Sunset to Sunrise (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #7.5)

“They believe Arys is a threat. Is he killing for you?” There was no casual way to ask this question. I met the demon’s inky red eyes, unflinching. He was a supreme asshole that I hated almost as much as I hated Arys. But I’d learned how to deal with him. He no longer intimidated me.

Shya sat perched on the arm of the couch. Dressed to kill, as always, in a pricey suit, he maintained a perfectly groomed appearance. His black wings were absent. It was all fake of course. He was a demon. The Japanese human form he wore was all illusion. I had no desire to see his real face. This one conveyed his evil just fine.

His snake-like pupils dilated as he stared at me. He appeared to be contemplating something.

“Arys doesn’t do anything for anyone. If he’s killed, it’s entirely his choice.” Vague and elusive. A typical Shya response. “I may have mentioned a few vampires to him who were exhibiting signs of potential trouble. Whatever he did with that information was out of my hands.”

So Arys was up to something. Evidently Shya was as well. I nodded, knowing when it was worth pursuing a matter further with Shya and when it wasn’t. In most cases, it wasn’t.

“Why do you look so troubled, Kale? Is it because Alexa is gone?” The demon smirked. “Don’t fret. I’ve instructed Falon to keep an eye on her.”

“I’m not troubled. Just concerned. If Arys is doing things here without her knowledge, that won’t go over well when she finds out.”

“And just how will she find out?” Shya challenged. “You would never tell her something that is no business of yours, would you?”

After several centuries of dealing with the bastard demon, I had learned to shrug off his thinly veiled threats. He seemed to think that I still owed him, all these years later.

My past was decorated with ugly memories. Most of which were created by the vile thing who made me what I am. She had been a sick, twisted monster, all too willing to pass on her sadistic madness. Making a deal with the demon had been my best chance at the time. It was because of Shya that I had escaped her. I couldn’t even bring myself to speak her name.

Nothing bound me to the demon now. My debt to him had been paid several times over. We had settled into a working partnership that suited us both. Our supernatural secrets must be kept. I had no desire to have the masses of humankind learn that we walk among them. So I was happy to hunt those that threatened to expose us.

That merely scratched the surface of what I did for Shya, though I had much preferred it when Veryl had been the middleman. Since his death, things had changed. And not for the better.

Sunrise was coming. I got up to leave, ignoring Shya when he followed along behind me. It was because of him that Alexa and I were at such odds these days. Not only had he forced her to take a demon mark for me, but he was also the one who issued the kill order that resulted in the time I spent in the FPA prison.

“Let me know when you’ve dealt with them,” Shya said. “I want it made clear that any creature who tries to harm either Arys or Alexa will be promptly destroyed.”

I turned at the door to find him standing in the foyer, arms crossed and black wings flared. He was imposing without having to say a word. Surely he knew he was loathed by many. He just didn’t give a damn. We were all going to do what he wanted anyway.

“Since leaving the FPA lockup, have you gotten any better?” he asked. “I was concerned you’d be a problem, what with your fragile grip on sanity.”

The many ways I wanted to address that snide comment would only instigate trouble. He wasn’t worth it.

“I’m as good as I’ve ever been,” I said, turning my back on the ever-watchful demon. Descending the front steps, I strode toward my black Camaro without a look back. “No worries. I’ll take care of things.”

I peeled out of his driveway with a squeal of tires. I loved that sound. My ’73 Chevy did pretty well at kicking up a nice piece of his lawn as well. Knowing Shya, he’d find a malevolent way of mentioning that at our next meeting.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know what people were saying and thinking about me. Shya, Alexa, Jez. They all thought I was batshit crazy. They likely were not wrong. However, there was more to it than that. Being crazy wasn’t my crime, but rather, that I accepted and even enjoyed it.

The most loud and annoying rock station on the radio accompanied me on the ride home. Alexa had asked me once why I didn’t upgrade my wheels, get something new with all of the tech inputs, heated seats and whatnot. My classic ride had been a rebuild project back in the late 80s. I had restored every inch of her myself. I didn’t need bells and whistles. I had a badass motherfucker of a car that purred like a kitten and roared like a lion. Nothing would part me from that car short of true death.

The sky had begun to fade in preparation for the morning sun. Instead of seeking shelter at The Wicked Kiss, I headed south, for home.