9. Ashe

They say that nothing good ever happens after midnight, but what the hell do they know?

They did not have to go stomping around in the middle of the woods looking for a blood-crazed, man-eating shifter. There are better ways I could be spending the witching hours of my Friday night. After Catalina's visit earlier, a bottle or two of whiskey would be a good start.

Still, as the moon glares down like a watchful eye over Goss Hollow Park and illuminates the narrow hiking trail beneath me, my muscles flex and the Reaper's mark dances across my skin as my body hums in anticipation. Despite my feelings on the bureaucracies of our world and the mark that binds me to them, even I sometimes found it hard to deny the thrill of the hunt.

But the woods?

Although I'm sure it was surviving on any unlucky animal it stumbled upon out here, after so long without the succulent taste of human flesh to satisfy the cravings it must be going mad by now. Why did this cougar not stalk the slums and back alleys of the city like a normal prowler? There was plenty of prey in those dark corners and I would much rather hunt in an environment that I could control. Maybe then it would not have taken me almost a week to get to this point.

At least I was close now.

Unlike the lycans and their ragtag packs, most fera preferred to live a solitary life and the gata were no exception. For this particular cat to be out hunting humans, though, something must have pissed it off to the point where it was unable to change back—a trait that the ferae often despised in their savage cousins. Spending so much time as the animal they carry inside would be enough to drive any shifter insane.

A shriek of laughter draws my attention to the forest floor and I crouch lower on the tree branch I was perched on.

A young couple strolled along the trail some fifty feet below me, their raised voices echoing in the quiet, and I shake my head. To be walking around the woods at night was bad enough, but to do so with the looming threat of 'wild animal attacks' was just idiotic. Did they not watch the news or did they simply not value their lives?

Even against their better judgment, humans seemed predisposed to putting themselves in harm's way. Were they always so self-destructive?

I have been following these two for the better part of an hour now, watching them crash around the woods like drunken fools, oblivious to the dangers that lurked in the shadows just beyond their sight. Perhaps the pungent odor of cannabis surrounding them impacted their common sense. It would do nothing to mask the aroma of live blood pulsing in their veins, though. A shifter could smell that for miles.

The woman loses her footing as she trips over a tree root and stumbles, causing another peal of laughter to spill from her lips as the man next to her takes a drag from the joint in his hand. Neither of them are aware that this is their last night on earth.

They make it too easy.

I feel a tinge of guilt harden in my throat for using them as a decoy like this but quickly swallow it back down. Live bait was the only surefire way to lure this prowler out of hiding, and thus far my own half-human scent has done little to tempt it.

Besides, these two were foolish enough to waltz into the woods at this hour and against the advisement of their local authorities. The inevitable repercussions from their stupidity may as well be a public service to humanity.

The pocket of my cargo pants suddenly buzzes and I mentally curse. Seriously bad timing!

Careful not to make too much noise, I yank out my phone and flip it open. “What?” I growl into the receiver, making sure to keep my voice low. I was so close to completing this assignment and I was not about to alert the couple below me, or my intended target lurking somewhere nearby, to my presence.

“You haven't checked in.” His tone is calm, borderline on bored, and my blood spikes.

Jesus Christ, was this to be my punishment for trying to retire? Hourly check-ins with my handler to make sure I'm still working?

I bristle. “I'm hunting, Chandler.”

“I don't like this any more than you do, Ashe, but the Tribunal has made it very clear that they want your whereabouts at all times.” He sighs. “You're an asset, like it or not. You know they'll never let you just walk away.”

“I'm not trying to walk away.” It did not exactly work out for me the first time; attempting to a second time may very well lead to my death, and I was not too keen on dying at their hands. 'You knew what you were signing up for,' Catalina's words echo in the back of my head and I bite back a groan. “I'm trying to do my job.”

“Just text me your location and wrap this up so we can both go home. Our work's piling up over here and you've hunted this prowler long enough. End it tonight.”

“This wouldn't have been a problem if you could've just tagged the bastard so I could find it faster,” I mutter as I pull the phone away from my ear, open up the map application and send him the coordinates to my location. No doubt he would check it later against the GPS signal from the tracker they had placed in my phone to ensure that it all lined up.

This was absolutely ridiculous.

“There,” I say once it was done. “Proof that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Now if you don't mind—”

A monstrous howl penetrates the night air, cutting off my words and startling the lip-locked couple below me. I crouch lower and narrow my gaze. That sounded close.

“What was that?” Chandler's voice murmurs in my ear, echoing my own thoughts as I squint to see in the scarce light. It did not sound like the hungry cries of any shifter that I was familiar with. It was too guttural, too primal, even for their kind.

