Daemon Deception

by Mariah Ankenman

  She always had it twisted into a bun or plaited into an intricate braid. From the moment he met her, Damien wanted to take down that mass of glossy curls and run his hands through them to see if they felt as delicate as they looked. It shocked him. He’d never been the kind of man to let a woman distract him. He always focused on his work, another reason he was council head. Never had he faced such a distraction, but something about the brilliant scientist fascinated him.

  From Racine, he learned Celia was twenty-six and already had three master’s degrees and two PHDs. She had been with region seven for five years and the head of the lab for two. The woman was a certified genius. If anyone could crack the Kako language, it was Celia. She had already translated a handful of brief phrases a few weeks ago back in Colorado. Now she was here, helping him and driving his libido crazy.

  She arrived and went straight to work. No talk of herself. Normally, Damien, the workaholic as some of his Enforcers called him, would have been pleased, but with Celia, for some reason, it disappointed him. He wanted to know more about the quiet, sexy, scientist Witch. Ridiculous. He was almost four hundred years old. He did not pine over quiet, introverted academia types. A quick glance at the clock showed very little time had passed. His body tensed with anticipation, anxious to get a glimpse of the woman and he berated himself silently for the thought.

  Apparently, he did pine.

  A faint knock on his door pulled Damien out of his thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  The door slowly creaked open. “Damien?”

  The lilting voice came through the air like a gentle breeze. The object of his distraction popped her head in the door. She scanned the room, green eyes searching through the lenses of her glasses, before settling on him. Entering, she closed the door behind her and made a beeline for him. He rose from his desk, coming around to meet her. He was eager to see her, for more than one reason.

  “Did you translate it?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Hello. I’m fine thanks, how are you?”

  A sigh eased out of his chest. He was used to his Enforcers knowing he was all business. Societal pleasantries were not the norm. Still, Celia had come all this way to help. He could try to be a bit more pleasant. “I’m sorry, Celia. I tend to be a bit direct.”

  She let out a breath. Possible frustration? Her eyes closed and she pushed her glasses up her nose, pinching the bridge with her thumb and forefinger. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been at this for weeks and I’ve only managed to translate a few words of the message. It’s making my brain hurt.”

  Her mouth turned down into the cutest frown Damien had ever seen. What was wrong with him? He should be worried about the Kakos not a Witch’s endearing facial expressions. Bringing himself back to the problem at hand, he indicated for her to sit. She quickly complied, flopping down on the soft dark brown suede couch.

  Damien walked over to the wet bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch. He held the bottle up, offering one to her. She nodded acceptance. Tipping the crystal decanter, he poured her one and handed the glass over, taking a seat in the matching chair across from her.

  “So what do we know so far?”

  Celia took a healthy swig of scotch then set the glass on the table beside her. She pulled a yellow folder out of the briefcase at her side. Over the past week, he noticed the Witch carried the thing everywhere. It seemed to hold more items than possible for such a small case. She probably put some kind of spell on it. Damien was well versed on Witches; as council leader, he had to have knowledge of all the supernatural species, but since their powers ranged from person to person, it made it difficult to know the exact capabilities of a Witch.

  Celia handed him the folder. He opened it and scanned its contents, one page of typed conversation. Well, not so much conversation as sporadic words. This was all she had translated thus far? He glanced up, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  “This is all you have?”

  She scoffed, grabbing her glass for another gulp. “Just read the damn thing,” she mumbled into the glass as she finished the scotch.

  He read as Celia stood and walked over to the wet bar. She lifted the decanter of scotch, raising her brow in question. He motioned for her to go ahead. He had yet to touch his. The harsh click of her heels against his hardwood floor reached his ears as she walked back across the room and reclaimed her seat on the sofa. After finishing the page, Damien put the folder down and picked his drink up. No wonder she had gone for a refill.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Celia stated as he downed the scotch in one swallow.

  It burned like fire on its way down. Not as much as his gut burned after reading the brief translation.

  “Are you sure?”

  Sharp green eyes stared hard. “Since it is an unknown language comprised of bits and pieces of other languages, I can’t be one hundred percent positive, but I’m fairly certain of the phrases I actually managed to translate.”

  A sinking sense of dread filled him. The words did not make coherent sentences, but one could fill in the blanks with very little imagination. The Kako ranted about the souls he had taken, the power they gave him, the Drone that kept him sane. He went on to mention the depraved acts he and his fellow Kakos committed, some done just to torture the mind of his Drone who saw all he did. The Kako also mentioned someone called the High Master.

  Racine, leader of region seven, Celia’s region, had recently dealt with and disposed of a Kako named Stryden who called himself the Dark One. Before his death, Stryden had also mentioned a High Master. Whoever this High Master was, Damien had a feeling this new Kako problem traced back to him. The Kako mentioned the High Master’s power, the great vastness of it. It did not sound good.

  “I’ve got about three and a half more minutes of speech to translate.” Celia tipped up her glass, polishing off her second drink. “Hopefully, the stupid Kako slipped up and gave us something informative instead of just ranting about his past conquests.”

  Her tone held venom, hand shaking with a slight tremble. He wondered if she had eaten anything before downing half his scotch.

