Black Widow Demon (Demon Outlaws) Read online

  “She bewitched my son,” the first man complained, defending his stance. “If not for Creed’s interference, he’d be her slave now. But with Creed gone, I don’t know what will happen to him. He has started to follow her again.”

  “Creed thrashed your son to within an inch of his life for following her around like a pup in the first place,” a third man said. “He claimed your son tried to touch her against her will.”

  “Creed spread that lie because he is already bewitched by her.”

  “If he is bewitched, how could he leave her for training?”

  “Who says no to assassin trainers when they are recruiting?”

  No one could deny the truth of that observation, Blade thought. Most of those who declined recruitment as a Godseeker assassin ended up dead.

  The second man spoke up again. “I’m not certain luring a man for pleasure warrants burning a woman at the stake.”

  The third man murmured an uneasy agreement.

  “It’s not the pleasure part that warrants it,” the first one insisted. “It’s the bewitching. Raven enslaves men. You’ve seen how the young ones look at her, how she pretends not to notice. People always said her mother slept with a demon,” he added. “But when it was a girl that was born and the birth didn’t kill her, everyone thought they were wrong.” A note of worry crept into his tone. “Who knows how many more spawn there might be, born in mortal form instead of as monsters? What if there are more like her?”

  Blade, from his hiding place in the shadows, propped his broad shoulders against the wooden wall of a building and tipped his head back to stare at the emerging stars, lost in thought.

  Women had only the protection of men in this world. Some men were better protectors than others. Many were no protection at all. But who was he to judge? He had once been an assassin himself, although he had never worked in the service of the Godseekers. He had been strictly for hire, killing men, women, and children alike, without the luxury and freedom of choice. Once he had reached a level of skill that let him name his own price, he had become more selective in the work he accepted.

  Even at his lowest and most desperate, however, he had never deliberately made anyone suffer. Whether the woman named Raven was spawn or not, he wanted no part of this.

  What was happening here was not his problem.

  But to burn a woman at the stake over something so natural as sex?

  Blade thought of Ruby and the other two women who had worked independently as whores in the saloon he’d once owned, and his gut knotted. Ruby’s face in particular haunted him. In his own way, he had loved her. He did still, and a part of him most likely always would.

  He rubbed at his thigh, where a demon in its monster form had once torn and eaten his flesh, then left him in the desert for dead. He hated demons. He had not yet made up his mind about spawn, if more of them did exist, because while he was grateful to Ruby and his friend Hunter for saving his life, it was Hunter’s wife Airie who had given it back to him.

  The men’s voices drifted off, and Blade mentally ran through the position and feel of his pocketed knives before pushing away from the wall and moving silently through the shadows. He followed the crowd, knowing that he could not let this unknown woman suffer when he had the means to end it quickly for her.

  He was careful not to hurry or look overly interested in what was going on around him. Strangers came and went in places like this, seeking work in the newer mines when the old ones tapped out, but he did not want to be memorable to the locals. He particularly did not want to draw the attention of the Godseeker responsible for this judgment. His relationship with the Godseekers as a whole was precarious. Some of them would consider him a deserter.

  He should mind his own business and be on his way.

  The night air blowing off the ice-tipped mountains carried the first hints of winter, and Blade was grateful he had purchased the warm leather coat. At least he had money and his knives on him because he doubted if he’d be able to collect the remainder of his belongings after what he was planning to do tonight. While the knives were his weapon of choice, he would feel the loss of his rifle and crossbow equally as much, perhaps more.

  The town’s single, very long main street followed the gentle curve of the land. As the crowd surged toward what passed for a jail—at least according to the creaking sign swinging by cast-iron hooks from a roof extension over the steps—a slight figure stepped lightly through its open door. She held her shackled hands at her neat waist, keeping them partially hidden in the folds of her dress. Short, tousled black ringlets streaked with red glinted in the torchlight, the curls framing high cheekbones and a delicate face. Her gaze scanned the top of the crowd. Blade, near the back, felt a sharp jolt of awareness as her eyes drifted over him, then came back for a second before moving on again when she did not recognize him.

  He could scarcely believe that this tiny, lost waif of a woman-child, trying so hard to hide her fright from the crowd, had been labeled an evil, demon seductress.

  Her ankle turned over on the first step and she wobbled, unable to maintain her balance with her hands bound. Her shoulder struck one of the sturdy beams supporting the roof extension as someone in the small crowd thrust out a hand to steady her. Blade, too, took an involuntary step forward.

  “Don’t touch her! If you do, she’ll own you,” barked a man as he emerged from the doorway behind her. He had a slight stiffness in his stance and the trace of a limp. His hard eyes sparked with arrogance and authority.

  This, Blade decided, was the Godseeker responsible for judgment in this town. He remembered the type well and despised them to this day.

  A taller, thinner man followed the Godseeker, ducking his head as he, too, passed through the door. Both men dwarfed the woman, making her appear even smaller and more fragile in comparison.

  The crowd swarmed onward, leaving a small amount of open space where the trio could walk. People fell silent as the enormity of what was about to happen finally settled in. Yet still, no one protested.

