Demon Dreams

by Nikki Sex

  Millicent snarls, maddened by rapture. Only visible to preternatural sight, blue electricity dances over her skin, stimulating her every nerve. The vampire’s blood is so potent, she needs only a small amount.

  Close, close, so close!

  Body, mind, and soul, she swells with magic and energy.

  One last pull, one quick swallow, and a massive climax tears through her. Quaking with pleasure, her moist, hungry sex pulses, her nails bite into his skin. Euphoria spreads outward from her core, up her spine, down her thighs, calves, and her tightly curled toes. It colors every inch of her skin the palest pink.

  Sprawling away from him, Millicent licks her lips. Trying to pull herself back together, to reign herself in, she attempts to control the buzz.

  His brilliant blue gaze commands her full attention. Now, her skin flushes red from shame and embarrassment.

  The vampire coolly nods his approval, licks the holes she made in his skin to seal it. Slowly, leisurely, he lowers his sleeve, re-fastens the cufflink. Then he smoothly pushes to his feet, slips on his elegant jacket.

  “You are exhausted,” he observes dispassionately. Eyes unblinking, his face is empty of expression. “Go. Get some sleep.”

  His casual comments stab like knives in my heart. Does he feel nothing?

  His mastery over her is too complete. Her need for him too overpowering. Fists clenched, jaw tight, Millicent can’t seem to take her eyes off him. He owns her. Tall, masculine, and preposterously handsome.

  But he’s cold, remote. Dangerous and impersonal. He’s a poison sent to destroy her.

  Yet the fascinating sight and scent of him fills her senses, fires her blood. Captivated by the vampire, drawn to him by a power she cannot deny, Millicent craves his strength, his blood, his very maleness with unspeakable need.

  This “man”—this paranormal creature. He is who I rely on to survive.

  Millicent can’t help but hate him for that.

  Chapter 33.

  Stunned, time stops while I struggle to figure out what’s going on. Stafford stares at me with his demon-red gaze, making my mind explode. Ideas shotgun every which way, fluttering around like a flock of wounded birds.

  So many thoughts, all vying for attention.

  I don’t know what to focus on first.

  Holy Christ, is Stafford demon possessed? Or is my demon simply taking a short vacation in another person’s body? Not demon possession, temporary demon relocation, so he can show Stafford how to perceive invisible wings?

  That’s what I asked him to do, after all.

  Can he see my wings?

  One good thing, I can put off telling Stafford about our raven army. That nasty little wrinkle is a lesser problem, eclipsed by this unexpected twist.

  Why did my demon transfer to him? Doesn’t my inner monster love me anymore? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Empty? Abandoned? Alone? The Beast Lord is super powerful, guess that makes him a superior host.

  Not long ago, my inner pal was my only family. Now, I have Stafford, Millicent, Hope, Owen, Toby, and even Leonidas. Still, he was there from the start. Demon, or not, I’m surprised to realize I don’t want to lose him.

  WTF, am I jealous? Seriously? Earth to Jan. Get a grip, woman!

  Jealousy has got to be one of the most senseless sins of all. The green-eyed monster stems from insecurity, low self-esteem. Such bitter feelings usually result from being previously deserted, forsaken, or jilted, and expecting to be abandoned again.

  Hmm. My dad did abandon me. He only fathered me as part of a long-term plot to take over the world. And my mom? Well, she checked out mentally. Does that count as desertion? It certainly felt like it at the time.

  Jealous people doubt their worth. They fear losing those they care about, knowing somehow, someday, their loved ones will love someone else more. To avoid rejection, they choose to abandon rather than be abandoned. There’s pain, but at least it’s of their own choosing. A typically senseless survival strategy that leads to more unhappiness.

  I’ve been smart and sneaky to survive all these years. I’d assumed my sense of self-worth was overinflated. Guess not.

  “Fuck! Sweetheart, you can’t be seen with crimson eyes—your pack will rip you to shreds!”

  Countless thoughts thrashing around in my head, and that’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth? Go figure.

