He twisted toward the fridge and reached for the weapon at his belt. That ominous feeling resurfaced, the one that said he’d missed a clue, and now it would kick him right in the balls.
There was only darkness. Yet the menacing growl continued. Every nerve strangled Gunn. The asswipe was teasing him, taunting him.
Demons didn’t just suck on souls. They got their thrills from torturing innocents, tenderizing them for the devouring. And not falling prey to their tricks was rule number one when dealing with the leeches.
Gunn darted into the hallway and up the stairs. On his way, he stole a quick glimpse into the living room at the old couple crouching behind the sofa. Hiding might be the one element that saved them, coupled with making sure the demon’s attention remained diverted on him.
Upstairs, he swung along the corridor, his footfalls ritual drumbeats, a calling for a final showdown. For the last two years, he’d tackled each job with precision, taking control and accepting no shit. No distractions. Keep innocents safe. But he’d fucked up here. The moment he had caught a whiff of sulfur, he should have demanded everyone leave. Instead, he’d shacked up with Cyra. No doubt in the world, the mistake was his. It always would be and he should have known better. His fist strangled the hilt of the lasso’s wand and he gritted his teeth. How could I be so stupid?
He palmed open the already ajar attic door and sprinted up, his pulse racing, and he gasped for each breath as he scanned the room. Pitch black shrouded the location, and he took the lighter from his pocket. With a flick, a golden flame breached the darkness.
Earlier, the bastard had had him pinned to the wall and was choking him, but Gunn had remembered Cyra’s crystal. With no reason other than instincts kicking in, he had jammed the stone into the speck’s eye. It had recoiled, then the demon had vanished through the outlet.
Had the crystal connected it to Cyra, giving the demon the power to capture her, or had it scared him away?
Silence smothered him. He quickened his steps and searched every corner in the attic. “Where the hell are you? Come out.”
Standing where he’d found the portal last time, he extended his lasso throughout the air. No tingling.
Panic was a noose around his neck as he ran from one room to the next. “Cyra! Where are you?”
“Cyra!” he bellowed, his throat parched.
Not a single sound, and the quiet clawed at his insides.
The demon had tossed Cyra into Hell. No other explanation. Now, he felt lost, unsure where to turn next. Without a portal, how was he supposed to retrieve her? His thoughts kept swinging to where she’d vanished. Maybe he’d missed a sign? As a child, he’d always misplaced socks, toys, his foster dad’s keys… But his foster dad had made him take slow breaths and remember where he’d seen the item last. Nine times out of ten, he’d found the lost object. So he rushed to the kitchen, and patted the walls, desperation demanding he never stop. What had he missed? He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Pacing wasn’t helping. “Think, think.” Yet his mind cascaded into oblivion and reminded him of his constant mistakes. They burned in his mind, memories jumping from how Cyra made him want to change his life for the better to how he’d caused Cherri-Anne’s death. The two battled inside him, tearing him to shreds, hurting so bad, he wanted to yell and punch his way out of this prison. Anything to make the grief stop. To stop the voice in his head screaming that he’d now killed Cyra.
His muscles tensed and every inch of him trembled from the anger rocking him. He darted to the counter and prodded amongst the spell contents Cyra had used, but he had zero magic ability or knowledge of how to use them.
A solution sailed across his thoughts like a tornado, reminding him it was the only answer. Bait the demon, negotiate Cyra’s rescue, and send the beast to where it belonged. Sounded easy, yet it left him taut and ready to snap because it came with a massive risk. Him getting tossed into the Underworld.
Anguish cut through him as it had two years ago. If he failed, he might deliver himself straight to the monster, and everyone he knew in the demon hunter industry would die, including Cyra. Still, faced with a dead-end with no other resolution, he couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
Nerves jolted beneath his skin. This had to work.
He called out the few words he’d learned at Argos to attract a demon. To call forward a spirit involved herbs and enchantment. He had none of those, but, luckily for him, the fiend was already in the house.
“I summon you, demon, to this room,” he called out and clasped the knife in one hand, his lasso in the other. “I openly offer myself in exchange for Cyra.” He huffed, ready to rip its head off, and needed to try anything. After all, Gunn had knowledge in his head on other demon hunters that this fuckwit would love to get his grubby hands on.
No response, but the prickly air chilled a few degrees. “One-time sale, asshole.”
Rapid breaths tightened his lungs, and his fingers slid along the hilt of his weapon. He drove the table and chairs into the back corner, their scraping punctuating the silence.
At the exact moment he turned, the area between him and the window danced with what looked like heat waves. “Let’s do this.”
He waited for the slightest movement.
In the blink of an eye, a gray funnel formed, the hole widening by the second. Sheer blackness faced him. Just like the time he’d saved Cyra.
Fuck, yeah. His skin crawled with anticipation. Where are you?
A fog stretched out from behind the portal, blocking the doorway, rising above him.
Tricks. Demons had the fattest egos in the universe and making themselves look bigger was about intimidation.
Gunn
