Chapter 13 Daemon
Chapter Thirteen
Daemon
WAL OF TWO TEARS
Teufel Cove was deserted when I arrived, Cahir following close behind.
The last rays of light cast the surrounding cliffs in a fiery glow, feeling reminiscent of the hell I was about to enter.
There was nothing but a long, wooden pier, lacking the ship usually docked at the end.
The sand was littered with footprints from the other nineteen participating demons—who were here likely only minutes ago.
I had just missed them, and now I was the last demon to the Hunt.
But that was why Cahir was here.
I paced along the shore, cursing myself for taking so damn long at the Umbra Ministry.
I should have just killed that fucker, Agnar, the moment I saw him.
I knew it was his time to go on the Hunt, and since he was still there, I should have taken the opportunity to secure my place on the island and get my ass here sooner.
At the sound of splitting air—the distinct rattle of a crack through space—I spun on my heel to find Sten Fara, one of the demons in the Ministry, materializing before me out of thin air.
He looked drunk, swaying on his feet the moment they hit the sand.
He only had one job in the Ministry: to transport demons to and from the island once a year.
In fact, it was the only reason he was part of the Ministry at all.
His ability was unique, valuable, and highly sought after for the Hunt.
Those who had such valuable capabilities were initiated into the Ministry regardless of their power level—which typically only allowed fives to sevens.
And Sten, being a three, never would have been part of the Umbra Ministry if it wasn’t for his teleportation.
“Sten,” I greeted with a nod.
The demon pulled off his black mask.
Right. The masks. All demons, not just the ones hunting, had to be masked on the island in the event a woman survived.
But since the celebrations had officially started, all mortals on this side of the sea were barricaded in their homes for the next seven days, meaning we didn’t have to worry about one accidentally spotting us out in the open.
He sucked on his teeth with a pop of his tongue. “Well, you’re not the Rochter boy.” His words were slurred, and his eyes were glossy.
“Last-minute change,” I explained. “Agnar was…unexpectedly unable to participate, and I’ll be taking his place.”
Sten’s brows rose as he chuckled darkly and looked me up and down, as if he could read me. “I bet you are.” He grinned. “Sounds like an interesting story.”
The old man gave me the creeps. “I don’t have time for gossip. I need you to take me to the island.”
Sten glanced over my shoulder at Cahir. “Is this true?”
I turned my head to look at the Minister behind me.
Due to the late change, Cahir had to accompany me to give Sten permission to take me to the island.
He shot me a scornful glare before giving a confirming nod to Sten.
Cahir stepped forward and shoved something hard and cold against my chest, ire burning in his eyes.
“Happy hunting,” he seethed, then turned and went back toward the Ministry.
I glanced down and flipped over the item, revealing the mask.
It looked the same as all the others, covered in ancient markings of the hells from which we came.
It covered the entire face from the forehead to the chin, and had fabric attached at the bottom to go around the back of the head.
I pulled the material over my head and let it rest around my neck, so I could pull the mask up over my face once I got to the island.
Sten returned his attention to me and stared for a long, silent moment.
“Now, Sten,” I barked. I needed to get to the island, and this drunk fuck was wasting time.
“You’re going to have to wait a bit. I can’t just pop from place to place all the time, you know. I need time to recuperate.” He fell back on his ass, sitting on the sand, and pulled out a flask from his long coat. Why he was wearing a long coat during the summer in the first place was beyond me.
“And how long will that take?” My hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Calm down, it’ll only take a few minutes.”
So, we waited.
I impatiently paced back and forth with my arms crossed, tapping my finger on my sleeve and watching as darkness crawled across the water, the shore, and the cliffs at my back, blanketing the world around me.
Every minute the other demons were on the island—searching and hunting for Vhaena—while I wasn’t, increased her chances of being found and hurt… or killed.
“I need you to help me protect her.”
Vosten’s voice echoed in my mind. I made a vow to him that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and I intended to keep my promise to my friend—even in his death. Especially in his death. She didn’t have anyone else to look after her now, and if Vosten knew that, he’d be devastated.
She wasn’t able to protect herself; that much was clear.
From the incident in the alley to the men ransacking her home, to demons slaughtering her family.
