Daemon Deception

by Mariah Ankenman

  “Someone took her.” A statement rather than a question. Damien knew someone had taken her. He was right. Celia wouldn’t leave without fulfilling her duty. She wouldn’t leave without telling him goodbye. No matter how angry with him. “Who?”

  “Sorcerers. Two of them. And a few Kakos. Three is my guess.”

  Oh gods, they had her. The Kakos had her! But why? They must have realized she’d broken the spell. They wanted her for…what? They didn’t want to kill her or they would have done it here. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone harming his Tira.

  “Can you track them?” he asked, his tone as dark as his mood.

  He barely held onto his sanity right now. Everything in him screamed to attack and kill the one who hurt his mate. He locked that part of himself down. Now was not the time to take off on a rampage; he needed to stay rational. Strategize and plan. They had to find out who took Celia and where. Then, once she was safe, he could unleash his inner beast and destroy the ones who hurt her.

  “I can,” Kang answered with full confidence.

  “Then let’s grab a team and track these sons of bitches down.”

  Wolf-like golden eyes gleamed with the thrill of the hunt. “Sounds like fun.”

  No, the fun would come after. Once Celia was safe inside the walls of his home. Then he could show these assholes what happened to someone who kidnapped the Tira of a Euadaemon. His wings started to slide from the folds of skin on his back. They slipped through the specially designed slits in his shirt. His back arched as the full twelve-foot wingspan rose over his head. Black feathers glinted in the afternoon sunlight.

  Kang’s eyes widened. Damien rarely unfurled his wings. As head of council, he spent a lot of his time planning, strategizing. He rarely fought in battles anymore.

  He was fighting in this one.

  And kill anyone who got in the way. If one hair on her head were damaged, he would tear off limbs and beat the offenders with their own bloody appendages. Never before had Damien felt this surge of bloodlust, this need for vengeance.

  Bright green eyes filled his mind, a vision of fire-red hair spilled on his pillow, Celia moaning his name in his ear, begging him for more. Her sweet mouth, the soft touch of her skin, the warmth of her body as he pushed inside her. The love he saw in her eyes even when the words never left her lips.

  The Kakos had stolen someone very precious to him. He planned to move heaven and earth to get her back. May the gods have pity on them, because Damien sure wouldn’t.

  “We need our five best Enforcers.” Smaller numbers for a surprise attack. “And weapons. Lots of weapons.”

  Kang took off running through the woods, back to headquarters to carry out his leader’s commands. Damien spread his wings and lifted off into the air. He rose above the tops of the trees, gazing out into the distance.

  “Hang on, Tira,” he spoke softly, into the wind. “I’m coming for you.”

  And hell would come with him.

  Chapter 20

  The cold sank into her body, chilling her to the very bone. She knew it highly unlikely she’d ever be warm again until the oblivion of death welcomed her into its embrace.

  Celia sat, bound to the chair, in the dark musty cell. Cory and the Sorcerer Ian had left a few minutes ago to update their High Master on the situation. The truth potion they shoved down her throat started to work. How did she know? She found she could no longer lie, even to herself.

  She sat in the empty cell thinking of all the people in her life she had held at an arm’s length. All the people who loved and cared about her that she dodged because of her past, because of the fear she truly was unlovable. But there, alone in the dark with the truth coursing through her, she realized she was indeed worthy of love.

  Celia also realized how many people she loved: Bucky, Krista, Tabitha, all the Enforcers and lab workers at region seven. She even loved her boss Racine. The man was fair and kind. He never pushed her to reveal anything about herself, he just accepted her as she was, as he did with all his people. He was a good man. Just like another council head. The other person she realized meant more to her than she ever thought possible.

  Damien.

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she thought of the strong, handsome Euadaemon. He had done so much for her. Taught her not to fear another’s touch. Showed her what it felt like to be loved. He did love her. Even though he never said it, she knew. The potion running through her veins didn’t lie. Deep in her soul, the truth screamed. Damien loved her and she loved him, desperately, madly and completely. She loved his strength, his fairness, his determination to save not only his people, but the humans as well.

