I jumped and twisted around, reaching for my gun, which wasn’t in my belt holster, where it should be. Neither were my knives. I was precariously unarmed.
“Who’s there?” Panicked, I turned back the other direction, finding no one.
“Wesson Colt,” came the voice again. “Child of Nathaniel Smith, adopted son of Xavier Colt.”
I straightened my shoulders and prepared for a fight. Just because I didn’t have my weapons didn’t mean I was hopeless. I’d been training since I was a child, and I could hit nearly as hard as Atlas.
“You should not have come here,” the voice said. “But I am pleased to see you.”
“Yeah, I fucking bet,” I snarled. “Why hide? Come out. Show yourself so I know who I’m dealing with.”
“This is my domain, my realm. Your witch made it for me,” whispered the voice. It echoed from all around, seeming to come from the air itself.
“Asmodeian demon,” I said. “I summon you. Show yourself.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” it said. “Such arrogance. You cannot compel me, boy. Not here. Not anymore.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but there was nothing I could do until I put eyes on the beast itself. “Where are you? Come forward. If you’re so almighty and powerful, why are you acting like a coward?”
Yeah, I was baiting it, but some clawing need inside urged me to make sure it was the demon so I knew how to handle it.
“Are you sure?” Its sinister laughter made the hairs on my arms stand up, sending shivers down my spine. “You might not like what you see.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said. Though the demon that had torn open my chest nearly killed me. Maybe I should have been more scared than I was.
Silence fell again before a burning sensation tunneled through my stomach into my lungs, ripping apart my veins, boiling my muscles. I gasped and dropped to my knees, scrambling for my shirt to rip it over my head. My blood had turned a sickly shade of black, my skin suddenly translucent enough to see the vile stuff pumping through my molecules. I scratched at my skin, trying to get it out of me, but it only grew worse. Agony raced through my sternum, up my throat, over my tongue. I spat out brimstone and sulphur, my eyes scalding, my skin sliding from muscle and bone. My ribs popped, and a thick, dark hand exploded from my chest like something out of an ’80s movie.
Screaming, I lurched up, and the nightmare fell away. I was back in the bedroom, the soft glow of little flames flickering from all around me. Marta sat on the mattress at my right, a washcloth in one hand, a burning white candle in the other.
“Hey there,” she said, leaning down to pat my forehead with the cool cloth. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”
I grimaced against the headache between my eyes as I remembered why I was laid up in this bed in the first place. I glanced down my body, gaze narrowing on the deep purple claw marks across my chest. They looked as bad as they felt.
“How long have I been out?” My voice sounded like someone had taken a sandblaster to it, and my throat ached from the raw force of talking.
“A week,” she said. “We’re back at the Harlot estate, but I just regained enough magic to heal you properly.”
I stared at her, taking her in fully. She looked rough—heavy bags under her eyes, dark shadows in her cheeks, her hair in a frizzy ponytail around her head. None of that distracted from her beauty, though. She still looked like she could kick my ass in stilettos.
“Where’s Atlas?” I asked, pushing myself up into a seated position against the headboard.
“Whoa, take it easy.” She leaned forward to help me, but I pushed her away. I needed to move, to do this for myself. “You’re still in rough shape.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Where’s my brother?”
She sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Raiding the bar, I’m sure.”
“Sounds about right.” I snorted and shook my head. Atlas was hedonistic at the best of times. Where I relied on logic and a clear head, he lived to fuck and fight and drink. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe we were raised by the same man.
“He wouldn’t leave your side for the first few days,” she continued. “I had to force him to take a break today.”
I ignored the heat in my cheeks at the embarrassment of Atlas being worried about me. “Any sign of the demon?”
I fought the shiver that went through me at the mention of the reason we were in the first place, and I touched my chest, where the burn of my nightmare still lingered, almost like the monster was still trying to claw its way out.
“No,” she said, sitting down on the mattress next to me. “But we haven’t left the house since we got here. He wants to ride around, see what we see, but I don’t think we should leave the protection of the wards.”
I could see both sides. While it would be a good idea to understand precisely where we were and what we were dealing with, until she had her magic back and until I was back on my feet, doing that could be dangerous. Atlas couldn’t defend himself alone, and we needed to regain our strength.
