Claimed by the Demon Hunter 3 (Guardians of Humanity) Read online

  Claimed by the Demon Hunter 3

  Guardians of Humanity Book 3

  HARLEY JAMES

  Copyright © 2020 by Harley James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  This book was formerly titled Unholy Burn by Misty Dietz. This book has been modified from the original, and Misty is now going by the pen name Harley James. All rights to this book are owned by the original author and copyright infringement is NOT being done to Misty Dietz.

  For women everywhere kicking ass in the good ‘ol boys club.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  A Gift For You

  About Harley James

  Chapter 1

  Dumped on your birthday. This is definitely a new low, Syd.

  Sydney Ashby sat on her second-hand sofa and stared at the exquisite crystal vase filled with three dozen roses. Thanks for three amazing months, Derek’s note started off. It’s not you, it’s me.

  Blah, blah blah.

  Sydney leaned forward to touch the velvety petals of one of the yellow blooms. The arrangement was almost as classy and extravagant as Derek himself with his thick, blond hair, trust fund wardrobe, and celebrity dentist.

  Debonair Derek, her long-time best friend Laura Sellers had called him… Until two hours ago when said childhood conspirator had rechristened him Douchebag Derek. The label, along with several choice obscenities, had been avidly rebroadcast around Torque, Sydney’s auto mechanic shop where she, Laura, and five other employees worked, building a better life for themselves, one faulty transmission at a time.

  Derek had brought his Mercedes to Torque and asked her out on the spot. After two months of relentless pursuit, she finally said yes. Three months later…the yellow rose kiss of death.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Sydney slouched back, pulled a box of tissues onto her lap, and watched Jack and Rose plunge into the Atlantic after the ‘unsinkable’ Titanic hit the iceberg.

  Go home, examine your feelings, and have a good cry, counseled sweet-natured Zuri, Sydney’s European car tech. Crying is cathartic. You’ll feel better afterwards.

  After ten minutes of cinematic terror and heartbreak for the star-crossed lovers, this tear-jerker-movie-thing should be working by now, right?

  Especially after Jack made Rose promise to never let go.

  That was the ultimate expression of one’s undying love, for God’s sake. That kind of heartfelt sentiment was such a sharp contrast to her birthday dumpage her cheap sofa should be soaked with her tears by now.

  She tossed the unused tissue box on the rickety end table.

  She was going to make Zuri work overtime for a week for delivering such shitty advice.

  She’d wallow for ten more minutes, then go back to work and tackle her expansion paperwork. If her team found out she’d returned to the shop after-hours on her birthday, she could report in good conscience that she’d appropriately dealt with her Derek-drama and had fully recovered, thank you very much.

  That would be Plan A.

  If that didn’t work, Plan B would be telling them it was none of their damn business anyway.

  She closed her eyes and stopped jiggling her legs, letting her body go as lax as possible.

  Dumped on my birthday makes me feel…

  Embarrassed. Totally. To have been sucked in by Derek’s flatteries. He’d seemed so sincere, too. Asshole.

  A little worried. That she’d never find…someone. Someone irreplaceable like mom was to dad and vice-versa. Theirs was that never-let-go kind of love. She grew up seeing it in action, but for her, it seemed impossible.

  Her throat tightened. She frowned so hard the skin at her temples pulled against her ponytail.

  Hello insecurity. Kiss my ass.

  She sniffed. One more minute, and she was so done with this feelings-analysis crap.

  Okay, what else?

  Dumped on my birthday makes me feel…

  Unlovable.

  Her eyes snapped opened, heart pounding with a rush of heat. She loved her career, but what guy would find a woman who spent her days covered in engine grease feminine?

  Happy birthday, lovely Sydney. I hope you understand I need to move on.

  Her eyes prickled.

  Her sister Tiana had said almost the same thing last month.

  Girl, it’s time I move on. Start fresh. Find out who I am.

  Sydney hugged a throw pillow to her face, winding up for the ugly cries when the doorbell rang.

  “Shit!” She scrambled off the sofa so fast she smacked her shin on the coffee table. She lugged herself toward the door, pausing to glance at her reflection in the microwave door. Jesus. She pulled off her ponytail holder, ripping out several long red strands of hair in the process.

  The impatient visitor now pounded on the door in addition to ringing the bell.

  “Hold on!” she yelled, fluffing her hair and slapping her cheeks to make them look redder than her eyes. Please don’t let this be one of my brothers. Or, God forbid, Dad. His touchy Irish temper would blow the top off his already high blood pressure if he noticed she’d been crying.

  One of these days, she was going to install one of those door-peep-thingies. She took a deep breath and yanked open the door.

