Flagstaff, Arizona
July 2009...
The sky had grown dark and ominous with an otherworldly blackness, when only a moment before the sun had been shining. I knew in my gut that it wasn't a storm, but a horde of demons the likes of which I hadn't seen in years. I knew I was over my head, so I did what any proper demon hunter would and tried to haul my butt out of there as fast as I could, but I was already too late.
The demon bitch was wearing the body of a redhead this time, probably a whore from the looks of her. I had never had much luck with redheads, not that it mattered. She was persistent, I'll give her that, but she wasn't going about it the right way at all. If she'd really wanted me, she should have asked if I'd be willing to trade my soul for Riley's. Sometimes demons aren't all that bright. That's probably how they end up becoming demons.
"Rhys, darling," she said, smiling seductively, "why must you make things so difficult?"
"Bite me," I retorted. Not exactly the most original or intelligent of replies, and certainly not something you'd say to a vampire, but it was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. I was seriously starting to tire of her games. I knew I had a couple of choices. I could either try and shoot my way out of there or make a run for it.
The problem with demons is that you can't really kill them. The best you can hope for is wounding the body it's wearing badly enough to render it useless, or if you have enough time, you can exorcise its ass back to hell, but at the time, dealing with an entire horde was way above my skill level.
As it happened, the choice was made for me.
The next thing I knew, the bitch had flung me across the room without barely lifting a finger. I was slammed against a wall and fell to the floor, dazed and confused. It seemed she was done playing games and finally meant business.
"What the hell do you want?" I managed to mumble. I already knew the answer to the question, but I thought I might buy myself a little time by asking. I knew I wasn't going anywhere until the room stopped spinning.
"Darling," she almost purred, "I've told you before. I just want you."
I blinked a few times to clear my vision and noticed two more demons had appeared, one on each side of her. The poor bastards whose meat they were wearing looked like bikers. Not the aging, flabby ones you always run into in bars who are trying to recapture their youth. These guys were big and mean-looking. They probably had rap sheets the length of War and Peace. I'd run into douchebags like them before. They were the kind of guys who would beat the crap out of you just for looking at them the wrong way and not bother to ask questions later.
She flicked a finger at them, and before I could react, one of them had yanked me off the floor and pinned me against the wall, a hand around my throat.
"I don't want to hurt you Rhys," I heard the bitch say, "but one way or another, you're coming with me."
"Like....hell....I....am," I managed to rasp, one slow word at a time. I could feel my throat closing, and the harder I tried to suck in a breath, the worse it hurt. Lights were starting to dance before my eyes, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I blacked out. It was act now or become the demon's bitch for all eternity.
I somehow managed to pull the .38 from my jeans, shove it into the demon's gut, and squeeze the trigger. I knew from the look on his face, he was as surprised as I was. He promptly let me go, suddenly more concerned with his own bleeding gut than with carrying out his mistress' orders.
I doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The other one lunged toward me and somehow I managed to squeeze off another shot and shove the wounded demon into the other two, giving me just enough time to stumble past them.
I didn't get very far before I felt her fling me across the room again, like a rag doll. This time, I crashed into a cabinet, glass shattering around me. I laid there dazed for a moment before the second demon came at me.
I don't know how I managed to keep my wits and stay conscious, but I squeezed off another shot, this one ripping into the guy's knee, giving me enough time to stumble to my feet and head for the door, but before I could get there, I heard another shot and felt a searing pain tear through my left shoulder. I looked up and saw a third demon standing in my way, a gun pointed in my general direction. If I wanted to escape, I'd have to get through him first. I was so close and yet so far.
"You're surrounded, Rhys, darling," I heard the demon bitch say behind me. "There's no escape."
I felt my shirt getting wet and sticky with blood, and I gritted my teeth against the pain.
"The Lycan bitch is as good as dead. You can't win, darling, so you might as well give up while you still can."
I felt anger rising at the mention of Riley, and despite my aching body, I felt more determined than ever. I turned to face her, my face flushing with hatred and rage. Too many people had died already; I wasn't going to let them add Riley's name to the list.
I called up the words than had been drilled into my head since boyhood. "Crux sancta sit mihi lux. Non draco sit mihi dux..." I watched with some sadistic sense of satisfaction, as she grimaced in pain. I knew it would take more than a few words of Latin to drive her and the horde back to hell, but at least, it might buy me enough time to make my escape.
I continued praying, turning back toward the door and gritting my teeth as I fired a fourth shot into the one demon who stood between myself and freedom. The bullet found its mark, blood blossoming on his chest. He went down in a heap, and I rushed past him into the eerie darkness that seemed more night than day.