  Blade studied the scattered rooftops, fewer now and too far apart for his purpose, then the surrounding area for some sort of shelter that might hide what he was about to do. He needed to be close to her but not too close. He intended to escape afterward.

  The woman made no sound as she was led to the carefully constructed weave of shredded kindling and splits of knotted pine. Crude stairs ran to a platform built on top of the weave. From the platform rose a thick stake of sturdy desert ironwood. The platform was too high for him to have a good target. He would need to stand too far back in order to gain enough throwing leverage. He might be able to manage it, but he couldn’t guarantee his aim from such a great distance.

  Blade looked around. Crumbled rocks and crushed boulders had been piled near the side of a road that was little more than a trail, as if a site were being cleared for new construction. Blade inched his way around the back of the crowd, sliding into the shadows to reemerge near the rock pile. It was far from stable, and as he clambered to the top bits of loose gravel and dirt trickled in tiny landslides behind him, but the larger stones held firm beneath his weight.

  He had a far better view from this height and proximity. From a distance she had been an attractive woman. Up close, she was stunning. She had beautifully shaped eyes, lined liberally with long lashes that swept her cheeks when she closed them. Gold-toned skin and full, curving lips distracted him further. He could see why she had been accused of being a spawn. Demons in mortal form were considered irresistible to mortals. And demons had pursued mortal women for their remarkable and unusual beauty, so their offspring would be astonishing.

  Blade was not easily impressed by the physical appearance of a woman, however, regardless of the attraction that seared through him. It was her dignity and refusal to plead for her life or appeal to the crowd that truly arrested him.

  Someone lit the torches that had been strapped to long poles embedded in the earth around the platform. Blade spotted a c
oil of rope near the woman’s feet. She had not yet been strapped to the stake, yet she stood ramrod straight and without support. He silently applauded her for refusing to give in to the fear she no doubt was feeling. He slid one of his knives into his palm and waited for his opportunity. He couldn’t save her, but he could at least allow her to keep her dignity intact. No one deserved a death such as this.

  The Godseeker stood at the front of the platform and lifted his hands for silence. The light from the torches danced in his eyes. When he spoke, the effect of his words mesmerized the audience.

  “For a long time I’ve been receiving warnings about my daughter’s behavior. Mothers and fathers alike have told me that she’s tempted their sons. They expressed concern for how she dresses and that she doesn’t show enough respect for the way her own mother raised her. She’s too free with her smiles, provoking jealousy and competition among our men.”

  A few in the crowd murmured agreement. Many more remained silent. Blade could almost enjoy the Godseeker’s eloquent speech if the outcome were not so sobering. Women were a rare and valuable commodity in this part of the world, but when it came to disputes over sex, they were always to blame.

  Blade weighed the knife in his hand, undecided. Perhaps he had read the situation incorrectly. If the Godseeker was the girl’s father, then his plan might be to auction her off to the highest bidder, the fire being a lesson to those gathered and nothing more. But why, then, accuse her of being spawn, which would only diminish her value?

  The Godseeker’s next words recaptured Blade’s attention.

  “Two nights ago,” the man said, his gaze sweeping the crowd, “she tried to tempt me, her own father. When I resisted, she stabbed me.”

  An accusation of incest, expressed so openly, was more serious again. Blade reassessed the woman. He had once owned a saloon and lived with experienced whores. Despite the cut of her dress she did not strike him at all as a temptress, experienced or not. Besides, if she’d had her choice of young men, as the Godseeker insinuated, why would she choose to tempt this one? Of the two of them, the woman and the Godseeker, who would prove the greater temptation to whom?

  Blade’s eyes narrowed as he considered shifting his target and planting his knife in the Godseeker’s heart instead. But it would serve no purpose. Life was not guaranteed to be fair. No matter what he did, the woman was as good as dead. He would keep her from suffering, that was all. He refused to feel pity or guilt for a situation he had not created.

  It was not like him to hesitate this way. He knew what needed to be done. He pushed sentiment aside and drew back his arm.

  The Godseeker, however, had one more revelation for the gathered crowd. He held up the stone he wore on a chain around his neck. Blade, who had grown up in the Godseeker Mountains, recognized it and its purpose. The goddesses had given these amulets to their favorites so that other goddesses would know the men had already been claimed. The stones also warned of the presence of demons, helpful to anyone attempting to cross through demon territory. The amulet’s owner could make a fortune in trade by going places most men would not dare.

  “When she tried to tempt me my amulet flared, marking her as a demon. Because of her, and others like her, the goddesses will remain afraid to return. Demon spawn are an abomination that must be wiped from this world. For this, she’s been sentenced to a trial by fire so that the world can see her for what she is. If she fails it, she’ll face full Godseeker judgment and execution.”

  And if she passed the trial, she’d still be dead—but in a slow and horrifying manner. Blade saw no hope for her. He waited for the Godseeker to move so he could get a clear shot.

  The Godseeker bent to collect the rope at the woman’s feet. As he did, she brought her bound hands over his head to clasp the base of his skull, braced her elbows against his collarbone, and brought up one knee to connect with his face. She ground her bare heel into his thigh before releasing her grip on him, his roars of pain indicating to Blade that she’d targeted the stab wound already administered.

