The Demon's Prisoner

By Michelle Scott

What can go wrong when you give away your heart to someone who’s been living in hell for the past twenty years?
Working as a veterinarian for an animal rescue shelter has given Harper a heart for abused strays. So when a mysterious, sexy man shows up at the clinic looking for someone to sew up his wounds, Harper is there to assist. The man calls himself Bishop, and he says he’s on the run from a demon named Barbas who has made him its slave. It’s a hard story to swallow, yet Harper can’t deny that Bishop is surrounded by magic, and that his supernatural allure is impossible to resist. She’s all set for a steamy one-night stand, but then Barbas makes Harper his target and things get personal. Now, she’s willing to help Bishop take revenge on the demon who’s destroyed their lives. And if she falls in love in the process, that’s even better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Scott
• Release date: Apr 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463747865

Michelle Scott

Maybe it’s because of my Halloween birthday, but I’ve always been attracted to scary stories. On the other hand, I love romances as well. Once I discovered that these two genres existed side-by-side in urban fantasy novels, I was in heaven! Urban fantasy is like chocolate and peanut butter: a perfect, to-die-for combination that I can never get enough of.

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The Demon’s Prisoner

Michelle Scott

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Michelle Scott

The Demon’s Prisoner Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Scott

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First Edition • April 2020

Chapter One

Harper stood in line at the roadside market with a Diet Coke, two apples, and four boxes of dog cookies. Today was her day to visit the Ravenstock animal shelter, and she wasn’t going to arrive without treats for her patients. Only three people stood ahead of her, but the line crawled along. The clerk, an older man with a white, bushy beard, chatted to every customer while ringing them up. Harper forced herself to keep from tapping her foot. Now that she’d moved to the country, she had to accept things moved slower than they had in the city.

The bell over the door rang and a man in a long, black coat swept in on a gust of wind and rain. His dark hair had been cropped brutally short, and he had several piercings in his left ear. Harper lowered her gaze, not wanting to catch his eye. He wasn’t a large man, but an aura of danger enveloped him. His shoulders were tense, and his lower jaw was clenched. Harper had occasionally seen his type in Detroit, but he looked out of place here in northern Michigan.

As the line inched forward, Harper sensed the man in the long coat prowling around the store. She tensed, certain he was about to rob the place. However, no one else seemed concerned. The clerk laughed at something one of the customers said, and the woman in front of Harper kept her eyes on her phone.

The man in the coat stepped in line behind Harper. He carried one of the red, plastic shopping baskets over one arm. In it was a loaf of bread and a half-gallon of milk along with a package of sandwich meat. Certainly nothing dangerous. Harper let out a sigh of relief.

The problem wasn’t the man, she realized. It was Greg, her ex. Greg had been stalking her ever since she’d left him three months before. At first, he’d sent her texts demanding to know why she’d gone. Then he’d started forwarding candid pictures of her at work and the gym to let her know that he was always watching. His latest messages had been downright threatening. You better stop ignoring me, or you’ll be sorry. When he left a dead cat on her doorstep, it was time for her to leave town. Now, even though she was three-hundred miles from Detroit, she still looked over her shoulder.

That’s a lot of dog biscuits, the man behind her said.

To prove to herself she wasn’t afraid, Harper looked directly at him and smiled. I have a lot of dogs.

Animal hoarder? he said.

Veterinarian. She nodded toward the door. I volunteer at the Ravenstock animal shelter.

He broke into a smile, softening the hard angles of his face. You like helping strays. Good for you.

Harper was about to reply when the clerk cleared his throat. I guess I’m next, Harper said and placed her purchases on the counter.

As she left the store, the wind whipped at her hair and blew rain into her face. Although it was the beginning of May, spring hadn’t yet arrived this far north. Harper loved the quiet of the country, but this cold weather had to go! She hurried toward her car.

Harper. A long-haired, heavy-set man in a bulky coat leaned against her car. Greg.

