Daemon Deception

by Mariah Ankenman

  “Really, what century does he think we’re living in?” Being a Daemon, he had lived through a few so she supposed he had some bit of an excuse as to his archaic ways. “You don’t just demand a woman come live with you because you want her to. What happened to romance, dating? Hell, even asking would have been nice.”

  Falling to the ground in a huff, she sat cross-legged in the center of the circle she’d spelled in last night. Wind and animals had disturbed the salt, the circle broken. Like her heart.

  A slight breeze stirred her hair. A few tendrils of fiery red escaped her bun and flew into her face. She brushed them away with a swipe of her hand. Now that she had a moment to sit and think, she saw things differently. She remembered the light in Damien’s eyes as he stared down at her after their lovemaking. The joy in his voice when he called her his Tira.

  Daemons could spend their whole lives looking for their Tiras. Since they lived such long lives that could mean a lot of time searching for a mate. Witches were more like humans than any other supernatural. They didn’t have predestined mates like other supernaturals. Unless they were the mate of another, like she was to Damien.

  Looking back at their argument, she saw how Damien’s excitement at finding his Tira may have overshadowed the fact she was mostly human. She wasn’t raised to give up everything for your mate. It was hard for her to depend on anyone but herself. Didn’t he see that?

  She wiped at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her brilliant mind muddled in confusion. On the one hand, she cared for Damien very deeply. Love was on the tip of her tongue, but she feared saying it because other than her parents no one had ever loved her. How could she give up these deep-seated fears so easily? How could she uproot the comfortable life she made on the risky chance Damien loved her, too?

  All she wanted was sleep. This internal battling drained her. The sun burned brightly, high in the sky and the temperature pleasantly warm. Lying on her back, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of nature lull her. As she started to doze, she noticed the chirping of the birds dimmed. The crickets fell silent. The entire wood went still.

  Senses on high alert, she slowly opened her eyes.

  “Hello there, Witch,” a raspy voice behind her said.

  She sat up, but before she could rise to her feet, something struck the back of her head. Dark spots swam in her vision. Voices mumbled, sounding far, far away. The world went fuzzy and the last thought she had before the darkness took her was of Damien.

  ****

  Gods, her head pounded.

  Celia groaned.

  “She’s waking up.”

  “Guard! Summon the High Master. Inform him our captive is awake.”

  Two voices. One female, high pitched. One male, raspy. The same voice she’d heard in the woods.

  “I knew she was the one who broke your spell. I told you she was smart.”

  “Shut up!”

  She recognized the female’s voice. Is that…?

  Eyes opening fully, she squinted in the dimly lit room. Even that small amount of light hurt. What hit her, a bulldozer?

  “Well, well. The great and mighty Celia Dahl.”

  She definitely recognized that voice. Although, not the sneer of the words spoken to her. That voice belonged to someone who barely spoke. A quiet, smart, young woman who Celia had thought trustworthy.

  “Cory,” she croaked out the name, eyes seeking out the Witch.

  Cory stood a few feet in front of her. The other woman’s smile cold and mean.

  “Hey, boss.” The woman curled her lip with a cruel laugh. “Welcome to your own private hell.”

  Celia took in her surroundings. Her hands and feet were bound to a chair in the middle of what looked like a jail cell of some kind. The walls made of stone. No windows, only a small dim bulb hanging from a thin wire in the middle of the stone ceiling. Iron bars closed the room in. It smelled musty, like dirt and death.

  “Must you be so villain cliché, Cory?” The man with the raspy voice shook his head at her former assistant.

  She glanced at the man, taking in his appearance; average height, dark, short hair with a balding patch on top. If she had to guess, he was the Sorcerer responsible for the spell on the Kako language.

  “You broke my spell,” the man said, confirming her suspicions. He looked angry. She swallowed a lump of fear.

  “I did.”

  Fire flared in his eyes. Apparently, breaking his spell really pissed the guy off. Well, too bad. She did it and she’d do it again, given the choice.

