Before I could turn around to leave, a large slash suddenly appeared in the air and three people stepped out of it. At once, the supernatural tattoo on my right arm began to burn. I gripped it without looking away, and the part of my brain that wasn’t freaking out figured out what was going on.
The minion I’d killed hadn’t snuck up on me using his supernatural stealth and speed. He’d simply crossed from a demon realm into this one through a gateway that I hadn’t known was there.
I didn’t have time to wonder if the realm was new, or if it had always been there and was now accessible to this world through an ominous crack. The three new minions seemed startled to see me, but then their gazes roved from the blood on my dress and cardigan to the very incriminating pile of minion ashes near my feet. When the palest one stretched out hands that turned into living, writhing snakes, it was all I could do not to scream.
Not three minions. Two minions and an unkillable, shape-shifting demon.
Standing and fighting would be suicide, so I snatched my knife from the pile of minion ashes and began to run. The demon barked out an order in a language I recognized all too well, then the minions gave chase, and they were fast. If I had been a normal human, they would have had me in five seconds flat, but I wasn’t normal, and right now, I was glad about that.
I was also glad I had a mental map of the closest hallowed ground near the North Shore park. In fact, I’d memorized every plot of hallowed ground near my house just in case something like this happened. St Joseph’s Catholic Church was about seven streets away. If I made it, the demon couldn’t touch me because demons couldn’t cross hallowed ground. Minions could, but I’d already killed one today. Why not go for more?
Since sand was harder to run on, I headed toward the sidewalk along the park, needing the flat ground to increase my speed. Behind me, I could hear the minions cursing. They hadn’t expected me to make them work for this. That gave me grim satisfaction as I darted around benches and tables in the deserted picnic area. My knees and ribs still throbbed from my earlier fight, but nothing was as great a painkiller as survival instinct. As I ran, I counted down the wooden street markers in the park for encouragement. Eighty-Third Street. Eighty-Fourth. The church was just after Eighty-Seventh Street. I was going to make it.
Then, even though he was much farther away, I heard the demon yell, “She’s the Davidian!” in a rage-filled roar, and I knew all bets were off. My speed might have been preventing the minions from capturing me, but it also outed me as number one on the demon’s most-wanted list.
The demon was no longer content to send his minions ahead of him like a bunch of hunting dogs. Several quick glances over my shoulder showed him now tearing after me himself, and he made the minions look as if they’d been moving in slow motion. Benches, tables and other large objects were hurtled my way as he didn’t just chase me, but actively tried to kill me.
I ducked and weaved around as many as I could, but some still found their mark. I cursed when something heavy smacked me in the back, and while it made me stumble, I forced myself not to fall. Instead, I put all of my energy into running, staying within the limits of the park despite its greater dangers of projectiles. Taking the main road, A1A, would give me a straight shot to the church, but even at this hour, cars were on it. I couldn’t risk someone else getting hurt, and demons loved nothing more than collateral damage.
I’d just rounded a corner that brought me briefly back onto the beach when something slammed into my legs, knocking me over. I rolled at once, making sure not to stab myself in the process, and was back up when a loud, trumpeting snarl sounded overhead.
Brutus, my pet gargoyle, flew toward me, the dawn’s rays highlighting his large, beastly form in different shades of pink. I would’ve been relieved to see him, but I was too shocked by the man riding on Brutus’s back.
The minions and demon saw them, too, and at their confused expressions, I remembered that they didn’t see a large man on the back of a hulking, grayish-blue gargoyle. Due to Archon glamour, all they saw was an angrily squawking seagull somehow carrying his muscular male passenger, and from the way they cocked their heads, they didn’t know what to make of the sight.
“Ivy, duck!” the man yelled.
I hit the sand even as I reeled with shock. Only one person in the world could treat the deadly gargoyle like a winged pony, and that was the same person who’d broken my heart months ago, and then disappeared.
Adrian.
CHAPTER TWO
BRUTUS SOARED OVER ME, and Adrian almost grazed my back from how close he came. Seconds later, I heard multiple thumps and a scream. I rolled over in time to see the minions fall to the ground. Only bloody holes remained where their heads had been, and when Brutus whirled back around, his leathery wings were spattered with red.
Then Adrian jumped off Brutus and torpedoed himself onto the snake-armed demon. Two-hundred-plus pounds of pissed-off male slamming into the demon caused him to plow back into the sand. Adrian’s bulk pinned him down, but those coiling serpents surged toward him, gleaming fangs extended to strike.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
Before the first syllable left my lips, Adrian had already grabbed the serpents below their snapping jaws. With a brutal jerk, he ripped their heads off. The demon let out an ear-splitting howl and black blood spurted from where the snakes’ headless bodies still protruded from his wrists.
“Adrian,” the demon spat. “Don’t do this! Your father—”
“Is dead,” Adrian cut him off, then ripped the demon’s throat out. I caught a glimpse of something pulpy before I turned away, my stomach clenching with disgusted relief. Demon physiology was different, so what Adrian had just torn out was the equivalent of the demon’s heart.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t kill him. Only three weapons in the world could kill demons, and one of them had melded into a tattoo on my arm that now hurt as though it had caught fire.
Adrian climbed off the demon. I stared at the snake heads, which, like the demon, weren’t turning to ash because the demon wasn’t really dead. He was just unconscious, so he wouldn’t disintegrate and neither would his severed serpentine arms, apparently.
“Were they poisonous?” I asked, still trying to recover from everything that had just happened.
Adrian glanced at the heads. “Oh yeah,” he said, sounding oddly amused. “Demon poison is the deadliest there is.”
“Then why did you grab the snakes with your bare hands?”
Fear for him sharpened my voice. It took all the self-control I had not to run over and check to make sure that he hadn’t been nicked by one of those lethal fangs. I wasn’t about to do that, of course. I might be thrilled that he hadn’t been killed, but I was still furious with him over other things.
Adrian let out a contemptuous snort. “I know that demon. Vritra is used to everyone running from his snakes, so he never expected me to go right for them. Sometimes, a person’s most powerful weapon is also their greatest weakness.”
My mind flashed to how close those snakes had come to biting Adrian. “How’s that?” I muttered, trying to ignore the roughly lyrical cadence of his accent that was as unusual as he was.
Adrian’s gaze raked over me as he came closer. “People count on their most powerful weapon too much, so when it’s gone, they don’t know what to do. The moments before they figure that out is your best chance to kill them.”
A cold-blooded assessment, but his ruthlessness didn’t surprise me. It was to be expected since Adrian had been raised by demons, hence the snake-armed demon’s comment about Adrian’s “father.” Foster father would be a more accurate way to describe Demetrius, the demon who’d snatched Adrian up when he was only a child. Demetrius wouldn’t be snatching up any more children. I’d seen to that when I killed him.
“What’s that?” he asked, suddenly lunging toward me. I jumped back, but Adrian had already grabbed me. His large hands slid along the cardigan covering my arms, and I yanked back, refusing to let him touch me. “There’s blood on your clothes,” he said, sounding concerned. “Did one of them hurt you?”
“Nope,” I lied. Yes, I was still hurt, and that counted for more than my physical injuries. “It’s from the other guy, who’s probably blown away by now.”