The Darkling's Kiss: Part Two: The Daemon Unleashed (The Daemon's Descendants Book 2)

by Charlie Richards

  “If the darkling’s angel piece has indeed been ripped out by magical means, then only by magical means can it be mended,” he heard the other man say. The voice sounded familiar.

  Kalylle stood near a small, clearly just-started fire, his arms crossed over his chest. “And you know such a spell?” he asked. Philippe heard the concern in the man’s voice.

  The other wizard shook his head. “No, not yet. But I’ve brought a number of scrolls and books with me.” The wizard waved toward his mount laden with saddlebags. “I’m certain I can create the necessary spell. When Vednor mentioned the situation to me, I felt that finding you should be my first course of action.” He glanced around then. “Where is Philippe, anyway?”

  Kalylle gave a jerk of his head. “Behind you.”

  As the wizards had talked, Philippe had eased from the trees, catching Kalylle’s eye, letting his companion know where he was.

  The other wizard spun, the morning light showing his features, and Philippe realized he recognized the man.

  “You remember Canto,” Kalylle said, confirming the wizard’s identity. “Don’t you, Philippe?”

  “I do.” He clenched his fists as he struggled to keep the daemon within him in check.

  Canto stepped toward him, a blushing smile on his face. “Good to see you again, darkling.”

  His jaw clenched in an effort to keep from saying something derogatory. Canto certainly didn’t have Kalylle’s tact. Just because he’d given the wizard a healing kiss didn’t mean it was okay to call him darkling as if it was some twisted sort of endearment.

  Kalylle must have spotted his tension, for he quickly moved forward. Grabbing Canto’s arm, he maneuvered himself between them. His expression appeared surprised, but Philippe knew from his ability to read the man’s emotions that he wasn’t.

  “Philippe, you’re soaked,” Kalylle commented. “Why don’t you go stand by the fire and dry off.” Continuing to hold Canto’s arm, he pushed Philippe toward the flames as he stated, “Forgive Philippe. He’s having an understandably tough time adjusting to losing part of his soul.”

  Impressed and relieved by Kalylle’s perceptiveness, Philippe mumbled something about swimming in the river as he followed his lover’s encouragement and made his way to the fire. His back to the wizards, he closed his eyes and allowed the warmth of the flames to ease his tension. Suddenly, the daemon within warned him of a presence behind him.

  Philippe’s eyes flew open. Without turning, he growled, “Canto, it’s not safe for you to stand that close to me.”

  The obviously surprised wizard stepped back a couple of paces. Philippe felt his daemonic desires ease. “Simply amazing,” he heard the other man say.

  “What?” Philippe growled, turning to face him.

  “With your angel piece gone, you could harm virtually anyone without a second thought. No remorse!”

  Glaring at the foolish wizard—why did I save his life again—rage tore through him. Four long strides had him grabbing the wizard’s green robes, pulling him close. “I feel remorse,” he hissed. “My human half feels remorse. The angel has nothing to do with that.”

  Kalylle stepped beside him and covered Philippe’s hands with his own. “Easy, Philippe,” he rumbled soothingly. “We’re all working toward the same goal. He didn’t mean any offense.”

  Philippe shifted his gaze to Kalylle. The older man’s blue eyes bored into him. Slowly, he regained his breathing and released his hold on the other mage. He nodded.

  “Keep him away from me,” Philippe ground out. Pivoting, he strode to his bedroll and started packing.

  With the way the hairs on his nape stood on end, Philippe knew that at least one of the men stared at him. He recognized the sound of Kalylle’s quiet sigh before the man warned, “You’d best leave him alone, Canto.”

  “I can’t help it.” While Canto whispered his words, Philippe could still make them out. He just sounded way too excited. “I find his kind absolutely fascinating!”

  Philippe glared over his shoulder at Canto, taking in the interaction.

  Kalylle placed a warning hand on Canto’s shoulder. “As you can see, he can’t handle any questions right now. Mostly, we don’t talk at all,” he claimed, lying.

