Demon Guard Read online

  Demon Guard

  Shadowguard Academy Book 1

  Samantha Britt

  Demon Guard © 2019 by Samantha Britt

  ASIN: B07VM4BZW9

  Cover Design by Book Covers Artistry

  Copyright notice:

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For my Family and Friends who support me always.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Also by Samantha Britt

  One

  Four years ago

  Hunger, painful and nauseating, twists my stomach. My worn-down sneakers slap against the wet concrete. The cold, Chicago air seeps through the holes and chills my toes. My socks are too thin. I need to find warmer clothes if I want to survive the winter. I’ve outgrown the ones I used last year, but it isn’t like they were anything to sneeze at. The outdated windbreaker and threadbare sweater barely managed to ward off pneumonia during one of the coldest winters on record for The Windy City, but I’d survived.

  Now, I’m thirteen: the prime age for an ill-timed growth spurt. The old jacket and sweater make a decent blanket when layered together, but that’s about the extent of their use. My lanky arms and developing chest render them useless as actual clothing. I make a note to visit a dry cleaner’s in the coming days. I’ll wait until they close before jimmying a lock or two to gain access to their clientele’s personal items and scrounge for something to keep me warm.

  The air fogs with my heavy sigh. I don’t like stealing, but it’s either that or I freeze to death in the abandoned warehouse attic where I’d settled a little over one year ago—only days after mom died.

  A lone tear escapes and rolls down my frigid cheek. I quickly brush it away. Mom’s illness had come on suddenly, and it claimed her life just three months after the initial diagnosis. I’d been forced into a foster home by the state on the same day she died. I remember kicking and screaming as the child advocate instructed police officers to forcibly remove me from the hospital room. I’d been eleven, only nine days shy of turning twelve.

  Grieving with a pain unfathomable to my eleven-year-old heart, the following days were nothing more than a dark blur. I’d retreated into myself, unwilling to eat or talk to anyone. All I did was sleep and cry. I’d struggled to believe my mom, the only person to ever love me, was no longer part of this world. I’d wanted to die and be with her in heaven. The only thing that stopped me was the last promise she’d extracted from me, hours before she lost consciousness forever, three days before her death.

  I sit in the plastic-lined hospital chair, clutching Mom’s thin, pale hand, praying to whatever god might be listening to save her life. I don’t want to lose her. I have no one else. I will be completely alone.

  A weak voice croaks, “Aspen?”

  “Mom!” My head snaps up and I immediately begin to cry.

  The social worker watching over me has forced me to return to school, so I’m only able to visit my mom for a couple of hours in the evening before I’m taken to Ms. Jenny’s house. She’s one of our neighbors. Miss Jenny had offered to let me stay over when Mom was first hospitalized. Little did either of us know, she wouldn’t be coming back.

  I’ve lost precious hours at my mom’s side while at school. Her bouts of consciousness have grown more and more rare. It’s been days since we last spoke, and I’d been terrified I would never hear her voice again.

  But she’s talking! The relief I feel is indescribable, and I can’t hold back my tears.

  “Aspen, baby.” Mom lifts her hand and strokes my cheek. I lean into her palm, reveling in the affection. “Don’t cry.”

  I’m not able to listen. Sobs wrack my body. “D-don’t die, M-mom. I-I don’t want to be alone.” The hospital’s antiseptic smell burns my throat as I struggle to regain control of my breathing.

  “You won’t be alone, baby.” She smiles, but the oxygen mask in her nose reduces its comforting effect. “Not forever. I promise.”

  “But I don’t want you to go,” I wail.

  “Listen to me, Aspen.” Her voice turns serious, and my tears stall for a moment. “You are strong, baby. I need you to listen to me carefully and do exactly as I say.”

  “A-alright,” I choke out. I will agree to do anything. I just want my mom to stay awake for as long as possible.

  “That’s my girl.” Again, she tries to smile. It wobbles on her lips. She’s too weak to even hold a smile. “You’re my brave, smart little girl. I need you to make me a promise.”

  She waits for me to respond. “What promise?”

  “Some people might try and take you away from Ms. Jenny’s house.” She pauses to cough. I scramble to pour her a cup of water from the pink-colored pitcher on the bedside table. She takes several sips to clear her throat, then continues, “The people I’m talking about are not the social workers you’ve met these past few weeks. They’ll be strangers, and they will be dressed in fancy clothes and have odd-colored eyes. They could be yellow, silver, or even purple. The point is, their eye color won’t be normal. If they come around, I need you to get as far away from them as you can. Don’t speak with them. Don’t agree to meet with them. Don’t even look at them. Do you understand?”

  This is the most my mom has spoken in so long, I struggle to process everything she is saying.

