Demon of Darkness (The Hellbound Hellion #2) - Tansey Morgan Page 0,62

stronger than me, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to wrestle control of the gun away from him, but I didn’t have to. Once he’d fired off a few rounds, I let go of the gun and lashed at the side of his face with my claws, drawing blood for the first time in a long time.

I didn’t want to admit it, but the feeling was exquisite.

The way the satyr had screamed, the spray of his blood on my face, and the sudden burst of energy that came from inflicting pain on him was a rush like few others. He cradled the bleeding side of his face, but what put stark terror into his expression was watching me lick the blood from my claws.

I smirked at him.

His eyes widened. “No, don’t!” he pleaded, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I finished the job with a quick strike into his throat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As the satyr’s warm blood dribbled down my arm, my mind sent me racing to one of my earliest memories after being summoned; the memory of the first throat I had slit.

It was as if time and space had been folded together like opposite sides of the same piece of paper. I saw, superimposed on the satyr’s face, the face of the man who had summoned me. I hadn’t been able to see his eyes because he’d been wearing a hood, but I had to imagine they looked a lot like the ones staring at me right now.

Wide, watering, and bright with the terrible knowledge of what was about to happen to him.

Time itself slowed to a crawl. I was aware of the commotion taking place in the front seat, but it was distant, and detached. Irrelevant compared to the exquisite, almost euphoric joy I found myself in. The satyr’s blood was red, and warm, and it had that coppery taste I had been expecting… but I didn’t hate it.

In fact, I enjoyed it. Every lick of my fingertips, every ounce of blood I sampled, every morsel of abject terror siphoned from the man dying in front of me was doing something to my body. I could feel my muscles tensing, my skin prickling, and my senses sharpening.

Looking down at my arms, I noticed more black scales expanding over my skin, creating even more, razor-sharp angles and spikes for me to strike and slice at my opponents. I was getting stronger. I could feel it. Killing the satyr was making me stronger… and didn’t hate it.

Time came crashing back into itself, speeding up around me quickly, and suddenly. The man in the passenger seat had turned around with a gun in his hand, ready to fire. Before he could bring it to bear on the side of my head, I bashed it aside with my forearm, making it go off right near the driver’s head.

The driver, now panicked, ducked low and opened his door to pile out of the van. The shooter, though, tried to aim the gun at me again. I grabbed his arm with one hand and punched him with my other hand, cutting sharp gashes across his cheek and splattering some of his blood across the windshield.

Instead of trying to attack me again, the satyr let go of the gun, shrugged out of my grip, and opened his own door so he could fall back through it. A moment of silence passed, and I realized I was alone in the vehicle. Well, not alone—there were two men with me, but one guy was unconscious, and the other was dead.

Instead of staying in the car, I crawled out of the window opposite to the one I had entered the vehicle through and took cover behind it. The other SUV hadn’t left. It was still there, in the middle of the—now—quiet road. Distantly, I thought I could already hear police sirens blaring; and I’d just made one hell of a mess.

“Demon!” came a booming voice from across the way. “Show yourself!”

I crouched next to the vehicle to avoid being seen. The strange, horrifying euphoria of having just killed someone was already wearing off, but I wasn’t feeling any less powerful. Still, I didn’t think it was a good idea to stand around where I could easily be seen considering these assholes were packing guns and magic.

“No,” I yelled, “I don’t think so.”

“You killed one of my people. You are going to pay for that.”

“Not unless I kill the rest of you, which I’m happy to do. Your people aren’t