The Demon's Lover ✓

Lover - Two

2011 © Sonia Bartlett ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Chapter 2

The lights of Las Vegas were many and bright, but Christian had no interest in something so trifling as such. He was frozen; an all but mechanical being focused on one thing. He thought of nothing else, was aware of few things other than it. And right now he was on his way to getting some very important information.

Walking swiftly though the alleyway he was forced to pass under several lampposts the bright light illuminating the dark figure. Several feet away he heard a group of women gasp from across the street. Flicking them a glance he saw that the trio were but girls; sixteen or seventeen at the most.

"Well, hello… Drop dead gorgeous at three-o-clock!" he heard one whisper.

"Definitely drool-worthy," another agreed.

"A little old, though, don’t you think?" murmured the third.

Christian smirked. They had no idea. Passing again into the darkness he heard them walk on, and immediately the three adolescents were gone from his mind. Crossing to the other side of the street he kept walking, until the lights of the main walk of Vegas got dimmer and dimmer, the streets becoming dirtier and gloomier.

This was not, he mused, a place for the faint of heart.

Walking up to a large building he tapped thrice on the front door. Opening noiselessly the door gave way to reveal the face of a rather small old man. In his sixties and barely more than five foot tall, he looked as though he was someone everyone ought to protect. That was, at least, until you looked in his eyes. They were small and beady, unremarkable really, until you took into account their expression. Cold and unfeeling, it was as if they were made of ice itself.

Taking this into account, it was no surprise that there was little warmth in his first words. "Diablo," he stepped aside to let the other man in. Shutting the door with a click the old man turned and followed him into the large living room filled with priceless antiques, Persian rugs, and furniture dating back to the 18th century.

Diablo, he saw, was helping himself to the brandy pouring it from its crystal decanter into a glass worth a small fortune. Replacing the decanter on its tray he looked up his gaze sliding over the old man. Taking a sip Christian paused before announcing, "You can be at no loss to understand why I’m here."

"On the contrary, my lord," the old man rasped, "far be it from me to understand your motives."

And just like that the expensive glass whistled as it flew across the room, barely missing the old man’s head, where it shattered into a million tiny shards, some of them embedded into to back of his head and arms. The old man stood stalk still, freezing in place.

"If you are unaware of this, please allow me to inform you that I do not suffer fools gladly," Christian said softly, dangerously.

"Yes, my lord," the old man whispered. He was no fool to oppose the man they called devil. He wanted to live to see tomorrow.

"I have heard rumors," Christian informed the old man laconically, walking back over to pour himself another drink. "It appears that the humans have been keeping Lukale underground."

"Underground?" the old man queried before he could stop himself. "But how do you know this?"

Flicking his eyes to the man Christian appraised his profile carefully. Deciding the man was of no consequence he replied, "As you know, every demon has a special…talent that they are born with. Lukale’s talent was mind reading, others have similar ones. Six hundred years ago a Hemon was born with the ability to find anyone anywhere. All she needed was something of theirs. She claimed that an object possessed by someone contained an essence of the person, and that was what she tracked them from."