Shane: Demon Hunters, #1

By Melissa Bell and Jordin Thiele

Hotter than Hell - Paranormal Romance  
 
Born of innocence and demon lust, Shane may be the only thing that stands between us and the gates of Hell 
 
If I warned you that the fire was going to burn you - Would you still touch the flames? 
 
HELL - A place everybody has heard of and no one wants to go to. But what do you do when Hell comes looking for you? 
 
This is the first book in the series of Demon Hunters by Melissa Bell & J. Thiele. 
 
Book Enthusiasts and Reviewers are saying: ~ What an amazing book, once started hard to put down, certainly one for the – 'To be read list.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Bell & Jordin Thiele Inc.
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386451617

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Ayla paused for a moment at the entrance to the Inn. Even from the outside, she could smell the stale stench of mead mixed with the odour of sweaty men oozing out from behind the heavy wooden door. Ayla took a deep breath to brace herself before she cautiously entered. She hated having to drag her drunken father out of the tavern every night, but it was getting late, and she needed his help rounding up the livestock. The task was much too big for one person, let alone a young lady. Even her father required assistance to get the job done.

The alehouse was no place for a woman, especially not for one as young and beautiful as Ayla, who was still unbetrothed by her father to a suitable husband. While drunk and horny, men often persisted in making their advances known, by grappling and groping at her with their filthy hands trying to plant their sloppy kisses with their smelly breaths on her delicate, pale skin.

Never a shortage of drunkards, there was always bound to be fights inside the cramped establishment. A brawl broke out in the corner as she entered making her even more cautious as she began to search for her father. She ducked and dove from mugs as they flew through the air, landed and skimmed across the floor. She held her breath in trepidation as she navigated her way around the debris thrown in drunken anger, trying to avoid injury to herself.

Finally making it to the table closest to the back wall, she found her father with his eyes closed, and his hand wrapped around his still half-full mug. The stone wall to his left looked to be the only thing preventing him from falling off his stool altogether.

Ayla tugged at her father’s sleeve, Papa, it’s time to come home. She said as she gave another tug on his elbow.

One more drink child. Then I’ll come along quietly. He replied as he snatched his arm from her grip to slump over the rickety table. Mead splashed over the edge of his mug to spill on the back of his hand and tabletop.

Papa, please, it’s getting late. We must go before the sun sets. Ayla insisted.

The thick arm belonging to a heavy brute of a man with greasy hair, a scruffy beard and barely any teeth left in his mouth, pulled her backwards by the waist until she came to rest in his lap.

Listen to your papa, girl. He said as she struggled to free herself from his hold. You can sit with me while you wait.

Get your hands off me! she shouted as she squirmed.

Don't be shy girl. he tightened his grip. You'll loosen up once I get my prick inside ya tight little hole. he mocked as the other drunks laughed and cheered him on.

Let her go. Her father’s voice broke out above the bustling noise around them; his stool falling backwards as he staggered to his feet.

You think any of you mangy mongrels are man enough to put your filthy mitts on my daughter? I'll gut every last one of you, and feed your bones to my pigs before I see her bed a single one of you lowlifes!

Men were scarce in the tiny village, and good ones were even scanter; the Black Death had all but wiped out any suitable takers of which Troy Stanton may have seen fit to give his only daughter’s hand to in holy matrimony. His own wife Anna, along with many others, has also been lost to the silent but lethal illness. Anna had gone to care for her sister who was stricken, only to be ruthlessly taken by the deadly disease herself. On her deathbed she made Troy vow that he would not see their daughter promised to the likes of the tavern drunks, she was far too pure for any of them, and although his own vows to Ayla’s mother had been by arrangement, their daughter was not born into a loveless marriage. As a result, they both agreed that Ayla would be free to approve her own suitor.

Sit down old man! another drunk shouted as he pushed Troy back into his seat and began to loosen his strides, keen to join in on the assault against Ayla. We’re just going to have a little bit of fun aren’t we fella’s.

Troy staggered to his feet again in a lame attempt to save his daughter’s honour. He swung his fists blindly at the two men, missing them every time.

Ayla’s dress tore in her struggles to free herself, her shoulder and part of her breast were exposed by the damage to her clothes, capturing, even more, attention from the jeering crowd of drunkards.