  Stafford’s eyes immediately change to brown. Good for him. Took me centuries to discover that trick. My demon must have done that for him, he’s such a good kid. Wait. Is the love of my life possessed, or not?

  “So much magic and otherworldly energy!” Stafford gasps, his face alive with awe. “I’ve never felt anything like it. With power like this, nothing can stop us!”

  “Um, OK.”

  Huh. Not the response I expected, but easily explained. In our world, magic is the difference between life and death. My demon’s power provides greater security for the shifters of the Magic Lands.

  Demon power does not suck.

  Actually, it’s the opposite of sucking, whatever that is. Blowing? No, that doesn’t work. Demon magic definitely doesn’t blow.

  “Hey, I have wings!” My mate suddenly laughs in a way I’ve rarely heard before. Loud. Joyous. Totally uninhibited.

  Well, that answers that question.

  “Would you look at that?” He flexes his wings, stretching them out, showing their glorious span. “They rock! They’re abso-fucking-fantastic. Can I fly? Can you?”

  “Um, maybe. I haven’t tried.”

  “I want to fly.” He bounces up and down, enthusiastic as a five-year-old. “How cool is this?”

  Grinning foolishly, he flaps his wings, does a little dance while attempting to leave the ground. He’s so damned cute in this drunken, eager, uninhibited state.

  Yeah, the power has gone to his head. Or is he possessed?

  I grab his hands, shut my eyes, send psychic feelers into him. The moment I do, I understand what’s going on. Stafford’s not possessed, he’s simply blissed by acting as my inner monster’s host. My demon’s over-the-top magic is a shock to his system.

  The Beast Lord has a much more direct tie to his people than I do. My demon, already overfed, is still feeding like, er, well, a demon. He’s drawing up energy then returning it, in a heady, sensual loop of pleasure.

  Raw demonic power floods Stafford’s spirit.

  Hit with the potent buzz, the Beast Lord’s sensible, fuck-with-me-and-you’re-dead attitude has gone bye bye. My honey is shit-faced, drunk on demonic white-lightening.

  “I love you, Jan,” he says, a goofy grin on his face. Utterly intoxicated, he slurs his words.

  I grin back at him. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  “If I had missed the boat, I would have missed the boat,” he muses, disjointedly.

  “Oh?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “If I didn’t cross the Atlantic in 1928, I would’ve missed you.” He plants a sloppy kiss on my mouth. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “And your power!” An avaricious, non-Stafford look enters his eyes. It feels as though a stranger is looking back at me. “Just think of the things I can do with this much magic and energy!”

  OK, this isn’t funny anymore.

  Power, like too much Champagne, has literally gone to his head. My mate is drunk on magic.

  I grab Stafford’s face, stare into his eyes while sending a psychic push toward my demon. “Thanks a lot, buddy,” I say out loud. “The Beast Lord has full awareness of your kindred’s wings—and an extremely intimate understanding of your magic.”

  I give him a thumb’s up, force a smile. “Good job!”

  Stafford frowns, says nothing.

  “Game’s over, buddy. Come to momma. C’mon back to me.” I place my palm on Stafford’s forehead again.

  Heat gathers, sparks fly.

  Although I’m prepared for the demonic transfer
of energy, it’s still a shock. My nerves jump and tingle—I’m thrilled, electrified, and terrified all at the same time.

  Engulfed by power, I can barely breathe past the bounding pulse in my throat. Like standing on railroad tracks with a train barreling my way, strong vibrations make my body tremble. Even my bones thrum with his compelling magic.

  Whew. And he’s back.

  Amen and halleluiah. I’m host to my inner friend again.

  Weak with relief, I step into Stafford’s arms. Both shaken, we embrace each other as tight as if bound by rope, but it’s more than that. In this moment, we’re totally connected.

  “Jan,” he breathes through my mind.

  “Jesus, honey, you scared me.”

  “I scared myself. That demon has so much power—I don’t know how you bear it.”

