My eyes roamed the dark interior, searching for something to secure the door with. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I could make out the shapes of abandoned work benches, presses, and a set of stairs. I struggled to get my fingers to stop shaking as I shoved the spade back into my pants. Grabbing a work bench, I yanked it toward the door. The screeching sound it made reminded me too much of a daimon’s howl, and it also seemed to send things scurrying in the shadows. Once I’d barricaded the door, I rushed the stairs. They creaked and shifted under my weight as I took the steps two at a time, keeping a death grip on the metal railing. On the third floor, I went straight to a room with a large set of windows, dodging discarded benches and flattened boxes. A startling realization hit me as I peered out the window frantically, scouring the ground for daimons.
If I didn’t make it to Nashville—if I ended up dead tonight—no one would even know. No one would even miss me or care. My face wouldn’t even end up on the back of a milk carton.
I flipped out.
Leaving the room, I hit the rickety stairs and kept climbing until I reached the top floor. I raced through the dark hallway, ignoring the startled squeaks. I threw open the door and tumbled onto the roof. The storm continued violently overhead as if it had become a part of me. Lightning streaked across the sky, and a crack of thunder vibrated through my core, mocking the cyclone of emotions building inside.
Going to the edge of the roof, I peered through the fog. My eyes scanned every inch of the nearby woods and grounds where I’d just been. When I saw nothing I rushed to each of the other sides and did the same.
The daimons hadn’t followed me.
Maybe they were playing with me instead, wanting me to believe I’d somehow outsmarted them. I knew they could still be out there, toying with me like a cat does with a mouse before it pounces and it rips the poor thing apart.
I went back to the center of the roof, the wind whipping my hair around my face. Lightning flashed overhead, casting my long shadow across the rooftop. Waves of sorrow crashed over me, coupled with anger and frustration. Each swell cut me from the inside, lancing open wounds that would never really heal. Bending over, I covered my mouth with both hands and screamed just as the thunder rolled through the dark clouds.
“This isn’t it.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “This can’t be it.”
I straightened, swallowing down the burning lump in my throat. “Screw you. Screw all of you! I’m not dying like this. Not in this state, not in this stupid city and sure as hell not in this pile of crap!”
Fierce determination—so hot and full of rage—burned through my veins as I climbed back down the stairs and to the room with the windows. I dropped down on a pile of flattened boxes. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I leaned my head back against the wall. Dust coated my damp skin and clothing, sucking most of the moisture out.
I did the only thing I could do, because this couldn’t be the end for me. With no money and no bus ticket, I might be trapped here for a while, but this wasn’t how I was going to go out. I refused to even entertain the possibility. Closing my eyes, I knew I couldn’t hide here forever.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the blade, preparing myself for what I would have to do when the daimons came. I couldn’t run anymore. This was it. The sounds of the storm melted away, leaving a cloying humidity, and off in the distance, I could hear the roar of the trucks passing in the night. Life went on outside these walls. It couldn’t be any different inside them.
I will survive this.
***
Keep reading for a sneak peek of
Half-Blood: A Covenant Novel
by Jennifer L. Armentrout
Coming September 15th, 2011
from Spencer Hill Press
ISBN: 0-9831572-0-0 (paper)
0-9831572-1-9 (e-book)
CHAPTER 1
My eyes snapped open as the freakish sixth sense kicked my fight or flight response into overdrive. The Georgia humidity and the dust covering the floor made it hard to breathe. Since I’d fled Miami, no place had been safe. This abandoned factory had proved no different.
The daimons were here.
I could hear them on the lower level, searching each room systematically, throwing open doors, slamming them shut. The sound threw me back to a few days ago, when I’d pushed open the door to Mom’s bedroom. She’d been lying in a crumpled heap beside a broken pot of hibiscus flowers. Purple petals had spilled across the floor, mixing with the blood. The memory twisted my gut into a raw ache, but I couldn’t think about her right now.
I jumped to my feet, halting in the narrow hallway, straining to hear how many daimons were here. Three? More? My fingers jerked around the slim handle of the garden spade. I held it up, running my fingers over the sharp edges plated in titanium. The act reminded me of what needed to be done. Daimons loathed titanium. Besides decapitation—which was waytoo gross—titanium was the only thing that would kill them. Named after the Titans, the precious metal was poisonous to those addicted to aether.
Somewhere in the building, a floorboard groaned and gave way. A deep howl broke the silence, starting as a low whine before hitting an intense shrill pitch. The scream sounded inhuman, sick and horrifying. Nothing in this world sounded like a daimon—a hungry daimon.
And it was close.
I darted down the hallway, my tattered sneakers pounding against the worn-out boards. Speed was in my blood, and strands of long, dirty hair streamed behind me. I rounded the corner, knowing I had only seconds—
A whoosh of stale air whirled around me as the daimon grabbed a handful of my shirt, slamming me into the wall. Dust and plaster floated through the air. Black starbursts dotted my vision as I scrambled to my feet. Those soulless, pitch black holes where eyes should have been seemed to stare at me like I was his next meal ticket.
The daimon grasped my shoulder, and I let instinct take over. I twisted around, catching the surprise flickering across his pale face seconds before I kicked. My foot connected with the side of his head. The impact sent him staggering into the opposite wall. I spun around, slamming my hand into him. Surprise turned to horror as the daimon looked down at the garden spade buried deep in his stomach. It didn’t matter where we aimed. Titanium always killed a daimon.
A guttural sound escaped his gaping mouth before he exploded into a shimmery blue dust.
With the spade still in hand, I whirled around and took the steps two at a time. I ignored the ache in my hips as I sprinted across the floor. I was going to make it—I had to make it. I’d be super-pissed in the afterlife if I died a virgin in this craphole.
“Little half-blood, where are you running to?”