CH 3 - Go to Hell

Logan huddled in the shelter of a large rock and listened to the wind moaning around him. Bitter anger at Queen Maeve’s treachery still burned in his gut, but that would have to wait. At the moment, he had more pressing concerns. Somewhere out there, in the scouring dust and burning wind, something was hunting him.

If he was lucky, it was another human. The hunter was human-shaped. He knew that from the one glimpse he had gotten just before it had vanished behind cover. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much comfort. The demons that called this nightmare realm home could almost pass for human.

Almost.

He glanced into the sky as he did every few minutes. Logan had quickly learned that lesson. Many of the demons could fly. A sudden shadow or the subtle flap of leather wings might be his only warning. Like birds of prey, they could hurtle out of that boiling sky in a heartbeat.

This realm was a savage place. Everything that moved was predator or prey. It was obvious which category the one hunting him thought Logan belonged in. He was of a mind to disagree.

He reached down and stacked another handful of loose rocks in the most apparent walking path and inside the camouflage of sturdy, sickly white scrub brush. As booby traps went, it was rather piss-poor, but every advantage mattered. The rattle of a loose stone could be his only warning.

His weapons barely qualified as such. A stick of deadwood, from some kind of sickly looking, black tree, was stuck through his belt as a would-be sword. He carried a fist-sized stone in either hand. Sticks and rocks, that was all he had between himself and a world of monsters.

Thanks, Maeve, you bitch, he thought.

Logan heard ... something, and went very still. The click of claws on stone? Maybe. It was too faint to identify, but it sounded close...

A shadow fell over him. Something leaped down from the top of the boulder. He moved but too little, too late. Strong arms wrapped around his chest. Pain bloomed in his shoulder as sharp teeth bit deep.

Logan responded instinctively. Hands spread out to break the body hold followed immediately by a hard elbow strike to the midsection. His attacker fell back from the blow. He spun around on his back heel and snapped a front kick out with a booted foot.

The creature was hurtled back against the boulder by the strength of his kick. The crack of stone against skull was unmistakable. It fell to the dirt, senseless or dead.

Logan closed to attack and finish the job. He pulled the stick out of his belt, raised it above his head, aimed the sharp end at her throat, and ... hesitated.

Her throat. A young and very naked woman lay at his feet, but not a human woman. For starters, her skin was the color of lavender. Her hair was a lion’s mane of snow-white, almost hiding the two small, black horns on her forehead. Sharp black claws extended from her fingertips and toes. Some strange, oily, black smoke seeped out from where her head had struck the rock to rise and shred in the wind.

A demon. A native of hell. One that had just tried to kill him.

She was breathtakingly beautiful he saw, now that she wasn’t trying to disembowel him. Long, curling lashes lay against the gentle curve of her cheeks. Her face was slightly round, like a girl barely out of her teens, with a cute nose and full, black lips.

Hunter or prey, he reminded himself as he raised the stick to drive it into her chest. He was alive only because he had gotten lucky. Those claws looked wicked sharp, easily capable of scooping his guts out like ice cream. And she was built for hunting. Head to toe, she had the sleek muscles of a professional athlete with a tiny waist and smooth, flared hips. There was nothing soft about her. Well, nothing except those magnificent, perfect breasts.

Killed or be killed. Logan took a deep breath.

And that face. She looked so cute when she was asleep. So vulnerable. So helpless.

He scowled and lowered the stick. “Godammit, Logan.”

Logan stared across the small fire he had managed to build and wondered what the hell he was going to do now. Mercy had stayed his hand and a need for intel on this place and its savage inhabitants had finally convinced him to take this foolish chance. At least, that was what he had told himself.

His captive still lay where he had carried her, still bound hand and foot with strips of his shirt. The rest he had used as a bandage to wrap the bite marks down his shoulder and staunch the bleeding. The rock had left an ugly cut on her head, but when he gently brushed her hair back, there was no blood, so hopefully, that was a good thing. Apparently, demons did not bleed, unless you counted the smoke that had stopped leaking out. Her breathing looked even and untroubled. Healthy even, the way her firm breasts rose and fell with every breath.

“Dammit.” Logan got up to look outside yet again. He couldn’t go far even if he had wanted to. The shelter he had discovered could not correctly be called a cave. It was more of a deep cut in a cliff, but it kept the stinging wind out and hid them from the view of any flying demons, thus firmly qualifying as “better than nothing.” Unfortunately, it was a bit too cozy for two.