Look what came in the post from England. Woooo, isn’t it pretty? And notice the bowl of M&Ms to the left, which is my way of counting bullets when I write action scenes. Got to know how many bullets the mag has, yeah? That’s my way of counting them.
Back to our Mammoth book. Guess what goes on when you flip to page 93…
It starts like this (excerpt ahead):
Demons usually didn’t take so many bullets to die.
“Damn. I don’t have all night,” Cain muttered.
He emptied his magazine into the flying monstrosity as it swooped past, and scowled at the horrid smell that hit him like a slap of hot wind. Pausing only to slam in place a spare drum magazine, he leaped from one building to the next. The boom-boom-boom of his shotgun thundered in the winter night. Nickel-plated, custom-fitted, this combat shotgun was nicknamed “the jackhammer”. Who the hell named guns?
Around him, snow-covered east end Montreal rooftops resembled clouds. Like running in heaven. Except he’d never be allowed in heaven. There were books written about him, even The Book mentioned him.
If Cain didn’t kill the spawn, that’d make him look bad. And weak. In his line of work, looking weak invited all kinds of bad press and the attention of some even worse than he was. His own master would love nothing better than to punish him.
“Come on,” he hollered. “I’m freezing my nuts off!”
The demonic spawn came back for another dive, hoping perhaps Cain was too busy trying not to fall off the building. He straightened his arm, took aim and didn’t let his finger off the trigger until a sizable chunk of the creature had blown off. The monster crashed onto a tin roof, tumbled several times and sent a geyser of snow ten feet high before stopping in a flailing, writhing heap. Cain skidded to a halt, pinned one of the ruined, leathery wings beneath his Italian shoe. The magazine was empty, so he methodically hand-loaded one of the special shells.
He called these rosaries.
“Next time you come after me, you piece of hell-shit, bring a few buddies along, okay?” Cain aimed at the creature’s neck and fired.
The shot dispersed in a stainless steel wire dotted with silver-plated ball bearings. Like a flying garrote, it hit the creature across the neck, severing it. Black blood sprayed outward and melted snow in a foot-wide radius. Like an overripe melon bursting. The smell of sulfur and smoke stung Cain’s nose. The black creature’s glistening body caved in on itself, and then broke in several smoldering embers that blew away in the wind. No traces of it remained except for despoiled snow.
Excerpt from The Demon’s Secret, by Nathalie Gray
The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2
Copyright © Trisha Telep, 2010
Constable & Robinson Ltd