  Actually, Kalylle accepted Philippe’s cock every night. The wizard allowed Philippe to clutch him close, burying himself deep inside him. He’d feel like he was using the man, except he wasn’t the only one relieving stress through sexual activity. Philippe made sure his lover found his release, too.

  “Just find that spell,” Kalylle ordered.

  Canto nodded.

  The three rode toward Silvermoon. Several days later, familiar trees caught Philippe’s attention. He looked around, trying to spot any trees with lifts. Finally, Kalylle stopped and dismounted. The wizard touched a knot on the trunk of a large tree, activating the hidden door.

  Kalylle turned his focus on Philippe and warned, “There’ll be many people around.”

  Philippe heard and felt Kalylle’s concern. He worried, too. “Perhaps it’d be best if you took my horse. Once we arrive at the top, I’ll disappear and follow you that way.”

  Nodding, Kalylle asked, “Where’s Feline’s house?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But Deantmore does. You’ll need to ask him.”

  Kalylle’s brows shot up. “Okay.” Motioning them forward, the three piled into the lift. As soon as they reached the top, the door seams reappeared. Philippe slipped into the Innerworld. Gray mists swirled around him as he followed the hazy forms of Kalylle and Canto.

  “Where is he?” Canto asked.

  Kalylle smiled. “Not far.” The blue-robed wizard turned down another pathway. “Follow closely.”

  Philippe saw people’s images spring up around him. The urge to reappear and strike them tore through him. Pulling his dagger, he slowly drew the edge of the blade across his palm. He let out a low hiss as pain from the graze replaced his desire. He sighed, shaking his head. With blood dripping, he knew he didn’t have long in there. Unfortunately, if he reappeared with all those people around, he feared he’d end up hurting someone.

  Relief filled Philippe when the wizards entered the elven palace. In the shadows of a doorway, he reappeared. A couple of steps had him at his mount’s saddlebags. As he opened one of the satchels, Kalylle stopped close to him.

  When Kalylle saw the gash, his brows shot up, and he grabbed Philippe's wrist. “What happened?”

  Philippe just managed to keep from wrapping his other hand around the wizard’s neck. “Pain is a good distraction,” he rumbled gruffly, feeling his lust spike. Tipping his head close, he hissed, “Almost as good as sex.”

  Kalylle’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Y-You did this to yourself?”

  Sucking in a harsh breath, struggling for calm, he rasped, “There were a lot of people.”

  Without a word, Kalylle released him, then pulled a bandage from his saddlebag. “Stay still,” he ordered, holding up a tub and popping the cork. He smeared the ointment over the wound, then began wrapping it.

  “I can do this myself.” Philippe swallowed hard upon feeling the gentle ministrations. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for him…other than his mother, anyway.

  “Of that, I have no doubt”—Kalylle’s expression turned warm as he met his gaze—“but not very well with only one hand. Just let me do this.”

  Conceding his point, Philippe nodded and fell silent. He knew the wizard would be done before he could finish arguing. Besides, it felt surprisingly nice to have someone look after him.

  A moment later, Kalylle released him. By that time, a slender stable hand had arrived.

  “Can I take your mounts, Master Wizards?” the elven lad asked.

  Immediately, Canto handed over his horse’s reins. The wizard had been standing several feet away, having learned over the past several days to steer clear of Philippe. Still, Philippe figured Canto had hear
d just about everything that had been said between them.

  I need to remember to keep better control of my tongue.

  Unless Kalylle and I were open about our relationship.

  Shit, do I have a relationship?

  Kalylle pulling away and handing over the reins drew Philippe out of his inane thoughts.

  “Grain them and rub them down well,” Kalylle ordered the stable hand. “We won't be long.”

  Philippe followed the other two, staying a short distance behind them. Kalylle led the way to the throne room. Keeping his gaze fixed on the wizards, the darkling did his best to control his daemonic urge to attack every guard they passed. By the time the hall opened into the massive gardens, he just knew he would have nail marks in his palms from his clenched fists.

  Unfortunately, the throne of pillows was empty.

