The Demon Hunter Read online

  “I’m Ellie,” she said, attempting to put him at ease. “How about first we head to my cottage. I have some clothing you can wear.” And she’d call an ambulance, definitely call an ambulance. Whether he was special or not, he needed help. Help that she couldn’t give him. He lowered his hands, those blue eyes wide and haunted. A look that worried her, a look that said perhaps there was much more to his story than she’d assumed.

  “Are you the housekeeper?”

  She smiled, attempting to put him at ease. “Tour guide extraordinaire, actually.”

  He shook his head, anger and confusion fighting across his features. “Nothing makes sense.”

  “I know.” Her heart squeezed. “I understand.”

  And she did. How many times had she thought the very same thing? Those many times she’d seen beings others hadn’t. The many times she couldn’t explain away an odd coincidence. The many times she’d been able to do things that a normal human shouldn’t be able to. She’d stopped trying to figure it out long ago. Now here he was, bringing up questions she’d tried to ignore. Was he someone like her? Confused and in search of answers?

  “Do you have a name?”

  He swallowed hard. “Devon.”

  The kitchen light flickered on, splashing the yard with color. Ellie sucked in a gasp of surprise. The curtain over the nearest window fluttered. She could imagine what Lord Templeton would do if he found her frolicking with a naked man in his gardens. “Please, just come with me.”

  The man before her didn’t move. With a growl of frustration, she grabbed his hand. The moment their palms touched, any anxiety fled. The contact of skin on skin was like a jolt of electricity that shot through her body. Startled, Eloise jumped back.

  Hell no, not now!

  Devon seemed barely aware of her odd reaction. The man was too caught up in his own pain and insanity. He blinked rapidly, swaying upon his bare feet as if he might collapse at any moment. Before she could deal with her own issues, she needed to deal with his.

  “Hurry,” she begged.

  She grabbed him again, this time prepared for the feelings his touch produced. He didn’t fight her as she dragged him around the side of the mansion toward the kitchen gardens. Her little thatched-roof cottage was nestled near the woods, far enough away to give her the privacy she desperately wanted. It was like a Disney movie cartoon cottage, without the talking animals. Here… she could be alone. Here the odd things wouldn’t happen to her. At least they hadn’t in months. But now with one touch from his hand…

  Yes. Damn it all. There was that telltale sign of body aches, her very blood heating, her skin crawling. Shit! Why now of all times? And what would happen? Part of her didn’t want to know. She only wanted to give him some clothes and get him the hell away from her.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  She found it amusing that he was asking her that question.

  “Yeah, sure. I have some clothes you can borrow, then you’re free to leave.”

  A pair of shorts and a t-shirt left behind by the one and only guy she’d dated since arriving in England. Too much scotch and an abundance of British accents had made her hormones flare. The relationship had lasted all of a week before she’d seen through the accent and realized the man was a total wanker, as they said in England.

  She dropped Devon’s hand and fumbled with her key. Devon leaned against the side of the house, watching her with weary eyes. Lack of light and trembling hands made opening the door much more difficult than it should have been. She had to get away from him before anything weird happened, before he knew what she was truly capable of. Shoving the door wide, she bolted into the small living room.

  “Just…just wait here. I’ll find the clothes and be back in a second.”

  Perhaps she could talk Miranda into driving him to the hospital. His dark form ducked under the low overhang as he shuffled inside. Barely acknowledging her words, he stumbled toward her couch, his naked ass hitting the cushions. With a groan, he sank back as if he meant to stay. Ellie cringed. Yeah, clothes would be good about now.

  She drew her hand along the wall until she felt the switch. With a flip of her finger, the room burst to life. “Do you need water? Aspirin?” She started to reach for a blanket when she saw him for the first time in the brilliance of an overhead light.