The bushes rustle a few yards away and as the woman hurriedly pulls on her blouse a growl whispers in the wind.

“I think our friend just came out for dinner.”

Chandler is saying something but his words fail to register. My focus is trained on the dark figure emerging from the shadows below.

It was quick. Too quick.

Before the couple could so much as blink the creature was upon them, stifling their screams as it held the woman by the throat and sunk its teeth deep into the man's neck. The moon peeks out from behind a dark cloud, bathing the gruesome scene in a ghastly light, and I get my first real look at the prowler.

It stood about seven feet tall on its hind legs if I had to guess, towering easily over its victims. In one fell swoop it ripped out the man's jugular and disemboweled the female with a swipe of its clawed hand. They did not stand a chance.

As it snaps off a human arm and chews it like a bone, I notice a large lump protruding from the side of its neck and a string of curses leave my lips as I count four arms jutting out unproportionately from its torso instead of two.

You've got to be kidding me!

A breeze whistles by, carrying with it the scent of blood. The prowler's ears twitch and it drops the corpses to turn in my direction. Two bone-white horns gleam in the moonlight from the top of its skull as they curved back and around its head, and another curse rumbles in my throat as two sets of beady red eyes meet mine.

The ferae may be wild at heart, but they were only able to shift into a larger version of the animal they carried. Lycans were the only breed caught somewhere between man and monster during the change, twisted by the magic that cursed them. But this deformed creature, despite its initial appearance and the skewed perception of the humans who tried to rationalize the nature of the beast that hunted them, was no shifter.

This thing was a goddamn demon. And it was fucking angry.

“Chandler,” I hiss into the phone, leaning my head back as I fight to keep my own anger in check. “You told me I was hunting a shifter, not a fucking demon!”

“No, no that can't be right.” I can hear him mumbling to someone in the background as he types something on his computer and I roll my eyes. “The energy signature isn't that strong and no one's reported any recent tears in that area. Its pattern is predatory and all evidence pointed to it being a wild beast, possibly a large cougar. Are you sure it's a demon?”

“Tell you what,” I growl. “I'll bring you one of its heads and then you can tell me.”

“What do you mean one of its—” Click.

As usual, I was on my own. Witches. Can they ever get anything right?

“I sure wish you were here right now, Ness,” I mutter to the wind as the demon throws back its horned head in another abnormal howl. The smaller head gnashes its jaws together hungrily, no doubt anticipating a third meal tonight, and I clench my fists. The Reaper's mark is already bubbling to the surface, the chain link tattoo slithering up my body as the ink pooled into my forearms.

I've faced demons alone before but it has been several decades since my last dance with death and these threats were always best handled by two Reapers. They took on many forms over the centuries, were the inspiration behind countless myths, but they all had one thing in common: they never did make killing them an easy process.

And even though demons did not make a habit out of dining on flesh, this one seemed crazed enough to literally rip the fear from its victims' bones.

Long silver-edged blades spring out from the ink gathered in both of my arms, curving outward like twin scythes as they poke through the skin, and I grimace against the pain. Small tendrils of rage swirl in my chest as I stare down at the creature—anger at this beast for complicating what was supposed to be an easy hunt, anger at Chandler for not warning me on what I was up against, anger at Catalina for convincing me to come back, anger at the witches back at headquarters for allowing Nessa to hunt alone and leaving me without a partner—and with practiced ease I wind them into a tight ball and hold it within my chest.

If I was going to singlehandedly take on a demon tonight then I was going to need to harness my rage. It was a slippery slope and if I let the ball uncoil even a little bit then I could lose myself to it. But I'm not feeding on someone else's emotions and my own feelings are in check.

I am in control.

Heat courses through my veins, emitting a soft blue glow just beneath my skin as I rein in my anger, and I feel my muscles hum with unbridled power. Below me the demon crouches down on all fours—no, wait, it has an extra set of arms. All sixes?—like some demonic bull preparing to charge and a grin spreads over my lips.

Despite the situation, a part of me actually enjoyed the feel of energy surging through me, heightening my senses and filling me with inhuman strength. Tapping into the demon fire burning within me was almost exhilarating, like a high; so long as I remain in control and keep that ball of rage tightly wound, small doses were manageable. If I let it unwind for even a moment I could lose that control. I would not be so different from the prowler that I hunted, then.

I narrow my gaze as the demon charges forward, jaws snapping as it gallops toward me at breakneck speed. It was fast, closing the distance between us in three long strides and leaving deep gouges in the bark as it claws its way up the trunk of the tree with cat-like grace.