  “It wasn’t hard.” She probably shouldn’t antagonize the man while strapped, helpless to a chair, in what she assumed was a torture dungeon, but she couldn’t help herself. She was back in the place she swore she would never be again.

  Held prisoner. Caged. Trapped.

  She could be afraid or she could be pissed. She chose pissed.

  “A simple confusion spell. A Witch in high school could have broken it.”

  The man snarled, lunging for her. Cory shot forward. Stopping him with a hand to his chest.

  “Ian, don’t. The High Master wants her.”

  The High Master? The big bad? This situation kept getting worse and worse.

  Ian ground his teeth, a dark snarl rumbled through clenched teeth. He shook off Cory’s arm. A mean smile curved his lips. “So you broke my spell. How’s your back?”

  The blood curse. Yup, this bastard had cast the spell and the blood curse. He knew exactly what had happened to her when she broke the spell. What he didn’t know was the potion she made to alleviate the after effects worked better than a charm.

  “Why am I here?” she asked, avoiding his question.

  He sneered. “You’re here because the High Master wants something from you.”

  Yeah, like she’d ever give that bastard anything. Her gaze drifted around the cell, falling on Cory. How could she have been so wrong about the young woman? How could she miss the signs of deception?

  “Why?” She stared at her former assistant, unable to keep the betrayal out of her voice.

  “Why?” Cory crossed her arms, not a single sign of guilt on the woman’s face. “You want to know why I left?”

  “I want to know why you betrayed us. Betrayed me. I helped you, Cory. I gave you a job, a high-level position in the lab. I gave you—”

  “You gave me busy work!” the other woman shouted, losing some of her cool. “You just sat there in that stupid lab making trapping spells and weapons. We could have done so much more. Killing curses, power boosters, torture spells.”

  Celia held back a shudder. “That’s dark magic. We don’t do dark magic.”

  “You don’t,” Cory shot back. “Because you’re afraid. But I’m not. I’m not afraid of power. The High Master promised me more power than you can ever imagine. He’s going to make me a goddess for my service to him.”

  The woman was crazy. People in power rarely shared with others. Whomever the High Master was, Celia bet the guy told people anything they wanted to hear in order to get them to do his bidding. When they accomplished their task, she was sure they got what was coming to them. And not in the way they expected.

  She almost felt sorry for Cory. The woman had no idea her boss played her for a fool. One glance at the man, Ian, and she saw the truth. He had no illusions about his master. She saw fear in the Sorcerer’s eyes.

  “A Sorcerer is far more powerful than a stupid Witch!” Cory looked down her nose at Celia.

  True, but that power often consumed the Sorcerer. When one relied too heavily on magic, it destroyed them. The reason Celia tempered her magic with science.

  “Enough,” Ian said firmly. “The High Master will be here soon and you will cooperate.”

  She shook her head. “No, I won’t.” They were insane if they thought she would betray the council.

  “If you won’t cooperate, then we will just have to make you.”

  The dark words sent a shiver of fear through her, but she d
idn’t back down. She had suffered years of torment as a child. They had no idea what she could take.

  Ian spoke to Cory, but his cold, dark eyes never left Celia. “Get the truth potion.”

  Shit!

  Torture she could withstand, but a truth potion? No one could fight the magic in a truth potion. Words would fall from her lips without permission. The truth spilling out of her and powerless to stop it. She struggled against her bonds, but to no avail. Even if she got free, one Witch couldn’t take on two Sorcerers and the horde of guards presumably stationed just outside her cell.

  Cory, eyes gleaming bright with madness, pulled a small vial of red liquid from a case on the floor. The other woman approached her slowly. She enjoyed Celia’s helplessness. How had she never seen the evil in Cory?

  “Hold her mouth open.”

  Ian grabbed her chin and pinched harshly. She tried to keep her lips sealed tight. His fingers dug in harder. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. The pressure built and she feared he would dislocate her jaw. Let him. She would do everything in her power to fight back against these monsters.

