and glared with unfathomable rage. He knew this necromancer wanted his territory and he refused to back down. He lived by his own code… a demon that backs down is a demon that deserves to die.
“I won’t let you!” the shadow master growled and came at him again. Only this time Craven didn’t dodge. When the demon came within arm’s reach, Craven’s fist flashed forward burying itself in the demon’s chest.
They both stood there staring at one another, one with shocked surprise on his face, the other with a smug expression of triumph. Craven pulled his fist from the demon’s chest and stepped back. A hole remained showing the inky blackness inside the human façade the demon had claimed.
A human scream erupted from one of the women followed by the sound of feet hitting the pavement. The humans couldn’t see the shadow master for what he really was, nor could they see Craven as a demon. What they saw was two men having a street fight and one punching a hole in the other one’s chest.
Craven smiled sardonically, “You lose.”
The shadow master staggered back a few steps and looked down at the hole in his chest. A long, deep wail filled the parking lot and the demon looked up just in time to see the first soul fly into the hole. His body jerked forward at an odd angle just before another soul forced its way inside. More followed suit, flying into the demon’s human body to attack the darkness within.
Craven sighed with satisfaction when the last soul fought its way inside. The demon stood ramrod straight with his arms outstretched. His skin began ripping apart and wisps of black smoke rose from the gaps accompanied by a soft white light.
Spinning around, the demon tried to run but his movements were stiff and jerky, almost zombie like which amused Craven to some extent.
The master threw his head back and screamed just as his body was completely ripped apart from the inside out. The scream abruptly silenced and a thin, grayish black smoke hovered for a moment before fading in with the morning fog and vanishing completely with a final hiss of contempt.
Craven held out his arms as though asking to be embraced. The souls moving about the parking lot turned toward him and shot back into his body. When the last soul disappeared from this dimension, Craven lowered his arms and approached the remains of the clothing the shadow master had been wearing.
Leaning down, he picked up the medallion and exited the parking lot. As he stepped back out onto the sidewalk, Craven looked about and saw more humans mulling about.
In the shadows cast by the nearby buildings, he spotted a few shadow demons slinking around… useless with no master to follow. Shadow demons were normally not much of a threat once their master was defeated, so Craven didn’t really concern himself about where they went. Holding up the medallion in the dim sunlight that was starting to burn away the fog, he smiled once more.
“Good morning!” he said quietly before putting the Aztec medallion in his pocket and headed toward home. Perhaps he would find some amusement in the medallion the shadow master had been wearing.
He began shimmering through the city so fast that when he saw the silver-winged creature it was only an afterimage. Slowing his steps, Craven turned and again faced the inner city in contemplation. Now this was interesting… he’d thought all of the female Fallen were taken from this world at birth.
*****
Carley had followed the Indian carrying Tiara all the way across town before they’d finally arrived at a dark mansion in the outer hills. The place gave her the creeps… maybe it was because of the gargoyles and demons that were crawling all over the outside. The inside wasn’t much better.
Once again, she was glad most of the monsters couldn’t see her. Even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to hurt her thanks to Tiara’s spell. That didn’t stop her from flinching when she heard screaming coming from the basement… at least she hoped it was the basement and not the actual ground.
Trying to block out the cries of agony, Carley hurried after the Indian as he went up the stairs to the second story. If he was taking Tiara to some kind of torture chamber, then she’d have to act fast. When she entered the room behind him, Carley paused to watch the man simply staring down at Tiara.
Nighthawk frowned wanting to feel something… even a spark as he gazed at the beautiful girl. She had caused something to spark within him when he’d met her the first time, but it had been so quick that now he wondered if it had only been an illusion. His gaze was drawn to the graveyard dirt lingering on her face and body.
Carley went into panic mode when the Indian started removing Tiara’s clothing.
“Stop it!” she yelled and slid between them only to have Nighthawk reach right through her without missing a beat. “Damn it, where’s a cowboy when you need one?” Carley railed and made a flurry of movements trying to get his attention off Tiara and on her. She finally stopped since it seemed to be useless.
She needed to go back to PIT and let Jason and Guy know Tiara’s location but she couldn’t bring herself to leave until she made sure her friend would still be alive when they came back to rescue her.
Nighthawk stood up and removed his own clothing down to his breach cloth before taking the girl back in his arms. Moving into the bathroom, he stepped into the large garden tub and kneeled down, patently waiting on the basin to fill with warm water so he could cleanse her lover from her. He also did not like the scent of the Spinnan master lingering on her skin.
Relaxing his body, Nighthawk let his mind drift while the heated water rose. He despised necromancers because they had turned him into what he was now… even that feeling had to be concentrated on before he felt the slight twinge of it. This necromancer was different from the others… she didn’t want to control… she wanted to set them free.
Looking down at the woman in his arms, he didn’t have to wonder why her body had no effect on him. His soul was still trapped in the grave and with it… most of his emotions. He felt no need to be loved or to be hated… much less want someone.
Finding the shampoo on the corner shelf, Nighthawk gently lathered up her long silver hair allowing the strands to slide silkily through his fingers. Seeing no reason to rush, he took his time washing her. It had been a long time since he’d touched someone without the intent of causing harm.
When he was satisfied with her scent, he rinsed her off and emptied the tub. Wrapping some towels around her body and hair, he stepped back into the bedroom and placed her down on the bed. He’d done what he could for her. Since the water hadn't roused her, he knew she was in a very deep sleep and probably would not awaken for some time. Without the right protection, this war would be the end of her.
Removing the towel from her hair, Nighthawk gently lifted her upper body and touched his fingers to the injury on the back of her head. He’d felt it while washing her hair. During his first life he’d been somewhat of a healer… a shaman… so he knew this injury was not life threatening.
He let his mind reach deep inside her, wanting to know if there was another reason for her to want to stay asleep… abandoning this world for a little while. He had never severed the link she’d established with him in the smaller graveyard and this allowed him to turn the mental link back on her. In the past, when a necromancer would link with him, it had felt more like a choke hold. Hers was the equivalent of holding hands.
Even in her sleep, he could feel her hunger burning… the side of her that wasn’t of Craven’s bloodline. She was keeping it