Troy took a staggered step closer to his target, but another man sitting on a nearby stool extended his leg, causing Ayla’s inebriated father to fall and land flat on his face, knocking him out cold. They all laughed at his clumsiness, before returning their attention to the young beauty that squirmed and fought to preserve her dignity.

The more she resisted, the more aggressive they became. They lined up in preparation for taking their turn with the lovely young virgin. All willing to share and pass her around like a trophy, while laughing and cheering each other on.

Ayla lay on top of the table, anchored, a different man taking purchase of each of her limbs, spreading her out and ensuring she’d be held in place while the ringleader positioned himself between her splayed legs. He was about to deflower the farmer’s daughter, when an earth shattering voice bellowed from nowhere, reverberating off every wall.

You were told to let her go!

All the men froze momentarily, before noticing a stranger standing in the shadows of the far corner. You’re not from around here so fuck off! None of this is your business. The ringleader shouted over his shoulder as he loosened the rope knotted around his waist used to secure his trousers in place.

Besides, I’ll leave enough for everyone. He scoffed at the tall out-of-towner. Even you. He muttered pulling out his short fat cock. Spitting into his meaty hand, he began to line it up with Ayla’s untouched entrance.

I will not repeat myself a third time. Let the female go now, or feel my wrath.

Then I’ll repeat myself to you. Fuck off! Patrick, spat at the stranger as the assault continued.

Ayla closed her eyes tight and braced herself for the inevitable invasion of her untried womanhood. She had heard the other women speak about the pain they felt on their first time and had always hoped her lover would be gentle when she offered him her virginity. Not even in Ayla’s worst nightmares could she ever have imagined it being stolen from her; not by so many or in such a violent, brutal manner.

Moments passed, but nothing happened. Ayla heard a lot of crashing and yelling but felt absolutely nothing. Holding her breath, she slowly opened her eyes to find herself staring at the wooden rafters of the ceiling in a room filled with absolute silence, except for the sound of her own heartbeat pounding heavily in her ears.

You can get up now girl. You’re safe. A man’s deep voice encouraged. She looked to her side and found her eyes trailing up the body of a tall, rugged-looking man who stood to stare back down at her. Take your father and go home. The tavern is no place for a young woman. You’d do well to stay out of here from now on, or the next time you might not be quite so lucky. His voice was firm, and his words were a directive, which had Ayla wasting no time attempting to argue with him. She cautiously lifted her head and sat up to see all the men scattered about the room, not a single one of them was still conscious.

What did you do? she asked, And how? You are just one man?

They are old and very drunk; a feat hardly worthy of praise when the opponents are so useless they can barely make a fist let alone throw one. Now get out of here before I change my mind. He ordered as he sat back down on his stool in the corner of the bar and picked up his stein full of mead.

Ayla knelt by her father and tried to pull him to his feet, but he was far too heavy for her. Come on Papa. We must go home now. Please. She begged, her voice breaking on a sob.

The stranger, who smelled oddly of freshly baked bread, looked over his shoulder from where he sat. At first, he tried to ignore the virgins sobs, but they continued and were interrupting his solace. With a heavy sigh, he downed the remains of his mead, and reluctantly stood to lend his assistance once again to the young maiden.

Effortlessly, he pulled the drunkard up off the floor and threw him over his shoulder. It was as though Ayla’s father were suddenly weightless. She quickly scurried towards the door and opened it for the stranger who had moments earlier saved her from an assault that would have tarnished her forever. Stunned at his strength, she watched as he carried her unconscious father through the dirty cobblestone streets and alleys, as they made their way to the cottage where Ayla had grown up. It lay just outside the boundaries of the village.

The farmer's body lay lifeless, hunkered over his shoulder like a sack full of rye. Not a single word was uttered between the stranger and the young maiden as Ayla nervously walked beside him, taking two hurried steps to every one of his long determined strides as she desperately tried to keep up. She clutched at her tattered clothes attempting to hide her milky skin from the man who had just rescued her from the barbarians back at the Inn. Though she was forever grateful to the tall stranger for his aid, there was something dauntingly fearful about him, and she dared not try to get to know him with girlish chit chat.

