DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS

4

I glanced at the SUV Slater’s lackey had driven here. “Get in!”

“B-but that’s his car.”

“I know, but we can’t be picky right now.” I slid into the driver’s seat. “Come on!”

Groaning, Cecilia ran around the SUV and hopped inside. “I don’t like this idea.”

“It's the only one we have! We’ll ditch the car later; we just need to get out of here first.”

I slammed the SUV into reverse as the group of men emerged from our room on the second floor.

“Wait!” one of them yelled.

Oh, yeah, like I would freaking wait.

I stepped on the gas, the tires peeling on the pavement, and we raced down the road. We drove for about ten miles on the dark road outside of town before we allowed ourselves to breathe normally again.

“That was unexpected,” Cecilia said, leaning against the passenger seat and relaxing for a bit.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel. “You know it wasn’t. I was expecting it.”

“I know,” she whispered.

My eyes darted to the rearview mirror for the hundredth time, sure I would soon see a car or SUV gunning after us. Instead, the only thing behind us was the moonlight reflecting off the road markers.

I took a deep breath, releasing my death grip on the steering wheel, and immediately felt the shoulders of my muscles uncord.

For now, we were safe.

At least until he found us again.

Past

Devon

The warrior stood at the edge of the roof, looking down at the empty streets. At this time of the evening, the village was mostly asleep, except for the usual customers at the tavern. Despite the curfew being enforced since the attacks had started, a couple of men still sneaked out to drink.

One of those would be the next victim, the warrior was sure.

He didn’t have to wait long for two men to stumble out of the tavern, tripping over their own feet. Their laughter rang through the night. The town’s guard was sure to hear them, but not before something happened to them.

Like a shadow, the warrior jumped off the roof and followed the two men. One of them came upon his house not two minutes later. The lucky bastard tripped on his doorstep as he pushed open the door, falling on the floor of his home. He crawled into the dimly lit room and kicked the door shut behind him.

The second staggered several houses down, then he turned into an alley.

Not five seconds later, the warrior felt it. The change in the air, the thickness and the chill enveloping the area, the evil closing in.

A demon with a long gray body, black eyes, and sharp fangs materialized in the middle of the alley a few feet in front of the man.

The drunk's eyes went wide, and a startled scream caught in his throat. He stepped back to retreat and fell on his butt, gaping at the demon.

The warrior reached behind his back and unsheathed his sword, the black hilt resting comfortably in his palm.

The demon advanced on the drunk.

The warrior rushed from the shadows and slashed his blade across the demon's torso, slicing into its chest. The demon let out a howl of pain and rage. It hadn’t died, but it did what the warrior wanted—it shifted its attention to him, leaving the drunk man alone.

“Run,” the warrior commanded.

It took a moment, but the drunk man scrambled to his feet and fled, half-crawling and falling over himself as he tried to escape.

The warrior always wondered what the humans who encountered demons and survived told the others. That they had seen evil in the flesh? That they had escaped a demon? Would others believe them?

Not that the warrior really cared about it. Whether humans knew about demons or not, his job didn’t change.

He still had to hunt down demons and kill them.

Just as he would do to this one.

The demon let out a snarl, showing off its long claws, and lunged for the warrior.

The warrior sidestepped the demon, dodging the attack. He whirled, facing the demon’s back, and swept his sword wide, cutting off the demon’s head.

The head fell to the dirt ground with a wet thump.

Now it was dead.

The warrior cleaned the blade on his pants, then sheathed his sword on the scabbard across his back and a small white baton appeared in his hand. The warrior knelt beside the demon’s body and pierced the chest with the tip of the baton. The demon’s body dissolved into black smoke that faded into the night air.

He repeated the process with the head.

Then, the baton disappeared too.

Having finished his mission, the warrior stood up, ready to leave, when another figure appeared in front of him.

“Ryder,” the warrior said, calling the man by name. Like him, Ryder was a warrior. He too sported the same black leather armor and carried the same magical blade on his back.

“Devon,” Ryder said. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

The warrior straightened his back. “What message?”

“The gods are calling you,” Ryder said. “They have a mission for you.”

Devon lingered in the shadows of the trees, watching as the young woman knelt by the edge of the lake, pulling her skirt above her ankles so as not to get the hem wet, and washed her hands. She glanced at the water, the rays of the sunset igniting her fair face, and she smiled as if greeting a friend.

Something in the warrior’s chest tightened.

She couldn’t be older than eighteen. And she was the one the gods had told him about? She was supposed to be evil? With her brilliant smile? Her pretty face? Her delicate hands?

A little squeal and the sound of rapid footsteps came from his right, and the warrior reached for the sword strapped to his back. Two kids burst past the tree line, stumbling toward the girl—her siblings.

Still smiling, the young woman stood. “Selina, Calvin. What are you two up to?”

“He pulled my hair!” the girl spat. She was a miniature version of the woman with brilliant golden hair and bright blue eyes.