Demons Strike Back Read online

  Demons Strike Back

  Jacey Ward

  For my Husband -

  my own dark demon.

  Contents

  DEMONS Strike Back

  Signup page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Book 1: “Deviants” series

  Also by Jacey Ward

  Bad Boys with Superpowers

  DEMONS Strike Back

  Jacey Ward

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  Copyright © 2018 Jacey Ward

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher. Thank you for buying an authorized copy of this book and complying with copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Deviant (n) – any of a group of immortal beings living secretly amongst mortals, having powers beyond that which humans can explain. E.g. vampires, demons, shifters, Valkyries, Fae, trolls, demi-gods.

  Prologue

  He coughed and sputtered, blinking his hazel green eyes against the smog of the city.

  What the hell place is this? He wondered, shaking his head as he continued to descend the steps of the private plane. Of course he knew; he just had trouble accepting he was there – again.

  “Shall I carry you, my lord?” Anderly gasped, reaching a gnarled hand toward him. But Kalen declined the offer.

  “I have legs, Anderly. You are in worse shape than I am.”

  “Yes, yes my lord. I am not worthy,” Anderly agreed eagerly, bobbing his head. Kalen didn’t bother stifling a sigh, shaking his wavy dark hair with disgust.

  Father has a shitty sense of humor, he thought bitterly. Bequeathing me a clan of trolls before disappearing into purgatory. How the fuck was I supposed to get ahead after he left me with these Deviant heathens lurking about?

  Some might argue that the legion of trolls was better than nothing at all, but Kalen wasn’t convinced most days. It seemed that each troll was older and more decrepit than the last.

  Unlike his father, Kalen did not need his ego constantly stroked.

  My cock, yes. My ego, not so much, he thought, sighing as his feet met the landing.

  “What is this shithole again?” he asked Anderly even though he knew exactly where the plane had landed; New York City. The armpit of the mortal world.

  “New York City, New York State, United States of America,” Anderly recited as if he was Google maps.

  “Fuck, how many times have I sworn I would not come back to this cesspool?” Kalen growled, more to himself than to his half-dead companion.

  “Shall I have the pilot refuel and prepare to leave?” the troll asked.

  Kalen sighed inwardly again. Thanks a lot, dad.

  “Prepare to leave?” he echoed with thinning patience. “Have we gotten what we came for, Anderly?”

  “No, sire, no we have not.”

  “Well then how can we leave?”

  “I am sorry, sire. I am not worthy. I am not worthy.”

  “Is Evander here?”

  “I do not see him, my lord. I will look harder,” Anderly grovelled, bowing his head as if he expected a backhanded slap.

  “We have technology,” Kalen reminded him. “I’ll send a text.”

  But it wasn’t necessary. The doors to the entranceway swung outward and Evander strode toward them. Even from the distance between them, Kalen could read the concern in the investigator’s face.

  “If you have bad news…” Kalen said threateningly as the vampire approached.

  “I’m sorry, Kalen but he’s not here any longer. Or if he is, he caught wind of the fact we were looking for him.”

  “If you’re telling me I flew into this hellhole for nothing, Evander – “

  “I can’t say for sure, Kalen, but for the moment he’s off the radar.”

  “I will inform the pilot, my lord,” Anderly announced, but Kalen held up his hand.

  “Not yet. I’m not leaving the Americas only to return in a day because Evander got his shit together.”

  He eyed the pale immortal with disgust.

  “How long will it take you to find him?”

  “We’re working around the clock, Kalen. If he’s still on the continent, he will be found.”

  “And if not?”

  “I have alerted our operatives worldwide that he is still at large.”

  Kalen grunted loudly and shook his head.

  “This is unacceptable,” he snarled. “I don’t have extra time to piss away.”

  “We’re more than capable of taking care of him,” Evander offered, knowing full well that Kalen would refuse. “I’ll call on the local demons.”

  That dickhead is mine. He made me a promise and he broke it. And now he’s trying to run from me. When I get my hands on him, he’s going to find out exactly what happens to people who cross me.

  “Really?” Kalen asked, raising an eyebrow in contempt. “Because you’ve been doing such a fucking wonderful job of taking care of things so far?”

  Evander balked more if possible, and lowered his gaze as Kalen thought about his next move.

  He had no interest in staying in New York City, but he also had no desire to return to the Corpus without…well, without the corpse.

  “You have three days to find him,” Kalen conceded. “But if you don’t locate him, I will not be pleased.”

  “Of course,” Evander agreed quickly, visibly swallowing. He didn’t need to be told what happened when Kalen was displeased.

