It hunts, she replied, somewhat testily. Should kill.
Oh, she will be killed, just not by us.
Task mine.
Not this time.
I swear she swore—although if she had, it was in a language I couldn't understand. Did demons even have their own language?
Of course, Azriel commented, his tone amused. All sentient beings do.
I guess I just didn't expect it from a demon in a sword.
Remember, before she was in the sword, she was a very powerful demon causing a great deal of havoc.
Havoc good, she commented. Should cause more.
I snorted. Bloodthirsty little beast, aren't you?
She preened. I shook my head, then tensed as the shifter and the Jorõgumo rose in unison. My gaze swept the club, but I didn't see any sign of the guardian. Maybe he'd left after talking to the manager.
Not entirely, Azriel said. He's outside, watching the entrance.
Damn. I should have guessed a guardian wouldn't abandon his post so easily. Or that we'd be that lucky. We need to take him out.
The shifter and the spider-spirit didn't head for the front door, however, but rather turned and walked, arm in arm, in my direction. I swore softly, but kept my head down and sipped the remains of my beer.
Awareness crawled across my skin. The closer she got, the worse it got, until it felt like thousands of tiny black feet were skittering all over me. My grip on the glass became so fierce, my knuckles went white—how it didn't shatter, I had no idea.