Demon Riding Shotgun by L. R. Braden

Author:L. R. Braden [Braden, L. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Mira

BRANCHES DOTTED with the first signs of spring buds scratched at Mira’s arms as she moved away from the hiking trail she’d followed into Gwynns Falls Park—an enormous nature preserve nestled along the western edge of the city. She’d ditched the Harley in front of a bar a mile or so from her escape, then ducked into the wooded park in search of a secluded place to catch her breath. Damp mud smeared underfoot, and she sat down hard in a pile of decomposing leaves near the sluggish current of a stream. Even without their summer greenery, the trees and bushes in this area were packed tight enough to hide her from view.

Mira scooped a handful of shockingly cold water into her palms and splashed it on her face. She gasped and shook. Icy drips trickled down her neck, soothing the raw skin where the collar had burned her. The distorted reflection on the tumbling surface of the water threw back swathes of color with little detail, but Mira could still see that half her hair was white and her left eye shone a brilliant gold. She and her demon were matched equally at the moment, or near enough, each with one hand on the steering wheel—which might seem like a balanced partnership but was a sure recipe for a wreck.

Because her demon was naturally so much more powerful than her, their balance needed to be far from even, like a heavy-handled knife balanced on a fingertip. There was a lot more material on one end because the other was so dense. In Mira’s case, the demon could only keep the smallest portion of herself manifested or the body they shared would be torn to pieces by the force of her presence. Even now, after the feedings that had temporarily stabilized her, Mira could feel the strain on her cells. Purplish stains were starting to form around her fingernails and trace up her fingers like ground cracking in advance of an earthquake.

She pressed her palms to the damp earth and took a deep breath of moist air.

<We need to reset the anchors.> The demon’s voice swelled and faded, as though she was rapidly changing positions, flitting about Mira’s mind unable to hold still—the incorporeal equivalent of pacing.

Nodding, Mira shifted so she was sitting in a more comfortable position. They hadn’t had to reset their anchors in years, and she wasn’t sure how long it would take. She relaxed her neck and shoulders until her chin rested against her chest, closed her eyes, and took another long, steady breath.

She opened herself up to the energy around her—not in unshielded abandon as she had in the police van, but by allowing a thin trickle to funnel through a specific point that she controlled like a sluice gate. She could feel the rift energy, the energy her demon was made from, seeping into her, filling her reservoirs. At the same time she could feel the pull of the demon’s power, tearing away the energy that kept her alive, the physical bonds of her mortal form.

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