Page 164 of Bedeviled

The panther’s ears flick, but then he resettles, those eyes of his tracking me in the darkness as I retreat from the room.

I stop in a nearby guest room to kneel at the foot of a chest. Inside it rests a cache of more weapons, among them a recurve bow and a quiver of arrows. Pulling out the items, I drape the quiver over the shoulder opposite my sword.

I’m still adjusting to the weight and tension of the weapon as well as using a quiver rather that a gorytos to store arrows, but I’ll consider this a chance for some target practice.

I place a hand on my chest. “Let no weapon pierce my skin,” I incant in Sarmatian. “Hide me from view. Shield my body from enemy spells.”

Again and again, layer after layer, I drape magic on myself as my fury builds.

Eislyn thought she could hunt my wife? Hurt her? Kill her coven sisters and terrorize her school?

Manipulate her magic?

And now this?

My hair stirs at my shoulders as my power thickens in my veins, too big already to contain. I allow it to spill out around me, to open the door to the backyard. Releasing my power keeps the monster within me at bay—for now.

As I step outside, I see the demons’ attention move to me, their eyes gleaming red when the moonlight hits them just so.

The spells ringing my house still shield me from view. I know they cannot see me even if they sense my presence in other ways.

I pause, considering them. Then I slide the bow from my shoulders and fit it with an arrow. Not a single demon moves.

They really cannot tell what I’m doing.

Fitting the bow with an arrow, I draw the string back, aiming at the leftmost demon standing at the edge of my lawn. I steady my breath and quell the rage that lacerates me from the inside.

Release.

The arrow hisses through the air, moving faster and straighter than my weapons of old. The projectile slams into the demon, throwing the creature back.

The demons around him recoil at the attack, scattering a little. I see their lips draw back and their eyes scan the back patio.

They still cannot see me.

I withdraw another arrow, aim, and release it. By the time it lodges itself into its target, I’m already fitting another projectile into my bow.

My enemies move, but I’m used to the motion of battle. I revel in the difficulty of it and the way years of fighting have honed me.

“Show yourself, coward!” one of the demons hisses.

As though honor has anything to do in a fight amongst monsters.

“Have you not heard?” I call out. “This is a proper Sarmatian greeting.”

Among enemies, at least.

One of the demons pulls out a gun, though the thing is utterly useless against my wards. Strikes—including bullets—cannot enter past the protective shields, but as my arrows have demonstrated, they can exit the protective shield.

My magic still snaps out and knocks the weapon out of the demon’s hand. I don’t want these creatures to wake up my wife.

The demon cries out, and just as he turns to lunge for the falling weapon, I shoot him. With a grunt, he falls to the grass.

I don’t spare him another glance before I continue to aim and release arrows, taking down demon after demon.

In the melee, a few of the creatures have jumped on their brethren, mauling them while they’re weak, the carnage driving whatever wicked instincts live within them.

“Enough!” one creature finally calls.