CHAPTER 1
Strong winds swept through the city street, throwing Cary Stone's loose ponytail over her shoulder. Cars were in gridlock, bumper to bumper, on the two-lane road. With only three hours of sleep, Cary wasn't in the mood for traffic or the ocean of pedestrians brushing past her on the sidewalk. Another pleasant morning in downtown Detroit.
She grabbed a folded paper from her pocket and opened it, staring at what she wrote yesterday. Shadows from the lofty buildings blocked out the sun, and the breeze tore at the corner of her paper.
Retail Sales Associate.
Glamour Puss Clothing Co.
Drummer Street.
Ask for Jen.
9.15am sharp!
Wow them.
The ad didn't ask for a resume, but said to convince the owner why you were the ideal applicant. Cary smiled. Dressed in knee-length boots, skinny jeans, and leather jacket, her style screamed casual street gear more than glamour. But she'd convince the owner that hard work was her forte. And if needed, she could do security, too.
Cary merged into the wave of bodies heading in the same direction. Shoulders nudged hers. She never understood why anyone rushed to work at the last minute. Leave home early; get organized.
Though she couldn't talk. Jobless. Two months behind on rent. And with no money, she contemplated breaking into the bakery store near her apartment after hours. The aromas that came out of that place had her salivating in her sleep. This was what her life had become—dreaming about food she couldn't afford.
Living on the streets was becoming too close to a reality. That alone quickened her pace.
Farther ahead, the store came into view. The word Glamour sparkled in diamonds while Puss was scrawled across the back of a white, arching cat. Mannequins in furry lingerie littered the front window. Okay, this wasn't the clothing store Cary had imagined.
Mental note: Next time research the store online.
A young girl emerged from the store, dolled in pumps, a mini skirt, and a cream pea coat. She juggled several shopping bags.
Cary glanced at her jeans, the worn lines at her knees, and the worn tips of her boots. Her belly sunk and seeds of doubt whirred through in her mind. One look at her and security would escort her from the premises, but walking away wasn't her style.
She unbuttoned her jacket and patted the creases from her black T-shirt. She released her ponytail and fluffed her hair. The vibrant red color and waist length always captured attention and would detract from her outfit.
The traffic wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, so she wove amid the cars to cross the road. When she stepped onto the sidewalk, a gust of air collided into her. And with it came a familiar sulfur stink, coating her throat. Her gaze swept the streets, people, and even the cars. No sign of anyone drenched in a silver aura synonymous with a demon possession.
She coughed from the stink cloying her senses.
Bad timing.
She glanced at the shadowy street next to Glamour Puss. No sign of a demon, but they generally converged in alleys like rats on a cadaver. Why hadn't anyone told them how cliché that was?
Cary checked her cell—9:14 a.m.—and inhaled another lungful of sulfur. A part of her screamed to ignore the fiend. Damn, not like anyone thanked her for the countless demons she'd vanquished. Still, her legs refused to move. Destroy the vermin entering this world before they find out what you are. Her chest tightened as she stared at the glittery store that offered her a lifeline from her money woes.
Saving humans is priority. Her dad's words rotated in her mind. His wisdom meant jack. If he hadn't left her six years earlier, just after her eighteenth birthday, she probably wouldn't be in this situation.
Son of a demon's balls.
Cary sprinted past the bubblegum fragrance wafting from inside Glamour Puss. She careened left into a narrow passage between two buildings and followed her nose. If she kicked butt on fast-forward mode, maybe she'd still have time for the interview.
Right. Her boots splashed into puddles of what better be rainwater, and she swung onto an adjacent street. Trucks and cars lined the curbs. Her hand sailed to her back pocket. She took out a pair of disposable gloves. The latex stuck to her fingers, and she pulled them tighter across her hands. They'd soften the pain a smidgen.
A woman's scream from farther ahead sliced through the car hoots behind Cary.
She darted right, between two towering stores that backed onto an alley. The skunk-like reek burned her nostrils.
At the end of the blocked passage stood a bald man with tattoos flowing across his head. He had his back to her. His silvery aura confirmed he was indeed possessed. Gotcha. His body shifted as his hands gripped the metal fence in front of him, trapping the victim.
The perks of being born part-demon, fast healing, identifying demon auras, and speed, didn't come close to counteracting the drawbacks. Demons wanted her dead. Humans would exorcise her if discovered. Yeah, lucky her.
Cary grabbed the fabric gloves, the ones she'd soaked in salted water for a week straight, then studded with iron shavings, from her other pocket. She pulled them on her hands, on top of the disposable ones.
She shuddered from the acid-like sting burning her arms and bit down on her lower lip to ride the pain. But dealing with monsters meant a bit of misery. Okay, more like a shit-load of grueling agony.
One day, she'd find a pair of barrier gloves that completely blocked out the pain. But the latex ones reduced the full intensity. Better than nothing.
Another whimper erupted from the victim.
Cary marched closer. "Hey, prick."