  He was a good man, a great man. One who deserved his high position in the council. A man who made her feel strong and confident with just a look, a man who set her body on fire with a simple touch, a man who she had treated so unfairly. Her one regret. The last words she’d spoken to Damien were angry and fearful.

  She had been afraid of what their mating meant. At the time, she believed herself unworthy of love. How could someone love her when her own flesh and blood didn’t? Now, she saw the truth. Some people were just plain evil. It didn’t matter if they were supposed to protect someone, love them, or even if they came from their lineage. Some people were born cruel.

  Damien wasn’t. He was kind. He loved her, she knew that now, and she loved him. Such a shame she would never get to tell him.

  Anger burned in her gut. Her tears dried.

  Who said you won’t get to tell him?

  It whispered through her mind, the potion, revealing more inner truths.

  You are a Witch. A powerful Witch. You will be free. No one will ever cage you again!

  She had always seen herself as a scientist first and a Witch second. For years, she tried to hide her supernatural side for fear of her grandmother. A smile tugged at her lips. Her grandmother wasn’t here anymore. She lived in the world of supernaturals and by the gods she was one of them. She was a Witch. And she was powerful.

  Head snapping up, Celia squinted in the dark, searching her small cell. Not much to work with. The chair, a dirt floor, dirty cot on one wall and a broken toilet in the corner. The ties binding her hands made of rope. Her chair wood.

  The smile curving her mouth widened as a plan started to form in her mind. Thankfully, the guards left with Cory and Ian. They thought her contained in this tiny cell.

  They thought wrong.

  Sifting through the recesses of her mind, she remembered a fire spell. Most spells required a mixing of potions or herbs, but every Witch drew her power from a single element. They could call on that element with nothing but their voice. Typically, only helpful in battle and since Celia did not do much fighting, she rarely used her specific talent.

  She would use it today.

  Muttering the Latin words, she called forth a small flame. Not much, but enough to do the trick. She held the flame in her hands. It did not burn her because she conjured it. However, it did burn through the ropes binding her.

  “Step one, done,” she whispered softly into the empty room.

  With no idea when they would return, she had to act fast. A quick test of the iron bars told her she wouldn’t escape them with her magic. She could not produce fire hot enough to burn through the hard metal. The truth seeped through her; the power was there, but her skill absent.

  When she got out of here, she promised she would dedicate more time to studying her powers.

  “Okay, new plan.” Always helpful to have a backup plan.

  She needed something to get her out of this cell and away from the guards. Surely, dozens of them lurked about. A distraction would be nice, something to draw their attention away. What would be a good distraction?

  She glanced around the room again, her mind running a million miles a minute, thinking up plans and discarding them in an instant. It really helped having this truth potion in her body right now. It worked like an instant decision maker. Letting her know what would and
wouldn’t work.

  Suddenly, it came to her, the perfect distraction, a way to make an escape and also take some bad guys out on the way. A dangerous option, but the only feasible plan.

  Quickly, knowing time was borrowed, she ran around the cell, gathering supplies. Grabbing the stained bed sheet, she ripped three small pieces off. She prayed it was cotton or the spell would not work. Next, she gathered a handful of dirt from the ground. Bringing it to her nose, she sniffed. Hints of clay and coal mixed with the smell of dank earth. Excellent. She dumped a handful of the dirt into each piece of cloth.

  Thankfully, she needed no water for this spell. She did not want to venture over to the foul-smelling toilet and get—what she very much doubted was—fresh water. The chair was old and splintered. Good fortune smiling down on her. She grabbed three slivers of the wood and added them to the dirt piles.

  “Okay, here we go,” she muttered, knowing the last ingredient would be the worst.

