The Demon Hunter (5 page)

Defeated, he leaned back against the stone wall of the small cottage. Although the weather was warm enough, the ground was chill and damp upon his bare feet. His teeth chattered, his entire body aching, trembling like a newborn colt. Weak. He was so damn weak. He needed rest and nourishment soon, before he collapsed completely.

Briefly, he closed his eyes. “It can’t be.”

Yet, even as he thought it impossible, his mind taunted that it must be true. Everything smelled too sweet. Too fresh. The air was too perfect. The night too lovely. Even the soft chirp of insects was like music. There were no insects in hell.

He wanted to curse. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to hit something because it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t believe it. The hope would be his downfall, just as the demon wanted.

“Listen,” she said softly, floating hesitantly toward him like some damn angel come to save his soul. How bloody ironic. “Why don’t I call someone…”

No one could save him now and he sure as hell didn’t need the help of another angel, if that’s what she was. Reluctantly, his gaze shifted to the manor. Was his family dead? Or had he somehow traveled back in time? No, for even now he could hear an airplane overhead. So why was the woman beside him dressed as if she was from the 1860s? His brain pounded in confusion. He clutched the sides of his head. He didn’t know, didn’t understand anything.

“Devon?”

“Take me to the manor,” he growled.

He needed his sword. If he could find his sword, he might not feel so damn vulnerable. If he could hold that cold metal in his hands, he would know for sure this world was real.

Ellie actually went pale. Why? She claimed she didn’t know what she was, but it was obvious she knew how to fight. Did she even realize she stood like a warrior, as if preparing for an attack? Not for the first time he wondered what the bloody hell she was.

“Uhh, yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Oh, I think it will.” He disappeared, for a brief moment hovering in a world of darkness, and then reappeared in front of her. She gasped, stumbling back a step. As he reached out, she recovered quickly and swung around, too quick for his slowed movements.

“We’re not playing this game again,” she seethed. “Now, tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

“I answer to no one,” Devon snapped.

She held her hands up, palms out in obvious frustration. He didn’t miss the way the bodice of her dress stretched across her lovely breasts, and he knew his mind must truly be sick for noticing, or he’d been much too long without the soft comfort of a woman.

“Okay, listen. I understand that you’re upset, but you need help, serious help.”

He tore his gaze from her chest, focusing on her flushed face. “You’re right. I do need help.”

She looked confused, leery. “So you agree we should ring for the police?”

“No.” He appeared beside her. This time she looked more annoyed than surprised by his sudden appearance. “But I do agree that you’ll help me.”

Ellie shoved her palms into his chest, attempting to ward him off. “Help you? No, that wasn’t the agreement.”

If he couldn’t intimidate her, he’d find another way to gain her assistance. Devon turned and followed the narrow path that led toward the manor, his ancestral home. The wound in his thigh was aching something fierce and with each step it felt like a hot poker was stabbing into his leg. The bone had probably been broken in his last battle with the underworld creatures and had mended improperly. It would heal, but slowly and painfully.

He gritted his teeth and continued on, crushed gravel biting into his bare feet as he found the path and focused on that glowing light in the downstairs window. Dare he try to teletransport? No. Too risky. He needed to stretch his injured leg, besides, his powers were growing weak. He could feel the energy draining from him with every step. He needed to reserve whatever he had left.

His body might be growing weak, but his instincts were not. Devon was completely and utterly aware of everything that was going on around him. Overhead an owl called softly. Twenty feet to the right, a cat chased a mouse in the underbrush. And behind him, the woman followed, her breath a soft temptation he swore he could feel on his neck even though she was a good meter behind.

“Where are you going?” she asked, catching up to him.

“Home.”

Her footsteps slowed. “Really?” She paused. “Oh, well, okay then. So nice to meet you!”

Surprised by her overly cheerful reply, he turned to look back at her. Was she actually serious? Had she not heard a word he’d said?

Her smile fell. “You’re not leaving the grounds, are you?”

“No.” He started toward the back of the manor. The kitchen had been added on right before he’d died. He could almost see the cook rolling out dough as she called to the maids. She’d made a special biscuit he’d always loved, just for him. How she’d adored spoiling the master of the house. A woman who was more like his mother than servant. His throat felt suddenly thick. She was gone now. Dead, like the rest of them. As he should be.

Hurried footsteps followed after him. “Where are you going?”

Devon didn’t even pause. “The house.” Why was it he could remember the housekeeper, but could barely remember anything else? Ashley, he remembered Ashley. Her smile, her hazel eyes, her concern for him.

“Oh God, no! You can’t go into the house!”

“Yes.” He hobbled toward the massive building that loomed dark against the night sky. The closer he got, the less he felt. He should have been relieved to be home, instead he felt nothing. Numb. And it hit him why… This wasn’t his home, not any longer. He’d been gone for over a hundred years. But maybe, just maybe, someone would still be here who could explain what had happened.

He felt a chill right before Ellie latched onto his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Please, please you can’t. I’ll be fired!”

He glowered down at the woman practically hopping beside him. “Fired from what?”

“My job! I give tours here, hence the outfit. But without my job, I’ll have to return home. I really, really can’t go back.”

She was starting to annoy him, like some persistent gnat that couldn’t be brushed away. “Why?”

“Because… because I need the job.” She sighed, tucking back a lock of brown hair. “It was pure luck they let me come over here, considering…” She sighed. “I’ve had some issues in the past.”

“Shocking,” he said sarcastically.

Her face grew hard. “Never mind.”

She talked in riddles he couldn’t quite understand, but then Ashley had as well.

Ashley
.

Dear God, where was she? She’d been the one bright memory during his hellish nightmare. The sooner he found her, the better. A pub. He could just barely remember being in a dusty room that looked like a pub.

