Seducing the Hunter (Mills & Boon Nocturne) Read online

  “Yes, well, I did not suspect that the great Quinn Strom would have it lying around.” The sorcerer looked back to him. “You’re much too much like your father. Paranoid to a fault. Too bad that didn’t help him before he died.”

  “I’d leave my dad out of this.”

  “Or what?” the sorcerer sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”

  Quinn nodded. “Something like that.” He pulled his hand out of his satchel and a dagger glinted in the light cast by the sorcerer’s hands. The sorcerer saw the knife too late.

  He lifted his hands, just as Quinn sank the lethal blade into the sorcerer’s leg, and dodged his magic green rays. The green light slammed into the wall behind him, just missing his head, and burned a hole through the wood and concrete.

  Dragging the shotgun with him, Quinn gained his feet, but the sorcerer was already turning toward him, the knife still sticking out of his thigh. Quinn dashed past the little goblin and out of the room. A blast of green fire hit him in the shoulder as he rounded the doorway.

  It sent him to the ground, and he rolled dangerously close to the first step on the staircase. Pain shot through him like acid, but he managed to pull himself up using the railing and started down the stairs. Another bolt of green hit the wall next to him, causing him to stumble. Sparks sizzled on his cheek.

  He reached the bottom step just as the sorcerer started down. Quinn risked a glance at him. The sorcerer had pulled the knife from his leg and dark droplets splattered the rug with each step he took. It wouldn’t be long before the blood loss affected the sorcerer’s vision. He’d be seeing black spots soon. Or least, Quinn hoped he would.

  Quinn ran into the living room. He had to get to his bookcase. There was one book he needed before he could get out of the house. The room had been trashed by the little goblin. Sofa cushions had been sliced open and spilled out on the floor. All his shelves were tossed. The bookcase was broken apart on the rug, the books scattered everywhere.

  He surveyed the damage, desperately seeking a thick black tome. He spied it in the corner, off by itself. As if waiting for him.

  He dashed for it even as the sorcerer came around the corner, his hands glowing brighter. Quinn had a feeling that if he was hit by another wave of magic he wasn’t going to be getting up so easily. He’d crossed paths with the sorcerers before, but this one’s magic seemed much more powerful.

  Ducking to grab the book, he barely missed being hit by a large orb of green. It crashed into the wall just above him. Liquid green sparks rained down on him, burning holes in his skin. He sucked in a breath to deal with the pain and shoved the book into his satchel.

  If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could escape out the back. He had an escape route planned in advance. One he’d practiced repeatedly. He’d dash across the yard, out the back gate, down the alley and over the fence of his neighbors who had two dogs he’d already made friends with. After going through their yard, out the front and down another block, he’d get to the old junker he had sitting there. The keys were sitting on the right front wheel, under the fender.

  But the thoughts were moot. Just as he reached the archway to the kitchen, he felt the impact on his back.

  Quinn catapulted forward. Luckily he had the presence of mind to put his hands out, so he didn’t land on his face. But he did manage to smash his knee against the kitchen island as he fell. Dark, searing pain surged over his back, up his neck and over his skull. His vision wavered.

  He tried to gain his feet, but dizziness seized him and he collapsed to his knees, agony bursting through the one he’d just battered. “Damn it!” he yelled.

  He half crawled, half pulled himself on his stomach, toward the back door. But it was pointless. He was down.

  “Admirable, Strom. But face it, I have more power than you do.”

  Quinn rolled onto his back to see the sorcerer limp into the kitchen, the little goblin trailing behind him.

  “Loir, grab the bag.”

  The little green creature shuffled past the sorcerer to where Quinn was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He clutched the satchel to his chest. “Touch it, goblin, and I’ll bite your hand off.”

  The goblin grinned at him, showing off four rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Not before I bite yours off, first.”

  The sorcerer laughed.

  The goblin reached for the bag, but Quinn wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it. The creature dragged one sharp talon across the back of Quinn’s hand. His skin split open, bubbling with infection.

  “Jesus!” he dropped the bag and cradled his injured hand. The pain was intense. It made his head swim. Nausea filled his mouth.

  The creature took the bag and handed it to the sorcerer, then shuffled in beside its master.

  The sorcerer pulled open the leather bag, and withdrew a Holy Bible. He smiled when he saw it. “Cute.”

  The sorcerer opened it and flipped through the pages until, Quinn imagined, he came across Quinn’s hiding spot. He’d hollowed out pages of the book and set the key inside.

  The sorcerer tossed the Bible aside, and held up what he’d found between the pages. It was the key. The key that had been entrusted to Quinn to keep hidden. The key that unlocked the Chest of Sorrows, which contained a book that could end the world.

  The sorcerer closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Quinn. Give my best to the demon horde when you get to hell.” He turned on his boot heel and glanced down at the goblin. “Make it quick. We have places to be.”

  “Next time we meet, sorcerer, I’m going to bury that blade in your neck and watch you bleed out,” Quinn said.

  The sorcerer shook his head with a little smile at his lips. “So much drama, exorcist.”

  He hobbled out of the kitchen and Quinn could hear his steps through the living room and out the front door, leaving Quinn alone with the little assassin.