  A servant approached them. Bowing slightly, the servant told them, “Master Wizards, you’ll find them in the dining hall for the afternoon meal.”

  After the servant moved away, Philippe cursed, thrusting his fingers through his hair. If his hair had been any longer, he would have managed to pull some out.

  “Can you handle it?”

  Philippe heard the concern in Kalylle’s voice. “If not, you have my permission to stun me,” he grumbled before stalking out of the room. He knew the wizards followed. He also knew his emotional control was slipping, but he found it difficult to care.

  The three arrived at the dining hall.

  The elves at the table gazed at them in surprise.

  “Kalylle! Philippe!” King Salvador exclaimed, beckoning with a wave of his hand. “Welcome back. Please, join us! What news have you?”

  Kalylle glanced first at Philippe, then at Canto, before returning his attention to the king and offering a half bow. He led the way, and Philippe followed, fighting what he knew was irrational unease. After he was seated, Kalylle to his right and Canto to his left, Philippe kept his clenched fists on his lap and concentrated on his breathing.

  He let out a hiss of agitation when the elven servant leaned over him to place a bowl in front of him. Focusing on the table, he managed to keep from pulling a blade and hurting…someone. Instead, after the servant left, he picked up his spoon and focused on eating his soup, all the while listening to Kalylle’s words.

  “We’ve discovered a connection between a dwarf and several wizards,” Kalylle revealed. “We need to track them, but Philippe needs Deantmore’s help to do it.”

  “My help?” Deantmore’s gaze shifted between them. Philippe felt the elf’s focus on him, but he couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. Too many people surrounded him, and as he stared at his soup, he found he needed all his attention to control his breathing and his inner daemon.

  “Somewhere else,” Philippe hissed softly. He gave Kalylle a meaningful look as he rose from the table. “Gardens,” he managed to ground out. Hands clenched, he strode from the room. As he moved, he berated himself. What was I thinking going into the dining hall? Breathing too quickly, he knew he’d been lucky.

  He’d only been pacing the gardens a couple of moments when Kalylle appeared with Deantmore.

  “Kalylle,” Philippe muttered, running agitated hands through his short white hair. “I’m sorry,” he hissed. “I couldn’t stay in there.”

  Kalylle nodded. “There’s no need to apologize,” the wizard soothed.

  The elf glanced between them, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?”

  “Philippe went to Crood, following a lead,” Kalylle told him. “He found out more than what certain people wanted him to know. They attacked him and removed part of his soul.”

  “Your soul? But why’d they do that? How?” Deantmore’s eyes widened in shock and probably some disbelief. “What did it do to you?”

  Before Kalylle could speak, Philippe answered, his voice coming out a low growl. “The last time I was here, your king talked about daemon blood always being present in those who have angel blood.” He gripped a nearby tree branch, leaning against the trunk. “Well, it’s true,” he admitted. “I have both along with the human. The wizard removed a piece of my soul, the quarter angel. It makes it very difficult to keep from…lashing out at others.” His voice ended in a whisper.

  While Philippe took a steadying breath, he heard Kalylle explain, “They probably thought he wouldn’t be able to control his daemonic urges, thereby removing him from further investigation. But they underestimated him.” Kalylle turned his attention to him, giving him a fond, steady smile as he claimed, “Philippe’s a better man than that.”

  “Told you there was lightning there,” Deantmore commented, his lips curving into a smirk. “I’m happy for you, but it sounds like you’re struggling. What can I do to help?”

  “The woman I took from the city. You know her.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  Deantmore nodded, eyes narrowing. “I know her.”

  “She said her mother’s a seer. I need her help.”

  Philippe felt the elf’s surprise, but underneath he knew that Deantmore realized the gravity of the situation. Slowly, he nodded. “We can ask her to come here, but I’m not certain she will.”

  “Then let’s not waste time,” Philippe replied. “We must go to her.”

  Kalylle turned to Deantmore. “If that’s okay,” he added diplomatically.

  Deantmore glanced between them. Philippe could feel the indecision radiating from him like heat from a fire. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll take you to her home. Whether or not she’ll see us is another matter.”

