Seducing the Hunter

Tilting her head, Daeva looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s right. You never did get to see me in my true form. You were so quick to get rid of me. Never gave me a chance to introduce myself properly.”

It had been three years since Daeva had seen Quinn Strom. And she had to admit that he looked just as dark and dangerous and delicious. His inner darkness called to her like a moth to a flame. But she couldn’t let him see that. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand here. She’d never give it to him again.

A vixen at heart, VIVI ANNA likes to burn up the pages with her original, unique brand of fantasy fiction. Whether it’s in the Amazon jungle, an apocalyptic future or the otherworld city of Necropolis, Vivi always writes fast-paced action-adventure with strong, independent women who can kick some butt and dark, delicious heroes to kill for.

Once shot at while repossessing a car, Vivi decided that maybe her life needed a change. The first time she picked up a pen and put words to paper, she knew she had found her heart’s desire. Within two paragraphs, she realized she could write about getting into all sorts of trouble without having to suffer any of the consequences.

When Vivi isn’t writing, you can find her causing a ruckus at downtown bistros, flea markets or in her own backyard.

Seducing the Hunter

Vivi Anna

For Crowley, the cheekiest demon of them all …

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

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

Sneak Peek

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The candlelight illuminating the small chamber flickered when the heavy wooden door opened. Daeva looked up from the backgammon board to see who had entered her private room. She smiled as the little green creature, carrying a bronze tea tray, hobbled in on his spindly and knobby legs.

He set the tray on the small round table next to her, then slid onto the velvet-covered chair on the opposite side of the backgammon board.

She reached over and poured tea into two porcelain cups then handed one to him. “Prompt as usual, Klix.”

The creature accepted the offered cup and took a sip, his beady black eyes staring at her over the rim. “I wouldn’t miss our daily game, Mistress.”

She drank the hot, spiced tea and watched the goblin set up the game. It was her one small pleasure in the day, to play the ordinary game with him in her private chamber away from the others. Away from the reality of her situation.

Here she couldn’t smell the rancid odor of brimstone and sulfur or the stench of burning flesh. Here she could block out the woeful screams and pitiful mewls of those being tortured in the fire pits below. She didn’t have to make polite conversation with the other demons she wholly despised. As long as she had to stay in hell, she could at least pretend she was elsewhere when she was here in her room playing her games with her friend Klix.

Hell was the place of Daeva’s birth, but she’d done everything possible for thousands of years to get out and stay out. And she’d done pretty well. Staying topside most of her life, possessing bodies, living their lives, until some clever exorcist or demon hunter would exorcise her back to hell. Then the process would start all over again. It wasn’t perfect but she’d accepted the fact that she’d never be able to walk the mortal realm in her true form, so she’d stolen identities and pretended to be those people. It wasn’t quite like being a real mortal. But it was the best she could do in her circumstances.

At least when she took over a body, she kept her host in a dream state. They didn’t know they were being possessed. They just thought they were having one heck of an amazing dream. Daeva always gave them good, happy dreams.

Despite what a lot of lore said, not all demons were wicked. In fact, most lived, just as other beings did, somewhere between good and evil. Here, in hell, demons were split into seven types. Daeva was of the second, which consisted of lust demons. She wasn’t a full-blooded lust demon though; there had been some mixing of types over millennia, but she had one in the family tree somewhere. She didn’t possess people to just suck the sexual energy from them or those that they seduced. She wasn’t what some people would call a succubus.

But she did derive some energy from sex. Which was one of the reasons she preferred to possess the bodies of women. She liked sex with men. She supposed her affinity to them was one of her weaknesses. She’d been told as much by every other demon in her family tree. Which was one of the many reasons she hated it so much in hell.

She’d been doing okay as a mortal for years, surviving, forging a pretty good new life with a job, a home, friends, family and a man she loved. The woman whom she’d possessed had been near death in a coma when Daeva had come along. Her brain had little function so it would’ve been like being in a dream for her when Daeva had taken over. The girl was mercifully unaware of Daeva’s presence. But that all had come to a halt about three years ago when she’d been exorcised out of her most favorite body, her most favorite life, and sent back to this...hell. She’d been looking for a way back ever since.

She’d been looking for payback on the man who’d sent her back, who just happened to be the same man she’d loved.

Klix had the game set up—he always played the black—then picked up the dice and rolled. She watched him move the pieces with his crooked fingers and smiled. He was her only comfort in a place that offered nothing but misery and suffering.

“So, my friend, what is the word out in the world?” she asked as she took her turn.

“Loir is going topside,” he said as he rolled again.

