Buch lesen: «Seducing the Hunter»

Chapter 2

The sound was faint, maybe only a creak of the house, but Quinn Strom heard it. He sat upright in his bed, peering into the darkness of his bedroom and straining to listen.

Trained to sleep lightly, he was always alert at any out-of-place sound. He’d lived in his modest house long enough to have memorized every normal creak, squeak and groan of the place. And the creak he’d heard was from the stairs just outside his room; the fourth step from the top had a soft spot that only a certain amount of weight triggered.

The creak came again, prompting Quinn to bolt off the bed and reach under his bed for the arsenal that he’d stashed there when he first moved in. Fortunately he always slept in sweatpants, so in emergencies like these he didn’t have to bother dressing. He grabbed the shotgun, loaded with silver and rock salt, and the beat-up old satchel that contained ampoules of holy water and his blessed silver crucifix.

Quinn had been a demon hunter and exorcist for most of his life, so he was always prepared for any threat, be it human or other. His father had trained him since he was ten to be vigilant, to be wary of the things that went bump in the night.

All the doors and windows had been warded against demon attacks, so the intruder had to be human. But just because they were human didn’t make them any less of a threat. He knew that firsthand. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with sorcerers, especially those from the Crimson Hall Cabal, a powerful organization of one hundred members who were always searching for more power.

Quinn took position at the side of his door, his gun raised, the satchel hung over his shoulder. He couldn’t cock the gun now because of the sound it would make, but the moment the door opened, he would pump it and point it in a nanosecond. In his other hand he had a glass ampoule of holy water ready to be released, just in case his wards had failed. One splash of the water on unholy skin would incapacitate any demon for a few minutes. Enough time for him to shoot silver into a demon body and kill it.

Breathing deep and even, he counted down the seconds in his head. The attack would come any moment now. He could sense movement on the other side of the door, hear the swish of fabric moving. What the hell were they waiting for?

Could this be a regular, run-of-the-mill home burglar? Looking for expensive things to steal and hock? Quinn didn’t live in an affluent neighborhood. There was no indication in either his house decor or the vehicle he drove that he was anything but a blue-collar working man with nothing of worth to take except maybe a plasma TV and a game console. But nothing worth searching the rest of the house for.

No, Quinn didn’t harbor any delusions that the intruders were after his valuables. At least, not the type that a person could buy in a department store. He did possess some things of worth. Things that only certain types of humans and demons would know about.

Were they after the key? God, he hoped not. That thing had been nothing but trouble from the second his father had bequeathed it to him. He’d tried to hide it in plain sight by giving it to his sister disguised as a pendant, but it had ended up back in his hands anyway. Back to being his responsibility.

Before he could consider that further, the door burst open. And not in one push. It splintered into a hundred pieces, as if C-4 had been placed on it and lit by a fuse. But he didn’t hear an explosion. Something else of great power had rendered his door into kindling.

He cocked the shotgun and, stepping over the wood pieces scattered on his floor, he took a stance in the doorway, pointing his weapon. But he couldn’t get a shot off before he was catapulted backward by a ball of green light that hit him full force in the gut. All the air was knocked out of him when he hit the wall.

He slumped to the floor just as a man with long dark hair and glowing green hands stepped into his bedroom. He smiled down at Quinn.

“Quinn Strom, I presume. Where is the key?”

All of Quinn’s muscles quivered. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through his body. He could barely blink.

The man stood over him, threatening green sparks dripping like melted metal from his long fingers. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will to get what I want.”

Quinn licked his lips, trying to get his mouth to work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play with me, Strom. I know you have it. Your lovely sister, Ivy, had it and then she gave it to you.”

Quinn tried to sit up at the mention of Ivy’s name. “If you touched her, I’ll kill you.”

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, she is quite safe. The cambion of hers is quite formidable. I should know, he killed Reginald, the man I succeeded as leader of the Cabal.” He turned his glowing hands this way and that, looking at them affectionately. “Although I probably should thank him for that...”

Quinn now knew who had broken into his house. The Crimson Hall Cabal. They were a ruthless group of powerful sorcerers who ran their organization pretty much like the mob and a gentlemen’s club combined. Not long ago, his sister, Ivy, and her lover, Ronan, a cambion, otherwise known as a half demon, had had a run-in with Reginald Watson. He’d initially hired Ronan to find Quinn and steal the key. But Ronan had had a change of heart—everything to do with the fact that he’d fallen in love with Ivy—and had given the key back. Then he ended up killing Reginald to keep Ivy and the key safe.

Obviously, the legend of the key had been passed on to the next in line for the cabal throne. The legend and the desire to possess it.

“You’ve wasted a trip. I don’t have the key,” Quinn croaked, his throat dry from the pain that still zipped through his body.

There was movement behind the sorcerer in the doorway. He turned as a small squat creature hobbled into the room.

“I could not find it, Master.”

It was a goblin, a female one by the way it was shaped. It regarded Quinn with its big, opaque eyes, and Quinn thought maybe he saw a quick flash of remorse in its wide-eyed stare. He couldn’t be sure. He’d only ever seen a goblin once before. It was rare to see one topside. They usually resided in hell, acting as servants to the demons that inhabited the pits.

“Yes, well, I did not suspect that the great Quinn Strom would have it lying around.” The sorcerer looked back to him. “You’re much too much like your father. Paranoid to a fault. Too bad that didn’t help him before he died.”

“I’d leave my dad out of this.”

“Or what?” the sorcerer sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”

Quinn nodded. “Something like that.” He pulled his hand out of his satchel and a dagger glinted in the light cast by the sorcerer’s hands. The sorcerer saw the knife too late.

