Page 3 of Demon's Prey
“No, I’m not mourning,” he said as he turned back to face the sky. Faith laughed to herself and continued.
When she returned home, she noticed that she had taken nearly 7,000 steps. That was a good morning. Her alternate route helped add a few thousand more to her usual, 4,000-5,000. She placed her crullers on the counter, leaving them as a glistening reward after her yoga flow.
Faith removed her running shoes and ball cap, laying out her yoga mat in front of the TV. She no longer needed a guide to get through the flow as she had been doing it for about six months. Although, like her jog, she sometimes changed it up for novelty’s sake.
She breathed in deeply, squatted, and moved into her multiple sun salutations to set the tone.
Faith moved through her flow in silence, letting her various thoughts and concerns pass through her like rain. Well, at least that was what her mindfulness classes had taught her. She had been less and less able to let the thoughts about her fluff assignments from work pass through her like water. Instead, they had been passing more like thorns through her veins.
She closed her eyes and moved into downward dog. That pose was probably her favorite, as it stretched both her hips and her lower back. It also helped her pass gas, which she didn’t tell people when they asked what her secret was when it concerned her lean shape.
She had some kind of IBS, which was probably caused by the stress of her job.
Faith lingered there for a moment, peddling her calves back and forth. It felt great to stretch like this after a long run. She raised her left leg into the air, bending it high. She did the same on her right, then lunged forward for a quick warrior pose. She finished by popping her chest out and thanking the universe for the day ahead.
But her day ahead was nothing to be thankful for. The company she worked for had her reporting on late-term Lamaze classes. They hadn’t entered the current century they lived in, where women could approach stories that had nothing to do with their gender.
But Faith took on these stories without so much as a grumble. It was still a story and something she could add to her resume to help her find something more fulfilling in the future.
Faith showered and got dressed. She wore a bright blue suit with a sleek cotton blouse. She straightened her hair and applied a bit of makeup.
She gazed at herself in the mirror; she looked professional and proper. She wasn’t going to deny that.
She peered into her own eyes. “It will come; just have faith, Faith.” She spoke to herself like this almost every morning. She knew that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and a New York Times best-selling writer wasn’t made overnight.
She grabbed her crullers by the door, nibbling on them as she passed through the city. It was bright and shiny. A stunning New York morning. It comforted her as she drove through it, but a sense of dissatisfaction sat in her gut. She wanted more.
She arrived at the class, having done her research, and rehearsed in front of the camera. Behind her, twenty women breathed in and out deeply. Faith forced herself to do the same as they began rolling.
“Lamaze has been recommended for women since 1951 to teach them emotional support during one of the most physically tumultuous experiences of their lives...“
Faith was interrupted by the piercing slam of bricks flying in her direction. A pile landed on her cameraman and sent him sailing to the ground. Faith thought they had been bombed for a brief moment, and a part of her was relieved to no longer have to finish off the Lamaze story. But when she turned to the wall behind her, she saw fists the size of basketballs pushing through the wall like it was made of silk. Her eyes widened, and she backed away.
“KURSE IS HERE!” A husky and deep voice boomed through the room. Women stood from their open-legged positions and clenched the arms of their partners. They began screaming when a mountainous man, wearing only a loincloth, slammed through the wall, leaving his outline behind.
Faith’s eyes widened, and her heart began palpitating in her chest. She threw the microphone down and instinctively raised her hands in a ‘no harm’ stance. Women cried out while men and partners fainted to the floor, swooning at the sight of this inhuman creature.
Faith assessed him from head to toe—ruby red feet with scales that ran from top to bottom, black nails sticking out like knives on both his hands and feet. The round yellow eyes were like a cat’s, the center of his pupils was midnight black. He had fangs that would give Dracula a run for his money. It had been ten years since The Veil had fallen and Faith thought she knew all the different types of supernatural beings that normal humans had to live amongst now – a variety of shifters, fae, witches, warlocks, and the like. But this creature was…different. After scanning the room, his eyes narrowed in on her.
Faith jumped backward when he stepped toward her.
“Don’t come any closer!” Faith bellowed.
To her surprise, the creature stopped. Faith stuck out two hands, “please don’t hurt anyone. Who are you, and what do you want?”
The creature grinned. His teeth were sharp and glistening white. Horns stuck out of his head like thick branches. His muscles rippled under the fluorescents while a tail swung back and forth behind him like a hungry anaconda.
He lifted a single finger and pointed a gnarly nail in her direction.
“I’m here for you, fated mate.”
Faith was beyond bewildered. Had there been any drugs in those crullers? Was there a tumor growing in her brain that she didn’t know about?
Faith took another step back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kurse took another step toward her, continuing to point, “you traced the sigil. I am here!”
Faith glanced down at her cameraman, who appeared to be feigning injury to avoid the interaction. Finally, they made eye contact, and he shook his head, confused and terrified.