  “In the meantime, I will find you a suite at the Four Seasons. Maybe you can take in a show?” the vampire suggested brightly and Kalen grunted in exasperation.

  “Fucking perfect,” Kalen sighed. “Not only am I trapped in this hellhole, I’m stuck exploring what the mortals call culture.”

  “Frozen is playing,” Evander offered and in spite of himself, Kalen felt himself perk up.

  “Oh yeah? I caught it in London. It wasn’t bad.”

  The vampire bobbed his head and Kalen relented.

  “All right. I could stand to spend a night with Elsa. Do it up.”

  Evander turned, his shoulders sagging with relief, but Kalen wasn’t about to let the vampire relax.

  “Three days,” he called out to the PI. “After which…”

  He allowed his sentence to trail off menacingly.

  “Have no fear, Kalen,” Evander assured him without turn
ing as they stalked through the airport. “I found him before and I’ll find him again. There are only so many places a demon can hide.”

  “Uvall is not just any demon,” Kalen grunted aloud. “He has resources in places I can’t even imagine. Is he still traveling with the high priestess?”

  “Last we heard,” Evander replied, slowing his gait to peer over his shoulder as he heard something in Kalen’s tone. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that if he has a sorceress to aid him, we should find one too.”

  The males stared at one another, each with thoughtful expressions on their faces.

  “It shouldn’t be difficult to find a sorceress in New York City,” Evander agreed, nodding. “In fact, I think I know – “

  “No,” Kalen interjected flatly. “Not a sorceress.”

  “I’m confused,” Evander sputtered. “I thought you just said – “

  “I don’t want to fight fire with fire. I want to blow him up with a fucking plutonium bomb. When I’m done with him, he’s going to beg for purgatory. We need something more powerful than a priestess.”

  “Another demon?” Anderly asked, a leer forming on his grotesque, misshapen face. “Yes, we will gather all the demons and cast him out with his own kind!”

  Kalen scowled.

  “No, you imbecile. I don’t want the other demons to know what deal we fashioned with this rogue jackass. The backlash could be devastating, especially for those who sided with Dante. The Corpus will never recover. No, we need something better.”

  He paused, the wheels in his head spinning quickly through the options available.

  “A Valkyrie. We need to find a Valkyrie.”

  “Yes!” Evander murmured excitedly, nodding.

  “It’s settled then. Let’s find a Valkyrie and we’ll formulate a plan to smoke out that son of a bitch and his wretched mistress.”

  “I’ll make some calls,” Evander said, reaching for his cell phone, but Kalen stopped him.

  “No, wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “See if you can’t get those Frozen tickets first.”

  1

  It took every fiber of her being not to dig her long fingernails into the arms of her date. Everything about him was grinding on her nerves and despite being well versed in the ways of the pompous human interaction, Circe could not bring herself to believe that they enjoyed events such as this.

  Who would notice if I killed Darnell Jacob Collins the Third? I mean, really, how missed would he be? Surely this asteroid of mortal waste cannot tell one arrogant piece of shit from another.

  The urge to render him unconscious at minimum was overwhelming and the phony smile on her cherry red lips seemed etched in stone as she fought with the will to silence his nasally, arrogant voice.

  “What do you think, Circe, darling?” the middle-aged billionaire asked, cocking his bald head to look up at her. “Monet or Manet?”

  Seriously? You pretentious dickhead, you wouldn’t know art if it smacked you in your Viagra surged prick.

  And even after correcting him twice, he still insisted on pronouncing her name ‘Serse’, instead of ‘Keer-key’.

  I think my parents hated me. Why else would they chose an incredibly uncommon name – and then pronounce it oddly, too?

  “Oh, I don’t know!” she chirped, flashing her sharp little ivory teeth and mimicking his pose. Her blue-black curls tickled the base of her slender, muscled neck and she studied his face with intense eyes, hovering over him by at least six inches.

  “Oh, Darnie. I’m useless with this kind of thing.”

  The others in the group chuckled in their gracious, condescending manner.

  “You can hardly be faulted for your lack of knowledge in the art world, Circe,” Amanda Pierson declared, her faux compassion as transparent as her Botox job. “You weren’t raised among it as so many of us were.”

  “That is so true,” Circe replied sweetly, batting her thick lashes at the woman. “After all, I have always preferred the works of Dali or Kahlo who used emotion to gauge their works without ego or fear of judgement. Even Van Gogh was batshit crazy which leads me to have more faith in the legitimacy of his canvasses than a regurgitation of superficial pastel landscapes. But as you say, Amanda, what do I know? Will you excuse me?”