  “Open, bitch!” Ian snarled.

  His hand released her, drew back and struck her, hard in the face. She sucked in a sharp gasp of pain. He grabbed her open mouth with both hands, prying her jaw wider he tilted her head back. Cory rushed forward and poured in the truth potion. She gagged, but the liquid ran down her throat.

  Cory cackled like the proverbial evil Witch from a children’s story. Celia no longer felt bad for her former assistant’s impending comeuppance.

  Ian released her with a harsh curse. “Now we wait. It shouldn’t be long.”

  No. It wouldn’t be long. Soon, Celia would betray her friends, the people she had come to call family. A face flashed in her mind—handsome, caring, eyes rimmed with silver—she would even betray the man she loved.

  She couldn’t stop it. She hung her head and let the tears flow.

  Chapter 19

  I’m an idiot! A grade-A prick. What did I do?

  Damien sat in his office going over the argument he had with Celia in his mind. He wanted to go after her when she stormed off, but he didn’t. He knew she needed time to think. And he needed time to prepare his groveling. Because looking back, he realized just how much of a jerk he had been.

  Basically, he’d demanded the woman leave her entire life, everything she knew for the past twenty-some years and move in with him. Why? Because they were Tiras. That was the only reason he gave her. No romance, no words of love. Jeeze, he’d really screwed up. No wonder she was pissed.

  He was just so excited to find his Tira. At three hundred and sixty-seven years old, Damien was young by Daemon standards, but still, spending three centuries looking for a soul mate could drag a guy down. He just assumed Celia would be as overwhelmingly happy as him.

  He should have known better than to presume the inner workings of the female mind.

  His heart ached when she accused him of trying to cage her. Never in a million years would he ever hurt her, let alone lock her away. He knew about her past, he knew what that would do to her. He didn’t want to lock her up. All he wanted was to give her everything he had. Share his life with her. Love her.

  Did he love her?

  He admired her, respected her, astounded by her strength and amazing intellect. With just a look, she made him hotter than a forest fire burning hundreds of acres. Just thinking about her made his heart race and his lips curl into a smile. Spending time with her, making love, even researching Kakos was enjoyable as long as he was by her side. No place he would rather be.

  Was that love? If so, then yes, he loved Celia. And they needed to talk about this situation. He knew he had been a jerk with his demands earlier, but they were Tiras. He wasn’t letting her leave him just because of one argument.

  Determined, Damien rose from his office chair and set out down the hall to Celia’s office. The door lay wide open and he saw her empty office. Perhaps, she had gone upstairs to her bedroom. He climbed the stairs, his footsteps falling softly on the carpet-covered steps.

  When he reached her door, he knocked gently. No response. He knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer. Turing the knob, he slowly opened the door to reveal an empty room.

  Where is she?

  The basement? Maybe she had gone to do some work in the lab. That sounded like the thing Celia would do. Revert to science to work off her anger. Anger he had caused. Shame filled him again and he started down to the basement, prepared for the groveling. But when he arrived in the basement, no angry Witch working on any scientific theories, just a few Enforcers engaged in training exercises.

  “Kang,” he called to the Werewolf Enforcer currently demonstrating how to take down enemies to some new trainees. The wolf shifter said something to the small group then hustled over.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “Have you seen Celia recently?”

  The Werewolf’s brow furrowed. “No. Why, has something happened? Did she figure out the Kako language?”

  Everyone knew what Celia had been working on since she arrived. Though she kept to herself mostly, many of his people had come to admire and like the Witch. No one more so than him. Which was why he needed to find her and talk to her.

  “Yes, she did.”

  Kang smiled, sharp white teeth gleaming. “That’s great! So she can teach it to us, right?”

  “I believe so, but at the moment I really need to talk to her. You haven’t seen her at all today?”

  Kang shook his head. “Sorry, I haven’t. Did you check her office?”

