Demon Wolf. Bonnie VanakЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 2

      The moon hung like a silver nickel in the sky.

      Hovering in the woods, Keira waited for Dale to arrive home the next night.

      Other houses on the street showed signs of life. Lights flicked on. Children ran around their backyards, and then ran inside as their mothers called them in for supper.

      Or their mothers threatened to zap them inside. It was a paranormal neighborhood, after all.

      Hiding in the shadows, she felt a pinch of deep melancholy. She’d adjusted to loneliness during the infrequent intervals when the demons gave her brief freedom so she could find new men for them to torture. Keira had beaten the demons. She’d refused to associate with anyone, refused to give them new victims, but stalled them by promising them new ones.

      They found one on their own. This last time had sliced off a piece of her heart. Dale Curtis had taken her spirit and turned it inside out. She’d almost killed him. And then, a miracle happened.

      The commander’s friend had arrived in the house where Curtis was being held prisoner and chanted a cleansing spell to vanquish evil. The spell had sent the demons temporarily to the netherworld and freed her, as well. But in a few weeks, as they always did, the Centurions would use their bolt-hole to this world and break back in.

      Then the real fun would start. They would find her, find Curtis and force her to torture the SEAL once more, maybe until he died. The demons would steal all his strength and courage and become solid entities, able to taste the pleasures of the flesh once more.

      Keira touched the valise containing the silver armband, which enslaved her to the Centurions. When the demons had vanished unexpectedly, the bracelet unlocked, freeing her from their spell. Only by enslaving herself to another could she escape them.

      And Lt. Commander Dale Curtis was the only living person with enough power and courage to destroy the Centurions. She had to overcome her personal fear of seeing him again if she wanted to achieve her goal.

      For twenty-three years she’d lived under the demons’ control. No more. Emotion clogged her throat. Dale Curtis looked thin and haggard. The demons had sapped his strength, his vitality. If she didn’t help him recover soon he’d weaken and die.

      She needed him strong, needed his resources to find and destroy the demons’ bolt-hole and imprison them forever in the netherworld.

      Crouching down, Keira watched the commander’s house. Beneath the light of the nearly full moon, she waited hopefully, and wondered if this brave man would be the one to kill her captors and finally set her free.

      * * *

      Another day of keeping the world free of paranormal terrors. At least free of the terror of paperwork.

      Hell, he was so tired, he could barely function. Dale looked forward to a cold beer, a quick sandwich, a little light reading and then crashing. It was a lonely life, but right now, he preferred it that way. No complications or interference.

      Yet as he drove home from the ST 21 compound on the base, Dale imagined a loving woman greeting him at the day’s end. Someone who rushed to the door, eyes lighting up as he walked inside, the good smell of a delicious dinner cooking in the oven.

      Instead of always coming home to an empty, silent house.

      Dale snorted. He cherished his privacy. He didn’t need a woman in his home, rearranging his life, turning things upside down.

      Especially now, he needed to be alone to recharge and recover.

      As he turned onto his street, he saw a white Lincoln parked in his driveway. He parked next to it, cut the truck’s engine. His front door was locked. Once inside, he tossed his keys into the antique candy dish on the hallway table and relocked the door.

      Someone was home to greet him, after all.

      A light glowed down the hall. Mage instincts went on alert. He narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath and headed into his study.

      “Nice of you to break in,” he told the gray-haired man sitting in shadow.

      “You’re late.”

      Vice Admiral Keegan Byrne, pillar of support for SEAL Team 21 and a powerful Primary Mage, toasted him with a whiskey glass filled with amber liquid. Dale glanced at the built-in wood bar against the wall. The bottle of twenty-year-old smooth Scotch malt had been full until tonight.

      “Had to finish up paperwork. I’m not asking how you gained access to my home without permission.”

      “You need a better security system, Dale. An infant could bypass that alarm.”

      “An infant armed with electromagnetic current. Did you fry the panel again?”

      Byrne grinned. Dale sighed. Another visit from the electrician.

      “Help yourself to more Scotch. Just don’t take my beer.”

      Running upstairs in a light jog, he headed to his bedroom, removed the trident, the fruit salad and the insignias from his khaki shirt. Then he stripped and tossed the uniform and undershirt into a white wicker hamper. As he walked toward the closet, the dresser mirror showed the image he’d tried to avoid.

      Dale approached, staring at his body for the first time in two months.

      Reddened scar tissue raked over his chest, muscled torso, arms and long legs. Razor-sharp claw marks began just below his throat, continued down his belly, ending at his groin, and dwindled out at his thighs and calves.

      A remembrance of white-hot pain surged through him. Dale braced his hands on the dresser, hissing through his teeth.

      Jerking open a drawer, he sorted through folded shirts and found an old, frayed Virginia Tech T-shirt. Another drawer held gray fleece pants.

      When he returned to the study, Byrne remained motionless, the glass of Scotch untouched. He steeled himself. If the old man wasn’t here to socialize, it meant one thing. But he’d let the