Blood and Sin (The Infernari Book 1) by Laura Thalassa, Dan Rix Page B
Authors: Laura Thalassa, Dan Rix
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underside and tipped the massive bed on end. I muscled it toward the demon. With a wrench of metal, it toppled against the doorway, blocking the creature’s attack.
Blue flames slithered around its edges. As I stared, the center of the mattress caught fire and began crumbling to ashes.
He was burning right through it.
Fanning away the scalding fumes, I flung myself to the window and gripped the sill through the fireproof fabric of my ammo vest, then yanked it upward. Clean, cool air swirled up my nostrils. Behind me, the mattress went up in flames. I kicked out the screen and threw myself clear of the structure just as the demon stepped through the cinders and the room once again filled with fire.
I landed in a thorny rosebush, and winced. Crawling free, I staggered to my feet and took aim at the demon through the windows.
“Suck on this, fucker!” The M4 lit up in my hands.
The demon receded into the flames.
I circled the suite, tracking him and firing on full automatic. The stream of bullets blasted out shards of plaster and wood, and it blew out glass until the gun fell silent. I reloaded and emptied a second clip, my finger numb from squeezing so hard.
As I fired, the inferno spread to the rest of the house. Either the demon was burning to death inside or getting mowed down outside. One way or another, this bitch was toast.
Except it wasn’t.
My bullets could have been BBs. Ignoring the gunfire, ignoring the flames blazing around it, ignoring everything, the demon strolled through the burning bedroom and crouched in front of the closet, then blew out another blue-white jet of fire, focusing it like a laser beam at the floor.
I let go of the trigger, and the gun sputtered and died in my hands.
Of course. The demon breathed fire. Part of its major affinity must be immunity to heat—it couldn’t be burned.
Fuck.
They’d sent a demon after me that couldn’t be burned.
Or shot at.
No sign of a hit whatsoever. I doubted I had enough bullets in my armory to bring this beast down.
If Lana was healing this thing, she’d have hell to pay—no, she didn’t have nearly enough blood. And of course she would try to heal any demon in sight. That was simple survival instinct. In her position, I would do the same.
But she wasn’t healing it.
Which left only one possibility.
Major affinity: breathing fire.
Minor affinity: some sort of immunity to bullets.
Still wheezing to catch my breath, I planted my palms on my knees and watched my house go up in flames around the creature.
Only one way to kill a demon like this. Don a fire proximity suit, rip off its head to deprive its lungs of potency, then do the next best thing to burning a demon—dissolve its flesh in acid.
None of which was happening tonight.
I’d gotten my ass kicked.
I squeezed off a few more halfhearted shots, which the demon ignored. Crouching on all fours, it continued to blast the floor.
The floor.
With a twist in my gut, I realized. It was going through the floor.
Below the floor lay my safe house, all my weapons, my machine shop, my Hummer, and Lana—possibly the most valuable prisoner I’d ever captured.
That kind of fire, its bluish color . . . it would be hot enough to melt the rebar in the concrete slab.
My insides turned to ice.
I’d once thought it would take weeks to dig me out of my cave. With a major affinity like that, it would take minutes.
And I could do nothing but watch.
Brad. He was still down there.
Once that slab broke, he’d get fried.
Shit. I sprinted back around to the trap door, where I dropped back into the basement.
“Brad,” I called, charging up the corridor. “Brad, get your crap, we’re gone! Let’s go, go, go!”
The room was empty.
Huddled in the corner of her cell, shivering, Lana watched me from behind a curtain of her long, iridescent hair, which seemed to be weeping greens and blues under the fluorescent light. Her eyes glistened.
I felt a pang of sympathy. It was a reflex,
Blue flames slithered around its edges. As I stared, the center of the mattress caught fire and began crumbling to ashes.
He was burning right through it.
Fanning away the scalding fumes, I flung myself to the window and gripped the sill through the fireproof fabric of my ammo vest, then yanked it upward. Clean, cool air swirled up my nostrils. Behind me, the mattress went up in flames. I kicked out the screen and threw myself clear of the structure just as the demon stepped through the cinders and the room once again filled with fire.
I landed in a thorny rosebush, and winced. Crawling free, I staggered to my feet and took aim at the demon through the windows.
“Suck on this, fucker!” The M4 lit up in my hands.
The demon receded into the flames.
I circled the suite, tracking him and firing on full automatic. The stream of bullets blasted out shards of plaster and wood, and it blew out glass until the gun fell silent. I reloaded and emptied a second clip, my finger numb from squeezing so hard.
As I fired, the inferno spread to the rest of the house. Either the demon was burning to death inside or getting mowed down outside. One way or another, this bitch was toast.
Except it wasn’t.
My bullets could have been BBs. Ignoring the gunfire, ignoring the flames blazing around it, ignoring everything, the demon strolled through the burning bedroom and crouched in front of the closet, then blew out another blue-white jet of fire, focusing it like a laser beam at the floor.
I let go of the trigger, and the gun sputtered and died in my hands.
Of course. The demon breathed fire. Part of its major affinity must be immunity to heat—it couldn’t be burned.
Fuck.
They’d sent a demon after me that couldn’t be burned.
Or shot at.
No sign of a hit whatsoever. I doubted I had enough bullets in my armory to bring this beast down.
If Lana was healing this thing, she’d have hell to pay—no, she didn’t have nearly enough blood. And of course she would try to heal any demon in sight. That was simple survival instinct. In her position, I would do the same.
But she wasn’t healing it.
Which left only one possibility.
Major affinity: breathing fire.
Minor affinity: some sort of immunity to bullets.
Still wheezing to catch my breath, I planted my palms on my knees and watched my house go up in flames around the creature.
Only one way to kill a demon like this. Don a fire proximity suit, rip off its head to deprive its lungs of potency, then do the next best thing to burning a demon—dissolve its flesh in acid.
None of which was happening tonight.
I’d gotten my ass kicked.
I squeezed off a few more halfhearted shots, which the demon ignored. Crouching on all fours, it continued to blast the floor.
The floor.
With a twist in my gut, I realized. It was going through the floor.
Below the floor lay my safe house, all my weapons, my machine shop, my Hummer, and Lana—possibly the most valuable prisoner I’d ever captured.
That kind of fire, its bluish color . . . it would be hot enough to melt the rebar in the concrete slab.
My insides turned to ice.
I’d once thought it would take weeks to dig me out of my cave. With a major affinity like that, it would take minutes.
And I could do nothing but watch.
Brad. He was still down there.
Once that slab broke, he’d get fried.
Shit. I sprinted back around to the trap door, where I dropped back into the basement.
“Brad,” I called, charging up the corridor. “Brad, get your crap, we’re gone! Let’s go, go, go!”
The room was empty.
Huddled in the corner of her cell, shivering, Lana watched me from behind a curtain of her long, iridescent hair, which seemed to be weeping greens and blues under the fluorescent light. Her eyes glistened.
I felt a pang of sympathy. It was a reflex,
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