Daemon Deception

by Mariah Ankenman

  She cleared her throat. “Um, Damien…”

  He did not respond, just kept torturing her with soft sensual stroking. She was sure he meant it to calm her. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. She felt her nipples tighten, pressing against his chest. Her face heated and she knew she blushed from head to toe.

  Unable to take the contact anymore, she brought her hand up between them and pushed away from his embrace. He let her go, but did not move away. Tucking the sheet around her provided cover, but she still felt naked.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Damien’s unique gray eyes gleamed with concern and if she wasn’t mistaken, anger. Why was he angry?

  “I was passing by your door and I heard some noises. I thought you were having another nightmare so I came in to wake you up.”

  His gaze averted, cheeks reddened slightly. He was…embarrassed. Why would he be embar…oh no! Damien came into her room thinking to wake her from a bad dream and discovered her having an erotic dream. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Had she called his name out in her sleep? She said it in the dream. Did he know the dream was about him?

  This was worse than the time she’d tripped in the lunch line in elementary school and spilled her beef stroganoff all over herself. The kids called her Celia Sauce Pants for weeks. She would gladly be Celia Sauce Pants again if it got her out of this.

  Nothing to do now but face the music. She gathered all the Sauce Pants courage she had and looked Damien straight in the face. Straight in the gorgeous, chiseled, dear-gods-remember-what-he-did-in-my-dreams face.

  “I’m fine, Damien. Thank you for checking on me.” There, she could be polite in the face of utter mortification.

  But he wasn’t looking at her. He stared at her chest. More specifically, he stared at the small tip of the scar not covered by the sheet she presently clutched to her chest.

  Oh gods, no! He’d seen her scar. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. She clutched the sheet tighter to her body, bunching it higher in the middle to cover her scar. A strong hand gripped her clutched fists, preventing her movement. Damien’s gaze—locked on the scar—burned bright with anger.

  “Let me see, Celia.” When she refused to move, his gaze traveled up to her face. The stark fury in his gaze softened when he glanced into her eyes. His hand released hers only to rise against her cheek, stroking in a soothing manner. “Please?”

  The Euadaemon was more dangerous than any Kakodaemon had ever been. One touch and she would do anything he asked. An odd thing for a woman who recoiled at the thought of touching anyone else.

  After a beat, she nodded and lowered the sheet so her breasts remained covered, but the scar mostly visible. Damien sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. His jaw tightened and his eyes blazed with anger once more.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It sure as hell does.” His jaw clenched so tightly, she was afraid it would break.

  Wanting so badly to cover the scar, she fisted her hands tighter in the sheet. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Tell me who did this so I can find them and kill them.”

  The words, spoken so harshly, teeming with vengeance. The sentiment was sweet, that Damien felt the need to avenge her past pains. But she didn’t need anyone to avenge her. She had never needed anyone. Celia took care of herself and her problems because she had to. Depending on people was something she gave up long ago out of necessity. Still, the fact he wanted to defend her against those who had wronged her warmed a special place in her heart she’d thought long dead.

  “You can’t kill them because they’re already dead.”

  Finally, his eyes left her accursed scar and traveled back to her face. She quickly covered the scar, wishing she had a wool sweater to put on rather than a silk sheet.

  “You…”

  Damien gazed at her in disbelief at the thought that she killed someone. He was right. She never killed anyone. Though she made weapons for the Enforcers, Celia focused on healing rather than hurting. She even designed her weapons with maximum efficiency. A quick and easy kill, no torture, little pain. She could not stand to see anyone in pain no matter how evil. Some beings deserved death, she knew that, but hurting someone just for the sake of making them feel the pain made a person no better than the monster they killed. No, Celia had never killed anyone and hopefully, she never had to.

  She shook her head. “Heart attack. Six years ago.”

  A grim line formed his mouth. “I still want to know who did this to you.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer. She waited, but it soon became apparent he would not answer her. The stubborn Euadaemon waited for her response. From what she knew of Damien thus far, she feared he would sit there all night if need be. Resigning herself to the only choice she had, she took a deep breath and launched into the story she had never told another soul.

  “My parents died when I was six, car accident coming home from date night. I remember when the police showed up, my babysitter burst into tears; I couldn’t figure out why she was crying. Then a lady in a dark green pant suit came in and told me my parents were dead and I was going to live with my grandmother.”

  Her eyes started to water and her hands shook. She never talked about her parents. Even after all these years, it was just too painful to remember. Damien grasped her trembling hand in his own. It looked so small encased in his comforting grip. He said nothing, but gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, encouraging her to continue with her story.

  Taking another deep breath, she pressed on. “I don’t remember much about my parents except they were wonderful people. They were always smiling and laughing. Both were teachers and very excited about learning. We always went to museums and science fairs. I guess that’s why I always loved school.”

  A sad smile tipped her lips as she realized her need to push herself academically came from a desire to be closer to her parents. Damien smiled with her, reaching up to softly stroke her cheek.

  “I’m positive they would have been blown away by all you accomplished.”

  They would have. Her parents were amazing. One of the reasons the next part of her story was so hard to tell.