  She didn’t want anyone else to trigger this spell so she had to add an identifier, something for the spell to recognize her as its maker. Being magic, that identifier had to be sacred. What was the most sacred thing about a person?

  Blood.

  Celia hated pain. She feared it as much as she was familiar with it. But she knew if she didn’t get out of here, then the High Master would bring her much more pain than she had ever endured before.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  She grabbed another sliver of wood, a sharp one, and shoved it hard into the tip of her finger. A small drop of blood pooled. Her gaze focused on that tiny red liquid gathering on her fingertip and the voice inside called to her.

  Power. You are powerful. There is your power.

  For the first time in her life, she felt it. Felt her power, her magic, filling her entire being. She was a Witch, she had power and she would never run from that truth again.

  Holding her finger above the piles, she squeezed out three drops of blood onto each one. The last thing she did was bind the piles. Securing the cloth around the dirt, wood, and blood with the rope that had recently bound her.

  Done. Now she just had to—

  Sound of footsteps hitting stone stairs reached her ears.

  They are coming!

  The truth screamed at her. Time had run out. They were back.

  Wait for the right moment. You can still win.

  Seriously, this truth potion was awesome. It sounded like a cheerleader inside her brain, coaxing her to the right decision. Telling her she could go, fight, win! Unfortunately, it would also make her spout out every truth she knew about the council if anyone asked.

  Tell the truth without revealing the truth.

  Huh, she could do that. Use her brain to answer questions without really answering them. She tucked her spell bags into the cups of her bra. Hidden away from sight, but ready for use when the time revealed itself.

  Celia took a deep breath and sat back on the wooden chair. She placed her hands behind her, wrapping the last bits of rope around her wrists as if they remained bound. She could do this. Her spells would work. The truth running through her assured her they would. Using her power as a Witch had helped; now she would use the power of her brain. She would make it out of here alive.

  The footsteps came closer. The voices louder. She recognized Cory and Ian. They were both talking, explaining how she drank the potion and its effect must be at full strength by now.

  Oh, full strength all right. They had an effect she was sure the two Sorcerers had never intended. Fortunate for her. Another strike against them.

  A guard came into view at the front door of her cell. He was tall and large. Muscles bulged from every inch of him. He looked like one of those steroid-using bodybuilders. Veins popped out on his arms and a shudder ran down her spine. Did these guys realize how creepy they looked?

  The guard said nothing, didn’t even glance her way as he inserted a large silver key into the lock and opened her cell door.

  Cory came in first, smiling like the cat who ate the canary.

  You’re going to choke on that bird, bitch!

  The truth was so wonderful sometimes.

  Ian came in next. His face much more reserved, but she still saw the pleasure on it. He was happy he had something to offer his master. She’d bet the fact that she had broken the spell on the Kako language did not sit well with this High Master. Capturing her probably saved the Sorcerer’s life.

  The last person to enter took up the entire doorway. Not like bodybuilder guard, but in the sense that his presence seemed to fill the small room completely. His head tilted down and she couldn’t make out his face. Long dark hair fell down the sides of his face, obscuring every feature. He was tall, six foot eight at least, and his shoulders wide, powerful-looking.

  Celia shivered as a tremor of dread passed through her. The potion in her blood told her he was a man to fear. A man with no moral compass. He took what he wanted and nobody stood in his way. She felt the evil and vile things he had done in his years on this earth wafting off his body, his aura dark and filthy.

  Oh yes, she was very afraid of this man. As she should be.

  “Celia,” Cory said, her cheerful voice setting Celia’s teeth on edge. “I would like for you to meet his most esteemed High Master.”

  She watched as the High Master’s head rose. A face revealed, slowly as if a curtain being raised, a strong square jaw, sharp high cheekbones, a roman nose, and a pair of dark familiar eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat, lungs burning. She couldn’t believe what her eyes saw. She would blame it on a hallucination from the hit on her head or shock, but with the truth potion still running through her veins she could not deny what she saw.