  When I don’t answer, Mom’s voice hardens, “Aspen, did you hear me?”

  “Y-yes,” I stutter, at a total loss for what my mom is talking about. Odd colored eyes? Is she hallucinating? “I heard you.”

  “And do you understand what I’m asking you to do? If you see these strangers, you need to get away from them. Don’t let them take you away. Live your life free of them.”

  Fear grips me. Someone wants to take me away? No. No way. I won’t leave my mom. Not in one-thousand years. “O-okay.”

  “Promise me, Aspen. You will run if strangers try to take you away from this city. Promise me.”

  Tears resume their track down my face. She’s talking like she won’t be around to protect me, and my heart refuses to believe it. Still, I don’t want to cause her any more stress, so I agree, “I promise, Mom.”

  “Good girl.” She weakly pulls me towards her. I climb on the bed and wrap my arms around her frail body. My tears soak her hospital gown, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

  “I love you, sweet girl. Everything will be alright. You’ll see. You’re my special little fireball, and you are going to do amazing things for this world. I know it.”

  I tighten my hold on her, afraid t
o let go. It’s like I knew that would be the last time my mom would ever hug me…

  I snap back to the present, wrapping my arms around my torso to fend off the shivers and residual tremors of emotion. I need to focus. Wandering the streets at night isn’t smart, but it’s my turn to go down to the local deli and get our dinner. Mr. Rinaldi has a soft spot for starving kids, and he always lets us have the leftover bread and any soon-to-be expiring meats whenever one of us drops by.

  I share my abandoned attic with two other kids. Noah and Nora are one year younger than me. The twin brother and sister pair ran away from their drug addict mother and abusive father. We’d crossed paths when I was digging through a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster, trying to find something decent to eat. I’d taken one look at their ragged clothes and starved faces and knew I couldn’t walk away from them. So, I brought them to my warehouse, and we’d become a sort of family. I never had a brother or a sister, but I think I would’ve liked the companionship. Especially after mom’s death. It would’ve been nice not to mourn her on my own.

  The quiet street suddenly becomes even quieter, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I search the street, looking for the impending threat my internal warning system picked up. It’s the only reason I’ve made it on the streets of Chicago this long.

  Don’t ask me how, but I’m able to sense when danger is near. The moment I feel the warning, I hightail it out of the area without a second thought. More times than not, I’d later hear news of a murder or gang fight, proving my intuition right.

  And right now, my internal warning system is blaring, urging me to get off the street and hide myself before it’s too late.

  Unfortunately, I don’t listen in time.

  A massive, disfigured form detaches from the shadows of the alley to my left. My eyes bug out from my head. The yellowish-glow of the street light reveals a scaly, monstrous creature, with blazing red eyes and four jagged horns sticking out the top of its head. It crosses the wet concrete, hissing as it lumbers towards me on two crooked, hooved legs. It is the stuff of nightmares, but there is no denying it’s real. Not even in my most vivid nightmare could I have imagined such a terrifying beast.

  The smell of rotten eggs fills my nostrils, making me want to gag. But I can’t afford the distraction. I swallow back my disgust and focus on the incoming danger. I’ve run from perverts and thugs before, but can I outrun a monster?

  “Stay back,” I warn, willing my voice to deepen to that of someone older.

  The gravel crunches beneath its heavy feet as the horned monster continues to walk toward me. “Youuuung bloooood,” it hisses. The smell of rotten eggs magnifies when it opens its mouth.

  I retreat, but keep my eyes on the monster, too frightened to turn my back on it. I bend down and retrieve the dull kitchen knife from inside my boot. I’m not strong enough to make the weapon do much damage against a larger opponent, but it has scared off would-be-assailants in the past. Most who threaten me only see a scrawny brunette with wide green eyes. I look like easy prey, but they don’t know about the hate burning in my heart. I hate the men and women who are so evil that they’d attack a young girl. I hate the social workers who’d taken me away from Ms. Jenny’s and forced me into a foster home. But most of all, I hate God for taking my mother away from me. I’m alone in this world with no adult to protect me, and it’s all His fault.

  I let the hatred fuel me. Adrenaline pumps in my veins as a plan forms in my mind. I will throw the knife as hard as I can at the bulging red eyes, and then I will make a run for it. The creature moves slowly. It just reaches the middle of the street. I prepare to act, but a blurred mass of black falls out of the sky, landing in a heap in front of me.

  I leap back and yelp. Slowly, the mass extends and stands up. I realize I’m looking at a man. He wears a black cloak. The hood has fallen from his head, and the streetlight glows against dark hair. A glinting sword in his right hand.