Harper gasped and almost dropped her groceries. How did you find me? she demanded. Because Greg was a private investigator, she’d been very careful when she’d moved, not even telling friends and family where she was going. She’d cut up her old credit cards so they couldn’t be traced back to her, and had changed her phone number. She’d done everything right, yet here he stood.

You can’t get away from me. He stood straighter and came toward her, forcing her back a step. You should know that by now. He smiled when he said this, but the threat was all too clear.

Leave me alone! If she was loud enough, maybe she could attract attention from someone inside the store. She fumbled for the can of mace hidden deep within her purse. Go away, or I’ll….

She cut herself off, but Greg picked up on her threat. You’ll what? he jeered. Call the cops? His smile was cruel and cunning. I’m sure they’d be interested in hearing my side of the story, too.

Harper knew she was trapped. If the police did come, she’d be in as much trouble as Greg. Leave me alone, she said, this time begging. Her hand went to the scar above her left eyebrow. Greg had hurt her before; he would surely do it again.

Greg shook his head. No can do. You, however, will get into my car if you know what’s good for you.

She retreated another step. Suddenly, the safety of the market seemed leagues away. Greg, please… .

Greg, please… he said, parodying her.

Harper felt a presence behind her. Leave her alone.

Greg’s sneer became a snarl. Who are you?

The man from the store stepped in-between Harper and Greg. I’m someone who wants to talk sense into you.

The man sounded calm and assured, almost friendly, but Harper wasn’t fooled. Tension thrummed throughout his body. She had the feeling he was sizing up Greg and looking for weaknesses.

Greg stuck out his chin. Get lost. This is between Harper and me.

The man held up both hands to show he wasn’t a threat. Let’s be reasonable and talk this out.

Real men don’t talk, Greg said and reached under his jacket.

He’s got a gun! Harper shouted, but her warning came too late. The gun went off, and Harper shrieked.

You stupid son-of-a-bitch, the man growled the words. In the yellow light of the parking lot lamp, the man’s coat darkened at the shoulder as blood flowed from the wound.

Harper dropped her groceries and ran to her rescuer’s side. Oh my God! Greg, you idiot!

He made me do it, Greg said. It wasn’t my fault!

The man leaned against Harper’s Jeep, his hand clamped over the wound. Even in the dim light, Harper noticed the pale look of shock.

The gunshot had drawn attention from those inside the store. Shouts rang out and someone peered around the doorway. No doubt, at least one person had called 911 which meant the sheriff would arrive any minute.

The scrabble of tennis shoes against gravel let Harper know Greg was fleeing the scene. He leapt into his car and sped off so fast his car fishtailed on the road, making his tires squeal against the asphalt.

Harper had been terrified moments before, but now she was furious. How dare Greg come after her like this! And how dare he shoot her rescuer! Hopefully, someone would call the police. Even if it meant she got into trouble as well, she couldn’t let Greg get away with it.

She hurried back to where her rescuer leaned against her Jeep. We need to get you to a hospital.

He shrugged off his coat and examined his arm. It’s nothing more than a scratch.

Doesn’t matter. It’s a gunshot wound, and it needs to be looked at.

You’re a doctor, he said. Can’t you do something?

"I’m a vet, she corrected, and I could lose my license if I practice medicine on people. But don’t worry. I’ll call an ambulance."

He shook his head. I can’t have the authorities involved.

This isn’t a debate, she said.

You said you were heading to Ravenstock, right? Take me there and clean the wound. Once I know you’re safe, I’ll be on my way. Then, you can speak with the police.

Harper’s stomach was in knots. She owed him a debt of gratitude, but the man threw off warning signals like police flashers at a four-car collision. He had a desperate, dangerous feeling about him. As if someone hunted him. And the last thing she needed in her life was another loose cannon.

Seeing her hesitation, the man shrugged. Look, it’s okay. I know this looks sketchy as hell.

He was right; it did look sketchy as hell. Are you running from the cops? she asked. Are you wanted? Is the mob after you?