  Damien growled low in his throat. Kang held his hand up. It wasn’t the shifter’s fault. In truth, Damien was pissed at himself.

  “Yes, I checked her office and her room. She isn’t in either.”

  “Maybe Cuthbert knows. That old guy knows everything.”

  Kang was right. Cuthbert did seem to know everything that went on in this house. Brownies were notorious for sneaking around. Not really sneaking, more like casually being in the right place at the right time. Still, a handy skill Damien really needed.

  “Good idea.”

  He headed up the stairs, surprised when Kang followed.

  “Not going back to your teaching?”

  The Werewolf shrugged. “They got it. I was at the end of the lesson anyway. Thought I’d stick with you in case you needed any more help finding Celia.”

  Werewolves had an acute sense of smell. They could detect things with their noses. Pick up scents and emotions. Like worry. He’d bet his Enforcer picked up some heavy scents from him right now. But he let the Shifter follow because if Cuthbert didn’t know Celia’s whereabouts, he would need the Werewolf’s nose.

  They reached the main floor. Cuthbert usually spent his afternoons in the kitchen, supervising the preparations for the nightly meal. Damien made his way to the kitchen with Kang close on his heels. The door swung open and sure enough, the Brownie stood at the stove, staring over the chef’s shoulder. The tall cook continued to stir something delicious smelling in a large pot. The aroma of the dish did nothing to tempt Damien’s empty stomach. The organ cramped with worry for Celia.

  “Cuthbert,” he said, walking over to the aging Brownie. “Have you seen Celia?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cuthbert murmured something to the chef who nodded, then turned to face Damien. “I saw Ms. Dahl leaving through the front door a few hours ago.”

  She left? Walked right out and left him? Had she gone back to Colorado? No, that didn’t make sense. Her things were still here. Her office full of books, clothes in her room. She wouldn’t just leave. Plus, she had yet to teach anyone the Kako language. Celia might be mad at him, but she wouldn’t leave without fulfilling her duty to the council.

  “I believe I saw her heading into the woods,” the Brownie continued. “Off to perform another spell I’d imagine.”

  Of course, the old man knew about the spell she broke last night. Cuthbert knew everyth
ing. Damien bet the Brownie even noticed the fight he and Celia had that morning. One look at the old guy’s stern gaze and Damien guessed right.

  Looks like he wasn’t the only who blamed himself for the argument.

  “Thank you, Cuthbert. I’ll just go check on her.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He turned and left the kitchen.

  “Was it my imagination, or did Cuthbert just give you some serious side eye?”

  Short locks of hair brushed his forehead as he shook his head at Kang’s observation.

  “Let’s just find Celia.”

  “I think I’m missing something really big here,” the Shifter mumbled as he followed Damien out of the house, across the lawn, and into the woods.

  The trees were dense and thick, but he knew exactly where she went. He followed the trail they took last night to the glen. As a Witch, Damien knew nature calmed Celia. An inherent thing in all Witches, the connection to nature. Many of his Witch Enforcers came to the glen after a battle to regroup. They claimed it healed and calmed them. Precisely where Celia would go to regroup after their fight.

  The trees started to thin as they approached the glen. He pushed though the last of the branches. Coming into the clearing, his heart sank when he saw…nothing.

  “She’s not here.”

  Dismay hit him hard in the gut. He was so sure she would be here. Perhaps, he didn’t know the Witch as well as he thought. Maybe she did really leave them, leave him.

  “She was here.” Kang growled low in his throat.

  Not comforted by the other man’s tone, he spun around to face the shifter. “What?”

  Kang lifted his face high into the air and sniffed. “She was here. And so was someone else.”

  Dismay quickly changed to fear.

  Kang paced around the circle of grass where Celia had spelled just last night. The Werewolf bent, putting his nose to the ground.

  “Blood.” The Enforcer bared his teeth with a snarl. “Celia’s blood.”

  Fear morphed into rage. Someone hurt Celia? Harmed his Tira? Whoever had done so just signed their death warrant.