Chapter One
Bishop stared at the disheveled room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
His nostrils flared. Among the scattered drawers and strewn clothing was her scent.
His demon.
With the owners dead, this house was no longer a place to lure humans to become hosts for demons. But she had crossed into his world without being summoned. She’d used her bond—Bishop ground his teeth at the reminder—and not a human. Yet she’d had the ability to land here instead of outside of the compound where he and his team stayed.
His demon.
He didn’t know what she really looked like. She’d only come to him, tricked him into binding himself to her, while in human hosts.
I pick what you like, Bishop.
The memory of her mocking tone shot straight to his manhood. Damn that bond!
He took another inhale. Brimstone, of course, but laced with a…sweet wood-fire scent? Yeah, like roasting marshmallows over a campfire. Then having sex and licking the sticky goo off each other.
Gah! She was a demon and he didn’t even know her real name. Always her with the upper hand. She knew his name, had known his habit of frequenting busty, buxom humans to sate his physical drives, had been able to use her knowledge to lure him into swearing himself to her.
But he’d prevailed and not turned on his team. Bishop snarled and spun around. Stomping out of the room, he brushed aside the remnants of the crime-scene tape from the murders of the house’s owners. His demon must’ve busted through the tape on her way out, ripping it to shreds.
Had she known the owners, the underworld’s human servants, were dead? That they’d been killed only days ago? Yet she’d entered the realm in this house.
Frustration welled. His team was tasked with protecting their people from the recent threat of demons, but they worked with so little understanding of how demons functioned. Bishop’s demon had wanted to use him, but he could play that game. He’d use her to determine the rules of the underworld—and destroy it.
He exited the room and stopped, then backed up.
Several pieces of yellow tape were singed. He grasped a piece between his fingertips. Black dust, like soot, covered the ends.
He narrowed his eyes. A clue to store away; the fact resonated deeply in his bones. What did it mean? Did she singe stuff she touched? Had she blown her way through the door and its taped exit? A quick scan of the frame and floor showed no other signs of damage. His brow crinkled. He’d find out what she was capable of if it was the last thing he did.
He stormed out of the empty house into the night. A dog barked next door at an almost identical colonial house, its claws scraping against the windows of the dwelling. His bark brimmed with protective instincts and terror. The pooch sensed another predator in the area and feared for his people.
“I’m not gonna hurt your humans,” Bishop growled.
The dog quieted.
Huh. That was a first, but they were smart creatures. He wished humans were the same. If that woman hadn’t volunteered for demon possession, naively thinking it was a one-way ticket to the supernatural world, he wouldn’t be in this heap of a mess. Why would a human want to become a vampire, anyway? Couldn’t they just be happy being humans and enjoy their short life? Sip on merlot and not worry about finding a vein to tap. Remain blissfully unaware of the underworld seeking to overpower this realm and enslave all other species.
Bishop had dedicated his life to the safety of his own kind and humans, too. For them to hand over their bodies to a demon in hopes of changing their fate was just plain insulting.
He glared at the dog, a white poodle quivering from head to toe, mistaking Bishop’s ire as being directed at him. “Which way did she go?”
He wasn’t sure the animal heard him until the pup’s head kicked sideways, gesturing down the street.
“Good boy.” Bishop climbed into his Hummer and slammed the door. He sat for a moment, staring into the shadows created by the streetlamps.
She was on foot. Had to be.
When his leader’s mate had been bonded to a demon and the bastard had crossed over, the demon had kept his underworld powers. Bishop had to assume his demon had the use of her abilities, whatever they were.
Hoping they didn’t include teleportation, Bishop scrubbed his face. He was already behind the curve.
If she wasn’t able to flash in the underworld, then she was either on foot or she’d lifted a vehicle.
His demon had little conscience. She’d probably stolen a car instead of running.
He studied the area. Suburban, quiet. Older homes full of character, early nineteenth-century construction. Close to a college campus, but full of families instead of frat houses. His demon would only find plain cars, probably a few years old, with some wear and tear.
He fired up the engine, then idled through the streets in the direction the dog had indicated.
Sirens wailed, disrupting the silence of the night. Ahead of Bishop, an orange glow pierced the moonless night. Must be a fire a mile, maybe two, away.
He almost dismissed it until he recalled the seared plastic tape at the house.
His demon was hot.
Pressing on the accelerator, he aimed for the blaze. Fire trucks zoomed ahead of him, racing to the scene.
Bishop stopped a block away, blending in with other late-night rubberneckers. Smoke rolled from a building. A gas station. And not a building ablaze, but a car. A car parked at the pumps was engulfed in flames. Did she really have to pick the most dangerous place for an open flame? If it was her. But his old friend intuition curled through his gut like a tendril of smoke.
