Demon Huntress

"Most balberith demon offspring are abandoned, slaughtered, or eaten within hours of birth." She could have sworn his expression softened with sadness for a moment, but it was gone by the time he said,

"Less than 10 percent survive to a.d.u.l.thood."

She winced. "Harsh. Is that why so many of the brothers you were talking about are dead?"

"Most of them."

"What about the one you said survived to the s'genesis? What happened to him?"

"He didn't have a chance to die from the usual things, like angry males of other species avenging their females' seductions. Hong was killed by Berus hunter."

Shit. She should have seen that one coming. "I, ah—"

"Don't," he said softly. "Don't say you're sorry, because you aren't."

She wasn't sure she had been going to offer condolences, but she was glad she hadn't. When she'd told him about her mom, if he'd said he was sorry, she'd have blown a fuse. Yeah, a change of subject would be good right about now. "Your brother said you weren't raised together . . . so how do you know how many brothers you've had?"

"We feel them. We're aware of every birth, we stay connected during their lives, and we feel them die."

He averted his gaze. "Every death leaves a hole."

For the first time, she knew the feeling. Her mother's death had carved a canyon through her soul, and Ya qin's death had cut it deeper. Shu lan had known foster kids who had been beaten to death, street kids who had ODed, Hunters who'd been torn apart, but she'd never allowed herself to feel sorrow. Not until Ya qin. Now Shu lan encouraged the pain, intentionally maintaining it because although she and Ya qin hadn't been close, her death had been her fault.

"Have you ever met your father? Your real father?"

"He was killed when I was two, shortly after yuan was born." She didn't want to ask, afraid he'd say The Berus was responsible again, but he seemed to know what she was thinking, and said, "Vampires. Revenge for what he did to yuan's mother."

This time she did want to ask, but her mind had already moved onto the math calculations . . . Ming jie had said he had over forty siblings, twenty born before he was . . . so if the father died when he was two, twenty more had come between Ming jie's birth and his second year.

"Sounds like your species is pretty prolific."

He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Exactly. That's why, once the s'genesis is complete, unless we have bonded with a single mate, we are overcome by the urge to seduce and i.m.p.r.e.g.n.a.t.e as many females as possible." His voice changed, went low, and something told her he wasn't happy about this change. "It's all we can think about. And yet, we still face extinction."

"That would be too bad."

He narrowed his gaze at her with such intensity that she s.u.c.k.e.d a harsh breath. "Be careful, little killer. The Fates can f**k with you in ways you can't even imagine."

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed and started to button his pants. The muscles in his back and arms flexed, and she admired them even as she reached beneath her pillow, grasped her handy-dandy steel pipe—she had a duffel bag full of fancy weapons, but nothing felt as good as heavy piece of basic metal in the palm.

He was beautiful, terribly beautiful. Which made what she was about to do that much more difficult.

She brought the pipe down on his skull. It cracked sharply, and he slumped to the floor.

"Looks like the Fates really f**ked with you, Hellboy." She peered down, almost feeling sorry for him, but she tucked that foolish sentiment away and wrote it off as near-o.r.g.a.s.m warm fuzzies. "And they aren't even close to being done."

************

Ren fu burst into her parents' Upper West Side house, hoping the call had been a hoax. The broken vase filled with her mother's prize orchids and the blood on the floor in the formal sitting room said otherwise.

"You sons of bitches," she whispered to no one in particular, though most of her anger was directed at herself.

If only she'd taken the threat seriously. If only she hadn't answered the phone the first time the bastards asked her to cut for them. If only she hadn't told them no when they called back three days later. If only didn't matter. The damage had been done.