Demon Bewitched

by Jenn Stark

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid the torque around his neck, settling it against his collarbone. Other than the barest whisper of magic when the cool metal touched his skin, he could feel no immediate compulsion emanating from the device. Something to monitor.

  He returned to the front parlor, where the three witches remained, looking decidedly more agitated as they tried to move. Stefan waved off his restraining spell, and they burst into action, stumbling forward a few steps before regaining control of their bodies.

  “Geez, get a hold of yourselves,” Stefan chided. “The party hasn’t even started, and you’re already hitting the booze. And another thing, boys.”

  He turned and waited until all three men faced him, and then he dropped his glamour, just a bit, displaying his true soul-curdling face. “You tell your little lapdog that I held you in place for even a second, and I will hunt you down and rip your guts out through your nose, then light them on fire as you watch. You know I have the power to do that, and I know your faces. Do I make myself clear?”

  It was a cheap shot, threatening a human like that, and ultimately an empty threat. But the three witches didn’t know that, and Stefan needed to secure himself some breathing space. The torque around his neck suddenly seemed to weigh more heavily on him, and he gritted his teeth. Here we go.

  The witch entourage led him down a hallway to an elevator bay, and they entered the elevator carriage for a quick trip deeper into the heart of the building. When Stefan stepped out of the elevator, he could already hear the music playing in the room beyond. From the look of the sky outside the windows at either end of the corridor, it was nighttime again, though he had no true sense of how long he’d spent in the witches’ domain. Probably no more than a full day, he decided. So this was most likely Sunday night, four days before the full moon. If he knew his witches, that was when they would strike Ahriman. He only had to get through the next four days.

  When he stepped into the great ballroom, however, those four days suddenly stretched before him like a lifetime. Which, for a demon, was saying something.

  The room had been decorated as a winter wonderland. Glittery fake white snow covered everything. It was piled up along the tables, dusting the floors, even scattered on the curtains that were pulled back to reveal a brightly lit cityscape below. Stefan could see Central Park beneath him, stretching out in a velvet black canopy surrounded by lights, and he tried again to orient himself. They were in a relatively unprotected building in a densely populated section of one of the busiest cities in the world. Why had Cressida Frain chosen this location to make her stand against Ahriman? Was it simply because it was the most convenient?

  Stefan quickly scanned the room. He could see the two demons Boltar and Zeneschiah, each with a three-strong security detail, though the witches needn’t have bothered. Both demons were high as a kite, more than happy to go along with the foolishness of mortals as long as they had their deepest vices indulged. Jim Granger was also on the floor, looking relatively ridiculous in his white Elvis getup, yet somehow managing to pull it off. He was no longer carrying his spiked cross, and Stefan grinned. It was hell having a costume with no pockets.

  But his focus on his surroundings was shattered as a familiar voice rang out.

  “Stefan of the Syx, welcome,” announced Cressida Frain, her voice low and sultry as it was projected over hidden speakers. He turned, trying to sort out the location, then he saw her. His breath stopped in his throat. Cressida was more undressed than dressed in the flow of white silk that seemed reluctant to cover her body. Stefan could sympathize. His own physical reaction was powerful and immediate. He wanted her…all of her. And he wanted her now.

  Was this a new compulsion spell she had on him? Or… Stefan shot a glare to the other consorts, but none of them were regarding Cressida with anything more than passing interest. So why was he the only one suffering from this knee-buckling need? What was going on here?

  It didn’t matter, he decided in the next moment. One way or another, she was going to be his.

  Cressida continued, clearly oblivious to his claim on her. “With your arrival, the full complement of my retinue has come to celebrate this most powerful of bonds. Be merry and let us dance.”

  Stefan felt a pull of compulsion so intense, it almost drove him to his knees. He could no sooner ignore it than he could avoid taking his next breath. He turned to Cressida, his eyes flaring wide, and moved forward as if in a dream. For her part, she waited for him, watching him with an intensity that took his breath away. He covered the real estate between them in a dozen long strides as the music flared to life around them. He pulled her into his embrace, more roughly than he intended, unable to deny the surging need in his blood, the pounding of his heart, the heavy ache of his shaft.

  “Cut the spell casting crap, princess,” he gritted out. “I’m playing along.”

  Her eyes went wide. “There’s no compulsion at play in this room, save for that ensuring the coven’s protection,” she said. “I’m not forcing you to feel anything.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cressida studiously ignored Marcus’s glare and Dahlia’s startled stare as she allowed Stefan to pull her out onto the dance floor. The dictates of the grimoire required her to dance with each of her consorts in turn. It didn’t specify the order or give any indication of primacy of place. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her dancing first with Stefan, even if that was not at all what she had intended when he walked into the room. She merely wanted to greet him as per protocol, the same way she’d greeted Jim Granger, Boltar, Zeneschiah, and of course, Marcus.

  And her first thought, of course, was to dance with Marcus. He was her prime consort—her only true consort, in fact. Everyone knew that. They’d been inseparable since they were children. He’d been chosen by the lawgivers, approved by the elders, and blessed by the Goddess.

  Yet here she was, being turned around the floor by a creature so powerful, she couldn’t even pierce his gorgeous exterior to see the monster beneath.

