Confessions of a Demon by S. L. Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

sucking up my emotions.
     
I could barely breathe because of his pungent stench. It was truly amazing how dirty a person could get in the city in only a few weeks. I figured Pique used his smell to bother people. It bothered me.
     
I launched myself at his head, diving over him. He toppled backward, rolling onto the sidewalk as we both went sprawling. But his hold on me didn’t break. He instantly repaired his nose, ignoring the wet blood on his upper lip and chin.
     
If I were a human, I would have been drained within minutes, a husk left to rot from within. But even with all of Petrify’s energy, I had little more time than that to fight him off.
     
Lolita appeared in the doorway, her voice higher and faster as she cried into her cell phone, “He’s attacking her! You have to get here fast!” I heard her give the address.
     
Pique didn’t try to fight back as I kicked him, struggling against his one- handed grip. He kept spinning as I grabbed the back of his hand and tried to twist it away. Lo dived into the fray and flailed her fists, hitting Pique squarely in the chin. But his only concern was hanging on to me so he could continue to drain me.
     
I should have retreated upstairs and called 911 the second Pique moved toward the bar. I had installed a reinforced steel door on my apartment for exactly that reason.
     
Now I wished I hadn’t sent Savor packing. There was at least a fifty-fifty chance he would have helped me.
     
My aura was flashing luridly as I tried to resist Pique, with my first red flush of anger shifting to a frightful orange. I was going down in flames. What if I couldn’t last long enough for the police to pry him off me?
     
Would he really consume my essence and make me go up in a puff of smoke in front of all these witnesses?
     
It appeared that he would. I could just imagine the New York Post headline: BARTENDER SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTS ON LOWER EAST SIDE.
     
“You’re a psychopath, You can’t do this,” I hissed at him, desperate to break through. Pique didn’t respond. He never spoke. I wasn’t sure whether he could.
     
From the midst of the crowd that was gathering around us, a man stepped forward. He bent over me, reaching for Pique as Lo tumbled away again.
     
I caught sight of his angry expression; he was a dark-haired man, of mixed Mediterranean heritage. I figured he was in his mid-thirties. I had never seen him before, but he looked like the kind of tough guy who had lived in this neighborhood his entire life, long before the hipster boutiques and cafés arrived.
     
He broke Pique’s hold on me with a savage twist. I could feel the power behind his grip. “Let go of her.”
     
It sounded like both bones in Pique’s wrist broke. He screamed, more in frustration than pain.
     
Released, I scrambled backward, trying to gather the shreds of my shields around me. I ended up pressed up against the worn wooden paneling on the front of the bar. Lolita was sitting dazed on the curb, her curly hair standing on end and her lipstick smudged. She looked more angry than hurt.
     
A few of the patrons were hanging out the open front windows above me, shouting encouragement to our savior. The tall, dark-haired man with big muscles had managed to subdue a demon, something I’d never seen before.
     
He clearly radiated possessive pride, determined to keep his neighborhood clean. I could feel it even from a few feet away. He smiled slowly, cracking his knuckles. Still, there were no sirens. “You gonna do something about it?” he asked Pique.
     
Pique glanced around at the audience gathering on the street and finally came to his senses. He sniffled at the remnants of blood running out of his nose, luridly painting his mouth and chin red. Then he leaped up with surprising agility, and darted off.
     
I was about to sigh in relief, but the neighborhood hero took off after him. “No, don’t,” I called after him. “Let him go!”
     
At the corner, the guy grabbed Pique and