Tainted Blood (Blood Bound Book 7)

Chapter 2

The shadow pooled on the ground next to the woman’s feet looking like a puddle of thick tar. It sloshed thickly for a moment before a humanoid shape began to rise up out of it. The shadow seemed to drip from the form before it finally stabilized revealing a tall, dark-skinned man. His head was shaved close, no hair on his entire body that Craven could see except a Fu Manchu mustache on his face.

The shadow master walked over to the woman, his black knee-length dashiki and charwal pants flowing around his legs. The neckline of the dashiki was ornately decorated with red and golden thread leaving him with little need for jewelry, however a large golden medallion hung from his neck and a single gold hoop earring was pierced through his left ear.

He looked down at the woman and narrowed his midnight black eyes. “Who do you belong to?” the shadow master asked, his voice a deep baritone.

The woman’s mouth opened and closed a few times before her voice finally decided to work properly.

“I belong to you… Master,” she stated in a confused voice.

“Very good, now rise up and serve me.”

The woman slowly regained her feet with jerky movements as though she weren’t used to the body she inhabited. In a way it was a completely accurate description. When a human was under complete possession, at first the shadow demon inside of them could not fully control the most basic of bodily functions.

“What is it you desire of me?” the lady asked her voice almost normal but still a little dazed.

Craven chuckled darkly already growing tired of the foreplay. In a condescending voice he answered the woman’s question, “He wants you to go find unsuspecting men and bring them here so they can also be possessed and his pathetic army will grow.”

Both the woman and the demon turned their heads in his direction to look at Craven. He tilted his head to the side when the possessed humans also turned toward him. Their eyes abruptly began to cloud over, going from dull grey to blacker than pitch in a matter of a few seconds.

The shadow master was looking at him like he was a piece of easy prey and Craven resisted the urge to laugh again. How little they knew. He waited patiently as the humans started slowly walking toward him. When the first hand grasped hold of his shoulder, Craven tossed his head back and opened his arms wide. A tidal wave of souls began streaming out from his body and straight through the humans… emerging from the possessed with the shadow demons in their grasp.

Craven felt no sympathy for the humans who had fallen under the shadow master’s possession… releasing them from those who would eventually try to invade his territory was merely a side effect of removing their possession. He took notice that the shadow master had enough intelligence to stay in his human form where the souls could not touch him.

“Very impressive necromancer,” the shadow master murmured in his thick accent. “But you only delay the inevitable.”

Craven smirked, “Very true, perhaps I should just kill you and be done with it.”

The shadow master growled deep in his chest and ran at Craven. He twisted to the side to avoid one fist, then to the other side to avoid the second.

“Too slow,” Craven mocked. When the demon spun his leg toward Craven’s head, Craven bent backwards so the strike sailed directly above him. Using the momentum of leaning back, Craven flipped onto his hands and swung both feet up in a somersault, landing a double kick to the master’s chin.

Craven flipped back to his feet just as the shadow master regained his own footing. A thin trickle of thick, black liquid trailed from the corner of his mouth onto the front of his dashiki.

“So you can bleed,” Craven taunted. It wasn’t his fault the shadow master was scared to change back into his other form. He would beat this demon either way.

The man spit on the ground 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.