DEATH (The Justice Cycle Book 1) by J Kiefer (best classic books to read TXT) 📗

Come to think of it, he was acting kind of weird. At the time I was too distracted to notice, but on reflection, it does seem rather odd.”

“I’m sure it is nothing,” she said. “He was probably drinking and didn’t want you to know about it.”

“That’s probably it. I’m sure he was afraid that if I knew, I would tell Dad. Despite all his rebelling, what Dad thinks still matters to him.”

The uncomfortable silence returned, neither of them knowing what to say next. It was Jared who decided to speak first, and Dana gave him her full attention.

“I wish there was a way I could talk to her,” he said, gritting his teeth. “But she won’t answer her phone. If I could just get her to talk to me, then we could work this out.”

“I’m sure she’ll come to her senses after a while,” she heard herself utter, hoping in her heart that she was wrong. “She just needs a little time to think things over.”

“You’re probably right,” he replied. “But you know me. Patience is not one of my strong suits. I have to fix things right away or I go crazy. Steve has already said more than once that I am overreacting.”

“There’s no quick fix for this, Jared. When it comes to love and relationships, you’re just going to have to give her time.”

Dana looked back at the clock and groaned when she saw the time. Two o’clock in the morning. Both of them had to be at work at six.

“I can’t believe how late it is,” she said with a yawn. “Tomorrow’s going to be murder on us if we don’t get some sleep soon.”

Jared reached out and embraced her unexpectedly, drawing her close. “Thanks for being there, partner. You’re a real friend. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“That’s me,” she replied when she could breathe again. “The girl next door.”

What would happen if she rested against his chest? Dana decided to find out. He didn’t try to push her away, so she closed her eyes and listened to his rhythmic breathing. Each second seemed as if it lasted a lifetime and she hoped against hope that this moment would never end.

Then she felt his chest shake with the deep sighs that came from intense crying. She wished she knew the magic words to make his hurt go away. While she was wishing, a potion that would make him fall in love with her would be nice, too. But for all her imagining, she knew it was Jasmine he was thinking of and not her.

Still, right here and now, that did not matter. Jasmine wasn’t here. This moment was hers and hers alone. She allowed herself to enjoy the feeling, and before long she had fallen fast asleep, her head still resting on his chest.

Eleven

The Shogun waited for the two shades to make their move. His torn shirt hung limply, and he felt uncharacteristically spent. Amazingly they had managed to fight him to a standstill. Either these two demons were extremely powerful, or he was weakening faster than he realized. The latter was the most likely answer.

The shade on the right, the impatient one, lunged first. The Shogun parried the flaming blade away, but the shade followed up the thrust by slashing its other weapon at the Shogun’s head. The Shogun ducked and the flaming blade hissed by.

The maneuver left the shade’s torso exposed, and the Shogun brought his blade forward hard. The blade bit deep into the shade, nearly cutting it in half. The demon cried out in agony, its body held together by a mere wisp of smoke. Crimson clouds of noxious vapor leaked from the creature’s wound and the burning red glow in its eyes ebbed. Before long, it dissipated into the shadows.

The other shade used the death of its brother as a diversion, and it struck the Shogun hard from behind with both blades. They bit deep into the Shogun’s torso, impaling him and setting his clothes on fire. The shade quickly retracted its blades and slashed them both downward, cutting two wicked gashes into his back.

He stumbled forward, then fell awkwardly to his knees, his clothes still smoldering with dark fire. The shade attacked him the instant his knees hit the ground.

The Shogun, not nearly as injured as he appeared, sprung over the attacking shade, spinning once in midair while hacking at its passing head. His cut split the shade’s head in two. It stammered forward, leaving a trail of crimson smoke in its wake.

He landed in a crouch with his back to the injured demon, his blade held out in front of him. The demon dissipated, and the Shogun relaxed his grip on his weapon.

“I never thought I would see the day when a mere pair of shades could cause you so much trouble,” a voice from somewhere behind him said. “It appears that you are weaker than I anticipated.”

The Shogun recognized that familiar accent. Standing up, he faced the Musketeer leaning up against a large tree, his arms crossed and a grin on his face. He winked at the Shogun, removed his wide-brimmed hat, and bowed, his long black hair falling into his face.

“Did you miss me? I apologize for having to leave so abruptly before, but I thought it would be best to leave you alone in your moment of grief. Anyway, I was in the neighborhood and thought I would pay you another visit.”

The Musketeer returned his hat to his head and slowly approached the wary Shogun. He drew his long slender rapier from its scabbard and playfully swept it through the air. The eerie radiance of the weapon bathed the dark street with an ethereal violet glow.

“Oh, how I do cherish our little contest. And I truly wish that things could be different, but alas, we both know how this must end.”

The Shogun bowed his head in acknowledgment but said nothing. His blade glowed with the same extraordinary