It was well after dark by the time they’d finally arrived at the humble cottage, and Ayla was afraid it had grown far too late to try and herd the livestock in for the night. Dread filled Ayla with sorrow at the thought that by morning, they would surely have fallen prey to the wolves. She and her father would find themselves completely lost heading into the coming winter.

There is nothing to be done about it tonight. The firm voice of the stranger told her. Stay inside now. There’s a storm brewing.

Ayla frowned at his unusual forecast. The skies had been clear all day, and there had been no indications of rainfall in the past month. He opened the door to leave, and just as he did so, a flash of lightning filled the sky, and a roar of thunder almost deafened her. Ayla jumped with fright, her eyes meeting his as he looked back over his shoulder at her, the corner of his mouth ticked a second before he said, I told you. He then turned and walked out into the night leaving Ayla alone with her drunk, unconscious father, feeling somewhat worse for wear and a little feverish.

CHAPTER 1

Ayla woke to the sound and smell of her father cooking breakfast below. She knew he would be angry about the pigs and chickens being left out overnight, and there would be no point in telling him about the stranger who had carried him home. He wouldn’t remember any of it anyway. She nervously climbed down from the loft where she slept and silently took up a seat at the rickety old table. Her father slopped some oats into a bowl and put it down in front of her. Ayla stared at it in confusion. It had been such a long time since her father had prepared a meal for her, she wondered if it was some kind of a trick. Ayla pondered to herself that maybe he was luring her into a false sense of security. Not sure what to make of it, she braced herself for the wrath of his foul temper.

Well? Go on, eat up child, before it gets cold. His gruff voice broke the awkward silence lingering between them.

I… I’m sorry papa. She nervously said as she stared into the bowl of thick grey sludge. The thought of eating it repulsed her, and she no longer felt the least bit hungry.

He looked at his daughter confused. Huh… What the bleedin’ hell for? he asked.

The animals. I didn’t get them put away in time.

What are you talking about girl? The animals are exactly where they’re supposed to be. You must still have a fever from the storm; you’ve been sleeping for two days. Perhaps whatever ails you has not entirely left your body yet.

Ayla leapt from her seat and ran to the shutters when she peered outside, the chickens were all in the clearing, clucking, scratching and pecking madly at the damp soil. The sheep were up on the nearby slopes gnawing at the fresh shoots of grass, which seemed to have sprung up from nowhere, thanks to the recent deluge of rain no doubt. Bright yellow wildflowers waved in the light breeze where they’d sprung up in scattered patches everywhere. The sun beamed more brightly than she could ever remember seeing it. She felt as though she had opened her eyes for the first time and could see everything with a clarity she’d never known before. Everything looked so clean and fresh, and the cold, crisp air gently kissed her cheeks through the opened shutters.

Papa, I don’t understand, last night…

Last night you were burning up with fever. Now that the fever has broken, you can get back to your chores, but not before you eat. He slid the bowl of oats closer to her.

What’s that sound Papa? She asked when she suddenly became aware of a consistent banging sound coming from somewhere outside the cottage.

Storm blew off the stable roof; a stranger in town needed a job, so I gave him one, he’s out there earning his keep. He replied. Now eat, before it gets cold, he grumbled gruffly.

We can’t afford to hire anyone; we barely have enough supplies for ourselves. Papa what were you thinking? she stressed.

Watch your tone child! He demanded as he sat across from her. He will stay in the barn; room and board are all he’s askin’. Besides, I’m getting too old to climb up to fix things now, and you need a man around to protect you.

Protect me? From what? she asked suspiciously.

Her father hung his head in shame, I know what happened at the tavern Ayla. The stranger told me all about it. He looked back at his daughter, I’ll make my own way home in future. You just make sure the animals are in at night and lock the doors tight. I’ll bang when I’m ready to come in, but you are never to step foot inside the inn again. he stood and turned his attention back to the stove.

Do you hear me, child?

Ayla knew that his words were as close to an apology as she was ever likely to get. When he glanced over his shoulder at her waiting for her response, she nodded her head. Yes, papa.

Just then, the door opened. The sudden burst of light caused Ayla to squint her eyes as the brightness of the sun spewed in around the figure filling the entrance. Raising her hand to shield her eyes allowed her to make out the silhouette of a man standing before her, his face remained hidden in the shadows. It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the onslaught, first from the infiltrating light and then from the blur of darkness that followed