Page 81 of The River of Hatred

I smile fondly at him. “I don’t see why not,” I say. “As long as we don’t go flaunting our supernatural status and keep doing our jobs, which, let’s face it, has been a lot easier with Belial out of the way with his mischief-making ways.”

“I’m afraid to go up there and find myself not wanting to come back here,” Liam muses.

“They would send the hounds,” Akira says, gracing us with his rarely-heard wisdom.

“Yeah,” Ethan snorts. “The hounds’ names being Maalik, Ramel, Corson…” We all have a good laugh at that.

After a while, I spin and take in our surroundings. We’ve patrolled this area before. Spindly, dead trees surround us and mist swirls around our legs. I know things have calmed down since Belial was apprehended but to not have met a single soul manifestation in hours?

“What is it, Jess?” Liam asks after placing a bracing hand on my shoulder. Of our team, he’s always been the most in tune with our moods.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just a weird feeling. It’s so quiet.”

“Too quiet, perhaps,” Akira adds.

Ethan steps in front of me. “Want to call it a day?”

Worrying my bottom lip with my teeth, I hesitate and second-guess myself. Am I just imagining things? Finally, I nod my head, slumping my shoulders.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” I say. “We should be home in… Ethan, watch out!”

Something sails through the air, whistling as it goes, straight for Ethan’s back and me behind him. We both jump to the side, each in our own direction. Ethan’s grunt echoes my own as we hit the ground with a thud, followed by a hissed curse from a usually mild-tempered Liam.

“Fuck, I just got over an injury,” he growls. Looking up, I see that he’s pressing a hand over a bleeding wound on his other biceps.

“What the fudging fudge was that?” Ethan gasps and I crawl over to where the object came to a standstill on the ground.

“It’s a hatchet,” I murmur, inspecting the small axe.

“Where did it come from?” Ethan asks inanely. He gets to his feet and brushes the debris off his leathers.

“Be quiet and arm yourselves,” Akira commands, the voice of reason.

“At least one of them isn’t a complete idiot,” a voice sounds from the trees. I freeze for a moment, then spring into action, unsheathing my scimitar and a dagger to boot, then dropping into a defensive position.

“Who’s there?” Ethan asks, slowly backing up until we’re covering each other’s backs.

A tongue clicks as shadows turn solid and we see we’re surrounded by half a dozen demons. These are no mindless minions; they could pass for humans if it wasn’t for the power emanating from them. We’re outgunned.

“This is who the Council chose?” a female demon asks with a mocking lilt. “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t feel confident in their decisions.”

“No, Sythra,” a male demon replies. “They really have lost their touch over the years.”

“Are you planning to talk us to death or will you tell us why you’re crossing our paths?” Ethan grumbles. I press against him in warning – I don’t think it’s wise to antagonize these demons with their disregard for the Council so apparent. The motion isn’t lost on the female demon. She smirks at me and exchanges a look with her male friend. I really don’t like this.

“We aren’t planning to talk you to death, no,” a third demon says. He’s male and chillingly handsome with pale blue eyes and long dark hair, his face narrow and refined. When his eyes lock with mine, I feel frozen on the spot, like a deer in the headlights. “Andras sends his regards,” he tells me.

My blood comes to a standstill as pins and needles travel from the top of my scalp all the way down to my toes. Adrenaline floods my veins and my heart starts whooshing in my ears.

“He has a message for you,” the demoness purrs. Her blood red hair sways at her waist as she sashays closer with a wide grin.

“What’s the message?” I croak, my throat clicking when I attempt to swallow the lump in it.

The handsome demon’s lips gently curve into an insincere smile. Before I can blink, he disappears, reappearing behind Liam, a sword to his neck.

“Oh, goodie, no more talking,” Sythra the demoness says with a wild grin.

Fucked. We’re fucked.

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