Demon Kissed: Book 2 of the Venandi Chronicles (An Urban Paranormal Romance Series)

by Sara Snow

  We had actually apologized to each other at the same moment. If that was some kind of sign, it was one I couldn’t read yet. I couldn’t read Carter at all, which was probably why I found him so fucking attractive.

  I didn’t know what to say when Carter blew up in the game room last night, yelling at Jacob about my crappy childhood. It wasn’t the most flattering way to describe my life, but I had to admit, he was right—I did wish I had a father.

  But I have zero longing in my heart for a father like Paimon.

  It took incredible willpower to turn off the hot water and step out of that steamy shower, but I managed it. After toweling off and getting dressed, I went downstairs in search of coffee. The whir of a coffee grinder in the kitchen was like music from the heavens. I walked in beaming, ready to wrap Kingston in a huge hug for reading my mind.

  Carter stood there at the counter, pouring coffee grounds into a French press. His back was turned to me, but as soon as I entered, I saw his body stiffen.

  So did mine.

  “Sleep well?” he asked, turning to face me. He sounded awkward and wooden, as if he were reading from a TV script. He wore black track pants and a black t-shirt, and I guessed that he was getting caffeinated before heading for the training room.

  I had to admit, Carter looked damn good in black. He reminded me of a panther—sleek and lean, the outlines of his muscles visible under velvet-smooth skin. I remembered the times we’d trained together, when our “fighting” turned into something much hotter and wilder, and my cheeks went hot. I turned around and fumbled in the cupboard for a mug so he wouldn’t notice. Behind me, I heard Carter pressing the coffee and pouring some for himself.

  “Well, it sure beat lying on my back in a park with a demon holding a branding iron over my boobs,” I said.

  Carter made a sputtering sound, then he coughed so hard I thought he was choking. The cough almost turned into laughter, but he stifled it and assumed a serious expression.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Georgia.”

  “Me, too. It sucked. Can I have some of that coffee?”

  He reached out and took the mug from my hand. His fingers brushed mine, lingering a second too long. I dropped the mug, and it shattered on the floor.

  Shit. That current again.

  “Damn it! I’m such a klutz.”

  I knelt down on the floor and tried to scoop the ceramic shards into a heap, but my hands were trembling. I hated myself for looking weak in front of him.

  “Let me do that, Georgia. You’ll cut yourself.” He got down on the floor beside me. A thread of blood was already rising from a cut on my thumb. Carter took my hand and held it gently, as if he were afraid I might break like that stupid mug.

  We both watched as the cut formed a neat seam.

  “You must have forgotten about my superpower,” I said.

  “I haven’t forgotten the slightest thing about you, and I never will.”

  I swallowed hard. I wanted to stand up and run away, but Carter was holding my hand tightly now, so I couldn’t move.

  “Please, don’t.” I pulled at my hand.

  He let me go.

  I was still feeling way too raw and vulnerable to confront Carter like this, especially after the way he had stared at me last night in the hallway. Half-angry, half-hungry, as if he wanted to punish me and devour me at the same time.

  I stood up and went to look for a broom, but by the time I’d found one, Carter had already swept up the fragments with towel.

  “Good morning.” Kingston’s voice cut through the tension in the room. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Just me breaking your dishes,” I said with a shaky laugh. “I’m all thumbs this morning.”

  Kingston gave me a kiss on the cheek. “After what you went through last night, I’m not surprised. Have you had breakfast?”

  “I was about to have some coffee, but that didn’t work out too well.”

  “Why don’t you wait for me in the library, Georgia? I’ll bring you coffee and a bite to eat. Carter, come and join us. I’ve got a lot to tell you both.”

  Carter and I glanced at each other. My cheeks flushed again, and I cursed my stupid sympathetic nervous system for betraying me.

  “I need to get a workout in,” Carter said. He sounded stiff, awkward, as if he suddenly wanted some distance from me. “I’ll check in with you later.”

  I dashed out of the kitchen before Kingston or Carter could say anything to delay me. If Carter hadn’t let go of my hand, if Kingston hadn’t come in to find me, what would have happened on that kitchen floor?

  I wasn’t ready to find out. I hadn’t stopped resenting Carter for hiding the truth from me, but I hated him slightly less than when I’d stormed out of the warehouse.

  Georgia

  The interior of Kingston’s library was cool and calming. The shelves of books rose to the ceiling, so high that he had to use a rolling ladder to reach the volumes on the top shelves. He had set a pile of books on the table with a handwritten note on top. The note read, “Georgia—please start with these.”

  Please start with these? Some of those books were as thick as the Chicago phonebook, back when paper phone books were still a thing. I hoped Kingston didn’t expect me to read all that stuff before I had my coffee.

  This wasn’t the first time that Kingston had chosen books for me to read. It was in this library that I’d learned what a cambion was—the offspring of a human and a demon. At the time, I had no idea what that meant to me personally.

  The book on top of the pile was slim compared to the rest of the tomes. Bound in black leather, its title was stamped in gold letters on the binding: Demonographia. A pentagram was embossed on the cover.