  She left the group to gape after her, willing her homicidal feelings to subside as she reached the bar.

  “Killed anyone yet?” She glanced over her bare, olive shoulder to where a fellow model leaned, her back arched against the bar as she scoped out the crowd.

  The stunning blonde chuckled and shook her head. “Not for lack of candidates who need killing, that’s for sure.”

  “The night is still painfully young,” Circe replied. “But I might be saving my one murder for Analeigh. Where is that rotten bitch?”

  “I saw her sneak out for a smoke a few minutes ago,” Cassandra replied, shaking her shimmering platinum waves about, as if to rid herself of the scene before. “Wanna bail?”

  “More than anything in the fucking world,” Circe replied. “Why do we let her do this to us?”

  Cassie laughed and shrugged.

  “Because it keeps us in the lifestyle in which we’re accustomed?”

  “I’m starting to miss growing up in South Park,” Circe replied flatly. “I’m not doing this again. I feel like we’re escorts, not models.”

  “I forget there’s a difference,” Cassie chuckled dryly, but Circe knew she hated it as much as she did. The mortal was just better at hiding it.

  “Girls, what are you doing here? You should be mingling!” Analeigh hissed, stalking toward them. Circe could still smell the aftermath of her menthol cigarette but she made no comment.

  “We’re done,” Circe told their agent without emotion. “And we’re sick of this shit, Analeigh. You’re pimping us out here.”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  Because of the excessive cosmetic surgery Analeigh Bowman had undergone, understanding her facial expressions was nearly impossible. Her eyebrows did not move, her mouth barely stretched one way or another and her brow never creased.

  If she wasn’t such a greedy bitch, I would almost wonder if she was immortal – or at least some kind of hybrid, but there is nothing mystical about her except for her insatiable greed.

  “Circe, I know how you feel about these events,” Analeigh sighed. “But they are necessary for your exposure.”

  “Well, we have been exposed enough. We’re out of here.” Circe spun to walk away, gesturing for Cassie to follow, but the blonde stood frozen in place. Circe could see the desire in her eyes but she dared not anger their agent.

  Fucking weak. All of the humans, Circe thought furiously but she knew she was just as bad. Those damned parties were frequent and always filled with the same lame crowd. Circe always swore she was not partaking in the next one and yet there she was; selling herself out again.

  “If you go, I’m not promising you that shoot with Elle.”

  The words stopped Circe in her tracks.

  We have finally come to this, have we?

  Analeigh terrorized all her clients, using a carrot and stick approach, withholding good gigs from the models she deemed insolent and promoting less than experienced ones. Her method was archaic and the weakest girls cracked under her rule but the ones who stuck it out would be guaranteed a life of luxury, modeling for the crème de la crème of the fashion world.

  But for some strange reason, Analeigh had never given Circe a problem. The Valkyrie got all the best jobs, despite her stubborn steak and propensity for arguing. It was as if Analeigh inherently understood that Circe did not fall into the same category as the others in her portfolio.

  For five years, Circe had had her pick of jobs. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was stunningly beautiful – but so were other girls, and if Analeigh didn’t like them, they were out on their pretty asses.

  But Circe did look incredible in anything, her amb
er eyes enhancing the blandest outfits.

  Yes, Circe had earned her stripes without kissing anyone’s ass and until that moment, Analeigh had left her alone.

  “I’m sorry,” Circe said, spinning back to stare at the agent among the throes of overdressed wealthy, spilling through the lobby of the theater. “I thought you just said something utterly fucking ridiculous to me.”

  Her bright yellow eyes clashed with Analeigh and Circe smirked when she read the fear in her eyes.

  “Circe,” the older woman faltered. “Be reasonable. The second half of the play is about to start – “

  “How many times do I need to see Elsa freeze shit?” Circe demanded. “I’m out of here.”

  She spun again, knowing that Analeigh would never make good on her threat and stormed toward the door, her stilettos clicking determinedly against the marble floors of the lobby.

  Heads turned as they often did when she moved, one after the other, eyes followed her svelte form toward the revolving doors and a swell of appreciation murmured through the crowd.

  As she stepped into the humid night air, Circe felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she allowed herself to exhale in relief. She had wanted to walk out of one of those events for as long as she could remember.

  The truth was, she was glad none of the Deviants could see her in those moments. The shame for selling out to the industry was gut-wrenching and Circe wondered why she did it to herself.

  You’re a fucking Valkyrie, for Christ’s sake. You’re better than this.