jog around the island, eyes alert for any sign that he’d disturbed something. Anything.
It took him thirty minutes to make a rough circle of the entire island and then bisect it. It wasn’t a big stretch of land. But he’d seen enough as he circled around to know there should be some sort of wildlife here. Even if it was just a bunch of wild rabbits.
But there was nothing .
Just the remains of the fire…and a sandwich. Strangest of all was how little sign there was of the person who’d dropped it. He couldn’t see any sign of where they’d come ashore, and no sign of how they’d left.
“Okay, Will. You win this round,” he muttered.
His voice echoed in the silence and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all.
Moving at a slower pace, he started to hunt, cutting the island up into cross-sections. He’d go over it with a fine-toothed comb if he had to. There had to be a sign, somewhere, somehow.
The sign, when he found it, wasn’t the one he’d wanted to find.
Down the slightest of inclines, around a rocky outcropping, he found a circle of sleeping bags and a small boat, the kind you’d row in. It would seat four people.
And there were four sleeping bags.
Along with those sleeping bags, he found a staple of dry goods, canned foods, water. The sort of supplies people would put in if they planned to hide out awhile.
He crouched down and he breathed in.
His gut was already roiling and he knew, even before his mind started to process it.
Demon.
Sweat.
The fire inside his veins started to burn as he caught the final scent.
Sex.
Quebec, 1912
“Well. This is different…”
Finn ignored the man at his side, listening instead to the conversation in the house across the street.
Not that it was much of a conversation.
There had been a scream, several minutes of grunts, groans…
Obvious sounds of struggle. That, on top of the fact there were humans inside, it meant they didn’t have an easy night ahead of them. He’d hoped to go in, kill everything in sight, then leave.
A hand touched his arm and he looked over at Rip. The man jerked his head, pointed to his chest, then jerked his head at the roof, then gestured toward the alley.
As a plan, it was simple enough. Rip would go in that way and Finn would come in from another. They needed to see what they were dealing with and they needed to get as many mortals out as they could before the incubae in there called the rest of their friends home. Incubae and succubae were like bees, the majority of them just drones, guided by the strongest—a king or queen. They operated in a hivelike state, sometimes in groups as small as four, sometimes as large as twenty.
This one, they estimated at fourteen.
Rip and Finn planned to pick off the stronger ones, then wait for the others to come rushing back so they could deal with them as well.
One thing about the demons who dealt in sex—they were predictable. Take out the leader and it was like they had no control. They always followed that instinct and they found themselves pulled back to wherever it had happened.
Before they separated, Rip held up a hand with three fingers extended. Three minutes. Then he’d see how many he could save.
He spent the first two minutes and twenty seconds checking his Colts, the bullets, even though he already knew everything was in perfect working condition. He eyed the door in front of him, felt it as his heart rate started to slow, his vision sharpening down, clarifying.
Ten seconds to go—
There was a scream, cut short. And then, a freezing, chilling sensation he knew all too well.
Son of a bitch.
One of demonic, freed, left to search for a body and there were plenty of them inside.
Finn opened the door and stepped into a dark, dark maw.
His eyes needed no time to adjust and they instantly locked on the woman, crouched, absurdly, behind a piano.
There was a gun in her hand. Finn narrowed his eyes, recognizing the make immediately. A Colt M1877, just like
It took him thirty minutes to make a rough circle of the entire island and then bisect it. It wasn’t a big stretch of land. But he’d seen enough as he circled around to know there should be some sort of wildlife here. Even if it was just a bunch of wild rabbits.
But there was nothing .
Just the remains of the fire…and a sandwich. Strangest of all was how little sign there was of the person who’d dropped it. He couldn’t see any sign of where they’d come ashore, and no sign of how they’d left.
“Okay, Will. You win this round,” he muttered.
His voice echoed in the silence and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all.
Moving at a slower pace, he started to hunt, cutting the island up into cross-sections. He’d go over it with a fine-toothed comb if he had to. There had to be a sign, somewhere, somehow.
The sign, when he found it, wasn’t the one he’d wanted to find.
Down the slightest of inclines, around a rocky outcropping, he found a circle of sleeping bags and a small boat, the kind you’d row in. It would seat four people.
And there were four sleeping bags.
Along with those sleeping bags, he found a staple of dry goods, canned foods, water. The sort of supplies people would put in if they planned to hide out awhile.
He crouched down and he breathed in.
His gut was already roiling and he knew, even before his mind started to process it.
Demon.
Sweat.
The fire inside his veins started to burn as he caught the final scent.
Sex.
Quebec, 1912
“Well. This is different…”
Finn ignored the man at his side, listening instead to the conversation in the house across the street.
Not that it was much of a conversation.
There had been a scream, several minutes of grunts, groans…
Obvious sounds of struggle. That, on top of the fact there were humans inside, it meant they didn’t have an easy night ahead of them. He’d hoped to go in, kill everything in sight, then leave.
A hand touched his arm and he looked over at Rip. The man jerked his head, pointed to his chest, then jerked his head at the roof, then gestured toward the alley.
As a plan, it was simple enough. Rip would go in that way and Finn would come in from another. They needed to see what they were dealing with and they needed to get as many mortals out as they could before the incubae in there called the rest of their friends home. Incubae and succubae were like bees, the majority of them just drones, guided by the strongest—a king or queen. They operated in a hivelike state, sometimes in groups as small as four, sometimes as large as twenty.
This one, they estimated at fourteen.
Rip and Finn planned to pick off the stronger ones, then wait for the others to come rushing back so they could deal with them as well.
One thing about the demons who dealt in sex—they were predictable. Take out the leader and it was like they had no control. They always followed that instinct and they found themselves pulled back to wherever it had happened.
Before they separated, Rip held up a hand with three fingers extended. Three minutes. Then he’d see how many he could save.
He spent the first two minutes and twenty seconds checking his Colts, the bullets, even though he already knew everything was in perfect working condition. He eyed the door in front of him, felt it as his heart rate started to slow, his vision sharpening down, clarifying.
Ten seconds to go—
There was a scream, cut short. And then, a freezing, chilling sensation he knew all too well.
Son of a bitch.
One of demonic, freed, left to search for a body and there were plenty of them inside.
Finn opened the door and stepped into a dark, dark maw.
His eyes needed no time to adjust and they instantly locked on the woman, crouched, absurdly, behind a piano.
There was a gun in her hand. Finn narrowed his eyes, recognizing the make immediately. A Colt M1877, just like
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