  She had seen those eyes before. When she broke the Kako language spell, she had seen them, but even before that. Celia had seen those eyes for years. She had stared into those eyes and trusted that person. Those dark, black eyes had once held light and affection for many, but now cold and soulless. She didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. But it had to be true. The High Master was…

  “Racine?”

  Chapter 21

  They traveled for hours before they found the Kakos, where they hid Celia. The sun had set by the time they reached the U.S. Canada border. They discovered the Kako hideout deep in the Canadian wilderness about a hundred miles from the border. If they had been human, it would have taken them much longer to arrive at their destination, but they weren’t. Shifter speed, Daemon wings, and Vampires’ ability to teleport, made the chase much faster.

  Currently, Damien crouched in the trees, fifty yards away from the Kako stronghold. The stone building was immense. The place looked like a medieval castle, complete with turrets. Guards stood watch outside the front doors. He bet there were more around back as well.

  “What do we have, Kang?” The Werewolf found the trail that led them here. Damien made a mental note to give him a raise.

  Kang lifted his face into the air, inhaling deeply. “Seven guards. Five Kakodaemons, a snake Shifter, and a Vamp.”

  Like the good guys, bad guys weren’t relegated to just one species.

  “The two up front are Kakos. The rest are in back.”

  “And Celia?”

  The shifter sniffed the air again then shook his head.

  “She’s in there, but I can’t pinpoint where. The stone is too thick.”

  “Luka,” Damien said sharply.

  The Witch Enforcer stepped forward.

  “Can you find her?”

  Luka pulled out a black bag from his jacket pocket. “I need something of hers.”

  Kang handed over the blue button-up blouse Damien provided for tracking. Celia wore it just the other day. Her scent emanated strongly from the material. It teased his nostrils as the Werewolf handed it to the Witch, bringing up memories of Celia in his arms, his bed. His heart ached. Anger burned hot in his gut. He would get his Tira back. And then, he would burn these bastards to the groun
d.

  Luka spread Celia’s shirt on the moss-covered ground. The Witch muttered something under his breath—a spell no doubt—then reached into the black bag. His hand came out, opening over Celia’s shirt. Herbs fell onto the shirt, shifting in the wind, falling to the cloth in a beautiful dance-like motion. Damien knew enough to recognize the herbs had formed a rune, but he had no idea what it meant. Thankfully, Luka did.

  “She’s in the lowest room of the building. A basement of some kind…or cell. There are bars.”

  Cell? She was in a cage? They’d locked her up! The very thing she feared the most, the thing she swore would never happen again. He did not save her from it. He broke his promise. Someone had hurt her, again.

  Shifting emotions waged war in his body. Rage for the fear and pain his Tira must feel, guilt for letting her down. He would bring vengeance upon every being who touched a hair on her head. Damien might not have prevented her kidnapping, but he would damn sure make the people who harmed her suffer.

  “What’s the plan?” Luka asked.

  He wanted to rush the front gate. Destroy everyone in his path. Make a straight line to Celia and get her the hell out of there. But he knew that wasn’t a smart idea. More than likely, there were more Kakos inside, more guards, more bad guys. They had to be smart about this. They were outnumbered. In order to succeed, they needed to use the element of surprise.

  “Kang, Ava, and Stephan take out the guards down here. Luka, Lela, and I will go to the roof. Once inside, we all head down to the basement. Take down anyone in your way.” No mercy for people like these. “Find Celia.”

  A smart plan to have the Shifters go in through the main floor. They did not have the power of flight. Their inner beasts made them experts at stalking prey and taking them down with efficiency. They could handle the seven guards, even if five of them were Kakos. He could fly to the roof and Lela, being a Vampire, could teleport herself and Luka. They would slip into the Kako castle unnoticed. Hopefully, they could reach Celia without anyone discovering their presence. A highly doubtful hope, but one he wished for anyway.