Red
,
where are you? I’m on the trail of the Daemon, and he’s killing. Or killed.
The trail ended suddenly in a blaze of scent that nearly fried the insides of his cat’s nose. His keen animal senses told him he was alone, so he upshifted to his full-sized jaguar. If he came upon the thing, there’d be a fight, and since his knives didn’t stay with him any better than his clothes when he shifted, fangs and claws were his only weapons.
Where are you
,
you bastard?
Jag leaped for the nearest tree and began to climb, hoping to catch sight of the creature, but as he rose, the scent grew fainter. Not significantly so, but enough that he noticed. He stretched out on a thick branch about ten feet from the ground and looked around, sending his cat’s heightened senses out in every direction.
And that’s when he saw it. Not the Daemon, but a mound of dead leaves that looked out of place below. As if they’d been piled there intentionally. To hide something.
He leaped out of the tree, shifting back to his human form midleap, and landed on two feet. Kneeling beside the mound, he shoved the leaves away to reveal a dark blue tarp. The smell of blood and carnage nearly obliterated the stench of Daemon, and he knew there would be no rescuing this victim.
He pulled the tarp back…and wished he hadn’t.
Well
,
hell.
Victims, plural. Body parts from at least half a dozen humans lay in the shallow grave. Heads, arms, parts of torsos, all of which had most of the flesh stripped from the bones.
Jesus.
He pulled the tarp back farther, and froze, his stomach cramping.
Not Cordelia.
But,
goddess.
As he stared at the half-destroyed face of a thirtyish woman, memory of another overlaid it—half a face where the flesh had tried one last time to regenerate over the charred remains of bone and blood, before her Therian body had finally given up.
Cordelia.
His head began to pound, cold sweat rolling down his temples as old horror shot through his gut. He stumbled back and fell to his knees, retching into the dirt, the memories stabbing him like red-hot steel.
When his stomach had emptied, he rose on shaky legs, arching his back, hands in his hair, until he forced the memories down. Then he returned to the mass grave.
Ten bucks said he’d found the humans who’d gone missing in this town the past few days.
That goddamn pain-feeding Daemon was history.
But as he lifted the tarp back over the bodies, he stilled, a thought slamming into him.
Everything they understood of wraith Daemons told them they were nonthinking creatures. Animals. Monsters. They literally fed on the pain and fear of others as a human or Therian might feed on marinated pork or ham steaks. They did not plot or plan. Or bury their victims in tarps and hide them in the woods beneath a pile of leaves.
But someone had done just that. Someone who didn’t want the public…or the Ferals…to know the Daemon was here.
A thousand bucks said he knew who was behind this.
The Mage.
Olivia drove out of Harpers Ferry, out of the reach of Jag’s extraordinary senses, and headed west on the highway, hoping to find a diner or bar—anyplace where more than a few humans gathered. She had to be careful with humans. Early on, she’d learned trying to feed off fewer than four or five at once, even at low levels, could drain them fast.
She’d never actually killed one—at least not accidentally—that she knew of, but she’d dropped a few unconscious when she was young.
Large crowds were definitely best.
When she found the Wal-Mart, she smiled, then parked the Hummer and strolled into the store, opening herself to a free, careful feeding at last. The store
was most crowded in the electronics department, so she headed there, wandering among the rows of DVDs and video games, skimming a fine layer of life force from every human she passed. A layer they’d never miss, not with so many to feed from. A layer they’d soon replenish.
Strong energy radiated off a small gathering of humans in the iPod aisle, two human males past their prime, their bellies swollen with excess, and two teenage girls who seemed none too pleased with the attention of the males.
“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” the male with the Redskins cap said, eyeing the darker-haired girl.
The girls glanced over their shoulders at the pair, but continued what they were doing, looking over several items on the racks. Though uncomfortable with the boorish attention, they didn’t appear to be genuinely worried.
Olivia wondered if they should be. She continued to feed lightly as she watched with an eye toward stepping in.
But the second boor noticed her, his eyes lighting.
“I’m partial to redheads,” he said, hitching his pants up under his protruding belly.
Olivia said nothing, just held his gaze as she slid one of her knives out of the sheath hidden beneath her jacket, twirled it around her finger in a quick arc, then made it disappear again.
The man’s eyes widened, and he blanched, taking a step backward.
“Let’s go, Earl.”
“What? Why?”
But the other one grabbed his arm and took off around the end of the aisle.
“Jerks,” one of the girls said under her breath when they’d gone.
Olivia had to agree. As she moved away, the girls’ voices carried to her, excited talk of iPods and birthdays and prom.
She found herself smiling, their pleasure infectious, but her smile quickly faded. Humans knew so little of what really went on in their world.