  The goblin tilted its head and looked at Quinn. “I have longed to meet you, Quinn Strom.”

  “Is that right?” Quinn cradled his hand to his chest. The infectious bubbling hadn’t stopped. The wound had widened and blood joined the phlegmy green liquid oozing out of his hand.

  “You are most famous in hell.”

  Quinn imagined he was. He’d exorcised hundreds of demons back to the fiery pits. He imagined he was hell’s Most Wanted. He wondered if there were posters of him nailed to the walls. He hoped they got his good side.

  The goblin neared him, regarding him curiously. “Are you afraid to die?”

  Quinn boldly met its gaze. “No. Are you?”

  “Is there anything you want to say before it happens?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, who was that sorcerer bastard?”

  “His name is Richter Collins.” It smiled, then reached for him.

  The goblin squeezed Quinn’s head between its mottled green hands. Quinn could feel the scaly skin on his cheeks. It leaned down and looked him straight in the eyes.

  “I will not kill you. She would hate it and I will not do that to her, although you have done worse to her, I think.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “You know who. The one you wronged. The one you loved, once upon a time. I am one of her loyal servants.”

  “And she sent you to get her revenge?” he spat.

  The goblin shook her head. “No, to save you, stupid man.”

  Before Quinn could respond, everything went dark.

  Chapter 3

  “Who has the key?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Daeva pulled at the brown leather straps binding her to the iron chair. They were secure and she didn’t think any amount of wriggling was going to get her out of them. The torture room—there really wasn’t any reason not to call it that—was small and stifling, with no color anywhere except the dark brown stains on the stone that could be nothing but old blood.

  Her torturer loomed over her, a maniacal gleam in his inky black eyes. “Don’t bother. You can’t escape. Where wo
uld you go? Topside?”

  “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?”

  He circled the chair that was bolted to the stone floor, leering at her, cleaning under his talons with the tip of the silver blade clasped in his hand. She wondered when he was going to use it on her. Likely after the theatrics. Lord Klaven did enjoy his drama.

  “You’d like to go back topside, wouldn’t you, Daeva?” he sneered. “To live like a human.”

  “Better than living like an animal like you, Klaven.”

  He chuckled, and it chilled her to the bone. “But you are like me, Daeva. I remember the fun we used to have together.”

  “That was millennia ago.”

  “True.” He leaned into her face, and she could smell the rotten meat on his breath. “But they were so deliciously twisted that I remember them like it was yesterday.” He licked his lips. “You were one depraved woman.”

  “Were is the operative word here. I’m not that person anymore.”

  “True.” He straightened and regarded her with contempt. “Now you are weak and human tainted.” He sniffed the air. “You still smell like the exorcist, even after all this time. Did you steal some of his clothing when he sent you back?”

  She winced inside at the mention of Quinn. It still hurt to think of him.

  “Although he didn’t want you, now, did he?”

  She glared at him. “Come closer and say that.”

  He laughed again, then twirled the blade between his fingers. “Oh, poor Daeva. Exorcised by the man you loved. At least, that’s what I heard. Is it true?” He leaned down into her face.

  She turned away. She didn’t want to look into his vacant eyes, didn’t want to see the total lack of empathy or emotion there.

  “Oh, you’re not going to cry are you?” He drew the blade tip across her lips. “I do so hate to see a lady shed tears. Especially over a man who tossed her away like the heathen she is.”

  Klaven took a step back, and the air shimmered around him until it was Quinn standing in front of her and not the demon lord. The fake Quinn image smiled.

  “It must’ve hurt when he banished you.” He took a step toward her.

  She didn’t look at him, she stared at the stained floor. She couldn’t see Quinn looking at her like that, not again. As if she was an animal. As if she wasn’t a woman but pure filth.

  “Did he torture you first? Did he sprinkle holy water on you? Burning your flesh, burning your soul.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait, although she remembered that night three years ago when Quinn exorcised her as though it had just happened. It was still fresh and raw in her mind. And being reminded of it by the horrid Lord Klaven didn’t help matters. Her stomach churned at the memory.

  He moved closer to her again, gripping her chin with his long, bony fingers. He lifted her head up, forcing her to look upon him. She wanted to scream at seeing Quinn’s face with black eyes and fangs poking out between his full lips. Lips she used to kiss for hours on end.

  “Does the exorcist have the key?”

  She spat at him.

  Klaven wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grinned down at her. “Does he have the chest?”

  “You’re wasting your time, Klaven. I won’t tell you anything. You can’t kill me, so you might as well let me go.”

  He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Leaning down, he slammed his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She bit his tongue when it invaded her mouth. His sulfur-tainted blood filled her mouth.

  He jerked away, his crimson-stained lips pulling back into an evil sneer. “I might not be allowed to kill you, Daeva. But I certainly can have my fun.”

  He drew his knife down her arm, slicing open her skin. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out at the pain. She looked down at her damaged flesh, knowing his demon-cursed blade would leave a scar and that she would use that as a reminder of this day. Of Klaven’s betrayal—and that of all of the demon horde.

