Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais

Epilogue

Giventhat I no longer had an ax hanging over my head, nor any interest in following a mundane career, I dropped out of school and relocated to Europe with the gang.

We took up residence in a veritable castle. Me, my demon lover, and my demonic friends. Daddy, no longer the professor, reclaimed his old face, minus a few wrinkles. We’d finally hugged, cried, and talked before crying some more as we reminisced about my mom.

At times, I tried to guilt him over leaving me, but Daddy remained steadfast. “I did it to protect you because I knew you were better off without me.”

“I wasn’t,” I pouted. But it was hard to stay mad. After all, in the end, I’d gotten everything I ever wanted, including a heritage I’d never expected. I learned everything I could about being a demon. Turned out, some half-breeds could use blood magic.

And use it I did. It turned out my guilt diminished the more I killed. My first taste of blood was the catalyst to me becoming my father’s slaughter daughter. Magic was addictive. But lucky for me, human souls deserving of death were plentiful.

With my new hobby making me seek out bad guys, it occurred that maybe I needed a new name. One more suited to my unique and distinct identity. Slaughter Witch? Nah. Bitch on a Broom?

Ha.

“What’s so funny?” Jag asked, brushing a hand over my naked thigh.

“Just imagining myself as a robed crusader with a pointy hat, riding a broom, ridding the city of criminals.”

“Make it a short skirt with no panties, and I can give you a better ride than a broom.”

“Oh, really? Prove it.”

He did, but not in bed as expected. The convertible he showed me in the garage was sexy. The wannabe rapist we killed together an aphrodisiac. The pentagram we drew gave me the adjustments to my face and body I’d always wanted.

The next morning, the local papers made us famous.

“The Satanic Butcher?” I yelled. “Did they not translate the signature I left behind?”

Apparently, I’d need to hire a press secretary if I were to get any social media love. Or I could ask Mary for a favor.

Working her keyboard magic, Mary fixed my vigilante title to The Witch. Simple and classic.

Paired with a short skirt and bitching thigh-high boots, my crime-fighting career was born.

The End

^{Or should Abby embark on a crime fighting career with her demon lover? That depends on you.}

^{For more books, visit EveLanglais.com}