Demon Within by Alex Westmore
- Urban Fantasy
- 85,000 Words
Heartbroken but not alone, Denny Silver finds her body overtaken by an ancient force so powerful she risks losing herself completely to its dangerous agenda. As if hunting and killing demons wasn’t hard enough, now the demons are after an innocent, young girl whose Wiccan womb seems the perfect incubator for their hell spawn. Like Denny can just stand back and let that happen.
She can barely control herself or her demon these days, so how in the hell is she supposed to protect the world? Add to all this the fact that her brother now faces the death penalty for a crime he didn’t commit, her mother is a vegetable, and her little sister has been removed from her protection, and—yeah—it’s been one hell of a fucked up year for Denny.
Desperate, she seeks help from the last place she expected to look: the local coven. She knows their help comes with a price tag. Will it be too high to pay? Can they help her level the playing field in a supernatural world bent on destroying all she holds dear? Find out as Denny and her merry band of supernatural rejects attempt to save Savannah from certain doom in Demon Within.
Read an Excerpt
This demon fought harder than any other she’d faced. Maybe because he was of a higher level than those she’d recently destroyed, or maybe he just recognized the imminent threat Denny posed and fought harder to stay alive.
Did he underestimate her as so many others had, or just overestimate his own abilities?
It didn’t matter.
Either way, he was toast.
Like others before him, this one would die a horrific death––the proper death for an evil being.
Snapping open her sword-like chain whip called Fouet, Denny Silver stood with her feet shoulder width apart. She whipped expertly over her head and Fouet crackled and popped like a power line as it sliced through the muggy night air, spitting and sizzling as if alive and desiring nothing but the taste of demon blood.
Fouet was an amazing tool…a killing machine that could sever limbs and destroy any demonic weapon it faced, and this demon knew all too well what would happen if the razor whip managed to strike home.
And it would.
The demon dodged left, the chain biting off the top of his ear and part of his eyebrow; blood flowed freely from both wounds as he clamped his hand over the cuts and cursed loudly.
In her left hand, Denny held Epée, a scimitar-shaped sword that crackled with the same kind of electricity as Fouet. Both weapons were of ancient origin and had a slight electrical glow about them. They were sharp, shiny, and capable of shearing through flesh and bone without slowing down.
Ancient weapons for an ancient job.
As she brought Epée down toward his head, the demon lifted the bat he’d been using to pummel a gang member and tried to deflect the blow.
He was completely out-weaponed and outclassed.
Epée easily cut the bat in half, the sword taking the demon’s nose and biting through his lower lip as it did. Blood poured from his face.
“Jesus!” The demon yelled, now trying to staunch the blood flow from his lip with his other hand.
“Jesus can’t help you, demon,” Denny said, whipping Fouet for a second pass at the demon’s neck. He ducked and swept his leg out, taking Denny off her feet. She landed with a thud on her back, both weapons still in her grasp.
She expected the demon to jump on her, but as she scrambled to her feet, she saw him disappear around the corner.
“Motherfucker,” Denny growled. The voice was not her own, but one she knew well by now.
Sprinting after the demon, Denny rounded the corner straight into a two-by-four that clipped her in the forehead, sending her sprawling hard on the ground. Fouet clattered from her hand, immediately retracting into the silver cylinder that housed it. All she had now was Epée.
“You never learn, do you, hunter?” Now the demon was on her, his hands around her neck, squeezing with all his might. “You got lucky before, but you’ll never kill me, rookie.”
Denny had little training, but knew she had one shot at his throat. One shot. Demon or not, the human body could only withstand so much. The Adam’s apple was just one of many Achilles’ heels on the body and when Denny drove her fist into it, the demon gasped, then fell backwards clutching his throat.
Denny scrambled for the whip and flicked her wrists as soon as the cylinder hit her palm. Her weapons lit up the air around her as she took the ready stance, Fouet crackling in the darkness as if hungry for flesh and blood.
It was hungry: natural for these supernatural weapons to want to bite into flesh.
They weren’t the only ones.
Denny felt the demon within, her Hanta Raya. It filled her entire being like expanding air in a balloon. The Hanta that possessed her had been dormant inside her for six years, but now that it was awake, it came to her whenever she was in danger. It came like a gust of wind that billowed a sail and filled her spirit with energy more powerful than any drug.
The Hanta Raya was a spirit eater, a demon that craved the souls of other demons, and it was hungry for the soul of this foe. Ravenous. It wanted to feed.
And she would let it. She would let her own demon consume the spirit and the energy of this one because this one demon in the alley was evil incarnate. Could and would. Unlike the Hanta Raya, which was a spirit inhabiting a human body, her attacker was a demon physically walking the earth.
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