Luckily, I'm faster.

Before one of its outstretched arms can lash out I spring from the branch and roll forward, twisting my body around midair and hooking the scythes deep into the creature's shoulders. The mangled fur on its back is coarse against my skin and matted with dried blood and dirt. Smoke billows from the wounds as the silver penetrates its flesh, stinging at my eyes, and the stench of death lingers on its breath as it yelps in pain.

Without missing a beat I kick my feet against the tree and propel us away. The demon thrashes its arms as we sail through the air, its body kept from rotating only by my blades as we fall fifty feet to the ground.

Before we crash onto the forest floor I dig my knees into the flat of its back and push off, simultaneously retracting the blades and spinning us around so that the creature was now under me. Using the momentum from the move I throw the demon chest-first into the ground and land a few yards away, sliding to a stop as my heels dig into the earth and the silver-pronged claws jutting from my knuckles create ruts in the dirt.

The beast is back on its feet before I can stand. With an enraged shriek it lunges, rows of crooked yellow fangs nipping for my throat as deadly claws lash out, looking to rip me to shreds.

I quickly duck under its reach and somersault forward, biting back a growl as one of its smaller hands tear into the flesh of my shoulder, leaving behind a deep gash.

Grunting against the pain I strike at its hind leg, the knuckle blades biting into sinew as I twist and yank. A pained yowl erupts from its throat as blood spurts from the wound like molasses, but before it can recover I jump to my feet and leap forward. The blades on my right hand withdraw back into my skin as the Reaper's mark shifts and a double axe head emerges down the length of my forearm just as my knee slams into the demon's spine, knocking it down.

I jab the serated claws into its flesh as I swing my right arm, the blade humming as it connected with the soft tissue between the neck and the smaller head, decapitating the snarling growth in one clean swipe. Black blood oozes from the smoking stump as another shriek rattles in its chest and I pull back my arm, ready to deliver the final blow.

The demon suddenly jerks upright, its arms flailing as it stumbles backward and slams itself forcefully against a tree. It knocks the wind clear out of my lungs. I hear a crack! as bright spots dance around me, but I cannot tell if the sound came from the rough bark behind me or from a rib.

The creature wobbles forward with a snarl before throwing itself back again. My veins glow hotter as pain rips through me and I can feel the tree trunk cave in as I lose my grip on the demon. I slide to the ground, blinking back tears as I struggle to keep my vision from going dark. This thing hits like a goddamn semi!

The rage I kept wound up in my chest uncoils as my anger burns through my body's suffering. It has been a long time since I've been tossed around like this. My blood boils at the thought and I quickly push it back down.

“I'm in control,” I grunt, feeling a thin trail of blood trickle down my chin as I picture winding my rage back into a tight ball. Somewhere in front of me I hear the beast slip as its injured leg finally gives out and with a strangled cry I push myself to my feet. My anger will not consume me tonight.

Heat radiates in the air around me as energy churns in my veins, numbing my senses to the pain as the Reaper's mark swirls across my skin. My body will heal, but as the demon fire still dances in my vision I'm not sure if my sanity will last much longer before my rage takes over. I need to end this now.

Twin swords extend from my arms and in a blur of motion I pounce in the direction of where the demon fell, slashing out in a blind fury. My blade glides across its shoulder just as a clawed hand reaches out and cuts across my cheek, knocking me back. My eyes flash with blue flame and I gnash my teeth as white-hot threads pull at the back of my mind. For fuck's sake, I just needed one clean shot!

A low growl permeates through the air between us and I snap my head up at the sound.

The woods are awash in a gray haze, different hues painting the landscape in varying shades, but where the demon stood was devoid of any color. No flaring red, calming blue or vibrant green auras like there would be if something that could harbor emotion was standing before me. Just a pitch black void, a shadow in the moonlit gray.

Something was wrong. Although demons did not feel the same emotions that they fed on, they still had an aura. The energy that radiated off of them was often electric and shrouded them in a translucent white glow. But this thing was pissed off; I felt it when our eyes met earlier. If nothing else, it should be lighting up my demon sight like a bright red flare! Only dead things have no aura.

What the hell is this thing?

The shadow pounces, four limbs outstretched as it goes for the kill, leaving its underbelly exposed. A fatal mistake.

Quickly I bring the swords up to meet the demon. The silver slices into flesh and fur, skewering the beast cleanly through the chest and gut as its weight lands on top of me. Searing pain grips me as my ribs throb and a claw finds its way through my side, but with a twist of my wrist I plunge the blade into its heart. Smoke spills out of the wound as I rip out the still-beating organ and the demon finally stops moving.