  Ellie froze, horrified and forgetting her own problems for a moment. Bruises covered the dips and valleys of muscle that traced his abdomen. Some faded and yellowed, some fresh and purple. But that wasn’t all. White scars followed the lines of his body, criss-crossing against the planes of his form as if someone had taken a knife to him.

  “My God,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

  But he didn’t respond, merely lay there, as if half dead, and perhaps he was. Ellie grasped the woolen blanket and started slowly toward him. He was shaking like a druggie coming off a binge.

  “Just rest, okay?” Gently, she settled the blanket upon his lap.

  He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t even flinch. She fled into her small bedroom at the back of the cottage and shuffled through her dresser. What to do? She was pretty damn sure he wasn’t human, if her body’s reaction was any indication. Yet, he obviously needed help, help she couldn’t give. Why couldn’t she be normal? For once in her damn life, why couldn’t she know peace and quiet?

  Clutching a t-shirt and jeans to her chest, she raced into the living room. Devon still lay upon the couch, eyes closed, silent. Ellie knelt beside him.

  “Here.” She held out the clothing.

  Devon flinched, obviously startled by her appearance. The confused look in his blue gaze didn’t bode well. Did he even know where he was? How he had ended up on her couch?

  She flipped open the cell, her hand trembling. “You dress and I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “Ambulance?” he rasped, his hands trembling as he picked up the garments.

  “Yeah, you know, a doctor.”

  She turned her back to him, giving the man at least a moment of privacy. But from the corner of her eye, she watched him pull the jeans over his slim hips. Although muscled, really muscled, he was lean. Almost as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Clutching the t-shirt in his fist, he fell back against the sofa. “I need… to rest a moment. Please,” he said. “I merely…”

  She lifted the phone, intending to dial when a shiver of unease raced over her skin. Ellie froze. The entire world faded, the only thing grounding her was her own beating heart. For a brief moment, she floated in a dark world, alone. The change was coming, she could only hope that it was nothing too bizarre this time.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Devon’s words jerked her back into reality. Awareness rushed through Ellie, a powerful surge of energy that had her swaying on her feet. It was there, lurking within her body. She blinked her eyes wide. The room seemed brighter. Every sound louder. Her skin tingled with an odd awareness that didn’t exactly feel pleasant. Slowly she curled her fingers, feeling the strange desire to move, run, punch, do something, anything.

  “What is it?” Devon had managed to move and stood in front of her, the t-shirt covering his muscled chest, sweat trailing down his face as if the steps from the sofa to where she stood had been too much exercise.

  Feeling oddly off balance, Ellie slumped against the wall. How could she explain? “Nothing…I just…”

  A whisper of cold air raced through the room. The curtains that hung behind the sofa fluttered suspiciously. No windows were open, the door securely closed. What was happening?

  “Holy hell,” Ellie whispered.

  She’d felt the sensation before…the cold chills, the prickle of awareness… the thought that perhaps there was a ghost nearby. But never had she been positive. Never had she had the sudden urge to destroy a spirit. At the same exact time, she and Devon jerked their heads left. A dark form wavered in and out of focus near the kitchen.

  “Crap!” She curled her hands, resisting the urge to surge toward
the spirit.

  Devon spun around, shoving her into the wall, his rapid breath warm on her face. “What are you?” He’d moved so fast, she’d blinked and practically missed him.

  “W…what am I?” More like what the hell was he? “The better question is what are you! She shoved her palms into his chest. “You’re quite spry for a man on his death bed!”

  He grabbed her shoulders in a stinging grip. “What do you see? There, by the kitchen?” His blue eyes were fierce with determination. A hunter, a predator, he would not relent. Instead of feeling afraid, she had the urge to slam her fist into his handsome face.

  She glanced toward the ghost, shimmering and dancing near her refrigerator. “Umm, nothing?”

  Devon shook her so hard, her head slammed against the wall, momentarily blinding her with pain. “Try again, love.”

