Paula Altenburg - Black Widow Demon

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 would 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.

A house , she thought. Never a home . She was free now to do as she wished. Finally.

She eased open the window to her bedroom, then, hoisting herself onto her palms, swung one leg over the sill. She waited, half in and half out, listening intently for any sounds of movement within, but the house was empty.

She lowered herself into the room as the familiar scents of furniture polish and rose oil spun memories of her mother. Fond ones, from before she had been beaten into submission by an abusive husband.

Raven took a step toward the heavy cedar wardrobe that rested against the wall facing the canopied bed. She did not need light to navigate her own bedroom.

Something delicate crushed beneath her foot, and startled, her breath caught. She had left nothing on the floor in front of the window. Certainly nothing of glass.

She took another step. More glass crackled.

As her vision adjusted to the gloom, she paid more attention to her surroundings. Her gaze swept from wall to wall. Familiar shapes presented themselves but in odd locations. The wardrobe sprawled facedown on the floor, smashed to pieces as if someone had taken an ax to it. The same with her bed. It was tipped on its side, the mattress torn apart. Shredded clothing littered every surface in the room. Precious trinkets—some her first works of art, others small gifts crafted for her when she was a child by the mother who’d once loved her—lay shattered and broken beneath her feet on the polished hardwood floor.

This destruction was not done in retaliation for her escape. He’d had no time. This had to have happened well before last night’s judgment. If she had come home with him instead, as he’d wanted, this was to be a message to her that she could not disobey him without repercussion.

Lifting the ragged remains of a soft, creamy undergarment, she let the sheer fabric drift through her fingers. He knew how much her artist’s soul liked pretty, feminine things. She dropped the shreds of brushed silk to the floor and dusted her palms, shuddering. She would show the bastard that she could live without trivial things. And that she was not afraid of him.

Nothing of any use or value to her was left undamaged. She moved into the hall and headed for Justice’s bedroom, two doors down from hers. The single-story house was new, like everything else in the settlement, although better constructed than most. The bedrooms sat at the back while the parlor, kitchen, dining room, and Justice’s private office faced the main street.

She hated entering his private bedroom, even now, with him away. Plainly furnished, it stank of his evil. Having no desire to linger, she went straight to the bed and dropped to her hands and knees, fumbling beneath it for the locked box she knew he kept there. She dragged it carelessly toward her by its leather handle. Although small, its considerable weight left a long, deep scratch on the wood floor. She twisted the lock off using her bare hands and demon strength, mangling it with deep satisfaction.

The box contained a significant quantity of gold coin, mined in the Godseeker Mountains and minted by Justice’s own goldsmiths. The coin in it was not what she was after, although she scooped a few pieces into her pockets out of common sense practicality.

Her fingers closed around a simple, smooth amulet crafted from red desert varnish. It had been her mother’s most prized possession in the early, pre-Justice days. She had once told Raven that it kept her safe and made her feel happy. Justice had taken it from her years ago, after the first time he beat her.

That was when Raven’s own dreams began. Back then, her childish, artistic imagination had created a world she could hide in at night where she, too, could be safe. Now that demons had found it, though, that world was no longer a haven for her.

Neither was this one.