  “Dinner?”

  “What?”

  Her somewhat glazed eyes widened and focused on him as if he asked her if she wanted to strip naked and run a marathon. Actually, that first part didn’t sound like a bad idea.

  “Dinner. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  The shock left her face. “Oh. No, I didn’t even realize it was that late. Guess I missed lunch, too. No wonder I feel light headed.”

  He bet a hefty portion of that was the scotch. “You didn’t eat lunch?”

  She gave him a wry look at his incensed tone. “I often get absorbed in my work and forget to eat. That’s why Bucky insisted I put a mini fridge in my lab. Besides,” Celia continued, her eyes closing sleepily. “The guy I’m working for is a real hard-ass. Wants things pronto.”

  Damien chuckled at her dig. He demanded results, but he never meant for her to dismiss her own wellbeing.

  “Boy, he sounds like a real jerk.”

  One bright green eye opened, glancing at him. Her cute little mouth turned up in a teasing grin. “Nah, he’s just singularly focused.”

  Guilt tugging at him, he stood, placing his unfinished drink on the table and walked around to Celia. He extended a hand. “Well then, let me make it up to you by having dinner sent up to your room.”

  Her eyes opened fully, focusing on his outstretched hand. She hesitated. Unease started to creep in. He wondered if he had said something wrong, pushed her too hard. After a moment, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her up from the couch. She stumbled slightly, from the booze and lack of food. Reaching out his other hand, he placed it on her back to steady her. Their eyes met. Something hot and tense passed between them. Celia stepped out of his grasp, her gaze falling to the floor.

  Well, that was interesting.

  “Actually, I’m kind of tired.”

  “Celia, yo
u have to eat.”

  She sighed reluctantly. “You’re right. Just don’t make it soup. I might fall asleep in the middle of eating it and drown.” A soft chuckle escaped her pink lips.

  Damien did not laugh with her. Shame burned in his gut; he pushed her too hard. He saw the dark circles under her eyes behind her glasses. Her normally perfect pulled back hair had wisps flying out of the braid as if she had been tugging on it. Even her shirt looked rumpled. Celia was a mess, a beautiful mess, but a mess nonetheless. Why didn’t he see it when she walked in?

  “I pushed you too hard.” And damn him for it. “I’m sorry, Celia. You should have said something.”

  She gave him a puzzled look, her big green eyes slightly hazy. Waving a delicate hand in the air, she dismissed his apology.

  “It’s fine. I used to pull all-nighters studying for my master’s degree.”

  “Which one?” he asked, finding it odd he was so curious about her life.

  Celia walked toward the door, grabbing her bag from the couch on the way. “All of them. I got them simultaneously.”

  Damn, the woman was seriously smart. Even with his hundreds of years of life experience, Damien did not think he could manage three master’s degrees at once. His opinion of Celia kept rising.

  “I’ll have something sent up to your room.” He followed her to the door. “Not soup.”

  He grinned and she rewarded him by giving him a full brilliant smile that almost knocked him on his ass. When she smiled like that, her beauty was so bright it almost blinded him.

  “Thanks, Damien. I’ll keep working on the translation. Hopefully, something will break soon. I’ll stop by tomorrow evening again to give you an update.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  He watched her walk up the stairs to the second floor, then closed the door and headed back to his desk. Picking up the phone on his desk, he paged the kitchen, instructing them to take a plate of dinner to Celia’s room. Not soup. With that done, he turned to the pages of vile Kako acts translated by the sexy Witch. The situation appeared to be a huge problem, in more ways than one.

  Chapter 3

  Celia sat on the bed in her room. Technically, not her room, her room was over a thousand miles away in Colorado. The room she currently occupied was located in a small mountain town just outside of Seattle Washington, in the region eight council headquarters.

  The space was nice enough. She had a private bathroom with a claw-foot tub beckoning her every moment to take a nice hot luxurious bubble bath. A small desk sat by the window, which currently held a dozen or so books she brought with her. She packed over two dozen, but the rest were downstairs in her borrowed office. A modest-sized closet stood currently empty. All of her clothing folded and neatly put away in the oak dresser. A matching oak bed filled out the room, a four-poster king with a canopy top. Just like the bed she used to dream of when she was a little girl sleeping on an old ratty twin mattress. No frame, just a mattress on the floor.

  Celia mentally shook herself. She did not like to think of her childhood, too many bad memories. Besides, she was past all that now. She was a very successful scientist with many degrees to prove it. And while the world may never know of her contributions to society, Celia loved the fact she helped to save the world from evil every day. She may not be in the field, but taking down the bad guys didn’t always happen with fists and fighting. Sometimes the answers came from the lab.

  The council had some Witch Enforcers since Kakos weren’t the only problem to deal with. When they dealt with other species of supernaturals, it helped to have the same powers fighting each other; Euadaemon for Kakodaemon, Shapeshifter for Skin Walker, Witch for Sorcerer and so on. Mostly, Witches worked in the lab, creating potions and spells to enhance or protect the Enforcers. Celia, however, had gotten her position as head of the lab due to her intelligence and ability to multitask and delegate. She did the occasional spell or charm, but most of her time she spent researching and solving puzzles. Like this exceedingly difficult Kako language.