  “After they di—after the accident, I went to live with my paternal grandmother. Both of my parents were only children and my mother’s parents died before I was born. My father’s mother was widowed so it was just me and her. My mother was a very powerful Witch; my father was human.”

  Not unheard of for Witches to marry humans, after all they were very similar genetically speaking and hiding magic was a lot easier than hiding other supernatural things, like the need to drink blood, or a twelve-foot wingspan.

  “My grandmother found out my mother was a Witch. I’m not sure how, but she did. Before I was born. She disowned my father and I never met her before I went to live with her. Honestly, I didn’t even know she existed. She hated my mother. Called her the ‘Bride of Satan.’ I’m still not sure to this day why she took me in.”

  She had often wondered if her grandmother took her because Gran was her only living relative, or if her grandmother still had some love for her son and granddaughter deep in her heart. After a few years living with her, Celia knew better. The old woman had no heart.

  “She made me stay in the basement. A ratty old mattress in a corner. I remember it was dark and cold. I had an old quilt so worn you could see through it in some spots. I was only allowed upstairs to use the bathroom. I couldn’t even eat with her.”

  “Who would do that to a child?”

  Damien appeared enraged. His grip on her hand tightened in anger, anger for her. Outrage reflected in his eyes, but also sympathy. It warmed her heart that this man whom she had only known a short time felt so deeply for her pain. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten to the worst part yet.

  “After a few months, Gran said God came to her in a dream. He told her she needed to…cleanse the ev
il out of my soul.” Celia paused to compose herself. “That was when the beatings started.”

  “Beatings?” A horrified expression filled Damien’s face.

  She nodded, holding back the tears clogging the back of her throat. “She believed she could beat Satan out of my body. Every day she came down to the basement to ‘cleanse my soul’ as she called it.”

  A shuddering breath left her lips. A hot tear left coldness in its wake as it slid down her cheek. His soft touch wiped the tear away. He cupped her face in his hands.

  “You don’t have to go on if you don’t want,” he spoke gently.

  “Yes, I do.” She had to. Now that she started, she needed to get the story out, she needed to face the past, and for some reason, she wanted to face it with him. “Every day was different. Some days, she just tied me up and read scripture for hours. Those were the best days. Other days, she brought in a tub of holy water and dunked my head under over and over. I almost drowned a few times. She beat me with switches, Bibles, basically anything she could swing at me. All the while, she screamed, ‘Be gone Satan’s whore; Devil’s slut; Mistress of hell.’ ”

  The words still echoed in her ears, even at that moment. She still heard her grandmother shouting those vile curses at her in that old, cruel, raspy voice. The pain from the beatings always subsided, but the words; the words stuck with her forever. And the hatred behind those words hurt worse than any beating ever did. She never understood why her own flesh and blood hated her so much.

  Pulling the sheet tighter around her body, she continued. “Her favorite way to cleanse me was the iron cross she hung above my bed, and she heated it ’til it glowed red. Then she pressed it against my chest to ‘burn the evil out of me.’ It was the only scar I couldn’t heal because she did it in the exact same place each time.”

  She still smelled her flesh burning, the scent heavy and clinging to her nostrils. A putrid smell that made her gag just thinking about it. Every now and then, her chest would burn again, searing with remembered pain. No, that scar would never heal.

  Witches had the ability to heal almost any blemish or scar with the right spell. Witches came into their power at the time of puberty. A woman who tried to beat the magic out of her on a daily basis locked Celia in a basement. She never tried to use her powers for fear of her grandmother’s wrath. It wasn’t until she left and went out on her own that she found a coven to help her hone her magic skills. One of the reasons she was a better scientist than a Witch.

  “Why did no one try to stop her? A neighbor, the school?”

  “Nobody knew I lived there. Her nearest neighbor was five miles away and I never went to school. Gran homeschooled me. Well, she sent away for the material and I kind of just taught myself. I had nothing else to do all day so I managed to get through the material quickly. I had my high school diploma by the time I was fifteen.”

  Respect shone in his gaze at her words.

  “I knew I had to get away from Gran and the only way to do that was with an education. I applied to colleges, got accepted to every one; three gave me full-ride scholarships.”

  “And your grandmother just let you go?” Damien asked, disbelief ringing in his voice.

  She shook her head. “I never told her about the colleges. I was afraid she would stop me from leaving. Tie me up for good or worse, finally end it all. I snuck out in the middle of the night. Never looked back.”

  Damien’s silver eyes swam with wonder and sadness. “You are by far the strongest person I have ever met. I’m so sorry you had to endure such pain. Especially at the hand of someone supposed to protect you.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to stop them. The pain of remembering her childhood mixed with the joy of having this strong man telling her she was the courageous one overcame her. Her heart overflowed with so many emotions she couldn’t tell them apart.

  “That’s why you never let anyone touch you.”

  He noticed? Of course, he noticed. Damien noticed everything.

  “Yes.” The only touching she remembered was filled with pain.

  He moved closer to her on the bed. Her tears stopped and he wiped the last stray drops from her cheeks.

  “You let me touch you.”