  Somehow she had managed to free her hands. The cuffs, no longer linked, gleamed silver on her narrow wrists in the torchlight. In a flurry of skirts and wild, bouncing curls, she spun away from the Godseeker’s lunging fingers to leap off the back of the platform and vanish into the night.

  Blade froze, as stunned as the rest of the crowd. If she’d had any hope or intention of disproving her father’s accusations that she was spawn, she had just failed. Miserably. There could be little doubt in their minds now as to what she was.

  He dropped his arm and slid his knife back into his sleeve.

  On the other hand, she was still alive.

  Chapter Two

  Raven ran for several hours in the pitch black of night, backtracking through the scrub and the trees until she was confident she had eluded her pursuers.

  She braced one hand against the gnarled trunk of a juniper, catching her breath in short, pain-filled gasps. She had better than average strength and endurance, but it was not unlimited. Her bare feet were dirty and sore. Her chest ached. Cold seeped through her skin as her strained muscles tightened in the biting wind.

  Yet she had escaped. Awareness of the fact filled her with elation, overriding her discomfort. Once she could breathe easily again, she worked at removing the silver bracelets still surrounding each wrist. Her fingers, naturally strong, had grown tougher from years of working with hot metal and gemstones, and the clasps soon snapped.

  Wolven howled, their high-pitched, eerie cries echoing through the hills, and she started, the remnants of the broken cuffs dropping from her fingers to the ground. She’d given no thought to animal predators, and these ones, genetically engineered a long time ago as a cross between wolves and mountain lions in an ill-fated attempt to fight demons, were more fearsome than most.

  Raven, however, knew wolven were the least of her problems. The rush of adrenaline-fueled euphoria passed, and the precariousness of her situation slowly crashed in around her. This world was a dangerous place for women on their own. They were seen as the possessions of men. But she had nowhere to go, no one who would dare help her, and no idea which direction to take.

  As she ran, she had headed toward the petrified sandstone foothills and the snow-tipped mountains rather than into the desert. She stared at those distant peaks, faint, whitish-blue shadows in the night. Creed was somewhere in those mountains, but she did not know how to find him. No one other than Godseekers dared enter the Temple of Immortal Right where the assassins trained. Not if they wished to survive.

  That meant it was the logical place for her to go. She was fast, strong, and smart. If she could get in alive, Creed could protect her. He would know what to do.

  But she needed to find it.

  Resting her back against the juniper she slid to the ground and drew her knees to her chest, burrowing her arms between her thighs for warmth. Night pressed in on all sides. Although she would never admit it out loud, not even to Creed, she had grown afraid of the dark. Where once it had been a haven, the blackness now brought nothing but nightmares.

  Her life, which had never been easy, had gone wrong in other, even more bewildering ways. Ten years ago, along with many people from the hometown of her childhood, she and her mother had followed Justice from the mountains to the edge of the desert on his quest to reestablish Old World mines and create a new order of Godseekers. Creed—several years older than Raven and always protective—had followed for her sake and her mother’s, not out of any sense of duty to Justice or love of mining.

  While Justice had always been abusive to them, Raven and her mother had been master artisans. The jewelry they’d crafted was sought out by traders from the four corners of the world, and their work had been valuable enough to him that they had not feared for their lives. All of that had changed six months ago, at the same time as the departure of the demons. Now her mother was dead, and Creed no longer here to help her. But only because he did not know what was happening. She w
ould find him, and as he always did, he would make things right.

  The idea of seeing her old friend and protector again gave Raven renewed hope and equal determination. Perhaps she could become an assassin, too. Creed was persuasive, with an amiable manner that inspired trust in others. He would speak to the trainers on her behalf and convince them to take her in.

  She rested her cheek on one knee and assessed her situation as matter-of-factly as possible. First, she would have to kill Justice. He would know she’d turn to Creed. She had threatened it often enough, and Justice had always been cautious of him. He also knew where the Godseeker assassins’ temple was while she did not. If he got there before she did, she would have no hope at all.

  She might find some clue to its location among Justice’s belongings. She also had other things to collect. With no food, shelter, weapons, or decent clothing, heading into the mountains would be suicide, and Goldrush was the only place within miles to collect what she needed.

  She would gather the necessities first, and then she would kill Justice. Thanks to the backtracking she’d done in an attempt to throw off her pursuers, she was not all that far from home. Her personal belongings would be easy enough to recover while Justice and his men spent the remainder of the night searching for her. Justice would not give up. She clenched her icy hands into fists as she stood. No one would expect her to return, and daylight was hours away yet.

  The walk back to town seemed endless. Deep shadows thrown by the stars and moon consumed all that they touched, and Raven, afraid of being lost to those shadows as well, skirted their edges until she reached the town’s boundary shortly before daybreak.

  The world was a dark and silent place in the hours between the yawning of the moon and the rising of the morning sun. No longer able to avoid the shadows, she slipped as quickly as possible through them until she reached the house she had shared with Justice.