Sacrifice of Darkness: A Guardians of Eternity Novella

begged on their knees for an opportunity to walk through the doors. Some he let in. Most he didn’t.
Most of his customers would be shocked to discover that he hadn’t started his existence in elegant surroundings.
They had no idea he’d been hauled from one seedy pigsty to another. Barren caverns, crypts, lava pits, and sweltering swamps. His sire, Vynom, had taken Javad around the world, using Javad’s skills as a fighter to accumulate a fortune.
He was intimately familiar with the congested noise, the filth, and the explosions of violence that were mandatory for most demon establishments. What he’d forgotten was the pungent stench.
Walking through the door of the Diablo Club, the smell hit him like a physical punch. Unwashed bodies. Rotting food. Blood. The club was only across town from the Viper’s Nest, yet it seemed a world away.
Wrinkling his nose, Javad glanced around the dark, narrow room that was crammed with customers. There were several fey creatures, along with trolls and goblins and even a few vampires. Like a variety pack of demons.
The urge to turn on his heel and walk away vibrated through Javad. He’d put these sorts of places behind him. Thank the goddess. Of course, the reason he was here was because of his past.
So…irony at its finest.
Tilting his head back, Javad ignored the stench and tested the air. He wasn’t stupid enough to waltz through this crowd without making sure there weren’t any unwelcome surprises.
The ground shook beneath his feet as he released a sudden burst of power. He easily recognized a familiar scent.
“Uze,” he muttered, his fangs now fully extended.
He’d threatened to kill the slave trader if he ever returned to Vegas.
With effort, Javad regained command of his temper. He silently promised himself he’d deal with the mongrel troll later. One lowlife at a time. Javad returned his attention to the other demons, confident there was nothing nearby that could kill him. At least not without a fight.
Heading toward the back of the room, Javad strolled through the crowd that parted to give him plenty of space. Even with his fangs hidden and no weapon in sight, the customers managed to sense that he was the most dangerous creature in the club.
A few bold females reached out as he passed. Javad was used to their eager attempts to capture his attention. It wasn’t arrogance to admit that he was fascinating to other demons, because it wasn’t personal. Just one of the benefits of being a vampire.
And it didn’t hurt that he was tall and slender with sculpted muscles that rippled beneath his black slacks and crimson silk tunic that fell to his knees. His dark hair was glossy in the muted torchlight and long enough to brush his shoulders. His face was lean, and his features were uncompromisingly stark as if they’d been chiseled from stone. And unlike many vampires, his skin held a rich color. He’d spent too many years in the brutal desert sun before being turned to entirely lose the glorious sheen.
At the moment, his eyes were dark with sensual invitation, the primitive method of luring his prey. But when he was angry, they shimmered a bright bronze. He was told that they smoldered with enough power to send grown trolls fleeing in terror. On the side of his neck was a stylized tattoo that revealed he’d been an assassin during his life as a human.
At last, Javad reached a small male nearly hidden in the thick shadows at the back of the club. The creature had a bald head and weirdly gaunt features. As always, he wore a loose robe that covered his body from neck to toe. His eyes were dark as a harpy’s wing, but at the very center, a crimson flame burned like the pits of Hell.
“Rupert,” Javad said as the demon tried to sink deeper into the inky blackness.
Rupert was a mongrel rompo, something Javad suspected he managed to conceal from most creatures who visited his club. Rompos were the scavengers of the demon world, turning into skeletons to feed on corpses. Most species considered them to be the lowest of lifeforms and detested them.
Javad didn’t mind them. Hey, someone had to be the bottom-feeder of the gene pool.
“Don’t start with me, leech. Not all of us have your prejudices against slave-traders, and Uze spends his money freely,” Rupert warned, his voice coming out as a strange purr. “I don’t tell you how to run your club. You can keep your damned nose out of mine.”
Javad waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m not here about the slaver.”
“Then what do you want?” Rupert looked suspicious.
Javad didn’t hesitate. “Information.”
“About what?”
“Fighting pits,” Javad told him. “Somewhere in the desert.”
“A fighting pit?” The demon ran his fingers over his bald head, widening his eyes with faux innocence. “Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Never heard of any.”
Javad stepped forward. An air of suppressed violence vibrated around him. It wasn’t just his position as manager of the Viper’s Nest that made him the top demon in Vegas. It was the power that thundered through him. Even now, the building trembled beneath shockwaves of energy. Only Chiron, one of the rebel vampires who ran a casino that catered to humans, could hope to match him in strength. It was one of the reasons they tended to avoid each other.
“Think hard, Rupert.” Javad’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Think very, very hard.”
“I don’t have to think,” Rupert purred, stupidly ignoring the threat hanging in the air. “I don’t know anything about any fighting pits around here.”
Javad’s hand moved with the speed of a striking snake, his fingers wrapping around the demon’s throat.
“Wrong answer.” Javad peeled back his lips to expose his fangs.
“Argh.”
“Still the wrong answer.” Javad’s fingers tightened until the male’s face turned a weird shade of dark red.
A roar sounded behind them, and Javad glanced toward a troll who was lumbering in their direction.
“Tell your goon to stay back,” Javad warned, tightening his fingers until the demon’s face turned an