Page 4 of Demon's Mate
They wouldn’t find him. He was nothing but another lone witch in the city by the sea. And he deserved this, dammit. Harper had gone through Hell to get here. Not literally, but his upbringing had to be comparable to the actual Realm of the Damned.
An unwanted memory popped into his head: his arms and legs tied down, his blood draining away before he was left alone, locked in the cold cellar all night. Nausea returned, but Harper stubbornly swallowed it.
He clenched his fist so tight his nails dug into his palm.
His father claimed their coven served Lucifer in everything they did and that every bit of sufferingshowed Satan their loyalty, but really, the coven served Arthur Nightingale, and Harper was done with all of it, Satan be damned.
Like he wasn’t already.
The only thing Harper wasn’t giving up was his hunt. He’d track down Lucifer’s Dogs, the Hounds of Hell, just like his father wanted, but he wasn’t doing it in the name of the Nightingale Coven or Lucifer. He never had been.
He had his own agenda.
2
ASH
Ash landedon top of the Shearwater Landing library, dropping into a crouch and gripping the top of the sloping roof as he folded his wings against his back. The sun warmed his bare chest, a slight sea breeze tickling his skin and ruffling his feathers.
Ash scowled. Who’d have thought he’d be back in this place after what, a century? Maybe more?
At least the library was familiar. Most of the plaza below was recognizable, but it had changed since he’d last been here.
Ash scanned the area with his demon sense. The only magical being in the vicinity was a witch sitting at a café on the other side of the fountain. Hardly worth sounding the alarm over.
No one could know demons were back in Shearwater Landing, but the witch wasn’t a threat. An illusion crafted by his demon power rendered Ash completely invisible, and there was no way the witch could detect Ash’s magic.
Ash’s tail twitched. He had to put it away, horns and wings as well, but suppressing his true form bothered him more than itused to. Avoiding humans was preferable, and his last thirty years had been close to human-free. However, tracking Dante through the streets would be easier than flying around, perching on rooftops.
At least demons passed for human more easily than other magical beings. With his disguise in place, he could walk right up to the witch at the café and he’d have no idea what kind of power stood before him.
Ash leaped into the air, spreading his white-tipped black wings. He circled the library and came to land in a narrow alley out back. The old paving stones looked original, just as unchanged as the grand building behind him.
A strange scent filled his nose, like fresh mountain air and flowers. Ash breathed deeply, reminded of home. How was it possible for an alleyway to smell this good? Was there a florist nearby?
It didn’t matter. With a shudder, Ash pulled his demonic features inside himself. His skin itched and burned as his wings disappeared into his flesh, forming large tattoos spanning his whole back. His horns and tail did the same, the tattoos hidden by his hair and pants.
Being incomplete grated, the tattoos tingling, almost nagging at him, telling him it had been too long since he’d put his features away. There was nothing he could do about it. Ash wouldn’t be in this city if he had a choice. Unfortunately, he couldn’t let his preference for isolation prevent him from warning Dante and Onyx.
At least Dante being easy to find was in his favor. He’d have to remind Dante it was in their enemy’s favor as well.
He stalked out of the alley, the scent of mountain air and flowers tempting him in the opposite direction of the plaza. He shook it off. Why were his baser senses suddenly dominatinghim? The last thing he needed was flowers, so it shouldn’t have felt wrong to walk away from the alluring scent, but it did.
Maybe this was what he got for avoiding cities. One whiff of flowers, and he was pining for his mountain home. And solitude.
People stared at Ash as he entered the crowd of morning shoppers in the plaza. Right. He should have brought a shirt. He never wore one at his isolated hunting lodge. They just didn’t work with wings.
Grumbling, he ducked into a souvenir shop and was briefly relieved to see a display of black T-shirts until he noticed they were adorned with the city crest and a large illustration of a flying sooty shearwater. An almost inaudible growl left Ash’s throat as he grabbed the largest shirt and brought it to the counter.
The woman at the register eyed him, brow raised, but didn’t comment on his lack of clothing. Once Ash paid, he pulled on the T-shirt. It was too tight for his broad chest and thick biceps, but at least no one would be staring because he wasn’t properly dressed.
He exited the shop and crossed the plaza to the fountain in the center. It hadn’t changed. Fish and more damn shearwaters spouted water out of their mouths just as Ash remembered. He turned his back on the fountain and inspected the buildings around him.
Which direction had Dante’s home been in? Something would jog his memory eventually.
It wasn’t likely Dante lived in the same place he had a century ago, but he was bound to be here somewhere, and Ash needed a location to start his search. Tracking was easiest if he had a fresh sense of a being’s magic.
A whiff of that floral mountain air drifted by on abreeze and Ash whipped his head in that direction, frowning. The scent wasn’t as strong as in the alley and faded quickly.