  I picked up the book, ready to open it. Then, I saw that the pentagram held a horned demon’s hideous face, and I threw the book down as if it had burned my fingers.

  That long, goat-like face had loomed over me in the darkness last night, leering at me as I squirmed on the ground. If today’s lesson was going to cover monsters like that, then I was going to cut class.

  I set the Demonographia aside and leafed through the other volumes. As I browsed through the images of different demons, reading the descriptions of their powers, I came across a list of Paimon’s special abilities. Paimon knew all about the arts and the sciences, the earth, the waters, and the winds. He could reveal treasures that were hidden and even temporarily raise people from the dead.

  If Paimon can do all those things, do I have those powers, too?

  I lost track of time as I studied the faces of these ancient supernatural beings, searching for any more clues about the demon who was supposedly my father.

  “Isn’t that a beautiful book?” Kingston asked in his mellow tone. He set down a plate of food and a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside the stack of books, then picked up the Demonographia. “It’s a rare first edition of a book of illustrations by Louis Breton, a French artist.”

  “Right. Illustrations of monsters from Hell.”

  “Yes, you could say that. They’re illustrations that appeared in a book called the Dictionnaire Infernal. It’s like a Who’s Who of demons, first published in the early nineteenth century.”

  “It’s definitely interesting,” I said, sitting down to sip my coffee.

  Kingston smiled. “You don’t sound too impressed. I’ll chalk that up to hunger. Why don’t you go ahead and eat? You must be starving.”

  “I am starving, as a matter of fact,” I admitted.

  Without waiting for a second invitation, I dove into the breakfast Kingston had made. He had whipped up an omelet that was as light as air, stuffed with ham and melted cheese. Next to the omelet sat two buttered triangles of whole wheat toast and a mound of strawberry jam.

  I polished off the whole plate in less than five minutes. Growing up, I had learned to eat as fast as possible before someone could decide that it cost too much to feed me and snatch my food away. Out of the corner of my e
ye, I saw Kingston watching me with an expression that was close to pity.

  “You know, your father is a king,” he said, “which makes you a princess, of sorts.”

  “My father is a demon, from what I’ve been told. Demons don’t have kings. Do they?”

  “They absolutely do. Demons have a monarchy of their own. There are kings, dukes, and princes, and marquises, all the way down to knights and presidents. And the kings have legions of lower demons that serve as their armies.”

  “Wow. And here I thought they were all a bunch of slobbering thugs.”

  Kingston laughed. “There are plenty of slobbering thugs in the demon world. But there are also members of royalty, like Paimon.”

  He picked up the black volume that I’d thrown down on the table. “This isn’t the oldest book in my collection, not by a long shot. But it’s one of the most beautiful. The illustrations are exquisite. Look. Here’s King Paimon.”

  I didn’t want to hold that book again, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. If I was going to find out where I came from, what I really was, I would have to face the horror and disgust that filled me when I thought about Paimon. If he was as cruel and revolting as the other demons I had encountered, how would I ever be able to accept myself?

  With unsteady hands, I took the volume and looked at the illustration.

  A slender being wearing a crown sat on top of a camel. He held the camel’s reins and leaned forward. A cape or scarf flowed behind him, giving the impression that he was dead set on getting somewhere and that he was moving fast.

  His face was not hideous or malformed, like the demon who had terrorized me last night. His features were delicately rendered, even handsome.

  “This is my father?” I asked, looking up at Kingston in disbelief.

  “Yes. That’s where your power comes from.”

  He didn’t fill me with horror or disgust. But I didn’t exactly want to rush into his arms, either.

  “How old is he? You said this book was published in the nineteenth century.”

  “Oh, he’s much older than that. Paimon is almost as old as I am.”

  I squinted at Kingston. “How old are you, then?”

  “It’s not polite to ask a gentleman his age,” Kingston teased. “But seriously, angels and demons don’t experience aging chronologically, the way mortals do. Time isn’t the same for us. An eternity can pass in what seems like an instant to you. Let’s put it this way—I’ve been around for a very, very long time.”

  “Then why don’t you look older? You look like a human, but you obviously don’t age like one.”

  “Because our material bodies aren’t made of the same substance. Even though I’m a fallen angel and I chose to part with my divine origins, I still have elements of the divine. I don’t age like regular mortals.”

  “Does that mean you’ll live forever?”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve been wounded before—once very seriously. A severe injury could end my life on earth.”

  Kingston let me look at the illustration, giving me the time and space to absorb what he was telling me.

  “So, Paimon really does want me to join him,” I said. “That’s why he had that demon kill those girls at the pier, to get me out of hiding.”

  “Yes. That’s right. He not only wants you to join him, Georgia. He needs you to join him. He’s got plans that go way beyond kidnapping you or threatening your life as a cambion. When you reach the veritatem—”

  “Wait. What does that mean?” I had read a word like that in one of Kingston’s other books, but I hadn’t had a chance to look it up.

  “The veritatem is the point in your life when you’ll come into your power. You’ve only experienced the initial stages of your transformation. Once you reach your full potential, your strength and your abilities will be overwhelming.”