  “Why the hell is it so hard to translate?” she muttered to herself.

  She knew which languages comprised the Kako dialect and yet she still had trouble deciphering each word. Almost as if the words changed mid-translation. She ended up having to check everything twice, the reason it took her so damn long.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thought process. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the dinner Damien had promised. Celia rose and went to answer the door. A tall ancient-looking man stood there with a food trolley in front of him.

  Cuthbert, Celia had come to learn, was the butler/keeper of the house/personal assistant to Damien. He was like the Bucky for region eight, except he had none of Bucky’s warmth or personality. In the weeks since she arrived, she had not seen the man smile once. He seemed efficient at his job though and she guessed that was really what counted.

  Cuthbert pushed the trolley into the room. “Dinner.”

  A man of few words.

  The tray contained a fresh garden salad with Italian dressing, a delicious-looking orange-glazed chicken breast with a heaping portion of mashed potatoes and gravy, and a cob of golden corn dripping with butter. Sitting beside the plate was a basket of rolls. The smells wafting from the tray made her mouth water. Celia’s stomach let out an involuntary rumble. She noted, with a smile, no soup inhabited the tray.

  “Will you require anything else, Ms. Dahl?”

  She smiled at the old man. “No, thank you, Cuthbert.”

  He gave her a slight nod and left, closing the door behind him. Grabbing the food off the tray, she sat cross-legged on the bed and dug in. She was hungrier than she’d thought. In under a half an hour, she managed to finish off the entire meal, including the four dinner rolls. That’s what she got for skipping lunch and dinner, and then downing two glasses of scotch.

  Normally, she did not imbibe alcohol, but she was just so frustrated and…scared. Something was missing, something important, something big. She felt it; she just couldn’t figure out what. The solution rested on the tip of her mind, like one of those 3D image puzzles requiring just the right focus, only Celia did not know what to focus on. She had never had a language give her this much trouble.

  Her stomach full and her mind fuzzy, she started to drift off. She had not slept long—because it was still dark out—when a sound rustled her from her sleep. She sat up, still fully dressed, her dinner plate empty on the bed before her. What woke her?

  The bedside lamp remained on, casting a glow about the empty room. Had she dreamt the sound?

  Rising from the bed, she went to the closet. Her heart beat furiously in her chest as she turned the knob. Old childhood fears of monsters hiding in the closet sprang to mind. She pushed them away, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of that thought. Only it wasn’t ridiculous. Celia knew all too well the things that went bump in the night were often real. After all, she was one of them.

  She was more comfortable as a scholar than a Witch, but not powerless. Summoning a small fireball, she held the flame in the palm of one hand as she slowly opened the closet with the other. Peering into the dark closet, she saw nothing. She held the flame out, illuminating the dark space; still nothing. What had woken her?

  A sharp clang sounded from outside the bedroom window. What was that? She doused the flame and ran to the window. The nearly full moon illuminated the grounds surrounding the house. Two large figures danced around one another. As they turned and moved, she realized they were not dancing but fighting.

  Two men with massive broadswords, fighting in the moonlight, and one looked very much like Damien. Wait, that is Damien. Wow, the region eight leader was very talented with a sword. Though, it shouldn’t surprise her. To gain the council leader position, one needed to be highly skilled in many areas.

  The men fought full force, but pulling their strikes so as not to inflict harm. She assumed that meant this was a training exercise and the man fighting with Damien was an Enforce
r. An eerily beautiful sight. Celia stood transfixed, watching their violent waltz. The men were matched in skill; neither seemed to have an advantage. Each thrust was blocked, each strike deflected.

  It appeared the fight would last forever, but then the second man went in for a low strike. Damien made a quick sidestep and the man continued forward into thin air. Damien brought the hilt of his sword down on the man’s back, forcing him to the ground. The fight ended. Damien won.

  His sparring partner rolled over and accepted the hand Damien offered him. He regained his feet and stood before the council leader. The two men clasped each other’s wrists in good sportsmanship. Damien handed his sword to the man he’d fought. The tall large man took both swords and disappeared into the house. Yup, definitely an Enforcer.

  Celia stood at the window watching Damien. The moonlight cast him in half shadow, but the stark white color of his hair gleamed as if the sun itself. He wore a pair of well-worn jeans. She didn’t even realize the man owned jeans. His chest was bare. Sweat glistened in the moonlight on the hard planes and cut ridges of his muscles.

  It just wasn’t fair. As if she weren’t having a hard enough time with her attraction to the man, now she had to confirm the sexy body that lay beneath the starched stylish clothing. The man was built, and if his previous display was any indication, it came from hours and hours of combat and training. Damn stupid Daemons and their supernatural sexiness!

  As she stood there, admiring the view, Damien’s head came up as if he had heard her thoughts. His gaze zeroed right onto her. Stunned, she could do nothing for a moment but stare back. She stood on the second floor, but she felt the intensity in his smoky gray eyes. Realizing she had been caught staring, embarrassment sank in. A warm flush heated her face, and she knew she was blushing, the curse of fair skin.