“Insane,” Ellie muttered, throwing her hands in the air as if giving up. “Completely insane.”

He reached for the back door. She shoved her way in front of him, her breasts brushing across his arm. Awareness shot through his body, thundering passion like he’d never known. Startled, he actually stepped back. His mouth went dry as blood surged to his cock. It had been so long since he’d touched anyone, since he’d kissed, caressed a soft female. So long since he’d forgotten his worries between the thighs of a woman.

“I can’t let you into the house.”

Bemused, he frowned. “What?”

“Inside! You are not going inside that house! You’ve seen what I can do.” She lifted her chin in what he assumed was supposed to be a look of confidence. It didn’t work, for he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

He bit back his laughter. “Yes, I have seen what you can do, and you still insist you’re human?”

She frowned. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and push her aside. He should have known better. She spun around, hooking her leg around his. The pressure on his injured thigh was too much. Caught off guard, he stumbled off the stoop, falling to his arse. His back hit the unforgiving lawn with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. For one long moment, he merely lay there, staring up at the dark clouds on an even darker sky, too damn tired to do anything more.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he whispered to the heavens.

His fingers curled into the damp grass, deeper, into the rich soil. Emotion welled within. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Home. He’d come home. The hell he’d been in for what seemed like eternity was gone. But he knew it was there, lurking in the background, waiting for his return. How had he escaped? Why?

There was the soft scraping of a window being thrown wide.

“Shoot!” Ellie snapped.

Suddenly, she threw herself atop him. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”

Devon didn’t have time to prepare. Her lush body pressed into his, putting pressure on his injured rib. He barely noticed the pain. She shifted, her soft breasts flattening to his chest as she looked toward the estate. Loose tendrils fell around his face, tickling his neck. Blood rushed to his cock. Desire reared its ugly head. Mocking his saintly nature. Devon closed his eyes, his hands curling into her hips to keep her from moving. Blimey, how he wanted more. Wanted to turn her over and lift her skirts. To delve into her warmth and forget for a moment the hell he’d been through.

“Your white t-shirt is like a beacon of light,” she whispered, as if annoyed with him when she was the one who had given him the shirt. “Damn housekeeper,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she focused on the window. “Go to bed already!”

He was barely aware of the housekeeper. Didn’t give a shite. All he cared about was
her.
This lush woman atop him. It had been so long since he’d touched anyone without fighting. Smelled the sweet scent of a woman. Known only a soft, gentle touch. If he pressed his mouth to hers, would she slap him, or welcome his kiss?

Devon didn’t dare move for fear the dream would end. He lay there, merely lay there soaking in her essence. She shifted again, her thighs brushing his, her breath quick and warm across the side of his face, just as it would be if they made love.

He closed his eyes. He would sell his soul at the moment, for a kind touch. His thoughts went unwillingly to Ashley, yet even as he thought of the woman, Cristian came to mind. Cristian, a man who had been his best friend and mortal enemy. A memory of Ashley and Cristian embracing flared to life.

She’d chosen him,
whispered through his mind. Ashley had fallen for Cristian.

Damn it all, why couldn’t he remember more?

But this woman wasn’t Ashley. Ashley was lean and dark; a mystery most of the time. This woman was lush, her face showing her every emotion. And she smelled different. She smelled like… like lilacs in summer. Like hope. Damn it all, he’d wanted her from the moment they’d met.

“She’s gone.” She turned her head and must have only just realized the impropriety of their situation. Even though it was dark, he swore he could see her blush. “Sorry, but you can’t go in there.”

Annoyed, Devon flipped her over, covering her body with his. Her eyes grew wide with shock, her delicate hands pressed to his chest, as if to ward him off. She might have powers, but she didn’t seem to be a trained fighter at the moment. “No one tells me I can’t go into my own home.”

She pounded her fists against his shoulders. “It’s not
your
home.”

The words sank into his gut, tore at his insides. She was right.

Slowly, he turned his head, searching the building that loomed beside them. It looked the same. Perhaps the gardens were different, the trees larger, the flower beds changed. But he knew it wasn’t his home. He could see the telephone lines, hear the rumble of cars in the distance. Those same noises he’d heard at that pub with Ashley. How they had annoyed him. But when? How long ago had he been at that pub?

And they bothered him now—the noises— here, in this place he used to live where there was no longer any true silence. He might have stayed the same, but his family and even his ancestral home, had changed.

Devon rolled off her, sitting in the grass and staring up at the place where he’d been born. Where he’d played as a child. Where he’d lost his parents… his wife. “Who owns the home?” Blast it, if his voice didn’t catch.

“Lord Templeton. He bought the place about ten years ago. To help pay bills, he does garden tours during the day and ghost tours at night.”

Devon stiffened and jerked his gaze toward her. Was she jesting? “Ghost tours?”

She shifted, looking uncomfortable. She’d seen that ghost in her cottage, he knew for a fact. Would she try to deny it now? “You point out ghosts to humans looking for a thrill?”

She tucked her feet underneath her and stood. “No. We tell them… about… supposed hauntings.” She glanced back at her cottage, nestled there near the woods. That cottage that hadn’t been there when he’d lived in the manor.

She shrugged, but still looked uneasy. “Lord Templeton doesn’t exactly care for the tours, but since he makes so much money off of them…”

Devon looked toward the manor. He knew no Lord Templeton.

They had sold his ancestral home. Sold it to a stranger. He felt sick. He’d rather be in hell then facing this. It shouldn’t have mattered, this material object, but for some reason it did. It was all he had left, after all. But no, that wasn’t true. If he could find his sword he’d have something. He’d feel whole again. He’d have a purpose.