  “Oh my God, you look like Hell!” Laura Sellers stormed inside and plunked down a large, rectangular, gift-wrapped box on Sydney’s itty-bitty dining table. She flung her arms around Sydney, her vanilla, coriander, and tuberose perfume swirling around like a magic potion.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. Derek’s hot, yes, but he’s the human version of an Afghan Hound.” She pulled back, but kept her hands on Sydney’s shoulders. “You’d eventually tire of his excessive grooming requirements and inability to imagine starting from nothing like you have.”

  “Yeah, but he was probably the last boyfriend I’ll have until the shop expansion is complete and we’re where I want the business to be financially. So in other words, probably five years. That’s a long dry spell.” Wow, said out loud like that, it was even more depressing.

 
Laura put her hands on her hips. “Would you stop?”

  Sydney shrugged and rubbed her eyes. “Come on, Laura. I never leave the shop. You, the rest of the team, and my family are the only social interaction I ever have.”

  “We’re gonna fix that. Starting now.” Laura slid the brightly-colored birthday present toward Sydney. “Open it.”

  “Can’t it wait? I’m not really in the mood.”

  Laura craned forward with a frown. “Wait, this isn’t just about the douchebag, is it?”

  If she started talking about Tiana, all her fears would tumble out, and with Laura, there’d be no way to relock that shit up: images of Tiana blown on coke, laying in a gutter, vulnerable to all manner of degradation.

  Laura got right in her personal space, wrapping both arms around her neck, laying her temple against Sydney’s. “It’s Tiana, right?”

  She could only nod.

  Tiana was the one of Sydney’s eight adopted siblings who never felt like she belonged. She started running away from home at fifteen. Dropped out of school and gave birth to a stillborn at seventeen.

  Their mother Clara had never quite gotten over the loss.

  Tiana hadn’t either because she’d spiraled after that. She’d go off-grid for months, staying with friends or in shelters, never telling anyone where she was.

  Sydney didn’t know if her family suffered worse when Tiana was in their lives, or out.

  Sydney pulled away first, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Last month, when Tiana finally reached out and we met, she looked good. She was clean. I thought maybe, just maybe, things were looking up. We planned for her to come to Torque, meet the team, and go to work. Why didn’t she come?”

  “I don’t know, baby. I’m so sorry.” Laura hauled Sydney in for another hug. “Don’t ever give up on that girl, but don’t stop living your life either.” She kissed Sydney’s cheek, then pulled back, her eyes unmistakably misty. “You got me?”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Sydney whispered, her face warm with a twisty mix of sadness and resignation.

  “No more tears for my boss-bestie tonight…instead let’s hear it for your fucking birthday!” Laura swiped at her eyes, lifted the gift from the table, and shoved it into Sydney’s gut. “Open it.”

  Sydney grimaced. “Well, since you put it so nicely.” She tore the fragile paper, grateful for some activity. Examining your feelings was highly overrated. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

  Laura practically vibrated with excitement. Sydney bit back a smile. They were opposites in many ways: Laura a brown-eyed blonde with the ability to hold a conversation with a rock, while she was...definitely not any of that.

  She got the red hair from her dad, blue eyes from her mom, and a head for business, not social engagement. She and Laura had had each other’s back through the ups and downs of life for the last twenty years, and some things just had a way of cementing two souls together.

  Laura was a certified tech, but preferred payroll, billing, and customer service, so she handled Torque’s front desk and administrative work like she was born to it. The way the company was growing, she’d probably need an assistant soon.

  It would have been the perfect job for Tiana.

  Sydney sighed, then removed the gift box top and blinked. This couldn’t be right. “Thigh-high boots?”

  Laura clapped. “Aren’t they gorgeous?! They’re real leather, Syd. All of us chipped in. The most perfectly impractical gift for the most perfectly practical woman we know and love.”

  Sydney’s lips curved. She’d never wear them, but knowing they all wished something fun and frivolous for her... Her eyes welled up again. What was with her today? “They’re really nice, Laura. Thank y—”

  “Nice?” Laura’s eyebrows raised toward her hairline. “They’re not nice, Syd. They’re look-at-me-I’m-a-walking-fantasy-you-motherfuckers. Thaaaat’s what they are. And you know what else? You’re gonna wash your face, brush your Disney princess hair, put on your teensiest dress, slip into these boots, and make it a night to remember. First stop: Baker Beach where Esteban, Zuri, and the rest of the girls from the shop have a small cache of fireworks.”

