Demon Dreams

by Nikki Sex

  “I don’t know, but I hope one’s a girl who looks just like you.”

  “Aww. You big sap!”

  “Can I watch?’ Lilly asks. “I like babies.”

  “You’ll be asleep, honey,” I say. “But you can see them tomorrow when you wake up. I can’t believe it, Stafford. You’re going to be a father! I’m going to be a mom!”

  Our trip takes only thirty minutes, despite rush hour traffic.

  As we cross over into the Magic Lands, the soundless hum of the ward purrs softly in my bones. Earthy, familiar, magic welcomes me home.

  As usual, the spell pulls me under with treasured images, but there’s an extra layer of joy today. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and images explode into my consciousness—including memories of wanting children, knowing I’d never have them.

  These recollections are no longer tragic, the ward makes my sorrow seem a necessary milestone. I cry with happiness, knowing it’s all been part of my journey, bringing me to Stafford and the life we’ve made together.

  Attractive biker bad-boy, Kalev, the Beast Lord’s second, is waiting for us as we park under cover at the lodge. My demon hums when he senses him. Hazel eyes, blonde hair, and beard, he’s a handsome bastard, with a truck load of wolf magic on board.

  Stafford parks, gets out. I unfasten Lilly’s seatbelt, pick her up. She’s tired and hungry, but hasn’t complained.

  “What’s up?” Stafford asks.

  “My Lord,” Kalev says. “The Oracle has arrived. He and the pediatrician are waiting in the Neonatal Intensive Care unit. Now you’ve returned, I beg once more for leave. There’s a woman I hope to court.”

  Stafford sighs. “We’ve discussed this at length, Kalev. You’re making a mistake. That human isn’t psychic—she can never be your mate.”

  “Sire, respectfully? My beast disagrees.”

  “If you bite her, lycanthrope magic will kill her,” Stafford snarls. “Infecting someone who isn’t psychically sensitive is punishable by death. You’re my Beta.” He scowls. “I have zero interest putting down such a valuable pack member. I don’t want to kill a friend.”

  “Forgive me.” Kalev shakes his head as his voice erupts with frustration. “My beast and I, we must explore our intense attraction. My wolf is snarling, unsettled, and restless. Thea—my girl—is all I think about day and night. We have to know. Perhaps Thea’s power is latent. Maybe if I trace her bloodlines? My own magic doesn’t work on her, so that’s something.”

  Stafford snorts. “The woman’s a non-psychic who nulls your power. Wonderful. Perhaps she’s also allergic to wolves, and prefers women,” he snarkily declares. “Either would be the cherry on top of that perfect mate.”

  Kalev says nothing.

  Neither does Stafford.

  I recall a conversation I had with Kalev months ago. He’d wanted to speak with the Beast Lord about a woman he loved. I remember jokingly asking him, “I’m guessing there’s some impediment to this Romeo and Juliet relationship?”

  Fucking hell. If she’s not psychic, Kalev’s passion is more than an impediment. It’s a God-damned disaster!

  I frown, realizing my Romeo and Juliet comparison nailed it. Like Shakespeare’s tragedy, this romance really could end with both lover’s dead.

  I study the two Alphas before me. Equally stubborn, determined, and refusing to surrender. Their continued, non-verbal standoff drags on and on. It’s excruciating.

  Silence.

  Increasingly painful silence.

  “Let him go, Beast Lord,” I finally say. “The man is clearly obsessed. He needs to get her out of his system. We’re about to have babies! We’re so lucky, so happy. Let Kalev see if he can find happiness, too.”

  “Fine.” A frown mars Stafford’s face. “Go. Take a month. Take two. Whatever. Just remember, there may be serious consequences. Try not to do anything I’ll regret.”

  Grinning, Kalev bows. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, my Lord.” He practically sprints, jumping onto his Harley, already loaded and ready for a long trip. The engine starts with a low roar, he kicks back the kickstand, puts it in gear. Growling like a panther, his bike takes off, thundering down the road.

  Laughing, we walk into the lodge. I hand Lilly over to the first group of pack members I see. Werewolves love children, they’re naturals with children. Stafford and I are joined by Toby, who trots over like he owns the place. Together, we all hurry downstairs to the basement.

