Demons (Darkness #4)(31)

Stefan had spent a few hours interrogating Trek after they’d captured him, who was holed up in the basement of the mansion waiting to go to the council and get his punishment. The caped buffoon had a lot of interesting information to divulge, like their extensive gathering of humans to make Dulcha and for draining blood for power. And Andris’ teaching, alluding to him being the mastermind behind all their dealings thus far—something Stefan had always suspected. Most importantly, their collecting of ancient human texts about calling demons and ruling the world.

The latter made Stefan chuckle. Andris had been telling tall tales to the naïve and greedy white mage—to manipulate him, no doubt. Ruling the world only existed in storybooks, and only lasted for a short time before the “good guys” rolled through and tore the mantle from the villain. Trek was an idiot, but an idiot with golden information.

“Prepare yourselves,” Stefan commanded in a low tone.

Through the link he could feel Sasha, the hum of her daily activities creating nothing more than small mood fluctuations. Safe.

He bent his knees and breathed through his mouth. Here we go.

A magical tug had the containment spell dropping away, the confinement suddenly thrown wide. The demon within stood still for one moment of uncertainty, noticing the disappearance of the cage. The next second, it was action.

With a scream like a dying cat, the creature tore out of the circle, heading right. Silvia whipped across the cement as clawed feet scraped. It dove for a pocket of air between Jameson and Sid, not aiming to fight or kill, just to escape. Strange.

Jameson’s pale gold sword whipped up, slashing across its middle. The creature bellowed, sliding away and running the opposite direction. Flesh flapped, its back flayed away from the rest of its body. A pungent smell of rot wafted by Stefan’s nose as it passed, screeching.

Tace met it this time, his sword slashing a thigh. The bright red blade seared a stringy leg, making the thing stumble and change direction, this time right for Stefan.

Memories flashed. The knock at the door, slow and solemn. The empty dining room table, dinner getting cold. A tear, unabashed, falling out of Jestin’s eyes as he told Stefan the news. Nightmares. Decades and decades of nightmares; going up against a demon like this and failing. Claws ripping into his father. Teeth cutting out his mother’s throat. A baby dying. Stefan curled in a ball while the beast ravaged his family.

As the memories crowded his brain, sweat covered his body. He squeezed the hilt of his blade. Images of blood clouded his vision. Spilled blood. Flying blood. Blood splashed across the cold dirt.

Pressure condensed his chest. A dull roar rang in his ears.

Screaming. His parents screaming.

“No!”

Almost unable to feel it, he slashed. A claw came sailing passed his head. He ducked with plenty of time, faster than this worthless creation of death. He struck downward with his sword, slicing off an arm. His other hand brought up his knife even as his eyes stung. The memories, so fresh, suffocated him.

“Die!” he heard himself say, his dagger piercing the face. He let go of it and stepped back, quick sword work slashing and hacking, cutting chunks out of masticated flesh. Parts dropped away. The thing screeched and howled. Still he worked, vision gone red. Pulsing pressure in his ears. His mother screamed in his dreams.

“Please, no!”

“Boss.”

Panting, lost, he stabbed and stabbed. Over and over. Until it was just a lump of burnt flesh on the ground.

“Boss...”

Dirty and sweaty, Stefan stilled his body. Dragged himself out of a life’s worth of nightmares.

“You got it, Boss?”

As Stefan’s vision cleared, he found himself looking up into the logical brown eyes of his second in charge. Jameson held out a hand, resolute, asking to help Stefan up. Stefan’s gaze swept the ground, the lumps at his feet no longer recognizable. Blood smeared his body, sinking into the grooves of his muscles.

“I didn’t realize these things bled,” he said as he allowed Jameson to help him up.

“It’s the blood sacrifice. They don’t bleed much, but…”

But when you pull them apart, piece by piece, you’re bound to find a little of the substance that created them.

Stefan grunted in acknowledgement as his gaze scanned the rest of the Watch. Grim faces and tight lips, one and all, eyed him with suppressed wariness. He’d reminded them why they called him Boss. He just wished he’d done it with a little more decorum.

“Have someone clean all this up. Don’t mention any of this to Sasha,” Stefan instructed. She wouldn’t understand why Stefan had to keep her away.

“She know what happened?” Jameson asked quietly as they made their way over to Toa.

“Yes. I came clean.”

“It help at all? With the nightmares?”

Jameson had lost a family member, too. Like Stefan, he blamed himself for not being there. They all did. They also blamed the Mata for fleeing like cowards.

Only Stefan lost a mother, though.

“She’s not like…most females.” Stefan cleared his throat. “She’s…got my back.”

Jameson gave a small nod. “Good. Helps to spread the wealth.”

“Wealth, meaning, baggage?”

“Exactly. I plan to take the leadership when you make Regional. Just so you know.”