  She threw her palms up when Sydney opened her mouth. “Wait, I already know what you’re gonna say, and no, we won’t get arrested because Esteban’s cousin is working the Beach beat tonight, and he supposedly ‘owes him one.’ So we’re golden. After fireworks, it’s on to SoMa’s classiest nightclub where you’re gonna dance your ass off with the rest of us. It’s Friday night, baby! Inferno here we come!”

  Oh, hell no. That nightclub had a well-earned reputation for sophisticated debauchery. “Laura, there is no way you’re getting me out of these sweatpants any time in the next twelve hours.”

  Sydney was actually kind of proud of how her voice rang with conviction as Titanic’s end credits rolled on the TV screen.

  Laura smiled with that one goddamned raised eyebrow that always made Sydney’s gut take a leap. “Wanna bet?”

  Twelve endless minutes (not hours) later, Laura shoved a primped, painted, and thoroughly sexed-up version of her best friend into the passenger seat of her fifteen-year-old electric blue Jaguar.

  “I love you, Syd, even when your uber high-achiever side gets out of control. But every now and then, you need to live a little.” Laura slammed Sydney’s door and skipped around to her side of the car. She threw an impish smile Sydney’s way as she snapped her seatbelt into place. “And tonight, you’re gonna live a little harder than usual.”

  “Paybacks are hell,” Sydney growled. “I have a vault of blackmail material on you, too. You better remember that.”

  Laura winked at her as she backed out of the driveway. “Oh, believe me, I know. The difference between us is, I can’t wait until you want something bad enough to use mine against me.” Laura turned on the radio without waiting for Sydney’s response and sped off on the 101 toward Baker Beach and their ‘night to remember.’

  Sydney pulled on the hem of her miniskirt and exhaled, her muscles relaxing as she mentally recited her guiding principle: My choices create my destiny.

  What happened tonight was completely in her power. All would be well, and tomorrow, life would be back to normal.

  Chapter 2

  The December moon cast a rippling white orb on the shifting waves in San Francisco Bay. Spencer Jameson strode across Baker Beach, ignoring the whip-snap cold and the grains of sand that chafed in his black Italian dress shoes. He had more critical concerns this evening.

  The despair creeping over his soul, for example.

  The powerful demon lying face down in the surf, for another.

  Hell and damnation. It was a pity the blighter turned up dead. As demons went, Nikolai had been ancient, useful, and surprisingly wily—flying under the Guardian radar for centuries.

  The demon had nearly bested him in a fight yesterday. But when Spencer was about to deliver the killing blow, Nikolai had yelled, “wait!” and confided that an angel feather could be used like a poisoned dagger, incapacitating demons long enough to decapitate them, sending their condemned spirits back to hell.

  Something not entirely evil in the demon’s dark eyes had convinced Spencer to stay his hand.

  Tonight, they were supposed to have met so Nikolai could show Spencer exactly how to use the angelic weapon.

  If you could trust a demon’s word.

  Well, the crafty bugger had shown up, but someone higher up the demon hierarchy had obviously gotten wind of Nikolai’s plan to share secrets and hadn’t appreciated the idea.

  How could the Guardians not have known of this feather-power all these centuries? Demons were usually horrible secret-keepers.

  Spencer checked his coat’s inside pocket to reassure himself that Jessie Blaze’s feather was still there. Nate Temple, Jessie’s soul mate and Spencer’s Unholy Inc partner, was going to be furious that he’d plucked it off her in a manufactured stumble.

  He probably should’ve asked Jessie for a fea
ther instead of stealing one, but he’d rather ask for forgiveness, not permission.

  Tonight could’ve turned out so damn good.

  Spencer stared down at Nikolai’s muscular body, push-pulled by the restless waves, wondering at the enigmatic, not-quite-evil entity that had possessed the human male who looked to be in his mid-thirties, but was nearly a thousand years old.

  An agreement between gentlemen, the old demon had said.

  Spencer had actually believed him when he believed in so few.

  Nothing left to do but go back to Inferno to meet with Jinx, another partner in the Unholy Inc network of nightclubs where the Guardians based their demon-hunting activities. Jinx didn’t know it yet, but Spencer was giving her his holy relic.

  “I’m tired,” he told Nikolai’s body. “Tired of the fighting and all the games we play. You, because nothing else relieves your pain. Me, because I’m trying to atone.”

  Almost five hundred years of fighting and penance under his belt, and the Guardians still weren’t winning this war. For every demon he vanquished, two more cropped up. What was the point of it all?

  Spencer began walking down the beach toward the parking lot. Authorities would find and bag the body tomorrow. It would be laid anonymously to rest since it was from the twelfth century.

  The old demon certainly had a hell of a run on Earth.

  The atmosphere chilled, and awareness crackled across Spencer’s nerve endings. He stopped on the sand.