  Anger swept through her in a red wave. She reached up, gripped his shoulders and lifted her knee in one swift movement. The contact was more than satisfying. He sucked in a sharp breath, released his hold and fell to his knees.

  “Why don’t you tell me what I am, since you seem to know more than I do,” she snapped.

  He narrowed his eyes, glaring up at her. “Answer me,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  No one told her what to do. No one. She gripped her skirts, lifted her foot and shoved the heel into his chest with a strength she hadn’t known she’d possessed. She felt no guilt when he flew across the room and hit the floor, only an odd sense of satisfaction. Deep down she knew it was wrong, so very wrong to want to hurt him, knew this wasn’t really her… yet, she couldn’t quite help herself. Their ghostly visitor vanished, apparently disturbed by their violence. How ironic. They’d frightened a ghost.

  Slowly, Devon stood, unfolding his tall body, his gaze pinned to her the entire time. “War it is.”

  She didn’t have time to contemplate his words. Suddenly, Devon was in front of her, his hand on her neck. Somehow the man had disappeared and reappeared in front of her. The shock of that realization gave way to the fact that the air that had so easily moved down her throat only moments ago was slowly dissipating. There was no glee nor guilt in his hard gaze. He would kill her without emotion.

  “You will tell me what you are, or regret it.”

  Frantically, she clawed at his hands, but the man wouldn’t release his hold. Ellie shoved her arms up through his and pushed outward with a strength she sure as hell hadn’t had only moments ago. He released her neck and as he stumbled back, Ellie slammed her fist into his chin. Her knuckles cracked as bone hit bone. The pain she felt was immediate.

  “Crap!” She hopped away, shaking her injured hand as Devon groaned on the floor. Served him right, the ass. She’d given him clothing, shelter and he’d repaid by trying to kill her!

  “You’re telling me you’re merely human?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Of…of course I am.” So why did she pause before responding?

  An odd question that ate at her. Bemused, Ellie sank onto the sofa. Of course she was human… wasn’t she? Then again, she didn’t exactly know where she had come from. The orphanage had no open records and she’d jumped from foster home to foster home. She couldn’t deny that odd things constantly happened to her… She could be from Mars for all she knew. Oh God, what was she?

  Slowly, Devon sat up, his glare centered on her as he rubbed his injured chin. “You can deny it all you like, but you, my love, are most definitely not human.”

  Chapter 3

  He felt like shite. Complete and utter shite.

  Devon’s body trembled, as if he had no control over his muscles. He couldn’t seem to stop sweating and for one brief moment, when he’d recognized the manor, he’d almost cried like a little lass. His thoughts were a confusing jumble of memories that taunted his rational mind.

  Hell, he was barely holding it together because he knew it must all be an illusion. A sick, tempting illusion. There was no possible way he had been torn from hell and thrown back home, the only place he’d ever known some sort of peace.

  Devon bit back a curse, focusing on the one and only person he could direct his anger, the one and only person who could give him answers. The woman surged from the sofa, watching him warily. Her brown hair had come loose and fell in waves that framed a pale face. A pretty face with full lips and a small, pert nose. But it was her eyes, those moss-green eyes, that held him captive. Eyes that drilled into his soul. Eyes that showed a depth he feared he could drown within.

  Ellie shifted, bracing her legs apart, her hands fisted. She had the stance of a warrior prepared to attack. And she thought she could pass for human? He’d sensed her supernatural aura the moment she’d confronted him in the garden. The only reason he hadn’t killed her was because he thought he might be able to use her.

  “Then what am I?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know, but until we find out, you’re coming with me.” He started toward the door, but the pain in his ribs pulled him up short. He gritted his teeth, pressing his hand to the soft material covering his chest, the only indication something was wrong. Self-preservation had taught him to hide his weakness from others. Where he came from, a broken man was as good as dead.

