Chapter 8 Cinder #2
He advanced, his muscles rippling beneath his fur, a wicked grin exposing teeth too sharp to be horse or human. I slipped my hand into the bag, searching for the set of steak knives I’d snagged from the kitchen section. My fingers found the box, but it was sealed with superglue.
The centaur lunged, hooves striking sparks on the stone floor as he came for me. I ducked beneath his swinging fist—which was no easy feat considering the span of his arms was double my height—and I darted left, crouching near the edge of our boxing ring.
“Fight, little girl. Entertain them.” He snorted and feinted, his tail lashing in annoyance. “Draw first blood, and I might let you live.”
Little girl…? Oh, no, he didn’t.
“Don’t you mean second blood? You’re already acquainted with my knife.” My fingers closed around something hard, and I yanked it from my bag and hurled it at him. A can of chili smacked him in the forehead, and he stumbled, grunting and shaking his head.
A ripple of laughter snaked through the crowd, their jeers briefly transforming into surprised cackles.
The centaur staggered, his eyes burning with rage and confusion.
Clearly, he hadn’t expected his evening to include a food fight, yet there we were…
and I was not above adding a little culinary humiliation to the menu.
I flung my elbow back, slamming it into a demon’s nose. The guy faltered just enough for me to reach behind him and grab the mystery meat display and yank it forward. The shelving unit toppled, cans crashing to the ground and rolling in every direction.
I swiped two and chucked them both at the centaur. One got him in the stomach, making his human half double over. The other hit his horsy knee with a thwack. He snorted and stamped his hoof, lowering his torso and charging at me.
A hoof landed on a can, his weight smashing it open, spilling mystery meat all over the floor. His front leg slipped out from under him, and he crashed forward, his horse chest smacking the ground before he caught himself on his hands.
The crowd cheered, hooting and hollering as he tried to get his legs back under him, his hooves skittering wildly on a slick mosaic of mushy meat and sauce.
I seized the moment, adrenaline surging through my veins, and dove for my fallen knife.
My fingers grazed cold steel just as the centaur pounded a fist into the floor, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the stone.
He lunged for me, but his back legs fishtailed on a rogue can, his momentum throwing him off-balance again.
I sprang to my feet, knife brandished, and faced him head-on as he scrambled to his hooves.
The jeers from the crowd faded into a hush, tension crackling in the air like static before a storm.
The centaur reached behind his back, going for the crossbow, and that was my cue to ride like the wind. Muscles coiled, I pounded pavement toward him. He lowered the bow. His finger moved toward the trigger. I screamed like a banshee.
My boot hit a patch of wet meat, and I slipped, slamming the knife into his horse chest before sliding beneath him like I was headed for home base. The doors whooshed open, and I shot to my feet, clutching the bag and what was left of the supplies as I plowed toward the safehouse.
The centaur roared from somewhere behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around. Footfalls echoed, hooves and shoes, the sound of at least a dozen pursuers chasing me making my adrenaline spike again.
I darted around the corner half a second before an arrow whizzed past, and I laid on the speed, sprinting toward Hecate’s shack and hurtling onto the porch.
The mob following me ran straight past the house as if it were invisible, and I dragged in a massive breath, clutching the doorjamb and willing my heart to slow the eff down.
The door swung open, and I stumbled into the foyer before closing it and leaning my back against it. Pressing a hand to my chest, I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths, begging my heart to slow its pace before it exploded.
Battling a centaur security guard was definitely not on my bingo card today.
Neither was misfiring magic. I slipped the bag off my shoulder and held my hand up, trying to call a flame to life. All I managed were a couple of sparks.
This was not good. So very not good.
Fire was my inborn gift, my element. It was as much a part of me as the blood running through my veins, so how in all the realms could I not access it? Did Lucifer strip my powers too? Could he even do that?
I picked up the bag and headed to the living room to wake up Discord and get some answers…but he was gone.
“Discord?” I shouted, but he didn’t respond. “I swear to Hecate, if you went off on your own…”
I strode through the living room and down the hall. The scents of patchouli and sandalwood drifted on the air, and as I entered the bedroom, I found my demon, freshly showered and sexy AF, sleeping beneath the sheets.
The perturbed sensation tightening my chest loosened, and I put the bag down, gently removing the contents and setting them on the dresser.
He looked so peaceful, serene almost, but far from harmless. Even dead to the world, his aura screamed danger and excitement. He lay on his side, his right hand beneath the pillow, his ribcage expanding and contracting with his breaths, and I had to admit my heart melted a little bit.
How my body found the time to feel attraction, kinship…
anything at all…toward this man I had no clue.
The hunters were still hunting, I’d royally pissed off a centaur three times my size, and we still didn’t know where Hecate was.
The apparent invisibility spell on this house was our only reprieve, and thank the goddess for it.
Twelve hours of deep sleep would do me good, but I’d settle for a shower and a cat nap.
Based on what I’d felt when my sisters had tried to summon Discord, time moved faster in the earthly realm.
Halloween was fast approaching, and while I’d have loved to take a break and chill here for a few days, I had a coven to save and a veil to mend.
I set a stack of Discord’s clothes on the nightstand before heading to the bathroom and closing the door. Good goddess, I was a mess. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror, but her bloody face and ratted hair weren’t the problem.
Once full of vigor and vim, my eyes now appeared hollow, distant. I was losing myself in this realm, the constant flux between fight and flight taking a toll on my body and my mind. Hell was no place for the living.
I turned from the mirror and stepped into the shower, the scalding water pelting my face, rivulets of pink cascading down my body and spiraling into the drain. I washed my hair and scrubbed, standing beneath the stream until the water ran clear.
After drying off, I threw on some undies and a t-shirt—I’d deal with pants after my nap—and worked the tangles out of my hair with a wide-toothed comb. Steam wafted out as I opened the door, and I padded to the bed, slipping beneath the sheets and lying on my side, facing my demon.