Somehow, I managed to get to my car, but just as I was opening the door, I heard a howl and felt a shiver up my spine. Hell hounds. I'd talked to other hunters who'd encountered them, but I'd never seen any myself, and I wasn't sure if Dylan or David had either. According to legend, if you saw one three times, you were a goner. There was no way I was going to die that way. Not if I had anything to say about it.
I fumbled around for my keys with a shaking hand and managed to get the Mustang going, breathing a sigh of relief and muttering a prayer of gratitude to whatever God was listening. I squealed the tires and pulled out onto the road, heading in the direction of the monastery, hoping I could get there before the horde caught up with me.
The last thing I heard as I sped away was the sound of her laughter. I gunned the engine, pushing the gas pedal into the floor. Something shot out in front of the car. I'm not sure what it was. Just a shape. Demon, hell hound, I wasn't sure what. I swerved to avoid it and lost control of the car. After that, everything went black, and when I woke up, I couldn't even remember my own name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flagstaff, Arizona
August 2009...
The constant steady beep of the cardiac monitor was the only sound that broke the silence and the only hint that the man who laid upon the hospital bed was still alive. Tubes and wires extended from his body helping him breath, monitoring his heart, pumping him full of saline and whatever drugs the doctors felt necessary in order to keep him alive. Morphine wasn't one of them. As far as they could tell, he was feeling no pain.
According to authorities, the car he'd been driving had smashed into a tree, totaling the car and severely injuring the driver. Blood tests had come back negative for drugs and alcohol, and it was assumed the driver had somehow lost control of the vehicle. Either that, or it had been a suicide attempt.
The car's trunk had been full of weapons — an assortment of blades and guns, none of which had been registered — along with several other strange items, including rock salt and silver ammunition. The plates on the car had been reported stolen several months previous, and the car had no valid registration or insurance.
The car and the accident were as much a mystery to police as the driver. Without a cell phone or any kind of valid identification, they could find nothing in the database that told them who the man might be. Even his fingerprints had come up negative. It was almost as if he didn't exist.
They dubbed him a John Doe and hoped he regained consciousness so questions could be answered, but the doctors were doubtful. Too much damage, they said. They doubted he'd live long enough to regain consciousness, much less answer any questions. Nothing short of a miracle could save him now, and there had been some discussion about disconnecting the machines that were keeping him alive.
No visitors came to see him, no family, no friends. Only the chaplain who would pray over the man and ask that God's will be done. Little did he know that God had nothing to do with it.
July 2009...
The sky had grown dark and ominous with an otherworldly blackness, when only a moment before the sun had been shining. I knew in my gut that it wasn't a storm, but a horde of demons the likes of which I hadn't seen in years. I knew I was over my head, so I did what any proper demon hunter would and tried to haul my butt out of there as fast as I could, but I was already too late.
The demon bitch was wearing the body of a redhead this time, probably a whore from the looks of her. I had never had much luck with redheads, not that it mattered. She was persistent, I'll give her that, but she wasn't going about it the right way at all. If she'd really wanted me, she should have asked if I'd be willing to trade my soul for Riley's. Sometimes demons aren't all that bright. That's probably how they end up becoming demons.
"Rhys, darling," she said, smiling seductively, "why must you make things so difficult?"
"Bite me," I retorted. Not exactly the most original or intelligent of replies, and certainly not something you'd say to a vampire, but it was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. I was seriously starting to tire of her games. I knew I had a couple of choices. I could either try and shoot my way out of there or make a run for it.
The problem with demons is that you can't really kill them. The best you can hope for is wounding the body it's wearing badly enough to render it useless, or if you have enough time, you can exorcise its ass back to hell, but at the time, dealing with an entire horde was way above my skill level.
As it happened, the choice was made for me.
The next thing I knew, the bitch had flung me across the room without barely lifting a finger. I was slammed against a wall and fell to the floor, dazed and confused. It seemed she was done playing games and finally meant business.
"What the hell do you want?" I managed to mumble. I already knew the answer to the question, but I thought I might buy myself a little time by asking. I knew I wasn't going anywhere until the room stopped spinning.
"Darling," she almost purred, "I've told you before. I just want you."
I blinked a few times to clear my vision and noticed two more demons had appeared, one on each side of her. The poor bastards whose meat they were wearing looked like bikers. Not the aging, flabby ones you always run into in bars who are trying to recapture their youth. These guys were big and mean-looking. They probably had rap sheets the length of War and Peace. I'd run into douchebags like them before. They were the kind of guys who would beat the crap out of you just for looking at them the wrong way and not bother to ask questions later.
She flicked a finger at them, and before I could react, one of them had yanked me off the floor and pinned me against the wall, a hand around my throat.
"I don't want to hurt you Rhys," I heard the bitch say, "but one way or another, you're coming with me."