  Before we even arrive, my demon starts humming. He senses our children growing in their artificial wombs. He thinks they’re his.

  Like my demon, I feel their potent energy. Any offspring from the Beast Lord and me will be powerful. But why do I taste wolf, vampire, demon, and something else in their energy signatures?

  Doubt, anxiety, and nervous excitement run through me. What if, somehow, they turn out to be vampires? I was loaded with Leonidas’s blood, able to travel through the void when my eggs were harvested. Can vampires even be born, or are they only made?

  “Sorry, Toby,” I say. “Only furless humans are allowed inside.”

  Wonder Dog gives a resigned huff. He hops onto the waiting room couch, sits down with his happy doggy grin in place.

  Chapter 62.

  We wash our hands, scrub up, don sterile gowns, then enter the surgical area that’s set up as a delivery room. Zarah, the competent, caring pediatrician, I recognize. She has everything ready for delivery. Two nurses, also masked, gloved, and gowned, wait nearby.

  Even dressed in scrubs, the Oracle looks like the bear shifter he is. His six-foot frame seems bigger than a normal man, probably because he’s almost as wide as he is tall. Thick red hair, equally thick red beard, startlingly black eyebrows, pale skin and freckles, he appears relaxed—but isn’t. His aura’s coiled tight as a spring.

  “Oracle,” Stafford says. “May I present my mate, Jan.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say with a smile.

  The were-bear nods, takes my hand within his enormous catcher’s mitt-sized palm. I was warned he doesn’t talk much. Hanging with John, my taciturn detective, I don’t mind at all. I’ve grown used to silence.

  “Zarah, what do you think?” Stafford asks.

  “They’re the correct size,” she observes.

  “Oracle?”

  The big man boldly stares at Stafford, certainty oozing from every pore. “I saw them born in this moment.”

  My mate grins. “Then we’d better get started.”

  Werewolf newborns start as human babies, but shift to wolf cubs within six weeks. They return to human form around age five. I wonder if they’ll have learned to talk by then?

  “This child is bigger,” the doctor points to one unit. “We’ll start with him—or her. When you’re ready, my Lord? My Lady?” Zarah asks.

  “We’re ready.”

  A complex machine, there’s a ton of monitoring equipment attached and connected surrounding it. Lines run here, there, and everywhere. To prevent infection, the incubators haven’t been opened before now.

  With all this, I’m surprised how little it takes to access the man-made wombs. They have openings reminiscent of zip locks. No fetal distress, no painful labor, no breach presentation, or need for an episiotomy or cesarean birth. This is a great way to have children.

  My mate stands beside me, holds my hand as we wait. The heady energy of our bond fills the room. Impulsively, he reaches up, strokes the feathers of my invisible wings. I shiver at the contact.

  Our first baby is a boy! Covered in a waxy substance, he shrieks in protest as he’s taken from the womb. When laid on the warming table, his nose gets suctioned out, his skin cleaned. He’s a screamer—nothing wrong with those lungs!

  After a quick check, he’s wrapped in a blanket. To my thrill and wonder, he’s handed to me.

  He stops crying the instant he’s placed in my arms.

  When I look down at our boy, this little miracle, it’s like nothing else in the world. Unimaginable. Life changin
g. I feel such overpowering love, it physically hurts my heart to witness such perfection. I stare at his every feature, memorize every detail. Such profound, instant joy simply can’t be contained.

  Hot tears come, rolling down my cheeks. “Look what we did,” I whisper.

  “He’s beautiful,” Stafford rumbles beside me. Time passes, so much time, yet no time at all, before Zarah says, “I believe your other baby is also due. Shall I continue with the next birth?”

  “Yes, please,” Stafford says, his voice thick with emotion.

  The same procedure occurs without a hitch. The next child—a girl!—barely makes a sound. Assured she’s breathing well, she’s wrapped up, and handed to Stafford.

  Alarmed to hold his precious, tiny newborn, in his huge hands, he quickly settles in. My mate’s so big, strong, and tough, but his hidden well of emotions flash through me. Exposed like this, the Beast Lord seems vulnerable, soft, and very, very human.