  “Yes.” She still wasn’t sure why. She just knew when he touched her she never feared pain. She only anticipated pleasure.

  His voice dropped to a husky rasp. “You let me kiss you.”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”

  A steady hand came up to rest on the back on her neck, cradling it in it gentle, but firm grip.

  “You kissed me back.”

  Oh gods had she ever.

  “Yes.”

  Damien moved closer still until their thighs pressed together, her breasts just slightly touching his chest, their faces inches apart.

  “I’m going to kiss you again, Celia. Now.”

  As a linguist, she spoke multiple languages, but only one word came to mind.

  “Yes.” She moaned as his mouth descended upon hers.

  Unlike their earlier kiss, this one was slow and soft, but that didn’t detract from its impact. Her skin still tingled, her blood heated, her body shimmered with anticipation and unknown sensations. All amazing, but very new.

  She felt Damien’s tongue press gently against the seam of her lips and she opened readily to him. He took her mouth like a ravaging warrior. To be honest, she didn’t have much experience with kissing, a few failed attempts in college with a nice man or two. She knew she was not experienced, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm. Her tongue rushed out to meet his, stroking, sucking, tasting. It was the most delicious kiss she had ever experienced.

  Hot shivery vibrations raced along her body. She felt her nipples harden and peak against the sheet. Damien’s hand left her head, traveling down her neck and across her chest until it rested on her left breast. He brushed his thumb across her hardened nipple. She felt his touch all the way down her body. Tightness coiled between her legs and she moaned in response. He swallowed her moan with his mouth, his hand continuing to torture her with wonderful pleasure.

  Tension wound deep in her womb. A hot spiking sensation gathered between her legs. Celia clenched her thighs together trying to appease the sensation. Damien’s hand left her breast and gently glided down her body, over her stomach pausing slightly at her hip and then finally resting on her mound. She squirmed slightly. All of this new for her. Sure, she had kissed a man or two in her lifetime, but she had never felt comfortable enough to take things any further. She took care of her own needs when they arose, but her painful past kept her from feeling safe enough to let anyone touch her intimately.

  Damien made her feel safe. Odd since no one had ever made her feel completely safe. She trusted people with her physical safety; Racine, Bucky, the other Enforcers at region seven, but she trusted no one with her emotional safety. No one except Damien. How in such a short time had she come to trust this man?

  Thoughts scattered as strong, thick, fingers rubbed her. Right where she needed it most. The long, capable digits traveled lower and lower still until they dipped into a place where only Celia herself had ever been.

  On her short gasp, he pulled back from her lips. His gray eyes shining so bright they appeared silver. She saw the question in them, permission. She nodded, unable to speak. Ironic really, a linguist unable to form a single word. Words were beyond her now as he pushed two long fingers into her. A high, keening moan escaped her at the wonderful sensation of Damien’s touch. His fingers worked her, bringing her to a frenzied need that grew until she thought she couldn’t take it anymore. Just when she thought she’d die, he pressed the heel of his palm against her while simultaneously thrusting his fingers inside. She came in an explosion of heat, bright lights blocking out the darkness of the room.

  Damien kept his hand on her, gently letting her down from her volatile orgasm. Her breathing heavy, limbs completely limp, she tried to open her e
yes, but they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. She was totally and utterly spent without doing a thing. Feeling a bit guilty for taking so much pleasure while giving none back, she forced her eyes open. Damien stared at her with a look of wonder on his face.

  “You are so damn beautiful.”

  Her lips curled in a satisfied smile. He started to rise. She grabbed his hand to stop him.

  “Wait, don’t you want…?” She couldn’t finish. Great gods, how did she expect to be intimate with someone if she couldn’t even say it? Though, she supposed, she had already been pretty intimate with Damien. A blush heated her face.

  He smiled, gazing at her with unchecked desire in his eyes. “Yes, very much, but you’re tired and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. You need rest.”

  “But you—I mean you didn’t…”

  He kissed her forehead softly. “All in good time, love. All in good time. Rest now.”

  Celia wanted to protest, but she was too tired. Her eyes drifted shut. The last thing she saw was Damien’s smile before he turned and walked away.

  Chapter 9

  “Oh my god, that’s so totally cool!”

  Celia heard the shrieking voice as soon as she stepped into the hallway. It came from the kitchen. Considering the location of the room, first floor, the owner of the voice had fantastic projection skills.

  “Holy crap! Do it again. That’s so wicked!”

  Or the owner of said voice was a young girl. A young girl Celia thought sounded very familiar.

  Making her way down the stairs, she rounded the corner to the kitchen. As she entered the room, realization dawned as to why she recognized the voice. In the kitchen stood three people she had not expected to see at region eight headquarters. Kiernan, Tabitha, and—the source of the high-pitch squealing—Krista.

  Kiernan and Tabitha were Enforcers from region seven, where Celia lived and worked. Krista was Tabitha’s kid sister who, up until a few weeks ago, was in a coma induced by a Kako using the power of her soul to build his strength. The young girl had been in a coma for the better part of a decade. She went to sleep a child and woke up on the brink of womanhood. Krista was dealing with it remarkably well, though.