The Demonslayer (Seven Sins MC 4)

So I did what any sane being would do.

I tried to ignore it.

I tried to party and travel and fuck and fight and do anything I could think of to create some sort of distraction. I even half-convinced myself that it was working.

Until, inevitably, there was a lull. When the parties died down, there were no women around, everything was quiet, and I had nothing to distract me from what was going on inside my own body and my own mind.

As soon as I let my guard down, the sounds, the sensations, the visions, and the feelings came back.

And once they got a chance to really take root, it got harder and harder to fight them, to push them away, to try to distract myself from feeling them.

Eventually, they got strong enough that I helplessly followed that little navigational beacon, knowing where it would lead.

To her.

I’d told myself that maybe if I just got to see her again, it would help ease all the weird sensations inside.

The problem was, that while I’d been able to hold myself back from Changing into my full, true form, I hadn’t been able to keep myself from moving out from my hiding space, from charging across the street.

To save her.

Or, at least, that was what the irrational beast part of me thought I was doing.

The fact of the matter was, a highly-trained demonslayer could more than handle themselves against a demon. Especially a newer, lower-level demon like the one she’d been tussling with.

But he’d knocked her on her ass.

And that beast inside of me screamed in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced before.

Pure, undiluted, burning fucking rage.

Mine.

He’d put his hands on what was mine.

So I fought the change as best I could, and I flew across that street.

Honestly, I barely remember the fight. But I remember sort of “waking up” from the rage to find body parts strewn all over the street, feeling blood soaking through my clothes, dripping off of my fingertips.

When I’d turned, I’d found her in a crouched position, her sword recovered and in her hand, staring up at me with her lips parted and her brows furrowed.

“What the fuck did you just do?” she’d hissed, slowly getting back to her feet.

“He hit you,” I’d ground out, swiping my hair out of my face with my bloody fingers.

“Ah, yeah, because I was here to kill him. Your kind doesn’t usually just roll over and take it. I had it handled. You didn’t have to go full-on fucking lunatic,” she added, looking down at the body part closest to her foot. I was pretty sure it was a bit of large intestine.

The bits would disappear, slowly but surely.

I’d seen how they’d represented demon deaths in media. It was usually dramatic. Bursting into dust, or having hell open up below them to suck them back down.

The fact of the matter was, though, that all but high-level demons were in danger when a demonslayer got their hands on them. And when they did, their pieces would just slowly dissolve over the course of half an hour or so.

And that was the end.

When a demonslayer weapon got a low-level demon, they didn’t get another chance at life in hell again.

They just ceased to exist.

Even the blood that I was saturated in would dissolve, just go away, leaving no trace of what I’d done.

“He had to pay,” I’d said, shrugging, trying to play it off.

Meanwhile, every inch of me was buzzing, begging me to go over to her, grab her, wrap my arms around her, sink inside her.

“I was going to make him pay,” she’d insisted, getting riled, as she hit a button on the side of her sword that did some sort of fucking magic to make the blade disappear back into the hilt that she’d easily attached to a holster on her hip. “I didn’t need your help. Why the hell are you even here?” she’d snapped.

“Looking for you,” I’d admitted because there was really no excuse that would have sufficed in that situation.

“Why? I want nothing to do with you.”

Whatever control I’d had at that moment snapped at that, the beast inside needing to prove the rightness of the two of us together.

I’d flown at her, my bloody hands framing her face as I’d slammed her back against the wall, watching the surprise give way to undeniable desire on her face.

It was all over after that.

Desire sparked to a wildfire between us, leaving me ripping at her clothes, dragging blood marks all over her bare body as I’d explored her soft curves again before sinking inside her tight pussy, and making her mine once more.

She’d barely had a chance to recover from her orgasm that time before she was slamming her fists into my chest hard enough to leave bruises later.

“Get the fuck off of me,” she’d growled, wrenching away to roughly redress. “If I ever see you again,” she’d threatened, taking a step toward me, “I will remove your fucking head from your body.”