Page 3 of Demon Hunter

Closing my eyes, I think back, trying to pinpoint when we went from friends to something else. Friends-plus. There was the fact that Dylan’s always online, and he keeps weird hours, so no matter what time zone I was in, he was always available on chat to distract me from my shitty motel room. He’s known me forever, and sometimes our brains are stupidly in sync. Kind of like me and Ian, but somehow not. He’s smart and funny, and of course he knows everything there is to know about the Collective, demons, and what happened with my family six years ago. He’s technically a hunter—he’s had the same training as me—but it became clear to everyone very early on that his skills would be wasted in the field. Instead, he does his hunting online, tracking down cults and sects that are raising demons—or trying to—and helping us shut them down and prevent them from preying on innocents. Because a lot of these deluded creeps think human sacrifice is needed to summon a demon, and that’s never a good thing.

So yeah, it’s nice to be able to be my authentic self with him, no secret-keeping, but at the same time, when we talk about our days, not have them be the same. Chats and texts became phone calls that lasted for hours, and in terms of virtual contact hours, he quickly became the person I spent the most time with. Until one night, while we were debating who would win in a fight, Luke Skywalker or Thor—it all hinges on whether lightsabers would affect Mjolnir—I started surfing TV channels, ended up on some low-budget movie with a naked shower scene, and complained about how long it’d been since I’d had sex.

“I can help you with that,” Dyl said.

I’d laughed, then thought maybe he was going to send me a link to online porn. Instead, what I got was the hottest, dirtiestphone sex I’ve ever had… and trust me, when most of your relationships are long-distance, you have a lot of virtual sex.

That was nearly a year ago, and nothing’s been the same since.

Chapter 2

Dylan

Present Day

I lean backin my desk chair and stretch my arms over my head, the popping of my joints and the ache in my hands and wrists telling me even before I glance at the clock that I’ve been working for too many hours.

2:31 AM.

Fuck. The last time I looked, it was just after seven. I only meant to spend about an hour on this before moving on to the stuff I actually have to get done for work. Because even though this is work, it’s technically not on my to-do list. I’m not even sure it’s work, really. It’s just some company I found that I have aweirdfeelingabout. I might be wasting my time on it.

And worse than that, I’ve missed Matty’s call, dammit. I grab my phone, trying to remember where he is today. Maybe if the time zone gods align, I can still?—

There’s no missed call.

I blink at the screen, then unlock it and check the call register, just in case he did call but there was no notification.

Nothing.

Trying not to freak out, I open our text thread. There’s nothing new there, either, but it does say where he was going today—Reno. He’s in the same fucking time zone as me, and he didn’t call.

That means he’s either still working—which isbad, so fucking bad—or something’s happened to him. Because if there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s that Matt will call me before he goes to bed, or at least send a message if he can’t.

So… has he been fighting a demon for more than twelve hours? Or did the demon win?

My hands are shaking as I tap the screen to make the call. Maybe he’s just so tired that he forgot and is sleeping peacefully right now. It would be the first time he forgot, but that’s not going to stop me from making him wish the demon had won. He knows how much this matters to me.

Knows that I hate the not-knowing more than anything else.

I definitely won’t feel guilty if I wake him up.

But he’s not answering, and my stomach is beginning to cramp with true fear?—

“Hello?”

I freeze. The brisk, feminine voice is not Matt. Pulling my phone away from my ear, I check that I’ve called the right number. “Who is this?” I demand. My voice is a little raspy, partly because I haven’t spoken out loud since my talk with Matt last night, and partly because my throat feels like it’s about to close over.

“My name is Eileen Howard, and I’m a doctor at Renown Regional,” she says clearly, and I try to keep breathing. “May I ask who I’m speaking with?”

Matty. No. Matty.

“Is he alive?” I whisper.

She hesitates, and I get it. Privacy laws.

“I’m his boyfriend,” I add. “I… he’s not carrying ID, is he?” It’s a hunter policy for situations just like these. The cops tend to get really interested in people who carry around swords and get seriously wounded in what often looks like an animal attack. “I told him to carry his goddamn ID.” That’s what a worried boyfriend would say, right? “Please, just tell me if he’s alive. His brother’s his next-of-kin; I can call him and?—”

“He’s alive,” she interrupts, her tone gentling. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

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