,” she said.

She wrapped the coat around her fist, and drove her hand through the glass. It shattered into glittering splinters. She tossed the coat back to him and examined the opening. She would have to make it bigger somehow.

“Let me.”

Stone took a few steps back, then, as his foot began to enlarge and his leg to lengthen, he rammed it against the wooden frame and widened the hole. Without stopping to see if she was behind him, he went over the broken ledge and vanished into the night.