I had been an official demon hunter for almost seven years. Incredibly rare for one of us to start their career with the Office of Supernatural and Human Affairs' after they were a teenager. It demonstrated the success that the love of a mother can achieve. She kept me ignorant of what I really was, while keeping a physically demanding schedule for me no matter how much I protested.
We had a couple of dogs, popularly, if erroneously, called hell hounds. All dogs can smell demons, they just run away instead of towards the demon like a hell hound does. What she didn't know was that I was wired to smell demons too. I guess I'm just as stupid as hell hounds when it comes in which direction to run.
She raised me to be religious, even named me Dove, as in the Holy Spirit. I lost count of how many different religious ceremonies and places we went to. At the time I thought she was trying to find the right faith for herself, now I realize she was trying to find the faith that would protect me the most. How she knew I was born a demon hunter I'll never know because she died protecting me from one. She really didn't know that much about the reality of demons. I didn't either, but I killed it anyway.
What do I not want to see when I close my eyes? A hell hound with its throat torn out, another trying to walk with broken legs and my mother's torn body. Lots of blood. Everywhere. Unfortunately, it's a common story for most of us. That's why the first kill a demon hunter does is called a luck kill, good if they survive, bad if they don't. As far as anyone knows it can never be done that way again. I couldn't even say how I did it without a proper blade or chant to officially kill it. It was a miracle I survived and that's the only part I care to remember of the chilling moment.
I used a towel to clean away the steam on the mirror as I thought about my present situation. Staring into my hazel eyes I thought about how much I actually knew about Ezra.
Supposedly, as the authorities for both human and supernatural affairs agree, as rare as an occurrence it is, if a demon binds itself to a demon hunter they have a clean slate. There's a whole series of clauses in the ruling intent on protecting the demon hunter into a long life with the demon. And we should have a long life if we have a demon protecting us from other demons. If the hunter died early on in the relationship, and 'early' had a time line of 'at the discretion of the Affairs' Office' for the law, the demon wouldn't get the full 'benefits'. Too many unanswered questions if that happened. Too bad no one bothered to ask a single demon to give an opinion of the rule. I suppose the powers-that-be thought all demons were too deceitful or something. Hell, they didn't even ask demon hunters what they thought of it. Most didn't think very much of it at all. This ruling happened ten years ago and a majority are still trying to get it repealed.
Anyway, the supernatural authorities should know that supernatural beings just don't think and feel like humans. I've been with Ezra for just over five months and I can safely say, demons generally don't care about the same things humans do. Hence, why I was without him when attacked and 'not dead' all in one day. So now, who had enough connections to get the order to me and was Ezra's slate really wiped clean, because five months ago I was ordered to kill him. Oh, and on a side note, what was the real reason why a demon decided to bond with a demon hunter? I didn't notice very many advantages that would matter to them. It's not like they actually care about laws.
These thoughts filled my mind as I walked out of the bathroom with the small, threadbare towel from the motel wrapped around my body. Ezra was in front of me before I even registered his movement. I stared at his human looking body, reaffirming to myself that no matter how casually he dressed he still looked deadly. Ezra was a demon that could change his body into certain forms as easily as I could dye my hair. I concentrated on his hand as it gently eased the towel from me and draped it over his arm. Long graceful fingers tentatively touched the four red furrows that tore across my body.
"Too careless," he said matter of fact.