  “Wow.” I let that sink in for a moment. Not all that long ago, I didn’t know I was any different from other human beings. When I’d first found out I could move things with my mind and heal from injuries almost instantly, I felt like a freak. Now that I’d finally accepted the fact that I was “special”, I found out that I was going to be some kind of superhero.

  “When is this all going to happen?” I asked. “When do I get all these miraculous powers?”

  “I wish I could tell you. But this is your journey—you have to discover the path for yourself.”

  I gave a long sigh. “Is there any chance of going back to being human? Things seemed so much simpler before I found out about all this. I had a pretty decent job. My own apartment. I was going to school, planning to be a nurse—”

  “Georgia. Do you really think you could go back to that life now, even if you had the option?” Kingston asked gently. “All of this was set in motion by forces greater than you. You didn’t make some random choice to come to the warehouse in the first place, and you didn’t make a random choice to come back.”

  “So, which forces are directing me to make one choice instead of another?” I asked. “Good forces or evil ones?”

  “Both. At this stage in your life, when you’re on the edge of coming into your power, there’s a lot of competition over you. I know this is hard to accept, but you have the potential to fulfill either your human or demonic side.”

  “I’ve never thought of myself as a person who was capable of evil. I’ve never done anything seriously wrong in my life. I’ve never even had a traffic ticket! I don’t understand why I can’t go back to being fully human.”

  I thought about what happened when I went back to my apartment yesterday. It hadn’t been a smashing success. Especially the part about being kidnapped by a demon disguised as a cop, threatened with torture, and almost killed.

  “All human beings are capable of both good and evil. But you are a cambion, and you have the potential to manifest the extremes of light or darkness. If you stay with the Venandi, learn from us, and hunt with us, you’ll have the ability to do great and noble things. However, it’s just as likely that you could join the other side, especially since your father is King Paimon.”

  “If it’s true that my father is Paimon,” I said slowly, “then there’s still a piece of this whole bizarre story that’s missing.”

  “What’s that?” Kingston asked.

  “My mother. I need to find out how this all happened. Did Paimon rape her, or did she want him? Was she even conscious when he was screwing her, or was she so high she didn’t know what was happening? I want to find her and ask her how I got here.” I slammed my palm down on the table.

  I’d never seen Kingston look afraid before. But now his eyes were wide with alarm. “I don’t think that’s safe, Georgia. That’s a sure way for Paimon to find you and manipulate you into joining him.”

  “I’m not talking about Paimon now. I’m talking about the human woman who gave birth to me, or hatched me, or whatever happens to cambions when we pop out of the womb. I haven’t seen her since I was eight years old. My last memory of my mother is seeing her passed out on the couch while a social worker walked me out of the apartment and took me to a holding pen for kids whose junkie parents didn’t give a shit about them.”

  Kingston was silent for a moment. Then he took my hands in his.

  “I know you’re stubborn, Georgia. That trait makes you strong. But it could also make you weak if you’re so determined to reach a goal that you don’t consider whether the goal is right for you. Are you sure that finding your mother is the right decision? You haven’t seen her in years. Do you even remember her name?”

  A stream of energy ran from his fingers through my hands, coursing through my arms and flooding my body. It wasn’t like the sexual charge that came from Carter. This was a current of pure goodness that filled me with a sense of peace.

  “My mother’s name is Deena. And yes, I need to find her.”

  “Then perhaps that’s the first step in your journey,” Kingston said.

  6

  Georgia

  My head w
as spinning when I left Kingston’s library. A strange, pulsing energy ran through my body. I wanted to do something physical, like fighting or working out, but I didn’t want to risk running into Carter in the training room.

  Why did I think I needed to see my mother again?

  The last time I saw Deena, I was eight years old. My mother was unconscious. Even now, I could still see her slack face, waxy and white, her black hair fanning across the dirty sofa cushion. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth hung open, a thread of drool running from the corner. Her left arm dangled off the sofa, the tourniquet still trailing from her elbow.

  The hollow of her elbow was dark with bruises and punctured with holes, as if she’d been bitten by snakes.

  I knew that my mother would be passed out like that for at least a few more hours. That would give me time to sneak off to my friend Kimber’s house, where I could watch TV and have something hot for dinner, something I didn’t have to grab out of a box.

  I was just about to leave when I heard a knock on the door. Kimber must have come to find me. She kept pestering me to invite her to my place—she thought it was cool that I lived in an apartment building instead of a boring suburban house. Until now, I’d managed to put her off, saying that my mom slept a lot during the day because she worked at night.

  Which was true, sort of. Only the “work” my mom did involved creepy men who took her back to the bedroom for an hour or two. And her “paychecks” came in the form of little tin foil packets that held the magic powder she craved.

  Terrified that Kimber would walk in and see my mom on the couch, I ran to the door and opened it without bothering to look through the peephole to see who was there.

  “Hey! Let’s go to your house,” I said, pushing my way through the door.

  But instead of chubby, red-haired Kimber, a woman filled the doorway. She was tall and thin, and she looked sad.