Paula Altenburg - Black Widow Demon

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 coil 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.

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.