The Darkest Passion

Ding, ding. And there it was at last, the starting bell. Strider popped to his feet, the muzzles of both his guns outstretched. He aimed both at those gaps between the rocks and squeezed the triggers simultaneously. Pop, pop.

Screams erupted.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Reyes dart from behind a tree trunk, sprint forward and climb the wall, tossing a knife along the way. There was another scream. Maddox sprinted forward as well, jumping over the wall with a single leap, gunfire ringing out. Only, Maddox hadn’t carried a gun, Strider realized, stomach tightening. He was the target, using his body as a distraction.

Sabin quickly joined him and Kane attempted to do the same—until a bullet somehow ricocheted off a rock and embedded in his shoulder. Figured. Kane cursed loud and long as Strider rounded the wall, disabling as many guns as he could through the holes.

Then a gust of lemon-scented wind ruffled Strider’s hair, and he stilled. Gwen, he thought. And sure enough, he spotted the blur of her hair as she darted up the wall and fell inside the circle. Sabin had clearly made good on his promise. Strider followed on her heels, remaining on the edge of the highest ledge, weapon trained, just in case.

He needn’t have bothered. The Harpy squawked, claws raking, sharpened teeth chomping. Men screamed and collapsed. A few tried to run, to scramble over the rocks. They didn’t get far. As fast as the tiny wings on her back allowed her to move, she easily caught them and snapped their necks.

And just like that, the enemy was conquered.

Yes. Yes! Defeat sang inside his head.

Too easy, he thought. He hadn’t even worked up a sweat. Not that he was complaining. Much. The harder the victory was to achieve, the better the rush afterward. Occasionally, if the victory was sweet enough, his demon writhed in pleasure for days. Hot damn, that was better than sex. Better than anything, really. He’d only experienced such a thing twice, but he craved the next time like a drug.

Reyes and Maddox were bleeding profusely as they meandered through the masses, kicking away weapons. A few feet away, outside the enclosure, Strider heard the crunch of rocks and the snap of a twig. He turned, gun moving with him. He relaxed when he saw Kane settle against a tree trunk, trying to dig the bullet out of his shoulder. Disaster had had to mend himself from similar catastrophes a thousand times before, so he knew how to go about it.

Beside him was Amun, prone and writhing. The big guy must not ever have joined the fray. He’d clearly remained at the sidelines, the memories he’d stolen from that Hunter already overtaking him, demanding his attention.

“Gwen,” Sabin called.

Once again, Strider’s attention veered. A panting Gwen was pressed against the rocks. Blood coated her face and hands. All of the warriors had stepped away from her. All but Sabin. He was the only one capable of calming her down when her dark side overtook her.

As Sabin approached her, Strider joined the others in weaving through the fallen humans. Most were lifeless, silent. A few were moaning. He quickly aimed and fired, ending their misery. Except for one. That one, he crouched beside. There was something about the man…No, kid. Something about the kid that caused him to pause. And with the pause, reluctant compassion sparked to life.

That kid looked up at him through glazed eyes, realized who he was and scowled. “Bastard,” he spat, blood spraying from his mouth. “Don’t think this is the end. I’ll rise from the grave if necessary. I’ll end you.”

Such hatred seemed wrong in someone so young. The boy could be no more than twenty years old and had dark hair and eyes, reminding him of Reyes when they’d lived in the heavens. There were cuts all over his face and holes in his left shoulder and stomach, both of which were gushing blood. They’d decided to kill these Hunters, decided not to take any prisoners, but Strider suddenly found himself regretting that choice.

Which made no sense. If the kid had been able, he would have gutted Strider without hesitation. Still. His strength in the face of defeat was humbling.

With a sigh, Strider removed his T-shirt, ripped the fabric into two pieces and used the first to bind the kid’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” he ground out.

“Saving your life.”

“When you just tried to end it? No. Hell, no. I don’t want to be saved by a demon.” He tried to scoot away, but was too weak and shaky to get more than a few inches.

“Too bad.” Strider used the other strip to apply pressure to his stomach. “I never give Hunters what they want.”

There was a tense pause. Then a weak, “This won’t change anything.”

“Good. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Finally the kid gave up and just lay there as Strider bandaged him. Which was a good thing. The demon had begun to view their interaction as a challenge. “So what’d we do to you to earn your eternal hate?”

Eyelids that had been drifting closed snapped open. “As if you don’t know,” was the snarled reply.

Strider rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Just so you know, we can’t be everywhere at once, and we have enough trouble with our own lives. There’s no way we could have done whatever it is you think we’ve done to those you love.”

“My name isn’t dude, asshole.”

Nice of him to ignore everything else Strider had said. “Well, I thought it was better than calling you Holes.”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that.”

The kid ran his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. You want to know the name of the man who will one day destroy you? It’s Dominic. My name is Dominic.”

“Actually, I don’t recall asking what your name is. I don’t really care,” Strider said, and it was true. “Now that I’ve saved your sorry ass, you can deliver a message for me. Tell Galen we know about the girl. The demon- possessed girl, if you need more clarification.”

Already pale, Dominic became chalk-white. “I don’t know…what you’re talking…about.” Blood loss had him gasping.

Yeah. Right.

Multiple shadows suddenly fell over the prone human, and Strider glanced up. Most of the others had closed in and were surrounding them. Not a single one complained about his disobedience. Compassion clouded their features the same way it must have clouded his.

He returned his attention to the boy. “And do yourself a favor,” he said, finishing the patch job. “When you get back to wherever your hidey-hole is, take a good long look at your leader. I know those wings of his make it seem like he’s the angel he claims to be. But guess what? He’s just like us—demon-possessed. Only his demon happens to be Hope. Why do you think you feel so optimistic about the future every time you’re in his presence? Why do you think you experience crushing disappointment every time you leave him? That’s what he does, you know? The source of his strength. Building people up and tearing them down.”

“No. No…wrong…” Dominic’s eyelids drifted closed. This time, they didn’t open. There were lines of strain and pain branching from his eyes and mouth now, and hollows were already forming in his cheeks. He needed a transfusion, but with no medical supplies here, such a thing was impossible.

“Text Lucien and tell him to try flashing here again, wherever here is.” Strider’s hand clenched. He didn’t want this jerk to die. Not after all his hard work.

There was a shuffle of clothing as Gwen did as he’d asked. A few seconds later, she said, “Yes! He made it. He’s at the temple and is going to follow our spiritual threads to reach us.”

Lucien had been all over the world and could flash anywhere he desired. But he didn’t know offhand exactly where someone he was tracking went. He had to follow the trails of energy they left behind in the spiritual plane.

Strider cupped the human’s jaw and shook. “Open your eyes, Dominic.”

A moment passed. Nothing. He shook again. Dominic moaned.