Demon Branded (Demons of Florida)

Demons of Florida—
Three

Ella Drake

Published by Ella Drake.

“
Demon Branded” Copyright © 2013 by Ella Drake.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Cover Copyright © 2013 by Ella Drake.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Excerpt from Firestorm on E’Terra

Author Bio

Infiltrating the Hunters of Orion had its finer points but having to catch breakfast at this dive of a bar outside Atlanta wasn’t one of them. Dealing with stupidity before her first cup of coffee made Ona Wolfrick one snarling bitch of a she-wolf. It didn’t take too much. She didn’t like the company she was forced to keep—mainly, assholes who’d slit her throat if they knew what she was.

Turning on the heel of her knee-high boots, Ona glared at the large galoot in a steel-studded vest and slammed her mug down on the bar. “What a pansy. You can’t even take on two little wolf shifters by yourself. You gotta come crying to the Orions to help hunt them down?”

“Listen Ona, don’t go assuming. I only seen two. Could be more.”

“Why don’t you just tell me where?” Ona cast a furtive glance around. None of the Orions had dragged their sorry hides in yet and the beer-soured, smoke-stained bar remained as empty as it’d been when she first come in for coffee. Instead of relishing a steaming cup of Joe, she’d found the big man waiting for the first Orion to show up in their usual watering hole.

“And let you exchange their hides for demon gold by yourself? I don’t think so.” The beefy-jowled biker known as Greaser shook his head, spittle flying and landing on Ona’s arm. It took everything she had not to flinch.

“Do you need a bib? Damn, man. You’re drooling for demon attention. You got a hard-on to size up your dick against the Orions, huh. Want in the club bad enough you can taste it? Why don’t you just suck off Spike when he shows and he’ll let you ride in his sidecar.”

“Listen, bitch,” Greaser shouted. He leaned over her. She was tall, but he was a big lug. “Watch that nasty mouth of yours. Or I’ll show you exactly what you can put in it.”

“You mean this?” Her hand shot out and she gripped his balls through his jeans. She crushed them hard and sneered as his paled face wrenched.

“Urgh.” He grimaced. Yanking down, she forced a whimper from him.

Then the film cleared in his dark eyes. In that split moment, he telegraphed his full rage. He was going to take a swing at her. She let go and shoved back, putting space between them and sending him crashing backwards into the bar stools. He landed on his ass, one chair skittering across the floor, the other pinging off his forehead. He laid spread-eagled, hand on his crotch, and groaned.

She sauntered toward him before he could shake it off. Putting her boot heel on his exposed neck, she let a little pressure interfere with his breathing enough to gain his attention.

He sputtered.

“Where are the wolves, Greaser? I don’t have time to play games with you. I’ll be finding a few Orions to take out there and find those mutts.”

“East,” he gurgled. She lifted her boot so he could spill it all. “Out near Stone Mountain.”

“Yeah? Pretty out that way. Seen some furry-ass mongrels in the new forest?” She despised this part, when she pretended she didn’t go furry every chance she got. Rare in more ways than one, she was so beyond suspicion the Orions couldn’t fathom a wolf lived among them. It was simple, really. She happened to be the only one who could live outside the forest.

“Sure did. Those fleabags won’t know what hit ‘em. Them freaks. Can’t believe they been living right along with us regular folk for so long. The Orions got the idea. Kill ‘em off and put the fur on the club walls. That last one, man it was pretty. All silver.”

Her gut burned at the memory of seeing Old Man Brinson’s pelt on the floor of this very bar. She’d stolen it, tears blurring her vision, vomiting when she’d buried it, but damn it, it was gone.

“Ain’t too many of us left in the hot zone to hunt them down.” Her voice sounded thick but Greaser didn’t notice.

“Sure enough why I stayed.” He licked his lips and grinned.

Her fingers curled into a fist she held tight to her side. Her gut churned and it grew worse every day. Some days she even considered leaving Atlanta for good. But not today.

Truthfully, there was no other place for her than the hot zone—the area the government said was still the United States. The demons who’d taken over Florida flaunted the tenuous treaty by constantly invading Georgia and Alabama for whatever nefarious purposes they wanted. For the most part, Atlanta was filled with humans. But it wasn’t like before. The population who remained were of one kind or another. The turncoats who made deals with demons, crazies who hunted demons, anyone who thought they could make a buck on the chaos, stubborn-ass old timers who wouldn’t leave, and various riff-raff hiding out from the law of the remaining forty-seven states of the Union.