  What the—

  A second black mass falls down from above, landing in a crouch at my side. I whirl on instinct, my knife raised to cut across the stranger’s face. Lightning fast, a hand springs out of the cloak and grabs my wrist, halting my attack.

  Panicked, I immediately begin to flail backwards, kicking and swinging my arm to make the stranger relinquish his hold on me. I’m not successful.

  “Relax,” a young male voice urges from beneath the hood. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re here to help.”

  I don’t stop flailing.

  Still holding my wrist, the stranger rises to his feet. My mouth pops open as I take in his height. He has to be at least six and a half feet tall. I haven’t measured myself since my growth spurt, but I guess I‘m about five feet, four inches. That’s where my head lines up against the markings near the exits at convenience stores.

  The stranger pulls off his hood. He’s young, definitely not an adult. He’s thin and a little gangly. Imploring dark eyes stare into mine as he bends down so his face is in front of mine, revealing a kind, handsome face and deep brown eyes. “You are not in any danger. We’re here to kill the demon.”

  Demon?

  Did he just say demon?

  Forgetting all about my captured wrist, I look back at the street. The cloaked stranger faces off with the monster. The beast roars and swipes a massive claw at the man. The man easily evades the attack with a swift step to the side. I was right about the monster being slow. Its red eyes flare as it sees the stranger’s sword descending in an arc towards its neck. The monster tries to lean away, but it’s too late.

  The blazing blue sword slices into the beast’s neck, cutting the head clean off. I scream and stumble back, right into the arms of the second stranger. He releases my wrist, instead wrapping his arm around my chest. Tremors wrack my body. I just watched a man decapitate a monster. I’ve never witnessed a murder before.

  But is it murder if the victim’s a monster?

  My legs give out. The young man quickly adjusts to hold my weight. “It’s alright,” he consoles me. “The demon is gone. It can’t hurt you.”

  That isn’t what terrifies me.

  Finding my strength, I yank forward. Not expecting the move, the stranger loses his hold on me. I spin around, brandishing my knife. “Stay back.”

  The young man holds up his hands. “Calm down. I already said we aren’t here to hurt you.” He takes a step forward.

  I swing the knife back and forth, warning him to keep his distance. “I mean it. Get away from me or I’ll cut you.”

  His mouth twitches, but he fights back the threatening smile. “What is your name?” he asks with undeniable kindness. Between that and his open expression, it takes everything I have not to trust him. I can’t afford to trust anyone in this life.

  “That’s none of your business.” I back away.

  “Oh, but I think it is.” A voice says, too close to my ear. Before I can make a break for it, the stranger who’d killed the beast latches onto my wrist. With two well-placed fingers, he forces me to relinquish my grip on the knife.

  “NO!” I shout as I watch my only weapon drop to the ground.

  Terror seizes me. I need to get out of there. These guys aren’t messing around. What’s to stop them from killing me?

  “I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” I babble as desperation claws at my throat. “I swear. Please, just let me go.”

  The stranger doesn’t pay attention to my plea. His eyes are locked on the skin on the inside of my elbow. Disbelief crashes over his face. “Where did you get this?”

  My vision blurs with unshed tears, it takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about. “M-my birthmark?” He’s staring at the pale mark. I think it resembles a double infinity symbol. One is positioned horizontal and the other vertical. It’s split in two by a jagged line. For some reason, Nora and Noah describe the mark as a shapeless blob. They don’t see the weird symbol I describe.

  I’ve always thought my elbow is a strange place to have a birthma
rk, but that doesn’t warrant the stranger’s dramatic reaction. My fear spikes.

  Do they see the symbols?

  “Master Patrick?” The younger man draws near, frowning as he takes in his friend’s expression. “What is it?”

  “She’s… one of us.” The stranger swallows thickly. His gaze shifts to mine “She bears a mark.”

  “What!” The younger man closes the distance, leaning forward to see what his friend is talking about. His jaw falls open when he lays eyes on my arm. “That… that is incredible. What are the chances?”

  “Extremely low,” the stranger says ominously, looking back at the monster lying on the road. “That demon was sent here for her. I’m sure of it.”

  There’s that word again… demon.

  The young man’s eyes flare. He reaches into his cloak and withdraws a sword. He mutters three words in an unfamiliar language then blue flames lick the length of the weapon. I gasp, but neither pays me any attention. The men shift so one is on each side of me, holding their swords high into the night air.

  “If it was sent here to get her, it might not be alone,” the older man says. “We must get back to headquarters before we’re ambushed.” He starts walking, dragging me the opposite direction of Mr. Rinaldi’s deli.

  “What about the rest of the team?” The young man asks, picking up his pace to keep up with me and the other guy.

  “We radio them once we’re back at the safe house. They won’t make a move until I give the order. They’ll be fine.”