  Respect, awe, and admiration radiate from him, bright and warm as the sun. I had no idea what it was like to be this valued, to have someone care for me like this.

  Picking me up, he carries me to the bed. We cuddle into each other, our thoughts on comfort, not sex.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  He chastely kisses my forehead. “Better than OK.” Pulling back to study me, he switches to mental communication.

  “We both have wings. Christ, that made perfect sense when I had your demon on board. Not anymore, now I’m no longer blitzed with power.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much.”

  “How long have I had wings?”

  “Like I said, ever since I fought the sorcerer’s spell in that cavern. Can you feel them now you’re aware of them?”

  His eyes light, his wings ripple. “I can.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It depends. What’s the down side? Are there side effects? Otherwise,” he grins, “they’re totally cool.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I snicker. “They’re Arctic.”

  I move to the end of the bed, sit cross-legged. “When I needed power, I took it without asking.”

  Stafford sits up, his back against the headboard facing me. “No one could blame you for that. Not with the fucked-up spell you were under.”

  “True.” I wince. “But it went to my head. You know how my demon’s power made you feel?”

  “Sure.”

  “You didn’t want that feeling to stop.”

  “That’s right.”

  I sigh. “Once I had all that power and magic, I didn’t want to give it back.”

  “You, or your demon?” he asks silently.

  “I’d love to blame my demon, but it wasn’t his idea. This is on me.”

  He shrugs, crosses his legs at the ankle. “As Beast Lord, I’m a dictator—no getting around it. Sure, I try to be benevolent, but I can use every pack member’s magic without asking. Look, you took my power, but I’m not powerless. In fact, with you, I’m stronger than ever. No big deal.”

  Aware of the depth of my guilt, I stand, begin to pace. “You like wings?” I ask, gesturing to my own. “Well, that’s good, because everyone in your pack has wings. Even Toby has them, so does Leonidas. As do some of my colleagues at MacLeod’s International. I don’t even know who else has them, there are others.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath. “You know how my collar compelled you and Leonidas. Made you both Beta to me?”

  He sits up in alarm. “Yes.”

  “Well, it seems the wings act like a collar. Those with wings are mine—they’ll do as I say, without knowing why.”

  “What?”

  “It was my decision, my personal choice. Once I had everyone’s power, I kept it—or I kept the ability to use it. There’s a darkness inside of me, Stafford. A stain that has nothing to do with my demon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The wings are evidence of demonic compulsion. In the, uh, passion of the moment, I chose to enslave everyone my demon’s ever healed or fed from. I can use their magic at any time—without consent. Overriding free will.”

  Wide-eyed, he stares at me in shock and disbelief. Magic can only be shared with honest consent. Otherwise, the power gained is dark and impure. That energy can taint the soul.

  “It seems survival, at any cost, is my superpower,” I say out loud, shielding my emotions with everything I have. “I’m responsible.”

  “But your demon—” he sends, mind to mind.

  “He’s not to blame. My inner monster jumped at the idea, but I drive our metaphysical bus. Don’t try to make me feel better, I don’t deserve kindness and understanding. Not after this.”

  Stafford frowns, shakes his head. “I’ve felt its power, Jan. I was ready to conquer the world! I know what that demon is capable of.”

  “Yes, but do you know what I am capable of?” I raise my eyebrows, a self-deprecating expression.

  The Beast Lord says nothing. I sense his psychic tug on our bond. He’s trying to reach me, to connect, but I’ve shut myself off from him.

  “I’m no victim, Stafford.” I stare at him with absolute conviction. “I made a decision to never be a victim ever again.”

  A long moment of charged silence goes by. Stafford’s face looks strained as he begins to truly understand.

  Scowling, I shake my head. There’s no easy way. I may as well rip that band aid off right now.

  “Sweetheart, in this scenario, I’m the perpetrator.”

  Chapter 34.

