The Demon Hunter by Lori Brighton Read Free Book Online

was all he had left, after all. But no, that wasn’t true. If he could find his sword he’d have something. He’d feel whole again. He’d have a purpose.
    “Are you all right?”
    Of course he wasn’t all right. In the last one hundred years, he’d died, become a ghost, been brought back to life, only to die again. And hell, here he was, once more. His life, and death, were becoming rather redundant. He drew his knees to his chest and hung his head low.
    How the hell had he gotten here? Why? So many confusing emotions and memories swirled through his body. But there was no one to answer him. “What’s the date?”
    “April 9 th .”
    “Year,” he snapped.
    She paused, obviously finding his question odd. “2012.”
    Six months, whispered through his mind.
    Could it be true? Had he only been in that hell for six months? It felt like years. Only six months. He felt ancient. An old man, beaten and bloodied, ready for the end.
    The woman knelt beside him, her hand reaching out, only to fall to her side as if she thought better of comforting him. “Listen, you need to leave before Lord Templeton sees you and calls the police.”
    Her words hit him, gave him the strength he needed. “I can’t. I can’t leave until I find something.” He jumped to his feet, swaying. He’d stood too soon. Blimey, he needed rest. At the least, food. Determined, he moved toward the door. “Now, are you going to help me find it, or shall I merely bang upon the door until your Lord Templeton answers?”
    “You’re insane if you think I’ll let you enter that home!”
    Devon stepped onto the back stoop and wrapped his fingers around the porcelain door handle. He could hear her quick steps as she raced after him. She was too late. He turned the handle and pulled. The door gave a little, but held tight by a bolt. Easy enough to take care of. Taking in a deep breath, he focused what little remaining energy he had left. The lock broke with a clank and the door swung wide.
    Ellie gasped from behind him. “How’d you do that?”
    He ignored her and stepped into the kitchen. Shadows hid the large room, but he could make out cabinets along the far wall. A refrigerator hummed softly in the corner. In the middle was a large table. The wooden floorboards were smooth under his bare feet. So different, yet something shifted inside of him, memories kept at bay. He could picture himself there, in the middle of the room, stealing biscuits from the Cook.
    He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It smelled the same. The lemon scent was overwhelming, but underneath…deep down under the layers of time… the familiar scent of his home remained.
    Over one hundred years ago, this had been his kitchen. He had been master of this house. But everything was different now. His home no longer.
    Sweat of desperation peppered his forehead. It wasn’t his home any longer, but that didn’t matter. He was leaving as soon as he found his damn sword. A biscuit jar in the middle of the table caught his attention. His stomach clenched. He reached it in two strides and lifted the lid. Shortbread. His stomach grumbled loudly. He grabbed a handful of cookies and shoved them in his mouth.
    “You can’t be in here! I’ll call the police, I swear it!” Ellie’s feet whispered over the floor, her breath harsh in the quiet.
    “So call,” he mumbled over a mouth of biscuits. He had no time for her nonsense. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to sense the sword, search for that low hum of vibration he had always felt when the weapon was near. He needed that sword. He was nothing without it.
    Her warm hand clasped his bicep. “Please, can’t we just leave? Talk rationally?”
    He swallowed and with a trembling hand, grabbed another handful of cookies. “Fine.” He shook off her hold. Her touch was too personal, too addictive. “If you tell me what you are, I’ll leave.” He was calling her bluff.
    “I don’t know!”
    He pushed by her and