She was completely vulnerable. The idea that another demon was possibly tracking her down right now, at this very moment, when I wasn’t able to help, infuriated me.
If anyone so much as laid a hand on her, I’d tear their skin off and feed their corpse to the ravens.
“Yes! Kill them all. Release me,” my demon encouraged.
A chill ran down my spine at the thought of the carnage we would create. But I knew that I would have to let him surface at some point.
“I will… Soon,” I reassured him.
What I truly feared about unleashing my demon was that I would revel in it, enjoy it.
And what if I couldn’t contain him again?
What if I didn’t want to, once I finally opened the cage I had kept him in?
Or worse, what if I couldn’t control my demon when I needed to protect Vhaena? I could hurt her or even kill her…
“We won’t kill her. We’ll ruin her.” I could feel the sadistic grin through my demon’s words.
It didn’t sound the slightest bit comforting.
I was becoming more and more irritated with every passing second that I had to wait for Sten to recuperate. It wasn’t even that long, only about thirty minutes had passed when Sten reclasped his flask and finally stood.
“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed.
“Finally,” I grumbled, and we both slipped the masks on to conceal our faces.
He slapped his hand on my shoulder and closed his eyes. My stomach twisted before we tore through the distance to the Wal of Two Tears.
In the blink of an eye, Sten and I were standing on another beach; based on the small bits of light lingering in the sky, it was just after sunset here.
I was met with a breath of thick, forest air as I took in the vast foliage before me, immense trees seeming to tower into the stars.
Sten’s mask changed, a single violet line appearing across his mouth.
The masks were crafted on the island and dipped in the Leuch River that ran through the center of it during an ancient ritual.
When worn by a demon, their family’s color appeared.
Those who weren’t hunters had a single colored line.
And if a demon was participating in the Hunt, a number of slashes appeared, one through seven—each representing the strength of the demon and the circle of Hell they belonged to.
But the slashes didn’t appear all at once.
Each day of the Hunt, a new slash would appear until the demon reached his circle. Some would only get one slash on the first day and no more after that—the circle of Decay. Some would get a new slash each day for five or six days, then no additional ones on the seventh and final day.
Having seven slashes was extremely uncommon.
Seven slashes—representative of the seventh circle, Ruin, and the strongest tier. With it came complete authority and the highest ranking within the Umbra Ministry. Only one currently in the ministry had over a six, and the majority of them ranked at a five. There were only a few sevens in history.
My eyes flicked down to inspect my mask.
One slash, blue to represent the Corse family line.
Being a hunter was the only way to find out your rank.
And while I had never cared to find out, that curiosity always rested in the back of my mind.
The main reason I never cared to know, was because I’d never intended to use it for anything.
A demon only needed to know if they wanted to be an Umbra Minister—which I didn’t—and to know how powerful they were by learning which circle they were destined for.
That, and it was believed we would return to the hells our kind had been cut off from once we died. Of course, no one really knew if we did or not. So unless a demon wanted to join the Ministry, the rankings didn’t actually matter.
“Mister…Corse?” A wary voice grabbed my attention.
I turned to find Diedric Braun, one of the Ministers and head of the Hunt, approaching me as he parted from a group he was with. His mask was marked with a single red line, denoting that he wasn’t part of the Hunt. Masks may have concealed demons from the women, but we could tell each other apart.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the Hunt. Why else would I fucking be here?” I snapped.
I need to find Vhaena. The other demons and Asher have a head start.
“We’re here! Let me out, and we will find her!” My demon clawed at his confines, desperate to be released.
I was half-tempted to oblige, but I wanted to wait until I needed him—or until I couldn’t hold him back any longer. My eyes flicked to the sky just as a raven flew overhead, racing toward the trees on its search.
“Is this authorized?” Diedric asked Sten.
“Yeah. Cahir brought him to the cove.”
“Am I permitted now?” I stifled a snarl. My patience was wearing thin. I needed to be granted official permission to begin.
Diedric crossed his arms over his burly chest, eyed me suspiciously, then nodded reluctantly.
“Finally!” My demon cackled with unrestrained thirst.
I bolted for the tree line, keeping part of my concentration through the eyes of the raven dashing through the trees. My hunt for Vhaena had begun.