  Our connection is strong in this special moment. His eyes meet mine, his expression euphoric, his grin huge. Overcome, I taste my heart in my throat.

  The wind of lycanthrope power surrounds us. I smell fresh turned earth, the musky scent of wolf, and pine under a full moon. Mates forever, now happy parents. We’re full of love for our children, as well as for each other.

  It’s overwhelming.

  A nurse gives us each a bottle of formula, which our babies suckle enthusiastically. The Apgar test stands for Appearance, Pulse, Grimace, Activity, and Respiration. Our healthy children receive a ten.

  Side by side, we sit on comfortable chairs designed for nursing. Our babies drink half their bottles before they’re full. Placing them against our shoulders, we burp them. They each fall straight to sleep. Even when taken from an artificial womb, apparently childbirth is exhausting.

  Holding our son, I feel as if I’m under a spell. I could cuddle up with him and fall asleep. The doctor and nursing staff leave the room, Stafford will contact them if they’re needed.

  The Oracle sits across from us. “How will you explain their wings?” he asks.

  “What?” Stafford and I bite out the word in unison.

  The Oracle frowns. “I saw their wings in a vision.”

  Stunned by this news, my mate’s eyes widen. “You did?”

  He unwraps his daughter, a perfectly formed child who appears fully human. She smells of earth, air, water, and the dark, electric blue scent of vampire. A tiny set of blue black wings unfurl from her shoulders. They wave back and forth, then fold back, neatly hidden against her skin.

  I unwrap our son, and view his brilliant white wings which react the same way. So beautiful, so fascinating. The energy of a young human psychic rolls over my tongue. He tastes like apple pie.

  I’ve tasted this power before.

  It couldn’t be! This high-voltage magic smells of clove, camphor, and cinnamon—Noah Greenfield’s energy. Lilly’s last words to him flash through my mind. “Bye, Noah,” she’d said cheerfully. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “You OK?” Stafford asks.

  “Yeah, sure. You?”

  “I’m great.”

  My mind reels—so many unsettling thoughts! I think of our baby girl, who tastes of vampire. Will the werewolf community accept her?

  Will our infant son remember his past? Is Lilly his future mate? And our children’s wings! Not only do we have major explaining to do, but I’ve heard toddlers can be a handful. God help us if they can fly!

  My mind returns to the “resting room” within the cavern, and all the people I’ve dreamed of, like Hawk, the half-breed, whose love of a white girl destroyed them both.

  I’m pondering the Oracle’s concerns, wondering if he’ll reveal other visions, when Stafford places a hand on my cheek. I turn to him, see he senses the turmoil churning inside me. Softly, sweetly, he presses his lips to mine.

  Closing my eyes, his heartfelt kiss returns me to the joys of the moment.

  “The United Pack’s will understand,” he murmurs in a low, husky voice. “With fae blood in your veins, you are something more. So are our children.” His broad, euphoric grin mirrors my own.

  Our mating bond flares to life. Happiness rips through me, erasing all other thoughts. Fresh and freeing, heady wolf magic spills over us in a river of delicious heat. Our inner beasts howl with joy, my demon sings.

  Mind, heart, and soul, our connection is intense.

  Stafford’s amber eyes glitter with delight. “I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

  Our mating bond flares with power. His joyous thought, like a whisper, caresses my soul. I’m in his mind, his heart, his soul, just as he’s in mine. Smiling, Stafford knows what I think before I think it.

  “I know.”

  Epilogue

  Millicent

  Coming out of her heavy, hypnotic sleep, Millicent slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Soft cotton sheets that smell of lavender soothe her. She’s in her bedroom, yet she doesn’t feel the silver chain around her ankle. Strange. Where is it?

  The vampire is near, his intoxicating scent envelopes her senses. She hears the deep, steady thud of his heartbeat, can taste the blood rushing through his veins. His pulse is so familiar, she’d know that sound anywhere.

  His gaze moves over her body like a caress, she feels the vampire watching her. Feigning sleep, Millicent struggles not to react.

  Why is Leonidas here? He never comes into my room without my permission. Did I invite him in?

