Pulling the door shut behind him, Blade hoped to keep the demons contained. And the beautiful woman safe.
The threesome of demons growled and spat at him, and lunged. Blade leaped to the top of a laundry machine, and jumped, flipping in the air and landing behind the nasty trio. Bowie knife at the ready, he defied them with a come-on gesture of his fingers.
“Are you the rage Sim spoke about?”
In a rare pause from attack, the demons glanced at one another. Black-hooded red eyes blinked. It was obvious they knew nothing about what he’d just asked. And really, a rage of demons would blacken the sky with their numbers. These three were barely a denizen.
“Is the woman one of your own?” he asked. He knew some demons could take on human form, many of them, actually, but he doubted the woman in the field had anything to do with this bunch.
“She is ours,” one of them hissed. “Keep away!”
“I don’t take orders from demons.” He twirled the knife and caught it, blade pointing toward the speaker. “Want to try asking nicely?”
The next hiss was accompanied by burning spittle that sizzled on Blade’s wrist. Wrong move.
The best way to kill a demon was with a blast of salt to its black heart. Blade did have a salt knife, but rarely carried it. In lieu of salt, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Leaping to the left, he feinted right, ducking to avoid attack. With that demon occupied in missing him, Blade slid under a groping talon and stood before Thing #2. He jammed up his knife, catching it deep in the rib cage of the surprised demon. A knife wound wouldn’t take out a demon. Unless it was more than a wound, and the weapon had been warded against demons. Dragging the blade upward, he cut open the creature from gut to throat and flung its spasming body aside to scatter in a spray of black ash.
Grabbed by the shoulders, the creature’s talons pierced his skin. Blade growled, and slashed blindly, feeling resistance and tasting a spatter of black demon blood. He lashed out his tongue, even as he bent to fling the one on his back toward Thing #3. The taste of blood frenzied his faery’s wicked craving. His fangs descended as he snarled. He tightened his grip on the knife.
“Now I’m angry,” he muttered.
Standing tall, Blade turned to face the two, who actually cowered at the sight of the vampire with black blood dripping from his mouth.
Charging, he continued his assault. Catching one demon about the neck in a clothesline, the other demon he stabbed with the knife. He gouged his hand upward, tearing the warded steel through the shrieking demon. As the blade tore out of viscera, he curled his hand around to land the other thing through the skull. Both demons scattered in ash behind him.
Blade licked the side of his hand, coated with black blood, and growled in satisfaction. Nasty stuff, but it hit him with a jolt of power and comforting darkness. And that was an irresistible high. Mmm... He could feel it move down his throat. Delicious strength shimmered in his muscles. His wings trembled for release, to allow the wicked blood to course through their very structure like cocaine to an addict’s soul.
“Hello?”
Kicked back to reality by the female call from outside the back door, Blade shook his head and stopped his wings before they could unfurl. Right. Keep your head, buddy. He shoved the knife down the side of his boot and stepped out the door and marched across the unkempt backyard. The woman in the long skirt strolled toward him, oblivious to what had just gone down inside the pink house.
Demons didn’t follow humans around. Not that he was aware of. And the woman had purposely gone to this one; he had seen her speak with it. Had she known it was demon? And if so, what was out in the field that the demon had directed her to?
Blade wiped the blood from his mouth and retracted his fangs. The woman’s face brightened as she neared, and she lifted her long skirt to run toward him. “Hello! Do you live in the house? I didn’t find what I thought I would find—”
Blade grabbed her by the upper arms and growled. “What are you?”
* * *
The man’s grip was too firm, Zenia thought. He actually looked angry, his dark brows narrowed, and the sun shone on his hair, bluing it around the one eye that was visible. A fathomless, gray eye. He had seen tribulation. Zenia knew that with certainty, as she knew so many odd facts.
And he was sexy. Devastatingly so. His broad chest stretched a charcoal-gray T-shirt in ripples, and thick veins corded his massive biceps. Combine his remarkable physique with a handsome face and he was the complete package.
Yet he did not relent his strong grip. Zenia struggled and finally managed to squirm out of his pinching grasp.
“What am I?” she asked, stepping back a few paces from him. “What do you mean? I’m a woman. A human. You think I’m some kind of alien?” She looked over his shoulder and noted the back door of the woman’s house hung open. “I should go up and close that door for her. She probably forgot. She’s old—”
“Don’t go near the house.” He gripped her by the arm, and again Zenia shoved his chest and struggled. She stumbled in the long grass and he helped her to stand. It was all she could do to step away from him without falling again.
“Who are you?” she demanded with an impertinent lift of chin. “You don’t live here. If you did, you might have taken care of the yard for your grandmother, or whoever she is to you.”
“She’s not my—” The man gestured a wide splay of fingers toward the street. “I was working across the street and saw you two talking. I just— I don’t need to explain myself. I asked first. Who, and what in particular, are you?”
Zenia crossed her arms and looked the man up and down. Dressed all in dark clothing from his loosely laced Dr. Martens to the black jeans and gray T-shirt, his muscled arms gave her pause, as did his broad chest. But the long black hair with a weirdly blue sheen to it screamed goth. Goths were skinny and morose. This man’s physique said, I work out—a lot.
“Well,” she provided, “I’m certainly not an alien.” Of that she was aware.
The nerve of the man. He hadn’t even offered a friendly how do you do. Perhaps this neighborhood wasn’t as friendly as she’d originally thought. And for as much as she enjoyed the view of him, she did know not to trust a complete stranger.
Zenia marched past him and up toward the house. He passed her and slammed the door shut, stepping before it as if to guard the contents. His anger was so palpable she felt shivers trace her arms. But it wasn’t warning enough to make her run away from the guy.
“I didn’t find anything here,” she offered, hoping to appeal to his compassionate side. If such a thing existed. “This is where I came walking out and into the street before I lost my memory. I feel as though I was walking in from that field, but I haven’t a clue what I was doing out there. It’s just a bunch of dirt.”
“What the hell are you talking about, lady?”
“I, uh...” She raked her fingers through her long hair and splayed out her hand uncertainly before her. When she noted the cream-colored markings inside her elbow, she slapped a palm over them and offered with a shrug, “I have amnesia.”
This time when he raised his hand, perhaps to clutch her again, she flinched. That paused him. He put up both palms facing her, placatingly. And Zenia sensed whatever it was that had made him so tense and angry settled. Just a teensy bit.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. There was a commotion in the house while you were wandering in the field. I don’t think you should go inside.”
“What’s wrong with the old lady?” Zenia bobbed on her toes in an attempt to see over his broad shoulder and through the window near the back door. “Is she okay?”
He narrowed his gaze on her so intently that she felt as if