  “We?” The woman took a step back, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  She had a point, it was rather ridiculous to think he could force her to do anything, but he didn’t have time to dwell on particularities. He was finding answers, and only she could help. Although he wasn’t sure what the hell she was, he didn’t believe in coincidences. If he had actually traveled home, been tossed into this woman’s path… it had been for a reason, and until he uncovered that reason, she wasn’t leaving his side.

  He stepped closer, attempting to intimidate her with his size and strength. Damn it all, if she didn’t throw him off balance by her scent. Fresh air, flowers, washed body. He wanted to sink into her. To drop to his knees and beg the universe to allow him to stay. He wanted to breathe in her aura. So clean, so innocent… but it could be a ruse. Overwhelmed, he pushed away from her, stumbling back until he hit the wall. She could be a mirage produced by his broken mind. Or something produced by him. The demon responsible for this hell. Devon tore open the front door and stumbled outside into the cool, night air.

  “Where am I?” he yelled at the heavens, his voice echoing up to the sky. A cloud rolled away, showing a patch of midnight blue. White, twinkling stars mocked him from above. How long had it been since he’d seen the stars? His legs trembled and he almost collapsed to his knees.

  “Crestmoore Manner,” her soft voice startled him.

  Torn and angry, he faced her with a fury he could barely contain. “Impossible.”

  Even in the darkness of night, he didn’t miss the way she looked at him… a look of pure sympathy. He despised that look. She thought he was insane. Perhaps he was.

  Defeated, he leaned back against the stone wall of the small cottage. Although the weather was warm enough, the ground was chill and damp upon his bare feet. His teeth chattered, his entire body aching, trembling like a newborn colt. Weak. He was so damn weak. He needed rest and nourishment soon, before he collapsed completely.

  Briefly, he closed his eyes. “It can’t be.”

  Yet, even as he thought it impossible, his mind taunted that it must be true. Everything smelled too sweet. Too fresh. The air was too perfect. The night too lovely. Even the soft chirp of insects was like music. There were no insects in hell.

  He wanted to curse. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to hit something because it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t believe it. The hope would be his downfall, just as the demon wanted.

  “Listen,” she said softly, floating hesitantly toward him like some damn angel come to save his soul. How bloody ironic. “Why don’t I call someone…”

  No one could save him now and he sure as hell didn’t need the help of another angel, if that’s what she was. Reluctantly, his gaze shifted to th
e manor. Was his family dead? Or had he somehow traveled back in time? No, for even now he could hear an airplane overhead. So why was the woman beside him dressed as if she was from the 1860s? His brain pounded in confusion. He clutched the sides of his head. He didn’t know, didn’t understand anything.

  “Devon?”

  “Take me to the manor,” he growled.

  He needed his sword. If he could find his sword, he might not feel so damn vulnerable. If he could hold that cold metal in his hands, he would know for sure this world was real.

  Ellie actually went pale. Why? She claimed she didn’t know what she was, but it was obvious she knew how to fight. Did she even realize she stood like a warrior, as if preparing for an attack? Not for the first time he wondered what the bloody hell she was.

  “Uhh, yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Oh, I think it will.” He disappeared, for a brief moment hovering in a world of darkness, and then reappeared in front of her. She gasped, stumbling back a step. As he reached out, she recovered quickly and swung around, too quick for his slowed movements.

  “We’re not playing this game again,” she seethed. “Now, tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

  “I answer to no one,” Devon snapped.

  She held her hands up, palms out in obvious frustration. He didn’t miss the way the bodice of her dress stretched across her lovely breasts, and he knew his mind must truly be sick for noticing, or he’d been much too long without the soft comfort of a woman.

  “Okay, listen. I understand that you’re upset, but you need help, serious help.”

  He tore his gaze from her chest, focusing on her flushed face. “You’re right. I do need help.”

  She looked confused, leery. “So you agree we should ring for the police?”

  “No.” He appeared beside her. This time she looked more annoyed than surprised by his sudden appearance. “But I do agree that you’ll help me.”