Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(17)

His attention shifted toward the back door, a dagger that was the size of a small sword in his hand.

“Just one.”

“Demon?”

“Yes.”

She frowned at his absent tone. “You don’t sound very certain.”

“My senses tell me that it’s a male Miera demon.”

“But?”

“But that species of demons are pacifist. They don’t have any offensive weapons.” He paused, his gaze still focused on the door. “At least none that are natural.”

Well something had nearly liquefied several of her vital organs.

“Could he have a human weapon?” she demanded.

Who knew what the humans were secretly building at Area 51?

Death rays . . . photon guns . . . light sabers.

“Anything’s possible,” he muttered.

“Great.”

Abruptly he turned to face her, his expression hard.

“Listen to me, Sally, I want you to—”

“No,” she interrupted.

His brows snapped together. “Can I at least finish?”

“No.”

“Dammit, Sally.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She lowered her voice to mimic his sexy growl. “Sally, run away like a good little witch while I play the conquering hero.”

He made a sound of annoyance. “You read too many romance novels.”

True. She loved romance novels.

Why not?

It wasn’t as if she were ever going to have a real-life Prince Charming sweep her off her feet.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” She pointed a finger in his face. “You want me to run and hide while you stay and fight.”

He muttered a low curse, leaning forward until they were nose to nose.

“Would you rather I asked you to stay and fight while I run away?”

She held her ground, meeting him glare for glare.

“I’d rather you accept that I might be able to help. I’m not completely worthless, you know.”

“I never . . .” He pulled back, a nerve twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Christ. There’s no winning this argument.”

“Then don’t waste time on it,” she suggested. “We need a plan.”

“Too late,” he muttered, grabbing the music box as the back door was thrust open.

Sally held her breath as a shadow fell across the floor and a delicate creature stepped into the kitchen.

She gave a choked sound of surprise as she studied the chubby demon with a round head and translucent skin that was nearly hidden beneath the brown robe.

Expecting a towering troll-like figure, or even a cyborg, Sally blinked in shock.

“Is that a Miera demon?”

He shifted close enough for her to feel the rigid tension of his muscles.

“Yes.”

“He looks like a banker,” she muttered, but despite the creature’s bland appearance, she found herself pressing against Roke’s shoulder as he crept near.

The entire room was overwhelmed with a choking menace that made her hair stand on end.

Moving with a fluid ease that seemed odd for the pudgy body, the Miera slowly walked around the edge of the circle, flicking out a forked tongue as if it could sense the magic.

“Lower your shields,” the demon at last commanded, his human English remarkably polished.

Like a posh Englishman.

Sally shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He halted directly before them, his tongue still flicking. “I mean you no harm.”

“That would be easier to believe if you hadn’t just tried to kill us,” Roke drawled.

“All I want is a box,” the creature said. “Give it to me and I will walk away.”

Sally hissed in shock.

Stupidly she hadn’t actually considered why they would suddenly be attacked by a strange demon. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have immediately guessed it had anything to do with the box.

It had, after all, sat in this abandoned cottage for years without attracting attention.

Beside her Roke smiled, clearly having suspected why the demon had attacked. He held up the box so the glyphs etched in the polished wood were visible in the candlelight.

“You mean this box?” he taunted.

A flick of the tongue. “Yes.”

“Why?” Roke prodded. “Is there something special about it?”

“It belongs to me.”

“Odd. You don’t look fey.”

The pale, round face remained emotionless, but the sense of malevolence thickened in the air.

Sally frowned. Somehow she suspected that the demon wasn’t deliberately trying to frighten them with the heavy atmosphere of evil.

Instead it was as if it was . . . leaking out of him.

“It was a gift,” the demon smoothly countered.

Roke tapped the top of the box with his dagger, his gaze noting the intruder’s most subtle reaction.

Vampires were masters at detecting weakness in their enemies.

“What does it do?”

“Nothing.” The creature lifted a hand. “It’s merely a decoration.”

Roke shook his head. “You don’t risk war with the vampires over a trinket.”