Paula Altenburg - Black Widow Demon

He gently brushed a thumb across her beautiful lips, lost in thought. Even though his attraction to her had not abated, it was somewhat easier to ignore now that he was responsible for her safety. The fact that he understood her allure was a defense mechanism, and that she did not have complete control over it, helped, too.

It was her attraction to him, however, that had taken him so completely by surprise. But he would not again forget that she was half demon, or that demons hated men. Even her mortal half had no reason to like men that he could see. He would help her until she recovered, but to trust in a false fascination for each other would be suicide.

That didn’t mean he was immune to her other charms. Her courage, dangerous as it was, was admirable. He still could not quite believe her bold attempt on the Godseeker’s life.

He sighed, looking above and around them. In order to help her he had to get them off this mesa—it was too close to Goldrush and very exposed. She needed a place to rest, to regain her strength. The snakebite remained angry and red, her calf swollen to nearly twice its size so that she could not bend her knee if she tried. He couldn’t carry her across the desert in this condition, and even if she were lucid, she would not be able to walk very far on her own.

As much as he disliked the idea, he had to move her to a temporary shelter where he could tie her and gag her. He could see no other alternative. If he left her alone and unrestrained, she might wander off or make enough noise to alert her pursuers. He would only make a quick run into town and be back before nightfall—when the real terrors would begin.

He got to his feet, working a cramp from his leg with a wince. Then he lifted Raven into his arms. Despite her small size she was not light, and he grunted from both the physical effort and his faint surprise. He again wished he had left town while he’d had the chance. If he had not tried to interfere in her life, she would not have fought him and the snakebite would never have happened.

He had caused this, and he could not abandon her. Once, a long time ago, he had been left for dead, and if not for the intervention of strangers, he would have died. Instead, he had been crippled until a half demon had made him whole again, giving him back his life. So while he despised most demons and viewed their spawn with suspicion, he would give Raven the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

He settled her head in the crook of his shoulder and started up a narrow, natural footpath that led to the desert above.

Midday was never the best time to travel into the desert, although with winter fast approaching it was cooler than it might have been otherwise. Blade supposed he could be thankful for that.

Dust-covered mesquite and rough terrain stretched for miles. The low foothills and mountains on the other side of the town would have provided more ideal places to hide, but the majority of the searchers would have explored them for that very reason. The place he finally settled on for her was not perfect—a grove of spindly yucca brush at the base of a low, rock-tabled plateau carved by the wind, interspersed with creosote bush. It was obvious shelter that any search party would be inclined to explore, but the hideaway was so close to town and in the same direction from which the last riders had returned, it was very likely they had already checked the spot.

He deposited her in the shade, his back and shoulder muscles groaning with relief. The relief quickly turned to worry when he realized he had nothing to bind her with. He sat beside her beneath the long, leathery leaves of a graying yucca and rested a contemplative wrist on one knee as he surveyed her still form.

Around her neck she wore an amulet on a long, gold chain. He had seen such replicas before, although this was of higher quality than most. It was not a goddess amulet. Fashioned after the one the Demon Slayer possessed and made from common red soil hardened by desert varnish, people purchased them from corrupt dealers on the mistaken belief that they offered physical protection from demons.

He eyed her dress. It was already beyond salvation. He doubted if the plain, lightweight fabric could hold her if she truly wished to be free, but he suspected she would not be aware she was restrained unless she became coherent. It wasn’t likely to happen in such a short time after the bite and was a risk he would have to take. He gripped the hem of her dress and began to tear strips from it. When he got to town he would try to find her something more practical to wear to replace it.

The rapid movement of her eyes beneath their lids as he worked indicated she was hallucinating again, although this one didn’t seem as violent as the others. Once he tied her down, he covered her as best he could with his coat so she would not be so…exposed. Then, he stood and stared at her for a long moment. At the curve of her throat and the feverish blush to her cheek. At the short, soft riot of curls he had tucked behind one pretty ear. He breathed in her unique, subtle, and tantalizing scent—roses and warm desert sage.

Leaving her tied like this seemed cruel, but he had done far worse things in his life and for less noble reasons. He had no other choice. And she was not as delicate as she appeared.

He swallowed hard. He would return as quickly as possible.

…

Creed did not know what to make of the disturbing rumors of spawn that had reached the Temple of Immortal Right. All he knew was that the rumors meant trouble.

Despite the chill air that blew through the mountain range and into the valley, sweat rolled down his naked back and dripped off his face. He swiped at his forehead with the crook of his elbow, his eyes already stinging, and he blinked several times to clear them. As he circled the small enclosure, stalking the fierce trainer he faced, it was Raven he worried about. If personal experience was any indication, then the departure of full-blooded demons was turning out to be a mixed blessing for mortals. Yes, they were gone, but his demon talents had increased exponentially. And Raven was far more demon than he.

The trainer, deceptively agile for his advanced years, brought forward the long, heavy staff he carried in his gnarled fingers, smashing Creed across the side of his smooth-shaved head with it. The blow was not gentle, and Creed, although almost twice the trainer’s size and less than half his age, had trouble shaking it off.

“Pay attention,” Siege said, his voice laden with disapproval.

Creed blocked the next strike with a hand, then shot out his forearm in a blow aimed at the old man’s chin. Siege leaped aside even as he laid the staff whiplike along Creed’s back and shoulder. A loud crack filled the air. When the adrenaline wore off, Creed knew he would have a number of welts purpling all over his body.

A crowd had gathered to watch one of the temple’s brightest talents spar with the aged and well-respected leader of the Godseeker assassins. A Godseeker in his own right, it was said the old man had once survived an attack by three demons. Creed had no idea if the story was true or something that had simply been embellished over the years, but he did know one thing for certain—fights, even these training spars, could not be forfeited or ceded. If he did not tap into his demon, the old man would best him.

Standing head and shoulders above most men, losing a fight was not something Creed had much experience with. Even though Siege was armed and he was not, their size and age differences, and the rumor that the old man had a bad heart, made Creed heavily favored to win. Bets on the outcome had already been exchanged.

He had never called on his demon to help him in these sparring matches, though, and he would not start now. He had no inclination to take unfair advantage, regardless of the skill level of his opponent. Siege was the more experienced fighter today, plain and simple, and Creed wanted to learn from him more than he wanted to win.