The man, clad in jeans and a hoodie, twisted around. Ink covered every inch of his face, covering his chin and onto his neck. Cary had no problems with tattoos, but this guy's friends should have told him the look didn't work. The same rune patterns and script continued onto his arms, but he wasn't sporting yellow eyes like most victims of possession.
Strange and new. A combination that never blended well in her field, but she'd uncover what he was soon enough.
She caught sight of the girl with golden locks wedged between the monster and the fence. Her eyes screamed for salvation, and she released a helpless chirp.
"Surely, rats are more your style." Cary stepped closer, pushing away his lack of glowing eyes. No time to overthink the situation—that only opened the door to panic and hesitation. Things that could get her killed.
Baldy growled, his nose scrunching. He glanced at a trashcan a few feet away, next thing, it skidded along the pavement and flew across the road. The bin crashed into Cary's leg. She stumbled sideways and ignored the biting sting engulfing her arms.
"Try harder." She marched closer and lunged, her hands latching onto his arm and neck. Six seconds under the strain of her blessed gloves and the scum inside this man would scram back into Hell. Always worked.
"Run." Cary glanced at the trembling girl. "Now's a good time."
The girl bolted out of sight.
Baldy's head twisted to watch the blonde vanish, and then he looked back at Cary. An evil smirk captured his mouth. "Six, five, four," he said.
The six-second rule to vanquish demons wasn't a secret hidden from the beasts. Except, they tended to focus on escape, not freakin' counting down. The hair on Cary's arms spiked.
"Two, one," he continued.
Cary's fingers tightened around his gnarly neck. A coil tightened in her chest. Why the shit isn't it leaving the body?
Baldy's hand snaked out, snatching a handful of her hair, and wrenched her backward. "Tasty, even for a crossbreed. But you've lost me a meal. Guess, you'll take her place." His lips peeled up, revealing razor sharp incisors stained with blood. She hadn't seen one of these demons before.
"Not in this lifetime." Sweat collected on her lower back. She drove her boot into his shin, then his groin. No effect.
A snarl gurgled in his throat. He flung her across the alley.
Her back slammed into the brick wall. Air thrust from her lungs, and she crashed to her knees. Each breath strained as dragged herself to her feet. Warm-up stage was over. She reached to her ankle and grabbed the blade tucked inside her boot.
No time to wrestle with the mystery of why the demon wasn't vanishing. She saved the human first and now to finish the monster.
Baldy stormed closer, but she threw a roundhouse kick. Her boot struck his gut.
Stumbling back a few steps, he broke into a chuckle. "Fiery and delicious."
"Shut the fuck up. Die."
His smirk persisted. He pounced toward her, driving his palms against her chest.
Cary stumbled backward from the momentum. She hit the wall again, the back of her head smacking the brick building.
The monster charged and pressed his body against her.
Her vision danced and panic fed her adrenaline. No demon had ever gotten an upper hand on her. "Get off."
Baldy pinned her in place, his hands trapping her wrists. His mouth dipped to her neck, teeth scraping skin. Sharp teeth pierced flesh again.
Her body shuddered as a scream pressed the back of her throat.
She kicked and kneed him. This wasn't how it went. She did the butt-kicking. Not a vampiric demon sucking her blood.
His rough tongue licked her wound. Shivers engulfed her as did images of her life. Living alone. No friends. No sign of her father.
She snaked a foot around his leg and whacked her heel into the back of his knee. It didn't dislodge him, but the move caught him off guard. He lifted his head. Blood smeared his grin, and her stomach churned.
Not wasting time, she slammed her forehead into his nose.
His grip loosened, and she wrenched a hand free. She thrust two fingers into his eyes.
He wailed, releasing her other wrist and a sudden explosion of electricity struck her body. Baldy flung backward and landed on his ass.
Cary fell to the ground as the last traces of electricity buzzed through her.
A group of men in white shirts closed in from the mouth of the alley. They threw a lasso around Baldy's neck and tightened their hold. Baldy's snarls permeated the air, his body thrashing.
Two guys were in a tug-of-war with the possessed.
Who the shit were they?
A van swerved into the alley. Four men jumped out and darted for Baldy. One jabbed an injection into his arm, and the rest dragged him into the vehicle. The doors shut, and the van sped away.
Cary couldn't process what she'd just seen. She removed her gloves and clutched a hand to her bloody neck as she dragged herself to her feet.
"What's going on?"
Her father, who was also a half demon, half human, had once said the majority of the populace had no clue that demons invaded this world. Though, apparently it seemed a small group of humans did hunt demons. And today she'd witnessed them in action. What had their lasso been anointed with?
A person cleared his throat, and her head jerked forward. A man in his mid-forties marched closer from the end of the alley. With his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his slick, suit pants, he belonged in a boardroom with snore-fest lawyers not in a rank backstreet.
"How many demons have you destroyed to date?" His voice was as casual as if he were ordering a coffee at the local diner.