She prayed to the goddess the Ferals and other immortals could keep it that way. If Satanan and his Daemon hordes ever managed to get free, life as the humans knew it would be over. As they’d done five thousand years ago, the higher, thinking, Daemons would once more begin to round up humans by the thousands, mostly children, torturing and terrorizing as they fed on their pain and fear. Panic and misery would quickly rule the world.
Olivia continued to walk and feed for a few minutes more, until she felt full and strong, then headed for the doors. As she strolled into the sunshine, she wondered how long before she turned hungry again. She’d gone almost twenty-four hours without feeding
this time. Would she be able to go longer next time? Or less? Almost certainly, she’d have to escape Jag again sometime tomorrow. When the time came, she’d have to come up with another excuse.
She headed for the Hummer, anxious to get back to Harpers Ferry before Jag realized she was gone. Ahead, she saw the two boorish males hitting on yet another female in the parking lot.
One adjusted his hat while the other tugged up his pants. Then suddenly, as one, they went perfectly still, their arms dropping limp at their sides.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed, her instincts ringing a warning alarm. As she passed the trio, she glanced at the attractive auburn-haired woman, then looked quickly away, her heart beginning to race. The woman’s green eyes had been ringed in copper.
Mage eyes.
Which meant the enthrallment of those men was real.
Why? What would a Mage possibly want with humans, and two such poor examples of the species, at that?
Keeping her stride casual and even, she continued to the Hummer, watching out of the corner of her eye as the three climbed into the red pickup truck they’d been standing in front of. The men moved like automatons.
Olivia climbed into the Hummer, then pretended to study herself in the rearview mirror as she watched the truck drive off at a calm, sedate pace.
She started the bright yellow vehicle and followed, wishing like hell she was in something a little less eye-catching. Clearly Jag’s work rarely called for clandestine pursuit. If only she could contact him to tell him she was following a Mage and her victims.
But she was out of range, and on her own. For the time being, they both were.
She followed the truck back toward Harpers Ferry, but lost it as it turned left between too small a gap in oncoming traffic for her to follow. And by the time another gap presented itself, her quarry was nowhere to be seen.
Olivia?
The sound of Jag’s voice in her head sent her pulse into a small, odd skitter.
I’m here.
Where in the hell have you been?
Thank goodness she had a decent excuse.
I saw something suspicious and followed. A Mage witch enthralled two human males. I tried to follow their truck
,
but I lost them.
Shit.
What would a Mage want with humans
,
Jag?
I’m afraid I know. Get back here and pick me up, and I’ll fill you in. We’ve stumbled onto more than a wraith Daemon on the loose
,
Red. This is going to get ugly.
When the Mage were involved, it always did.
“Where do you put all that? It’s bigger than you are.”
Olivia took another bite of the footlong sub piled high with everything she could fit on the sandwich as she met Jag’s disbelieving look with a shrug.
“I have a healthy appetite.” And she had no way to know when she’d get another chance to feed her way.
Jag had bought three footlongs for himself and she’d have liked to have bought herself a second, but he really would have gotten suspicious.
They sat across from one another in the back booth of a deli down the road from Harpers Ferry, in Charles Town. Jag had been afraid to eat in town, not knowing how many Mage were about or whether any might recognize him as a Feral. He’d taken to wearing the green military-style canvas jacket he apparently kept in the back of the Hummer to cover his armband. They needed to figure out what the Mage were doing before the Mage realized they were here.
After she’d let him in the car, and he’d shifted back to human and dressed, they’d driven up and down every road in that town, hunting for the red truck while they filled one another in. But they’d found no sign of it.
“How do we know the Mage don’t have the Daemon caged again, as they did in the caverns?” she asked. “I thought you believed the wraith Daemons weren’t controllable.”
“I don’t know what the Mage are doing, or what their
involvement is. All I know is I’m catching Daemon scent all over the place. That thing is definitely loose.”
“Would the Mage have a reason to follow along behind it, cleaning up the mess he leaves? And if the Daemon is feeding on its own, why did they enthrall those two men this afternoon?”
“All good questions, and I can’t answer a one. The scent’s old. Better part of a day. As if it hasn’t been through here since last night.”
“You think it’s nocturnal.”
“Yep. That’s what we’ve suspected all along, and that scent trail supports it.”
Olivia finished her sandwich and wadded up her trash, watching with envy as Jag took a big bite of his third.
“What’s our next move?” she asked.
“As soon as it’s dark, I’m going hunting.”
She caught the singular. “I’m going with you.”
“That would be a
no way in hell
, Red. You heard what Lyon said about Kougar and Hawke running across a draden swarm in the mountains. There were nearly forty of them. I’m good, but even I can’t take out forty at once. Unless you want to get your pretty little ass killed, you’ll be hanging out in the Hummer until daybreak.”
“You must be kidding.” What she wouldn’t give to be able to tell him the truth, that she couldn’t be harmed by the draden. Even so…“What do you think the The
rian Guard are, Feral? Not all of us have the advantage of being able to shift, but you’re not the only ones who can fight draden.”