  To my shock and disbelief, Stafford bursts out laughing. He laughs! Jumping up, he paces across the room, shaking his head, chuckling. Not what I expected.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re trying to be good—whatever that is.” He throws his hands in the air. “The world is rarely black or white, my love. Particularly in our world. No absolute right, or absolute wrong, only shades in between. Life is complicated—it makes a joke of everyone’s good intentions. Even yours.”

  I stand there, dumbfounded, studying his face. I’d been preparing for negative fallout. His unexpected response lightens the subject, making me instantly feel better.

  He stomps over, stares down at me. “What, you think I’ve never screwed up?”

  Bemused by his reaction, I find myself smiling. His intentionally offhand attitude is wonderfully disarming. “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought about it.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, of course not. It’s all about you.”

  Grinning, I stand up and punch him in the shoulder for ragging on me. “Jerk.”

  “You love me the way I am.”

  “Proof that love is blind,” I tease. “To think, when I first arrived in the Magic Lands, I didn’t want you in my life. There I was, avoiding all things paranormal to stay alive, particularly powerful shifters. And who decided to use pack bonds to tie me to him? The Beast Lord, that’s who!”

  He pulls me into him, nuzzles my neck. “The smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  I wrap my arms around him, give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I agree. I’ve heard this about love. When it’s real, it makes you stronger.”

  “God, I love you,” he mumbles against my throat.

  “Mmm,” I gasp, as lycanthrope magic thrills across my skin like calloused fingers, stimulating every nerve ending I have. Lust tugs, coiling my muscles, tightening intimate areas low in my body.

  I’m fully aroused—but so is he.

  Mushy stuff is hard core foreplay for Stafford. Being male, nearly everything is foreplay to him. My thigh rubs against his massive hard-on. Around me, he’s always at “Full Mast.” Is that a mate thing, a werewolf thing, or simply a virile male thing?

  Men! My own dripping arousal can be a pain in the ass, but constantly carrying a big stick in your pants must be awkward as hell.

  “Hold your horses, Mr. Permanently Erect,” I say, pushing back from him. “We need to finish this discussion.”

  He snorts out a laugh, his chest vibratin
g against mine.

  Grinning, I drop back onto the sofa, so pleased to no longer be alone. I’m a happier, better person with Stafford by my side.

  “You’re right.” Still standing, Stafford sighs. “Listen, Jan—you amazing, gorgeous, wondrous mate of mine.” He beats a closed fist on his broad chest. “I’ve screwed the pooch big time, and more than once. The greater the power, the bigger the fuck ups. Hell, the more influence an individual has, the dirtier their hands. There’s a God damned direct correlation, it’s unavoidable. The only people who can afford to be perfect are those who do little or nothing. As Beast Lord, I do the best I can. I learn from my mistakes, and spend the rest of the time figuring out how to live with them.”

  “I enslaved people to increase my powers,” I send mind to mind. “On purpose. That hardly qualifies as a mistake.”

  “What harm has this slavery of yours caused?”

  I frown. “None that I know of—not yet, anyway.” Give it time. Overriding free will must have consequences. And creating invisible wings? Who knows what will come of that? Fucking magic! It’s always tricky.

  “As Alphas of the North American Magic Lands, the burden is on us to accept the ultimate responsibility for our decisions. Yet to survive, our packs need as much power, magic, and energy as we can acquire.” His eyes narrow. “Can you undo this spell?”

  “Sure, in theory.” I sigh. “If I can figure out how.” My stare, full of meaning, isn’t lost on him. I never did work out how to reverse his collar.

  Stafford grins. “Patience, Grasshopper. As Alpha, I’ve found patience to be my greatest safeguard. I despise indecision, it’s infuriating—yet I know there’s a time when it’s best to do nothing. To wait and see.”

  “OK,” I say doubtfully.

  “We are magical creatures, you and I, but that doesn’t matter. In the greater scheme of things, we can only play our part. The universe maintains its own balance. Maybe a winged defense force is exactly what we’ll need to fight the fae. How do you know that isn’t the case?”

  I roll my eyes. “Sounds like a rationalization to me.”

  “And yet, it could be true.”