  He frowned. She’ll see me whether she likes it or not, he silently vowed. Out loud he asked gruffly, “Where’s Canto?”

  “We set him up in a room to study his books. He’ll be fine until we return,” Kalylle assured him as they followed Deantmore through the halls and out of the palace. He lowered his voice. “You don’t trust him?”

  Philippe grunted. “At the moment, you’re the only one I trust.”

  “Not yourself?” The wizard asked, surprised.

  He shook his head. “Especially not myself,” he replied honestly.

  Kalylle nodded, seeming to understand. Philippe felt the other man’s worry but didn’t bother commenting on it. The wizard had every right to be worried. He traveled with a darkling missing a piece of his soul.

  Following the elf through the streets, Philippe kept his head bowed, not meeting the gaze of those around him. Too many people’s thoughts and emotions swirled around him, buffeting his mind, and he felt his control slipping. Gritting his teeth against the thoughts that consumed him, he shook his head in an effort to clear it.

  “Kalylle,” he murmured, hoping…needing…

  * * * *

  Hearing his name, Kalylle turned just in time to see Philippe stagger sideways, almost drunkenly, a clear display of his loss of control.

  Several concerned elves moved toward him, offering assistance. Knowing what a disaster that could be, Kalylle pulled three stones and spoke several soft words. A shower of sparks shot through the air toward his struggling lover.

  Elves murmured, backing away from the group. The sparks surrounded Philippe’s hands and wrists. The pale man’s hands were forced together in front of him. Philippe’s head snapped up. Kalylle met the albino’s confused gaze and offered him an apologetic smile. He saw the other man let out an almost imperceptible sigh. Still, his fingers twitched, and his arms jerked.

  Kalylle grabbed Philippe’s upper arm, pulling him close. “Stop struggling,” he commanded softly, tipping his head so he could whisper in his ear. “It’s a binding spell. It’ll keep you from lashing out at anyone. I’ll remove it once we’re through the crowds.” He glanced around, then pushed him forward, forcing Philippe to start walking again. “We’ll be at the seer’s house soon.”

  Relief filled Kalylle when Philippe nodded, then almost sagged against him. The darkling’s relief was damn near palpable.

  * * * *

  Philippe
struggled to control his breathing. Closing his eyes, he allowed Kalylle to guide him through the crowd. His tension permeated his body, a low thrum that felt as if it tingled just below the surface, leaving him wound tighter than a loaded crossbow. Just managing to suppress his trembling, he focused on placing one foot in front of the other.

  At least with his hands bound and Kalylle’s hand on his arm, it’d be damn difficult for him to hurt anyone.

  “We’re here,” Deantmore stated.

  Opening his eyes, Philippe stared at an unassuming house. Clean walkways and windows contrasted the heavy green drapes that blocked any rooms from view. Branches intertwined with walls, giving the home a stable look. The traditional dark wood of the home and the green showing through the windows made the place blend in with the branches and leaves around it.

  Glancing from the structure in front of him to the others nearby, Philippe found it had a shockingly soothing effect. “Wow.” Staring at the home, he actually felt the tension begin to ease from his body.

  “What?” Kalylle asked quietly while Deantmore knocked on the door.

  “Can’t you feel it?” he asked, his voice almost reverent. He immediately felt the confusion from the other man. “Never mind,” he responded, shaking his head. Then he smiled at the wizard, holding up his bound hands. “You can release me now.”

  The man’s white-blond brows shot up. “You good?”

  Philippe nodded. As he stepped through the door, he realized he felt more relaxed than he had since he’d encountered Canto. Choosing to aid the wizard and accepting the Council of Wizard’s offer instead of disappearing again had been a decision that had changed his life. He glanced over his shoulder at his lover for an instant.

  For the most part, in a good way.

  After the servant who’d opened the door disappeared down the hall, Kalylle released the spell binding Philippe’s wrists. Once the spell was gone, his inner daemon began to uncoil. Philippe realized with some disappointment that it had been a false sense of comfort. His inner daemon had just been biding its time.