"Like....hell....I....am," I managed to rasp, one slow word at a time. I could feel my throat closing, and the harder I tried to suck in a breath, the worse it hurt. Lights were starting to dance before my eyes, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I blacked out. It was act now or become the demon's bitch for all eternity.
I somehow managed to pull the .38 from my jeans, shove it into the demon's gut, and squeeze the trigger. I knew from the look on his face, he was as surprised as I was. He promptly let me go, suddenly more concerned with his own bleeding gut than with carrying out his mistress' orders.
I doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The other one lunged toward me and somehow I managed to squeeze off another shot and shove the wounded demon into the other two, giving me just enough time to stumble past them.
I didn't get very far before I felt her fling me across the room again, like a rag doll. This time, I crashed into a cabinet, glass shattering around me. I laid there dazed for a moment before the second demon came at me.
I don't know how I managed to keep my wits and stay conscious, but I squeezed off another shot, this one ripping into the guy's knee, giving me enough time to stumble to my feet and head for the door, but before I could get there, I heard another shot and felt a searing pain tear through my left shoulder. I looked up and saw a third demon standing in my way, a gun pointed in my general direction. If I wanted to escape, I'd have to get through him first. I was so close and yet so far.
"You're surrounded, Rhys, darling," I heard the demon bitch say behind me. "There's no escape."
I felt my shirt getting wet and sticky with blood, and I gritted my teeth against the pain.
"The Lycan bitch is as good as dead. You can't win, darling, so you might as well give up while you still can."
I felt anger rising at the mention of Riley, and despite my aching body, I felt more determined than ever. I turned to face her, my face flushing with hatred and rage. Too many people had died already; I wasn't going to let them add Riley's name to the list.
I called up the words than had been drilled into my head since boyhood. "Crux sancta sit mihi lux. Non draco sit mihi dux..." I watched with some sadistic sense of satisfaction, as she grimaced in pain. I knew it would take more than a few words of Latin to drive her and the horde back to hell, but at least, it might buy me enough time to make my escape.
I continued praying, turning back toward the door and gritting my teeth as I fired a fourth shot into the one demon who stood between myself and freedom. The bullet found its mark, blood blossoming on his chest. He went down in a heap, and I rushed past him into the eerie darkness that seemed more night than day.
Somehow, I managed to get to my car, but just as I was opening the door, I heard a howl and felt a shiver up my spine. Hell hounds. I'd talked to other hunters who'd encountered them, but I'd never seen any myself, and I wasn't sure if Dylan or David had either. According to legend, if you saw one three times, you were a goner. There was no way I was going to die that way. Not if I had anything to say about it.
I fumbled around for my keys with a shaking hand and managed to get the Mustang going, breathing a sigh of relief and muttering a prayer of gratitude to whatever God was listening. I squealed the tires and pulled out onto the road, heading in the direction of the monastery, hoping I could get there before the horde caught up with me.
The last thing I heard as I sped away was the sound of her laughter. I gunned the engine, pushing the gas pedal into the floor. Something shot out in front of the car. I'm not sure what it was. Just a shape. Demon, hell hound, I wasn't sure what. I swerved to avoid it and lost control of the car. After that, everything went black, and when I woke up, I couldn't even remember my own name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flagstaff, Arizona
August 2009...
The constant steady beep of the cardiac monitor was the only sound that broke the silence and the only hint that the man who laid upon the hospital bed was still alive. Tubes and wires extended from his body helping him breath, monitoring his heart, pumping him full of saline and whatever drugs the doctors felt necessary in order to keep him alive. Morphine wasn't one of them. As far as they could tell, he was feeling no pain.
According to authorities, the car he'd been driving had smashed into a tree, totaling the car and severely injuring the driver. Blood tests had come back negative for drugs and alcohol, and it was assumed the driver had somehow lost control of the vehicle. Either that, or it had been a suicide attempt.
The car's trunk had been full of weapons — an assortment of blades and guns, none of which had been registered — along with several other strange items, including rock salt and silver ammunition. The plates on the car had been reported stolen several months previous, and the car had no valid registration or insurance.
The car and the accident were as much a mystery to police as the driver. Without a cell phone or any kind of valid identification, they could find nothing in the database that told them who the man might be. Even his fingerprints had come up negative. It was almost as if he didn't exist.
They dubbed him a John Doe and hoped he regained consciousness so questions could be answered, but the doctors were doubtful. Too much damage, they said. They doubted he'd live long enough to regain consciousness, much less answer any questions. Nothing short of a miracle could save him now, and there had been some discussion about disconnecting the machines that were keeping him alive.
No visitors came to see him, no family, no friends. Only the chaplain who would pray over the man and ask that God's will be done. Little did he know that God had nothing to do with it.