  “Do your worst. I do not fear you or anything that you can do to me.”

  Klaven, still looking like Quinn, clapped his hands, and the heavy metal door opened. The two guards that had brought her here marched in.

  “Grab her and tie her to the rack.”

  When they came to unbind her, she kicked and struggled and lashed out at them, but they were twice her strength. There was nothing she could do when they dragged her across the room to the ancient wooden rack that was once owned by the Marquis de Sade, a close personal friend of Klaven’s.

  Her torture was going to be savage. She’d seen Klaven’s artwork before. But she swore to herself she would hold out as long as she could. No matter what Quinn had done to her all those years ago, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. And if the demons knew he possessed the key, he would not be safe. His death would be her fault.

  Chapter 4

  When Quinn finally woke, the sun was streaming in through the big kitchen and his head was pounding something fierce.

  He made his way to his knees, then up to his feet, using the kitchen counter to brace himself against. His hand still throbbed where the goblin had wounded him, but it was no longer oozing with infectious goo or blood. It still needed tending to, though.

  Arduously climbing the stairs, he went into the bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit. While he doctored himself, he thought about his next move. The Cabal had taken the key. He could form a small army to get it back by force. But he’d been through so much fighting recently.

  It had only been a few months since the slaughter by demons in Sumner, Washington. It had taken him and Ivy hours to bury their friends and burn the rest of the dead. He didn’t want to go through that again. And it would be a bloodbath if he went after the Cabal, he had no doubt in his mind.

  He washed the wound, poured antiseptic onto it, biting on his lip the whole time. It stung like a thousand bees. He wrapped it tight, then went back down the stairs to his ruined living room. The goblin had done a thorough job of wrecking everything he had. Which, by some standards, wasn’t much. His lifestyle didn’t really permit the luxuries of living a normal, comfortable life.

  Usually on the move, Quinn had only just set up shop in this small starter home, basically for cover. It wasn’t as if he worked nine to five at an office. No, he hunted demons. That was his vocation, his life. He’d been born into it.

  As far as the people he bought the home from knew, his name was Quinton Sterling, and he was a divorced small-business owner. They’d been more than happy with his story since he paid cash for the place they couldn’t afford anymore.

  The money came from the other jobs he did. Jobs he wasn’t necessarily proud of. Demon hunting wasn’t exactly lucrative. He’d pulled a few cons over the years, something he’d learned from his dad. It was a dishonest way to bankroll a lifesaving job of hunting down and destroying demons. Quinn didn’t ponder the ethics of it too much.

  Righting the overturned sofa, he shoved the ruined cushions back on and sat. He had to think. He had to figure out what to do.

  Rubbing his good hand over his face, he sighed. Ultimately, he knew what had to be done next, but he just didn’t want to do it. It would be way too complicated and messy. Two things he hated.

  If the Cabal had the key, that meant they were going after the chest that contained the book that could unleash hell on Earth. There was only one choice here and that was to find the chest first. Find it and protect it.

  Sighing, he leaned his head on the back of the sofa. Maybe there was another way. There had to be. To do what he needed—to uncover where the chest was hidden—would almost be too much to bear. He wasn’t sure he could see her again.

  Quinn found his cell phone on the floor. He picked it up and dialed a familiar number. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only six in the morning. It rang only four times before being answered.

  “You do know what time it is?”

  He smiled. “Yup, I know, Q. I need to t
alk.”

  There came a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine. Meet me at my office in an hour.”

  Quinn stood and headed upstairs to get dressed. It was going to be one long, hellish day.

  One hour later he stood in the office doorway of Quianna Lang, one of the youngest professors on staff at the San Francisco State University and resident mythologist to the university. But he knew her talents and knowledge lay in demonology. She possessed more knowledge about demons and demon lore than anyone he knew.

  She barely looked up from whatever she was reading on her old mahogany desk when he entered. “Sit.”

  He came all the way in and slid onto one of the leather chairs situated in front of her big wooden desk.

  She finished reading, slammed the book closed and looked up at him. “Okay, so what’s going on? How much trouble are you in?”

  “Why does something have to be going on?”

  She smirked. “Because you’re here. The only time you demon hunters come here is when the shit has hit the fan. First Ronan and your sister, and now you. Something major is happening, I suspect.”

  He sighed, then met her gaze. “The key is gone. Stolen by the Cabal.”

  Quianna bolted out of her chair and came around the desk. She was a compact woman, short and petite, but she possessed more fire in her pinkie than most people did in their whole bodies. She pinned him to the seat with her intense, determined gaze.

  “How?”

  “Richter Collins is how. And he had a goblin with him.”

  She shook her head. “I thought that once Reginald died, the Cabal would fall. I guess I was wrong.”

  “I should’ve been more diligent in hiding the key. I had been planning to move it...”

  “Well, what’s done is done. Now, what are we going to do about it?”

  “That’s why I came. I thought if anyone would know what to do, it would be you.”

  She sat on the edge of her desk. “You have to find the chest. You have to get it before they do.”

  He groaned. “I was hoping there was another way.”

  “There isn’t. If they have the key, they will be going for the chest. That’s just logical.”