Christine Warren - Huntress

“The Ripper is not a human,” Grady replied. “He’s a demon.”

Cold dread washed over me at his words. “I hope you’re speaking metaphorically,” I said.

The warden shook his head. “I wish I were. We paid little attention to him when he was killing humans. As you said, a human murderer is none of our business. But eventually he tired of slaughtering humans and moved on to vampires. I can only assume it’s because we’re harder to kill.”

“Better sport,” Michael said grimly.

“Exactly,” Grady agreed. “The wardens have tracked him down on several occasions, but we’ve been unable to kill the bastard. We assumed that he was a vampire, but we once managed to stake him through the heart, and that only angered him. The last time we went up against him, the Chief Warden managed to take the Ripper’s head.”

“That certainly should have done it,” I said.

Supernatural creatures (vampires, werewolves, faeries) are susceptible to different things (sunlight, silver, cold iron), but beheading will kill anything. Correction: beheading should kill anything.

“That’s when we realized what we were up against. You see, at first we thought we were tracking a whole group of rogue vampires. It made sense because the human police have had such varying descriptions of the Ripper.” Grady paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts, and a faraway look crept into his eyes. When he continued, his voice was soft and gently laced with fear. “There were four of us that night. We had him surrounded and we all rushed him at once. Even so, I didn’t think we were going to be able to take him down. His strength was incredible. Then James got in a lucky blow and sliced the Ripper’s head right off his body. The body fell and … and an eerie blue light rose up out of it. The light, it rushed over James, surrounding him, and then it disappeared. We all stood still for several moments, unsure of what had just happened. And then James looked at us and his eyes were glowing red. He turned on us then. The only way I can describe it is that the Chief was no longer in control of his body. The demon was.”

“So the demon now inhabits the body of your Chief Warden?” I asked.

Grady shook his head. “We found James two weeks later, wandering the streets. Physically, he was unharmed, but he doesn’t remember anything that happened to him from the time he cut off the Ripper’s head until he woke in an alley in Whitechapel. I have no idea whose form the demon has taken now, but it seems to only be able to occupy dead bodies—those of humans who are already deceased, or vampires.”

I blew out a breath, trying to reconcile what I knew of demons with what the warden had just told us.

Finding a true demon is rare , Devlin had once told me. For one to exist in this reality, it has to take a shape that is natural to our world , he’d said. Demons find the human body too limiting. You could live five hundred years and never see one .

Wouldn’t that have been nice? I thought.

“Warden,” I said, “go back to your Regent and tell him that I will come to London, but I will not come alone, and I will not grant him the courtesy of an audience. In fact, considering that Michael swore to kill Sebastian if he ever saw him again, I think it might be a wise idea for you to keep him inside his townhouse while we’re in the city.”

“Thank you, Miss Craven,” Grady said, smiling. “You are our last hope.”

I smiled back, putting a great deal more confidence into the gesture than I felt. “We will find a way to slay this demon, but I give you fair warning—if I discover that Sebastian had anything to do with summoning it into our world, he will answer for it with his life.”

The warden nodded gravely. “I’ve seen firsthand what the Ripper has done to my vampires, Miss Craven. The young ones, they don’t turn to dust like the old ones do. I know what tortures they endured before he put them out of their misery. I’m sure the Regent wouldn’t do anything to bring harm to our vampires. But if evidence should come to light that he has any connection with this monster, I will gladly stand by your side against him.”

I hate winter. You’d think that, as a vampire, it would be my favorite season. After all, the days are shorter and the nights are longer, which is undeniably helpful if you’re a prisoner to the sun. To me, however, winter is such an ugly time of year. I would gladly trade shorter nights for leaves on the trees and flowers in bloom, for the smell of green grass under my bare feet. Looking out the carriage window at the streets of London—thick with the soupy gray sludge of dirty, melting snow—I longed for spring.

“What has you so pensive, mo ghraidh? ” Michael asked, his Scottish accent barely discernible anymore, unless he was speaking Gaelic.

I turned my attention from the world outside to the man who sat next to me. Devlin was driving the carriage and Justine had elected to ride up top with him, so it was just Michael and me inside. Devlin didn’t care much for sea travel and, after being confined all day to his cabin on the ship, he was fairly itching for some fresh air. Our poor driver had been somewhat confused to be sent home in a hack.

“I was just thinking how long it’s been since we were last in London,” I replied. “Can it really have been three years ago this spring?”

“I believe it was,” he replied. “If I’d thought we would be so long between visits, I might have objected to you buying that house. Not that it would have done me any good.”

I smiled. “I don’t see any sense in all that money just lying about.”

“It isn’t lying about,” Michael groused. “It’s earning interest.”

“And plenty enough to allow me to keep one small house in London and still be a wealthy woman.”

Michael arched a brow at me and, the way the moonlight cast his cheekbones in sharp relief, he looked more like a devil than the archangel he was named for. “One small house in London, and a rather large house in Spain. Then there’s the villa in Italy, and the plantation in America.”

I ran my fingers lazily down his chest, toying with the buttons on his vest. “Are any of them likely to bankrupt me?” I asked.

He snorted, as if I’d asked a ridiculous question. Which I had. If there was one thing I didn’t worry about in this world, it was money. Michael, with his Scots frugality, was a genius with finances. Over the years, he had managed to multiply my substantial inheritance almost beyond imagining.

“Then don’t complain about the houses,” I said. “You know how much I dislike living out of hotels.”

He gave me a look. “Aye, every time we’re in one place longer than two weeks, I’m afraid you’ll buy an estate.”

“But, darling,” I purred, slowly popping the buttons of his vest open one by one. “Won’t it be nice to be in our own house and not some noisy hotel?”

He growled and pulled me onto his lap so that my legs were straddling him. “Only if Ginny’s got a fire blazing in the hearth and fresh sheets on the bed.”

“Sleepy?” I asked, calling up a little practical magic. With a thought and a flick of my wrist the curtains of the carriage snapped shut. Being a witch often has its advantages.

“Not remotely,” Michael replied, pushing my skirts up until his hands gained access to my bare thighs. “Why, you wicked girl. You’re not wearing any drawers.”

I bit my lip and smiled. “Are you shocked?”

“Scandalized,” he murmured, just before his fingers found me.

By the gods, I was hot and wet and so ready for him. Furiously I tried to calculate if we had time to finish what we’d started. Then all reasonable thought went out of my head as his hand snaked up to wrap around the back of my neck and pull my lips to his. His tongue entered my mouth as one long finger entered my body, and I arched against him, swaying with the rhythm of the carriage.