Excerpt from THE SWEETEST BURN by Jeaniene Frost
Before I could turn around to leave, a large slash suddenly appeared in the air and three people stepped out of it. At once, the supernatural tattoo on my right arm began to burn. I gripped it without looking away, and the part of my brain that wasn’t freaking out figured out what was going on.
The minion I’d killed hadn’t snuck up on me using his supernatural stealth and speed. He’d simply crossed from a demon realm into this one through a gateway that I hadn’t known was there.
I didn’t have time to wonder if the realm was new, or if it had always been there and was now accessible to this world through an ominous crack. The three new minions seemed startled to see me, but then their gazes roved from the blood on my dress and cardigan to the very incriminating pile of minion ashes near my feet. When the palest one stretched out hands that turned into living, writhing snakes, it was all I could do not to scream.
Not three minions. Two minions and an unkillable, shape-shifting demon.
Standing and fighting would be suicide, so I snatched my knife from the pile of minion ashes and began to run. The demon barked out an order in a language I recognized all too well, then the minions gave chase, and they were fast. If I had been a normal human, they would have had me in five seconds flat, but I wasn’t normal, and right now, I was glad about that.
I was also glad I had a mental map of the closest hallowed ground near the North Shore park. In fact, I’d memorized every plot of hallowed ground near my house just in case something like this happened. St Joseph’s Catholic Church was about seven streets away. If I made it, the demon couldn’t touch me because demons couldn’t cross hallowed ground. Minions could, but I’d already killed one today. Why not go for more?
Since sand was harder to run on, I headed toward the sidewalk along the park, needing the flat ground to increase my speed. Behind me, I could hear the minions cursing. They hadn’t expected me to make them work for this. That gave me grim satisfaction as I darted around benches and tables in the deserted picnic area. My knees and ribs still throbbed from my earlier fight, but nothing was as great a painkiller as survival instinct. As I ran, I counted down the wooden street markers in the park for encouragement. Eighty-Third Street. Eighty-Fourth. The church was just after Eighty-Seventh Street. I was going to make it.
Then, even though he was much farther away, I heard the demon yell, “She’s the Davidian!” in a rage-filled roar, and I knew all bets were off. My speed might have been preventing the minions from capturing me, but it also outed me as number one on the demon’s most-wanted list.
The demon was no longer content to send his minions ahead of him like a bunch of hunting dogs. Several quick glances over my shoulder showed him now tearing after me himself, and he made the minions look as if they’d been moving in slow motion. Benches, tables and other large objects were hurtled my way as he didn’t just chase me, but actively tried to kill me.
I ducked and weaved around as many as I could, but some still found their mark. I cursed when something heavy smacked me in the back, and while it made me stumble, I forced myself not to fall. Instead, I put all of my energy into running, staying within the limits of the park despite its greater dangers of projectiles. Taking the main road, A1A, would give me a straight shot to the church, but even at this hour, cars were on it. I couldn’t risk someone else getting hurt, and demons loved nothing more than collateral damage.
I’d just rounded a corner that brought me briefly back onto the beach when something slammed into my legs, knocking me over. I rolled at once, making sure not to stab myself in the process, and was back up when a loud, trumpeting snarl sounded overhead.
Brutus, my pet gargoyle, flew toward me, the dawn’s rays highlighting his large, beastly form in different shades of pink. I would’ve been relieved to see him, but I was too shocked by the man riding on Brutus’s back.
The minions and demon saw them, too, and at their confused expressions, I remembered that they didn’t see a large man on the back of a hulking, grayish-blue gargoyle. Due to Archon glamour, all they saw was an angrily squawking seagull somehow carrying his muscular male passenger, and from the way they cocked their heads, they didn’t know what to make of the sight.
“Ivy, duck!” the man yelled.
I hit the sand even as I reeled with shock. Only one person in the world could treat the deadly gargoyle like a winged pony, and that was the same person who’d broken my heart months ago, and then disappeared.
Adrian.
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