He had to belong to the guys who ambushed her demon, though with his perfectly groomed hair combed off his face and sunglasses hanging from his jacket pocket, he must be the one giving the orders.
"You often watch people from the shadows?"
He stopped a few paces away. "I wanted to assess your skills."
"And?" Curiosity won out because this wasn't the usual douche or homeless person who happened to catch her fighting a possessed. Those she ignored. But Mr. Suit had said the magic word—demons.
"You created those gloves?" he asked.
"Holy water, salt, and iron shavings. You can make them yourself if you want. But enough about me. Who are you and where did you take the inked guy? What did you inject in him?"
The corners of his mouth crinkled. "My name is Brent Moore. I run Argos, an organization that tracks and eliminates demons."
Cary's head whirred from the guy's admittance, but not as much as her neck stung after the demon chewed on it. In the grander scheme of things, it kind of made sense. Some days, she'd battle three demons. Other times, nothing appeared as if someone had gone through town and cleaned the place up.
"What did you say your name was again?" He studied Cary as Baldy had done earlier, leaving her wanting to fold her arms across her chest.
"I didn't."
"Well then." He rubbed a hand across his mouth, his demeanor darkening. "We'd been following that guy. Then you made a dash for him out of the blue. How did you know what he was?" Brent arched an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving Cary.
Her throat tightened. Perceptive guy. Brent knew demons existed. Fine. But she wouldn't tell him she was part demon, or she might just as well sign her own death warrant. If he hunted demons, he'd hunt her. So telling him she saw demonic auras or that she sniffed them out was out of the question. Time to exit.
"Enjoy your day, Brent." Cary strode past him.
"I'm a businessman. So I'm always looking for new hunters to join my team. It comes with great financial benefits, training, and a team you can rely on."
Sure, wave the greenbacks in Cary's face, and she'd stand up and listen. She glanced over her shoulder. "Go on." If this guy was genuine and offered her money to vanquish demons, then damn yeah, she'd give him a few seconds of her time.
"You're fast, think on your feet, and one step ahead with your own weapons. We could use your talent. Come to my office this afternoon, say four, and we'll chat to see if you're a good fit." He strutted closer with a confident grin on his face. Obviously, Brent always got his way.
She accepted his business card—white with Argos and the address printed in black. Above it sat a fanned-out peacock's tail with eyes dotting the tips of each feather.
"I'll consider it." Never appear desperate.
"Nice meeting you." He stuck out his hand.
She accepted his shake, firm and icy to the touch. "My name is Cary Stone."
He strode away. "I'll see you later, Cary Stone."
Either today was the luckiest day ever, or someone was punking her. She preferred to ignore the latter.
Back on the main road, the traffic had eased. Only a few people filled the sidewalk.
She left behind Glamour Puss, not wasting the embarrassment. A new job prospect was on offer.
Time to go home, disinfect her neck in case the demon carried parasites, and change her bloody top. Taking her weapons to the interview was a must, plus she'd map out her background story. She wouldn't lie... much. Father had taught her an encyclopedia of knowledge on demons. The real dilemma was how to explain tracking them. Yet, Cary had the same question for Brent. Her demon side helped her see auras, but what was Brent's story?
The roar of a car erupted from farther down the road. Tires skidded.
A black Corvette gunned along the main road, swerving past cars, and knocking over a row of trash cans. The closer it got, the more Cary's insides knotted.
The whole car glowed with a silvery aura, just as a possessed person might.
The black car roared past. Tinted windows meant that at a glance, anyone could miss the empty driver's seat.
She lunged after the Corvette. Careening around an elderly couple, she had to hurry before the Corvette killed anybody.
But someone slammed into her from behind. Her legs buckled, and the concrete rushed toward her face.
Strong arms locked around her shoulders and waist. Wrenched sideways, her lungs emptied as she fell into a roll. Instead of the hard pavement, Cary crashed onto the stranger's chest, cradled in his arms. His back slammed against the ground. A groan gushed behind Cary's ear, hot air caressing her cheek. She clutched his arms as if they were a lifejacket. Wind rushed out of her lungs.
"I'm so sorry," his deep voice said.
Cary untangled herself from the hug and climbed to her feet. Words teased the front of her mind to tell this klutz to be more careful. Except, she froze when she faced the large guy with shoulder length hair. His brandy-colored eyes stole her words.
He glanced up the road and back to Cary, his attention homing on her bloody neck. He pushed himself to his feet. "Miss, are you all right?"
She tore her gaze from his chiseled jawline that sported a shadow of growth. Then hit upon a response. "You could hurt someone with those muscles. I—I mean, don't run on the sidewalk."
Kill me now. Could she sound any more like a prudish pre-school teacher?
His eyebrow cocked. "Sorry."
"Thanks for catching me." That time her words seemed to almost purr. Okay, maybe she hit her head.
He pulled away, a sultry look capturing his gaze. "I really gotta go."
And just like that, he sprinted down the sidewalk and vanished down the street.
Just as the car had.
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