The second the words left his lips Jaral cursed himself. His father did not approve of his soldiers thinking for themselves.
The demon king’s eyes narrowed and Jaral braced for pain. In the centuries he’d served this court his father hadn’t managed to break him. This offense would be no different.
But to his surprise the king waved his words away with a hand. “Careful, Jaral.”
Jaral noted the loss of his title. Looks like his time as “son” was over.
“Go to the humans and find that rift. If it exists, inform me at once.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“Dismissed.”
Jaral bowed sharply, with military precision, before striding from the room.
The second the doors closed behind him he sighed in annoyance. There were few places he hated as much as the mortal realm. Too many sounds and smells, and humanity brimming to the edge. Colors plastered everywhere, sun bright enough to sear his eyes and burn his skin, jarring metal vehicles rushing past at every turn. Humans didn’t need to fear demons would destroy them. They were doing a bang-up job all by themselves.
He strode down the ebony halls to his rooms. Demons skittered away from him as he walked, no doubt sensing his foul mood. None would want to brave his anger in this state.
He barely noticed the whispers following him as he rounded the corridor. Let them talk. He was, after all, a favorite topic. Jaral, son of a demon king yet not his heir. A man without a place, for all he’d proven his loyalty time and again.
Jaral slammed into his chambers and went directly to his wardrobe. He dressed with quick efficiency, tossing aside his black soldier uniform in favor of mortal clothing. How he hated the constricting, cheap material. He never held any respect for mortals at the best of times, but pulling on the dark jeans and black T-shirt he always wore when he traveled to the world above put him in an even blacker mood.
Dressed, and armed with weapons strapped to various parts of his anatomy, he knew he couldn’t stall any longer. His father was not a patient demon.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Time to make the painful climb to the mortal world. Silver lining, perhaps he could find a hunter or two while he worked. He wouldn’t mind cutting a few throats to repay them for the vast number of his brethren they’d executed over the years. A grin twisted his lips. Oh yes, hunter blood on his hands might just make this cursed trip worthwhile.
Chapter Two
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Darcy looked around the room of hunters, waiting for someone to speak up and assure her she hadn’t just heard what she thought she had. But the faces watching her were solemn. No one spoke.
She dropped onto the couch next to Blake. Part of her wanted to lean into his warmth as she would have done as a child when nightmares plagued her. She’d come a long way from that frightened girl, however, and she needed to be strong.
Representatives from several of the hunter families in the city sat in their living room, taking up every available space. Most had strong drinks in their hands and bitter words on their tongues. The one thing they all agreed on was their impending doom.
“This can’t be happening,” she said.
“You can thank Kerilyn Whitney,” one of the older woman snapped before taking a long drink. “She screwed us all.”
Darcy flinched at the name. Kerilyn, the last surviving member of the strongest hunter family on the East Coast, had been one of their best. They’d lost her this past Halloween, when she’d been killed by the demon king himself.
Of course, the stories had started almost as soon as the sun rose on the following November morning. Stories whispering that Kerilyn wasn’t dead, that instead she’d been spirited away to the Netherworld, where she reigned as queen.
“They’re just stories,” Darcy said. “Let her rest in peace.”
“If she died that night as we all thought she did, why is the spirit world broken open to ours? Something had to happen to drive a wedge between our realms so they couldn’t close off again. Kerilyn might have saved herself but she doomed the rest of us.”
“Kerilyn would never make that choice and you know it. You dishonor her memory.”
“Darcy.”
She stilled at the gentle reproof in Blake’s voice.
“The stories say she was mortally wounded and the Lord of the Spirits healed her,” Blake said quietly. “Made a human into a spirit. I’ve done research and there is no record of anything like that happening before. If something was going to split open the roads between the realms, my money is on magic strong enough to cause such a transformation.”
“Unless you know a witch strong enough to rival the spirit lord, I think it’s safe to say we’re screwed,” Rod said, tossing back his drink.