When I'm certain the creature is dead I summon the last of my strength to shove it off of me. The dirt feels cool against my skin and I lay there for a few moments, catching my breath as the ball of rage dissolves in my chest. Slowly, the gray fades from view and my vision returns to normal.

No longer repressed by the demon fire raging in my blood, pain explodes throughout my body, sizzling and popping my nerves like firecrackers as if it was the Fourth of fucking July. A mental inventory of the damage reveals a laceration in my left shoulder that will limit movement in that arm awhile, a small scratch across my cheek and neck, several bruises and minor cuts that were sure to cover me from head to toe, a deep puncture wound to my side and what feels like two cracked ribs.

It has definitely been a while since I've had this wild of a night. I was going to need a lot of whiskey for the recovery phase. The sooner I call this in, the sooner I can go home and get some liquor in me. Rapid healing hurt just as much as the actual injuries and hard liquor usually helped numb my senses to the process.

I carefully pick myself up off the ground and fish my phone out of my pocket, thankful that the brick did not suffer any damage during the fight. I'm about to redial Chandler's office number when something catches my eye in the dark.

“Hello,” I muse, cautiously bending over and gripping a fistful of skin just behind the ears. “What have we here?”

Glazed red eyes stare blankly from sunken sockets and a dark-spotted tongue lolls out from a slacked jaw. Rows of jagged yellow teeth gleam in the moonlight as I glance the severed head over.

“You must've been feeding on some pretty bad rage for a long time to get twisted into something this ugly,” I mutter, scrunching my nose at the putrid odor of rotten flesh emanating from the stump. “But I'll be damned if you don't smell like roadkill that's been baking under the South Texas heat for a few weeks.”

If it was not for the second head, extra set of arms and bone horns jutting out of its skull, then this demon could have easily passed for a werewolf. Calling it a cougar was a gross stretch of the imagination, but then humans have been rationalizing these kinds of things for millennia. They would grasp at any straw, no matter how farfetched, to try and make sense of the nonsensical.

I toss the severed head next to the rest of the body, wincing as the sudden movement sends a burst of pain down my right side. Goddammit, I need that drink.

Before I can place the call a sudden gust of wind whips by, howling through the branches above me and tousling my hair. I look down to see a thick fog swirling at my feet, the silvery cloud billowing up from the ground like smoke, and in my surprise I stumble back.

The fog follows, lapping at my boots as it slithers up my legs and over my arms, clinging to me like a cold shroud. I open my mouth in protest but the fog pours into me, slipping down my throat as it engulfs my face and fills my lungs. My vision goes white and I feel myself floating. It was like my skin was being ripped from my bones as steely fingers twist at my insides, pulling me apart piece by piece until I could no longer feel my own body, and as I try to scream only silence and blinding white light surrounds me.

I sink into it for what seems like an eternity.

***

When the smoke finally clears, I'm no longer in the woods and the demon is no longer in sight. The floating sensation ebbs as my senses return and my lungs burn, like I had been submerged in water and they were starving for air, and greedily I gulp in a mouthful of oxygen.

Pain racks my body, reminding me of the beating I had taken earlier as my nerves spark with renewed feeling, and I bite down a groan. I could have lived a whole other lifetime without ever going through that again.

My eyes bulge as I realize what just happened and my muscles grow taught.

I was pulled through a backdoor.

There was only one way that this could have happened.

Shit!

Warily I scan my surroundings, the Reaper's mark crawling across my bruised skin as I take in the tawny walls around me. Judging by the floral-printed loveseat next to me and the small television stand in front of me, I'm standing in the middle of a living room. The sliding door to a balcony is visible behind long vertical blinds and just beyond the glass I catch a glimpse of downtown in the distance, the skyscrapers twinkling like diamonds in the night.

Was I inside someone's apartment?

I turn my head, eyes flicking past a dark hallway before coming to rest on a familiar face seated at a small dining table on the other side of the room. My eyes widen in recognition. “You?”

The girl lets out a muffled squeal from behind the hand pressed to her mouth. A flash of silver and sapphire catches my attention in the florescent lighting and my heart stills.

She put it on, she actually put the damn thing on!

“Ashe?”

I narrow my eyes as I feel my blood begin to boil. “What did you do?”

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A/N: Demons and Reapers and backdoors, oh my!

Side note, today's demon was inspired by the legend of the Ozark Howler (with some minor alterations, of course)! Don't forget to vote if you like the story so far, and feel free to leave a comment :)