Hunting the Demon

Chapter One


Sydney, Australia

Nic Diavolo stood in the dark place, hundreds of clawed hands reaching for him. They tore at his clothes, the creatures' voices like a cacophony of humming bees. Now the buzzing grew louder, a chant of triumph as they surrounded him.

They'd finally won. All these years the monsters had chased him, and he had always run. Run as hard as he could, slipping and falling, but he'd stayed ahead of them. Always escaped.

This time, he had slowed down. Stopped. Turned and let them catch up, watched as five became ten. Then twenty-five. Then finally there were a hundred or more of the creatures. Horrifying in appearance, with their red eyes and long fangs, their dirty, clawlike fingernails reaching for him.

When they touched him, he expected to scream.

This was it. The moment he had spent a lifetime fearing.

Their nails raked over his skin. He shuddered at the first touch, revulsion and dread filling him.

But they didn't shred him to pieces, didn't sink their dripping talons into his flesh, didn't growl as if they wanted to tear him apart.

They stared at him in awe, stroked him with reverence, bowed their heads.

As if he was their king.

At that moment, Nic realized something monumental.

He felt no fear.And that was the most frightening thing of all.

Take your place.

He heard the voice, but didn't understand, couldn't see anyone around him but the creatures.

You're home, son.

Recognition struck. It was his father. But Nic was confused, didn't comprehend the command.

These are your people, Dominic. You belong to them, and they to you.

Nic shook his head. Something wasn't right. He didn't belong here, with these creatures."Dad?"

All he heard was soft laughter.

"Dad!"The laughter faded, and he was once again alone with the beasts. They beseeched him wordlessly with their groping hands, their mumbled adoration. They closed in and he felt suffocated, unable to breathe as they pressed against him.

No! He didn't want this. He wanted answers, goddammit.

"Dad! Where are you?"

The shrill alarm blasted Nic into an upright position. Covered with sweat, his heart hammering his ribs, he slammed his hands onto the mattress and blinked against the darkness, fighting for breath.

What. The. Fuck. Disoriented and shaking, he struggled for time and place.

His bedroom at the house in Sydney. No monsters.

Just the dream.

Man, that was some weird shit.

Constantly the same. Okay, maybe this one wasn't exactly like the others. But still a theme similar to the rest. Monsters, and him, and wandering around in the dark in search of . . . something. Seemed to be every night lately. Would they ever end?

He leaned toward the nightstand and punched the button, watching the slow crawl of the drapes as they opened, revealing a semicircle of floor-to-ceiling windows connecting him with the outside world again. With reality. It was still dark outside, but at least he had the comfort of the lights in the harbor, boats in the water, real things.

Sydney was alive and breathing, even at five in the morning. And that was good enough for now. Sunrise would come soon, banishing the last vestiges of the dream from the recesses of his mind.

He rubbed his temples, sucked in air, and shook off the confusion. So he had dreams. So what? Too much partying is what he attributed it to. And not enough sleep. In every respect, Nic was normal. Healthy as could be for a thirty-three-year-old male.

Right.

"Fucking freak of nature is what you are," he mumbled as he slid out of bed and grabbed his board shorts.

The waves were supposed to be kick-ass right now. It was the only lure that would have brought him home. Not that anyone was here anyway. His father wasn't, which was typical. And even if he had been here, he wouldn't have noticed Nic if he'd paraded naked into the kitchen with a girl under each arm.

He smirked at the shock value of that visual. He might have to try that sometime to see if it got a reaction from his dad or his uncle Bart.

Probably wouldn't.

With a loud yawn, he stretched, then slid into his shorts and white nylon shirt, went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, and splashed water on his face, hoping to shake off the nightmare.

One would think he'd downed enough booze at the club last night to afford a dreamless sleep. But oh, no. Sometimes he was lucky enough to remember.

Or cursed. He wished he couldn't recall the dreams with such clarity.

The dreams terrified him. And he was too damned old to be scared of monsters in the dark.

As he came out of the bathroom, the first line of dawn slipped above the horizon. He grinned, adrenaline pumping blood into his booze-soaked veins.

Time to catch a wave.

And forget about monsters.Shay Pearson drummed her fingers on the kitchen tabletop of the