Two shrill whistles came from above. A dark shape dropped from the building’s roof, a hint of metal glinting unnaturally in the gloom.
The thing hissed, drawing back. “Go away, hunter. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Ah, but you do.” A hood hid the man’s face, and his low voice rumbled with menace. “This man is mine.”
The fighter rolled, rising in front of the horror in the blink of an eye, putting himself between Peter and the thing he’d narrowly avoided. The man growled in Peter’s direction, “Leave here. As fast as you can. Don’t look back.”
He’d like nothing better, but… “What of you?”
“He’s met his match,” the stranger said, in tones nearly too low to hear.
Did Peter recognize the voice?
“Go!” the man commanded.
Keeping his eyes on the two dangerous shapes in the dark, Peter slipped past the thing, retracing his steps down the darkened street. “I cannot leave you.” No way would he abandon someone to that… that… thing.
“Go!” the man shouted.
Peter went. Calls, like sea birds, echoed through the streets. Halfway back to the tavern, he passed a man in a priest’s cassock, strolling purposely the other way.
“Blessings, Father,” Peter said in automatic response, from hearing Da’s pleas many times when fleeing a storm or the magistrate’s men.
“Blessings given.” The priest’s steps never faltered.
“Do not go that way,” Peter said, clutching a loose sleeve. “You know not what awaits.”
“I know.” The priest gently placed a gloved hand on Peter’s. “All will be fine.”
One moment they stood together; the next, the priest was gone.
Still shaken, Peter stared into the darkness for one long moment. An unholy shriek sent him hurrying back to safety.
But was anywhere safe from what he’d just seen?
Chapter Thirty
Martin’sheartnearlyleapedfrom his body. The demon closed in, its putrid green skin glowing. That same heart almost stopped when, even in the darkness, he recognized the demon’s prey.
He halted himself from charging in. A blind attack wouldn’t help anyone.Picture him as anyone else, not Peter. Don’t make this hunt personal.
But weren’t they all?
Always before, Martin remained hunter-calm. Now, he’d strike with a vengeance. First, to get his bearings. Determine the demon’s location, size, and fighting ability. Then, check for escape routes for the victim.
He gave two piercing whistles, announcing his find to Dmitri and other hunters.
Angling toward the roof ledge, Martin bunched his muscles, searching the ground for the best place to land, ever mindful of slippery tiles. Foolish mistakes made in haste would not help Peter.
Closer. Closer.
Martin leaped, dropping to one knee, brandishing his Father-blessed dagger.
The thing hissed, retreating in the face of a predator. “Go away, hunter. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Ah, but you do.” Martin threw back his hood so as not to obstruct his peripheral vision. Fear crept into anger. How dare this demon attack Martin’s own? Through the dim light, he clearly saw runes metaphysically etched on Peter’s aura.
Had the demon marked him?