“Really?” This surprised Daeva. Loir was Klix’s twin sister. Goblins usually didn’t go to the mortal realm. They weren’t very good at assimilating into the human world. Seeing a four-foot, bald, green-skinned creature with bulbous eyes, razor-sharp talons and four sets of teeth would send anyone into a panic or an asylum. “What is her purpose?”

Klix shrugged. “I am not sure. She would not tell me much.”

“She must be accompanying someone on a task.”

He nodded. “Yes, that would be logical.” He moved some of his black pieces into the winning box. “She did say something about a key.”

This perked Daeva up. There were only a few important keys up there in the world. “What kind of key, do you know?”

“Not sure. But I did hear it is supposed to open something of great value to demons. Something powerful. Something ancient.”

Daeva nearly dropped her teacup. She set it on the table, her hand shaking.

“Are you ill, Mistress?”

She swallowed, then gave him a small smile. “I must be a bit under the weather, Klix. Could we finish our game later? I believe I need to rest a bit.”

“Yes, of course.” He rose from his seat. “Shall I take the tea tray?”

“No, that’s fine.”

He bowed his bald head to her. “I will be back later to check on you, Mistress.”

“Oh, Klix, could you deliver a message to your sister for me?” Daeva reached for parchment and a quill. She scrawled three words on it, and folded the paper. She handed it to the goblin.

“I will do this right away.”

“Thank you, Klix. Please tell her to burn it after she reads it.”

The little goblin left her chamber, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Once he was gone, Daeva rose from her chair and went to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase along one wall. She ran her finger along the book titles until she found the one she needed. She slid it off the shelf and went to sit on the sofa.

She opened the thick tome on her lap and flipped through the pages. She stopped at a picture of a large wooden box with an elaborate lock on it. She read the text that went with it, then her finger circled another picture, that of a key. A skeleton key. The key that fit the lock. The key that opened a box that had been buried.

A plain wooden box she had buried herself, over a hundred years ago.

She sighed and leaned back against the sofa cushions. She prayed that this wasn’t the key Loir had gone topside to look for. As far as she knew, she was one of only a few people who knew who had the key. If someone was looking for it, then they were looking for the box.

The box had been entrusted to her more than a century ago by an elderly human scholar. He’d been an intelligent, well-read man who knew about the curse on the box. He knew exactly what had been sealed inside. And he had pleaded with her to bury it where no one, no human, no demon, would be able to find it again. He had been her friend, one of the few she had as a demon, so she did as he asked. With the help of a local man, she’d buried it deep in the earth in northern Canada.

They couldn’t allow what lay inside the box to be used again. Daeva feared what would happen if it fell into demon hands. It had been used against demonkind two millennia ago, used to enslave them and do one insane man’s bidding. But if it fell into demon hands, it could be used to subjugate the entire human population. It would overthrow humanity.

Recently, she had heard rumors and whispers about who possessed the key. And the last confirmed report had chilled her blood. If only she was still topside, she could’ve protected him, the key keeper, and he would never have even known.

Because she’d spent years right under his nose, hiding in plain sight. Hiding inside the woman he’d fallen in love with. The woman she’d been possessing for years, before she even met him. So, in Daeva’s mind, he had fallen in love with her.

And she had loved him. Damn him for it.

She pushed the book to the side and stood. Pacing the room she flicked her hand and all the candles in her chamber lit. She tried to warm her body with their flames. It would surprise everyone to know that even in hell she could be cold. She worried about what was to come, fretted about the future.

Daeva knew she would be called upon. There was only one being still alive who knew she’d hidden the box. The man she’d loved, the man who had sent her back to hell.

Soon, Quinn Strom, exorcist extraordinaire, would come a-knocking at her hellish “door.”

A knock startled her. It couldn’t be Klix; she had told him to come back later. Her heart thudding in her chest, she opened the door.

Two soldiers with swords at their sides stood waiting for her. “Daeva, you must come with us.”

“What is this about?” Although, deep down in her churning gut, she knew.

“Please comply, or we will be forced to be unpleasant.”

Swallowing the fear that was quickly rising, she nodded and stepped out between them, firmly shutting her door behind her.

Chapter 2

The sound was faint, maybe only a creak of the house, but Quinn Strom heard it. He sat upright in his bed, peering into the darkness of his bedroom and straining to listen.

Trained to sleep lightly, he was always alert at any out-of-place sound. He’d lived in his modest house long enough to have memorized every normal creak, squeak and groan of the place. And the creak he’d heard was from the stairs just outside his room; the fourth step from the top had a soft spot that only a certain amount of weight triggered.