Yes. It was her. He’d catch her and finish her. Cover up his mistake before she threatened his team. The dependable, calm Bishop had royally fucked up. He’d make it right. His friends had been through a lot and Bishop would mop up his own mess and keep them protected while protecting himself. He’d do it to honor his mam.
Firemen hopped out, but Bishop remained in his vehicle. Hoses were unraveled and the crew battled the fire as people fled the premises.
Bishop scanned the crowd. His demon should be in her own form. Could she possess another human without the help of humans who’d summon someone like her? It was possible, but his pull toward her was stronger than ever, like it wasn’t being muted in a host anymore. He had no clue what she looked like, but he studied the crowd closely.
His bond didn’t ping, didn’t tighten his gut with her proximity. She wasn’t among the spectators.
You can’t hide from me, demon.
***
Fyra quit running.
You can’t hide from me, demon.
Bollocks. Her big, blond vampire knew she’d made it to his realm. Having Bishop after her didn’t spear her with panic like having one of the Circle of Thirteen targeting her.
Although the end result might be the same.
No. Bishop despised her, but he wasn’t innately cruel. Unlike Rancor. Her boss relished how his cruelty reached above the other twelve of the Circle that led the underworld. What he couldn’t achieve with brains, he did with brutality.
She shuddered. Her skin still crawled from Rancor’s touch. After he was done brutalizing her for her failure to extract information from Bishop, he would’ve skinned her and used her pelt as a cloak. And probably fucked that, too.
Demons had no sense of decency.
Okay. Plan B had just become plan Right-Freaking-Now. Her underworld boss was probably mobilizing the rest of his minions to find her, and now her vampire was on her trail.
She had to find another car to steal. Stupid humans. Why couldn’t they leave a car with a full tank of gas sitting around?
Why did Fyra have to steal the only one with an empty tank? Having to fill it with gas had been flirting with disaster. She and fuel didn’t mix.
In the underworld, it didn’t matter if she spewed a little flame here or there. She ran hotter than most other fire demons. Her kind kept the fires of the underworld going—job security down there, major bummer up here.
She shoved her hands into the navy-blue hoodie she’d pilfered from the cult house and put her head down. Two blocks ahead was a nice, charcoal-gray car parked at the curb. An older model, so she wouldn’t have to worry about so many of the new security features. Things had been so much easier decades ago. People had actually left their keys in the ignition back then. So handy. At least the previous car’s owner had left his wallet on the seat.
Dragging in a calming breath, she willed her internal inferno to calm.
Cool air snaked around her, as if drawn to the heat. For a fire demon, the beginning of winter was a good time to be stranded on Earth. Control of her abilities was easier when she didn’t have hot weather encouraging her blaze. Another benefit: stocking hats.
She might only be a second-tier demon, but her status came with the benefit of a humanoid form, even if she lacked the ultimate power of a full demon. But she still stood out in the human world.
Her flame-hued hair was tucked underneath a standard black cloth hat. She rolled her shoulders. Too bad the previous owner of the hoodie hadn’t been a larger guy. Her bust took up most of the extra room. Same with the sweats. Her ass rounded out the back until the waistband dipped and showed off her crack every time she bent.
She reached the car and trotted to the driver’s door. Closing her eyes, she laid a finger on the lock. A small surge of energy poured into the lock, and a satisfying thunk signaled an unlocked door. She grinned and crawled in.
Another zap at the ignition and the engine purred.
Almost as good as an orgasm. Unless it was with Bishop. He could make a girl roar.
She pulled away and tore through Freemont. She knew the town well enough, but she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t hide in Bishop’s backyard, he’d find her in no time.
Suh-weet. The car had over half a tank of gas so she could ditch this city before Rancor found a prime vampire to possess. He had surely sent one or two second-tier demons after her already, but he had to earn his reputation back. She’d destroyed it by getting away; therefore, he’d use her to demonstrate that it had been nothing more than a fluke, then claim he’d let her get away to lead them to Bishop.
She and Bishop weren’t simpatico, but she didn’t want to see him get hurt. She was fond of the big lug. Not even his do-gooder heart turned her off. Could she find a way to warn him about Rancor without revealing her location? Then the two males could tussle while she conned her way to a tropical island where she could start bonfires with her fingertips.
There was plenty of time for her to think about it as she drove. Weaving through the city, she crossed into West Creek and found a way out of town. Where was she heading? West?
Good enough. There had to be a metropolis to get lost in west of Freemont.