He lifted his hands, just as Quinn sank the lethal blade into the sorcerer’s leg, and dodged his magic green rays. The green light slammed into the wall behind him, just missing his head, and burned a hole through the wood and concrete.

Dragging the shotgun with him, Quinn gained his feet, but the sorcerer was already turning toward him, the knife still sticking out of his thigh. Quinn dashed past the little goblin and out of the room. A blast of green fire hit him in the shoulder as he rounded the doorway.

It sent him to the ground, and he rolled dangerously close to the first step on the staircase. Pain shot through him like acid, but he managed to pull himself up using the railing and started down the stairs. Another bolt of green hit the wall next to him, causing him to stumble. Sparks sizzled on his cheek.

He reached the bottom step just as the sorcerer started down. Quinn risked a glance at him. The sorcerer had pulled the knife from his leg and dark droplets splattered the rug with each step he took. It wouldn’t be long before the blood loss affected the sorcerer’s vision. He’d be seeing black spots soon. Or least, Quinn hoped he would.

Quinn ran into the living room. He had to get to his bookcase. There was one book he needed before he could get out of the house. The room had been trashed by the little goblin. Sofa cushions had been sliced open and spilled out on the floor. All his shelves were tossed. The bookcase was broken apart on the rug, the books scattered everywhere.

He surveyed the damage, desperately seeking a thick black tome. He spied it in the corner, off by itself. As if waiting for him.

He dashed for it even as the sorcerer came around the corner, his hands glowing brighter. Quinn had a feeling that if he was hit by another wave of magic he wasn’t going to be getting up so easily. He’d crossed paths with the sorcerers before, but this one’s magic seemed much more powerful.

Ducking to grab the book, he barely missed being hit by a large orb of green. It crashed into the wall just above him. Liquid green sparks rained down on him, burning holes in his skin. He sucked in a breath to deal with the pain and shoved the book into his satchel.

If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could escape out the back. He had an escape route planned in advance. One he’d practiced repeatedly. He’d dash across the yard, out the back gate, down the alley and over the fence of his neighbors who had two dogs he’d already made friends with. After going through their yard, out the front and down another block, he’d get to the old junker he had sitting there. The keys were sitting on the right front wheel, under the fender.

But the thoughts were moot. Just as he reached the archway to the kitchen, he felt the impact on his back.

Quinn catapulted forward. Luckily he had the presence of mind to put his hands out, so he didn’t land on his face. But he did manage to smash his knee against the kitchen island as he fell. Dark, searing pain surged over his back, up his neck and over his skull. His vision wavered.

He tried to gain his feet, but dizziness seized him and he collapsed to his knees, agony bursting through the one he’d just battered. “Damn it!” he yelled.

He half crawled, half pulled himself on his stomach, toward the back door. But it was pointless. He was down.

“Admirable, Strom. But face it, I have more power than you do.”

Quinn rolled onto his back to see the sorcerer limp into the kitchen, the little goblin trailing behind him.

“Loir, grab the bag.”

The little green creature shuffled past the sorcerer to where Quinn was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He clutched the satchel to his chest. “Touch it, goblin, and I’ll bite your hand off.”

The goblin grinned at him, showing off four rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Not before I bite yours off, first.”

The sorcerer laughed.

The goblin reached for the bag, but Quinn wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it. The creature dragged one sharp talon across the back of Quinn’s hand. His skin split open, bubbling with infection.

“Jesus!” he dropped the bag and cradled his injured hand. The pain was intense. It made his head swim. Nausea filled his mouth.

The creature took the bag and handed it to the sorcerer, then shuffled in beside its master.

The sorcerer pulled open the leather bag, and withdrew a Holy Bible. He smiled when he saw it. “Cute.”

The sorcerer opened it and flipped through the pages until, Quinn imagined, he came across Quinn’s hiding spot. He’d hollowed out pages of the book and set the key inside.

The sorcerer tossed the Bible aside, and held up what he’d found between the pages. It was the key. The key that had been entrusted to Quinn to keep hidden. The key that unlocked the Chest of Sorrows, which contained a book that could end the world.

The sorcerer closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Quinn. Give my best to the demon horde when you get to hell.” He turned on his boot heel and glanced down at the goblin. “Make it quick. We have places to be.”

“Next time we meet, sorcerer, I’m going to bury that blade in your neck and watch you bleed out,” Quinn said.

The sorcerer shook his head with a little smile at his lips. “So much drama, exorcist.”

He hobbled out of the kitchen and Quinn could hear his steps through the living room and out the front door, leaving Quinn alone with the little assassin.

The goblin tilted its head and looked at Quinn. “I have longed to meet you, Quinn Strom.”

“Is that right?” Quinn cradled his hand to his chest. The infectious bubbling hadn’t stopped. The wound had widened and blood joined the phlegmy green liquid oozing out of his hand.

“You are most famous in hell.”

Quinn imagined he was. He’d exorcised hundreds of demons back to the fiery pits. He imagined he was hell’s Most Wanted. He wondered if there were posters of him nailed to the walls. He hoped they got his good side.

The goblin neared him, regarding him curiously. “Are you afraid to die?”

Quinn boldly met its gaze. “No. Are you?”

“Is there anything you want to say before it happens?”

He nodded. “Yeah, who was that sorcerer bastard?”

“His name is Richter Collins.” It smiled, then reached for him.

The goblin squeezed Quinn’s head between its mottled green hands. Quinn could feel the scaly skin on his cheeks. It leaned down and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I will not kill you. She would hate it and I will not do that to her, although you have done worse to her, I think.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know who. The one you wronged. The one you loved, once upon a time. I am one of her loyal servants.”

“And she sent you to get her revenge?” he spat.

The goblin shook her head. “No, to save you, stupid man.”

Before Quinn could respond, everything went dark.