The creak came again, prompting Quinn to bolt off the bed and reach under his bed for the arsenal that he’d stashed there when he first moved in. Fortunately he always slept in sweatpants, so in emergencies like these he didn’t have to bother dressing. He grabbed the shotgun, loaded with silver and rock salt, and the beat-up old satchel that contained ampoules of holy water and his blessed silver crucifix.

Quinn had been a demon hunter and exorcist for most of his life, so he was always prepared for any threat, be it human or other. His father had trained him since he was ten to be vigilant, to be wary of the things that went bump in the night.

All the doors and windows had been warded against demon attacks, so the intruder had to be human. But just because they were human didn’t make them any less of a threat. He knew that firsthand. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with sorcerers, especially those from the Crimson Hall Cabal, a powerful organization of one hundred members who were always searching for more power.

Quinn took position at the side of his door, his gun raised, the satchel hung over his shoulder. He couldn’t cock the gun now because of the sound it would make, but the moment the door opened, he would pump it and point it in a nanosecond. In his other hand he had a glass ampoule of holy water ready to be released, just in case his wards had failed. One splash of the water on unholy skin would incapacitate any demon for a few minutes. Enough time for him to shoot silver into a demon body and kill it.

Breathing deep and even, he counted down the seconds in his head. The attack would come any moment now. He could sense movement on the other side of the door, hear the swish of fabric moving. What the hell were they waiting for?

Could this be a regular, run-of-the-mill home burglar? Looking for expensive things to steal and hock? Quinn didn’t live in an affluent neighborhood. There was no indication in either his house decor or the vehicle he drove that he was anything but a blue-collar working man with nothing of worth to take except maybe a plasma TV and a game console. But nothing worth searching the rest of the house for.

No, Quinn didn’t harbor any delusions that the intruders were after his valuables. At least, not the type that a person could buy in a department store. He did possess some things of worth. Things that only certain types of humans and demons would know about.

Were they after the key? God, he hoped not. That thing had been nothing but trouble from the second his father had bequeathed it to him. He’d tried to hide it in plain sight by giving it to his sister disguised as a pendant, but it had ended up back in his hands anyway. Back to being his responsibility.

Before he could consider that further, the door burst open. And not in one push. It splintered into a hundred pieces, as if C-4 had been placed on it and lit by a fuse. But he didn’t hear an explosion. Something else of great power had rendered his door into kindling.

He cocked the shotgun and, stepping over the wood pieces scattered on his floor, he took a stance in the doorway, pointing his weapon. But he couldn’t get a shot off before he was catapulted backward by a ball of green light that hit him full force in the gut. All the air was knocked out of him when he hit the wall.

He slumped to the floor just as a man with long dark hair and glowing green hands stepped into his bedroom. He smiled down at Quinn.

“Quinn Strom, I presume. Where is the key?”

All of Quinn’s muscles quivered. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through his body. He could barely blink.

The man stood over him, threatening green sparks dripping like melted metal from his long fingers. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will to get what I want.”

Quinn licked his lips, trying to get his mouth to work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play with me, Strom. I know you have it. Your lovely sister, Ivy, had it and then she gave it to you.”

Quinn tried to sit up at the mention of Ivy’s name. “If you touched her, I’ll kill you.”

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, she is quite safe. The cambion of hers is quite formidable. I should know, he killed Reginald, the man I succeeded as leader of the Cabal.” He turned his glowing hands this way and that, looking at them affectionately. “Although I probably should thank him for that...”

Quinn now knew who had broken into his house. The Crimson Hall Cabal. They were a ruthless group of powerful sorcerers who ran their organization pretty much like the mob and a gentlemen’s club combined. Not long ago, his sister, Ivy, and her lover, Ronan, a cambion, otherwise known as a half demon, had had a run-in with Reginald Watson. He’d initially hired Ronan to find Quinn and steal the key. But Ronan had had a change of heart—everything to do with the fact that he’d fallen in love with Ivy—and had given the key back. Then he ended up killing Reginald to keep Ivy and the key safe.

Obviously, the legend of the key had been passed on to the next in line for the cabal throne. The legend and the desire to possess it.

“You’ve wasted a trip. I don’t have the key,” Quinn croaked, his throat dry from the pain that still zipped through his body.

There was movement behind the sorcerer in the doorway. He turned as a small squat creature hobbled into the room.

“I could not find it, Master.”

It was a goblin, a female one by the way it was shaped. It regarded Quinn with its big, opaque eyes, and Quinn thought maybe he saw a quick flash of remorse in its wide-eyed stare. He couldn’t be sure. He’d only ever seen a goblin once before. It was rare to see one topside. They usually resided in hell, acting as servants to the demons that inhabited the pits.