  Her memory is a blank. Dressed in long-sleeved flannel pajamas, all she can think is he must have dressed her while she was unconscious. The thought thrills her, yet it also makes her feel ill.

  With every cell of her being, she’s drawn to him. He knows her relentless, unwanted need. But he’s so unfeeling. Why is he even here?

  I don’t remember going to bed, much less falling asleep. God, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?

  Millicent tries to recall the last thing she was doing, but the details are hazy, like looking at soft images through smoke. Hope, John, and Toby the dog had been here. Had she been under a spell?

  A mental flash of Hope and John jogs her memories. They had certainly seemed bewitched. One minute they were shy, barely able to look or talk to each other—the next they were having wicked, wild, no-holds-barred sex on the kitchen floor. They hadn’t even made it to a bedroom.

  Toby had been barking. The dog had even bitten her, but his nips hadn’t shocked her out of the trance she’d been in. She’d never known such terrible hunger! It felt as though she would die if she didn’t feed.

  But I never drink human blood!

  She remembered sinking her fangs into someone’s neck—John! Yes, it was John. She fed on Hope, as well. Then…then, what? Had she killed them? Millicent recoils, her mind spinning. Had the Jugulo been forced to save his friends? From her?

  I am a bloodsucker. A monster. Am I a murderer, too?

  The thought terrifies her. It’s one thing to be the victim of scary assholes, it’s another to be the scary asshole. Is that why the Jugulo doesn’t want her? Millicent knows the vampire intends to pass her off to someone the instant he can.

  Leonidas. Just the smell of him makes her inner core ache. She hates herself for craving the vampire and his damned blood. The Jugulo doesn’t give a shit about her. Rejected. Unwanted. Unloved. Drinking from him makes her feel as if her soul is dying, drop by drop.

  The vampire shifts his feet, scents her arousal. It’s embarrassing to be so transparent. Unable to hide her body’s response to his proximity, she can’t pretend to be asleep anymore. He knows she’s awake.

  Millicent opens her eyes to see Leonidas standing over her. His brilliant blue gaze is alive with fire, life, and passion.

  Refusing to be intimidated, she boldly stares back.

  Their eyes lock.

  For an instant, perhaps less than a heartbeat, emotions are written all over his face. For the first time, Millicent can read his f
eelings like reading a book. His fear for her is etched in his features. Concern for her safety. Joy and relief that she’s awake, alive, and well.

  As unbelievable as it seems, the vampire doesn’t want to live without her in his life. Not now, not ever.

  Millicent’s breath catches. She briefly shuts her eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. Leonidas does care for her. He always has.

  Is it possible?

  Like slamming shut shutters in preparation for a storm, Leonidas obliterates any trace of emotion. Reverting to his calm, commanding self, he says, “Hope, John, and Toby are well. You did not hurt them.”

  Millicent sits up. For the first time since she was brought here, she decides to use her voice. In a hoarse whisper she asks, “What happened?”

  The vampire doesn’t react, but she notices a glint of something in his eyes. Satisfaction? Pleasure? The emotion is gone so fast, she’s not certain it was there at all.

  Dispassionately, he relates a dramatic story of an ancient creature from Faery, a supernatural battle, the angel creature’s spell, and how it fed on her, John, and his other friends. He explains how they rescued her from the cavern “resting room,” and brought her back home, placed her in her bed.

  He thinks of this as my home?

  Leonidas must’ve changed her clothes, but he’s careful not to mention it. True, it would have made her uncomfortable.

  Silly to feel shy over nudity when I have earth shattering orgasms every time I take his vein.

  And yet, it shows kindness on his part. He’s not an unfeeling bloodsucker, after all. Millicent can’t know for certain, but perhaps the vampire’s decided to tell her the truth. To let her be part of his life. Or did she imagine what she saw in his eyes? Is it real? Is anything?

  Heaven help her, he’s such a contradiction. Indifferent and aloof, yet considerate.

  A sudden revelation strikes her like a bolt of lightning. How could she be so stupid? Leonidas pushes her away and keeps his distance, but not because of her. This is about him. Does he believe he’s a monster, too?