And then there were people like Greaser, just too dumb to know it was time to go.

Of course, there were the wolves, too. They stayed to protect their lands and to keep the hellions—lapdogs of the demons—at bay. And the Orions. A crazy club of blood-thirsty humans, zealots, who thought wolves were the evil of the world, a thought reinforced by persuasive demons. It was a damned mess and wolves were caught in the middle.

Her hip buzzed.

“Shit,” she murmured. She had to take the call, but wanted to question Greaser more. And much as she hated it, she needed to feed him something to keep him dangling. “That was good information. Maybe we can talk about splitting the finder’s fee. Here.” She slapped a gold demon coin on the bar. “Drink’s on me. Just hang out a sec and I’ll be right with you.”

He gave her a sullen look and climbed to his feet. Righting the barstool, he sat. The biker bar was mostly deserted except for Hail, the bartender who’d never interfere in her business. It was too early for any of the Orions to be stirring. She was known to be an earlier riser compared to the rest of the gang. She snorted. Easy enough to do since they drank all night and slept half the day.

She stepped outside and answered. “Better be good. I was busy.”

“It’s Hank.”

Stiffening, she glanced around before she headed toward her motorcycle, parked at the end of the long line of bikes in front of the bar. “Go ahead. Nobody around.”

“Brock needs me to hand off something to you.”

“What is it?” Relieved to talk to someone from home and not have to live the constant lie, even for a minute or two, she smiled a little.

“Better you see it. We’re at a motel.” Hank rattled off the address and made arrangements for a meeting time. She passed on the info on the wolf sighting and he promised to follow up.

Ona slipped the phone into her saddlebag and stretched her back before mounting. A car pulled into the far side of the lot and belched a cloud of black smoke. She sneezed and for a moment, let herself envision stripping down and taking wolf form to run all the way to the motel, but she couldn’t chance it.

She started the motor and slammed on her helmet. The PACk, Petrol Abolished Community, was home to her family and the other wolf shifters of her kind, but unlike all other wolves, her family wasn’t allergic to petrol products. It put her in a good position to keep an eye on the filthy scumbag Orions. There were days she could appreciate being the only wolf able to live amid modern conveniences, to pretend to be human, and to guard the backs of her friends and family. But living amid the Orions while breathing in exhaust fumes really made her want to just wring all their necks and go home.

She’d saved dozens of wolves by giving warning, distracting the Orions, and passing on information to her brother Brock, alpha leader to the PACk. She’d lost a few. Her mouth soured at the memories of blood and pain.

Greaser could wait. The PACk didn’t call her in lightly and this wouldn’t take long. She could get out there, get back, and clean up whatever mess Greaser might manage before her head hit the pillow. The motel was only an hour away, far out into the burbs and edging the wilderness on the way to Tennessee. She shut off her mind and let the trees blur past.

Soon enough, she pulled into a spot near the door of the room Hank had given her. Hank was a trusted wolf who knew how to keep to the shadows and avoid trouble, perfect to pass messages from home when needed. Brock couldn’t use a phone from way out at the commune and Hank had learned how to deal with his allergies long enough to call her in. Her senses heightened as she went to the door and went inside.

“Hope nothing’s wrong with the kids.” She called into the room. No one answered. She took a deep breath and assured herself, only wolf scent in the room. Two of them. “Hank?”

“Sorry.” Hands grabbed her from the sides and in seconds a collar wrapped her neck. “This is for your own good.”

Fuck.

She growled and struck out but hit no one. Two shadows converged around her and a cold touch slid around her neck. She jerked away and scrambled back. A tug yanked her around the throat and she slid forward.

Clank
.

Metal on metal sent her into a frenzy. She grunted and growled, thrashing and punching out, striking empty air. She shifted. The white gold jewelry from her many piercings hit the floor. Her clothes followed and her wolf form crouched, ready. Sniffing, she found the two males, keeping them in her periphery while she yanked and tugged to no avail. She was caught.

“Just keep it calm, Ona. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” Hank sneezed as he gathered her clothes and jewelry, shoving it all in a bag and chucked it out the window.

She growled and had visions of dunking Hank in a vat of gasoline until his hair fell out.

“Call the man,” Hank spoke into the dark. “Tell him we have her.”

*

Tiago Montevedo straightened the front of his suit, lifted his hand, and let it fall with a knock. On the other side of the door, a ferocious growl cut off sharply. The heavy solid wood didn’t budge. Behind him, the cars zipped by on the interstate so near, the wind from the traffic blew hot up his nose.