“Yes, well, I did not suspect that the great Quinn Strom would have it lying around.” The sorcerer looked back to him. “You’re much too much like your father. Paranoid to a fault. Too bad that didn’t help him before he died.”

“I’d leave my dad out of this.”

“Or what?” the sorcerer sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”

Quinn nodded. “Something like that.” He pulled his hand out of his satchel and a dagger glinted in the light cast by the sorcerer’s hands. The sorcerer saw the knife too late.

He lifted his hands, just as Quinn sank the lethal blade into the sorcerer’s leg, and dodged his magic green rays. The green light slammed into the wall behind him, just missing his head, and burned a hole through the wood and concrete.

Dragging the shotgun with him, Quinn gained his feet, but the sorcerer was already turning toward him, the knife still sticking out of his thigh. Quinn dashed past the little goblin and out of the room. A blast of green fire hit him in the shoulder as he rounded the doorway.

It sent him to the ground, and he rolled dangerously close to the first step on the staircase. Pain shot through him like acid, but he managed to pull himself up using the railing and started down the stairs. Another bolt of green hit the wall next to him, causing him to stumble. Sparks sizzled on his cheek.

He reached the bottom step just as the sorcerer started down. Quinn risked a glance at him. The sorcerer had pulled the knife from his leg and dark droplets splattered the rug with each step he took. It wouldn’t be long before the blood loss affected the sorcerer’s vision. He’d be seeing black spots soon. Or least, Quinn hoped he would.

Quinn ran into the living room. He had to get to his bookcase. There was one book he needed before he could get out of the house. The room had been trashed by the little goblin. Sofa cushions had been sliced open and spilled out on the floor. All his shelves were tossed. The bookcase was broken apart on the rug, the books scattered everywhere.

He surveyed the damage, desperately seeking a thick black tome. He spied it in the corner, off by itself. As if waiting for him.

He dashed for it even as the sorcerer came around the corner, his hands glowing brighter. Quinn had a feeling that if he was hit by another wave of magic he wasn’t going to be getting up so easily. He’d crossed paths with the sorcerers before, but this one’s magic seemed much more powerful.

Ducking to grab the book, he barely missed being hit by a large orb of green. It crashed into the wall just above him. Liquid green sparks rained down on him, burning holes in his skin. He sucked in a breath to deal with the pain and shoved the book into his satchel.

If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could escape out the back. He had an escape route planned in advance. One he’d practiced repeatedly. He’d dash across the yard, out the back gate, down the alley and over the fence of his neighbors who had two dogs he’d already made friends with. After going through their yard, out the front and down another block, he’d get to the old junker he had sitting there. The keys were sitting on the right front wheel, under the fender.

But the thoughts were moot. Just as he reached the archway to the kitchen, he felt the impact on his back.

Quinn catapulted forward. Luckily he had the presence of mind to put his hands out, so he didn’t land on his face. But he did manage to smash his knee against the kitchen island as he fell. Dark, searing pain surged over his back, up his neck and over his skull. His vision wavered.

He tried to gain his feet, but dizziness seized him and he collapsed to his knees, agony bursting through the one he’d just battered. “Damn it!” he yelled.

He half crawled, half pulled himself on his stomach, toward the back door. But it was pointless. He was down.

“Admirable, Strom. But face it, I have more power than you do.”

Quinn rolled onto his back to see the sorcerer limp into the kitchen, the little goblin trailing behind him.

“Loir, grab the bag.”

The little green creature shuffled past the sorcerer to where Quinn was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He clutched the satchel to his chest. “Touch it, goblin, and I’ll bite your hand off.”

The goblin grinned at him, showing off four rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Not before I bite yours off, first.”

The sorcerer laughed.

The goblin reached for the bag, but Quinn wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it. The creature dragged one sharp talon across the back of Quinn’s hand. His skin split open, bubbling with infection.

“Jesus!” he dropped the bag and cradled his injured hand. The pain was intense. It made his head swim. Nausea filled his mouth.

The creature took the bag and handed it to the sorcerer, then shuffled in beside its master.

The sorcerer pulled open the leather bag, and withdrew a Holy Bible. He smiled when he saw it. “Cute.”

The sorcerer opened it and flipped through the pages until, Quinn imagined, he came across Quinn’s hiding spot. He’d hollowed out pages of the book and set the key inside.

The sorcerer tossed the Bible aside, and held up what he’d found between the pages. It was the key. The key that had been entrusted to Quinn to keep hidden. The key that unlocked the Chest of Sorrows, which contained a book that could end the world.

The sorcerer closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Quinn. Give my best to the demon horde when you get to hell.” He turned on his boot heel and glanced down at the goblin. “Make it quick. We have places to be.”