He leaned forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “How many do you fight at a time in Scotland? Not forty. Not even half that.”
She bit off her argument, because he was right. And while she could handle more draden than any other guard, she did it through weakening them by feeding on them.
And she wouldn’t be able to here. Not if Jag were anywhere around. She’d have to fight them with nothing but knives. And forty would be way too many.
Still, the thought of being consigned to the Hummer all night seriously rankled. Except she wouldn’t be, would she? All she had to do was get far enough away from Jag, and she could hunt and feed all she wanted.
“I’m good at what I do, Jag.” She was keeping up appearances, now. Arguing, as he expected her to.
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
She shook her head, releasing a disgusted huff. “So, what? My role is to play chauffeur to a cat?” Appearances or not, she was annoyed. Honestly, what use were any of the Therian Guard going to be if the Ferals insisted on keeping them locked behind warding every night?
His eyes took on a devilish gleam as his gaze slid leisurely down to her breasts. “I can think of another role you could audition for.”
“Not amused. Why am I here, Jag? And for once, can you forget the sexual?”
His mouth pursed, the carnal light leaving his eyes as he nodded. “If I find the Daemon trail, we’ll follow it during daylight. With the Mage in the picture, I’m absolutely going to need backup, Olivia. Goddess only knows what we’ve stumbled onto.”
Their gazes met, for once without the light of sexual awareness blinding everything else. In his gaze, she saw the steel-hearted warrior, the man determined to find and bring down this enemy no matter what it took. For once, he allowed her a glimpse behind the mask, and something inside her lifted, responding. Recognizing a kindred soul.
“All right?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “Yes.” She knew he thought she was agreeing to bide her time in the Hummer tonight in exchange for the promise of a purpose tomorrow.
But he’d be getting that backup sooner than he expected. And not exactly in the way he planned. Because he wasn’t the only one going draden-and Daemon-hunting tonight.
And if she was very, very careful, he would never know.
Kougar drove Hawke’s Yukon north along Skyline Drive while Hawke scanned police reports on his laptop beside him.
“No reports of any murders in the area,” Hawke said. “Which probably only means no one’s found the victims yet.”
Kougar had to agree. They’d been so close last night to catching one of the Daemons. They’d had the bastard. He’d been right there, hovering over the pond, clearly drawn to the trap. But the magic that should have snared him hadn’t.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he replayed the moment in his head when he’d first seen the thing, seen a Daemon again for the first time in five thousand years. Though Kougar no longer felt much in the way of emotions, his mind had been more than capable of taking in the chilling magnitude of the moment. Never in his worst nightmares had he thought he’d see the day when Daemons once more terrorized the world.
The one last night had been drawn to the trap, as they’d planned. But he’d hovered over it for several seconds, then flown off again instead of being pulled in. The magic hadn’t worked.
The two Ferals had given chase, Kougar on the ground, Hawke in the sky, but the thing had eluded them and eventually lost them. Because they could fly, Daemons were brutally hard to hunt.
“Any idea why the trap didn’t work?” Hawke asked.
“We need Ilina blood. And Ilina magic. I was hoping we could get by without them, but apparently we can’t.”
“The two things we can’t possibly get,” Hawke said in a tone that warned that his mind had latched onto a subject that intrigued him. He looked up to stare out the window. “I’ve studied the Ilinas extensively, though there’s little enough written about them. They were artists and philosophers, dancers and musicians, at one time. A peaceful race who suddenly turned violent. Like the sirens of lore, they began to lure men, human and immortal, with their beauty and song, into the Crystal Realm, where they tortured or enslaved them for the remainder of the captives’ short lives. That’s the legend.”
Hawke turned to glance at him. “You know the truth.”
“No one knows what happened to their victims once they entered the Crystal Realm. It’s all speculation.”
“Because none returned to tell the tale.”
“Because none survived. No corporeal being, mortal or immortal, can live long in that place. But the rest of what you’ve described is as I remember.”
Hawke nodded. “Most believe they were infected by dark spirit. That Queen Ariana destroyed her race herself when she saw what they’d become.”
Kougar didn’t comment. He didn’t know the answer himself. All he knew was the beauties they’d all once adored had turned into evil bitches, perpetrating untold atrocities before faking their extinction and disappearing. He’d been duped like all the rest. It was only in very recent years that he’d learned the truth—that they weren’t gone at all and never had been.
Hawke made a sound of frustration. “So traps are out.”
It wasn’t a question, and Kougar didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t giving up on the traps just yet. They were by far their best chance of catching the Daemons without Feral casualties. He just had to get the right ingredients.
Come nightfall, he was going hunting.
For Ilina.
Jag climbed out of the Hummer and stripped out of his clothes, tossing them in the back. It was an hour after full dark. The draden should be out anytime now, and with any luck, so would the Daemon.