  “Are you also wielding some form of compulsion spell?” she asked him quietly—less angry than curious. She’d never encountered a demon so strong and yet so at ease among humans. “Are you forcing my hand against my will?”

  “Seems to me you were the one who asked me to dance,” Stefan protested, the side of his mouth quirking up in a grin. “I was just a poor wallflower, wondering if I’d ever catch a lady’s eye, then you came along. Was it my cape? It’s a very nice cape.”

  “It is a very nice cape,” Cressida agreed, smiling despite herself. “You wear it so well.”

  She got the feeling the demon would wear anything well. Though she knew what she was looking at was a glamour, and not his true form, Stefan’s beauty struck her even more forcefully now that she was only a few inches away from him. His dark hair was swept back from his fair skin, his eyes glowed with a fiery intensity that only deepened as she noticed the hints of red that glowed in their depths, and his lush, mobile mouth smiled even more broadly at her regard.

  He towered over her, and both his height and his obvious strength once more took her by surprise—though it shouldn’t. She’d been in his presence several times, after all. Why did all of this seem so different? Why was she so affected by him? He wasn’t actually this gorgeous human-looking male before her, pushing all her buttons and sending her into sensual overdrive…he was a demon.

  A demon.

  Yet she couldn’t help wondering…

  As Stefan moved her gracefully around the floor, Cressida registered with a jolt that other than their all-to-brief kisses, this was the first time she’d touched the demon, skin to skin. Or skin to glamour, anyway. It certainly was the closest they’d yet been to each other, their bodies pressed close, though he was so much taller than her that she had to crane her neck a bit to meet his gaze. He stared down at her with a strange mix of emotions in his eyes that called to that same place deep inside her that had bee
n awakened when he’d first told her his name.

  “So how’d you end up as a Scepter sister, anyway?” Stefan asked, the question so unexpected, she blinked up at him. “Because, no offense, you really don’t fit here.”

  “Of course I fit here, I’ve been here practically my whole life,” Cressida replied, anger surging to the fore—anger that was completely out of proportion to the demon’s casual question, she knew. She struggled to school her expression back to one of flirtatious interest to satisfy anyone watching them, but Stefan didn’t make it easy.

  “Yeah, but, witches aren’t born, usually,” he observed, his stare unflinching as they moved across the dance floor. “They’re made. Even when both Mom and Dad are in the coven, it’s not a foregone conclusion that the witchlet is raised that way. Most often, in fact, the child is sent off until they can make their own decisions. So you’re saying your parents are witches?”

  “No,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “I’m saying my parents are dead. I was rescued by the head lawgiver of the coven from a hospital waiting room where I was about to be shuttled off to child services. Instead, she brought me here.”

  “And raised you to become high priestess. That seems pretty nice of her.”

  “She saved my life,” Cressida said simply. “I owe her everything.”

  “Uh-huh. Including going up against the biggest bad in the universe, it seems. And on that note, explain to me the nature of the spell you’ll level against Ahriman. Why does it require a demon?”

  She instinctively pulled away, but he kept her close, turning her tightly as other dancers joined them on the floor. “I don’t need to tell you any of that.”

  “You don’t technically need to brush your teeth every day either, but it’s the polite thing to do,” Stefan observed mildly. “I can’t help you if I’m flying blind.”

  “You’re not here to help me at all,” Cressida retorted, unreasonably nettled by his tone. “You’re here to look pretty and impress the coven. And you do a credible job of that, for which you have my thanks.”

  “So you do think I’m pretty.”

  Cressida barely stifled her laugh, but she couldn’t help answering Stefan. She wanted to, she realized, and in truth, he probably could help her. She might not fully believe the old maxim that it took a demon to kill demon, but Stefan had plenty of experience blasting the bastards back behind the veil. “Honestly, I don’t know why the grimoire dictated a demon’s assistance. The spells we will employ against Ahriman all draw upon the power of the coven. The demon’s role in the actual takedown of the beast seems to be merely as window dressing.”

  “Window dressing.” Stefan snorted. “You sure you aren’t missing a few pages?”

  “Of course we aren’t.” Unbidden, a new worry snaked through Cressida. “I mean…no one would alter the sacred grimoire. Ever.”

  “Those who control the present, princess,” Stefan offered neutrally.

  Cressida narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you deliberately trying to undermine my confidence without me realizing it?”

  “Oh, rest assured, if I wanted to undermine your confidence, I’d start with your taste in boyfriends. I don’t know where you found ol’ Marcus, but I’d throw him right back into the pond, if I were you.”

  “And you’re better?”

  “I’m certainly more fun.”

  “You are that.” Cressida spun for a few moments more in Stefan’s arms, debating the spell of compulsion flitting through her mind. “I can make you do what I want, you know.”

  “You can try. You’ll find I’m a relatively open book, though.”

  “Oh, really. So tell me—what is your sin, demon? Why did you fall?”

  Stefan gave a grim, knowing chuckle. “You know, everybody always wants to skip to that chapter.”

  He turned her again on the floor, his glamoured body seeming less like human and more like liquid light for a moment, before he spoke again. “The short answer—and trust me, that’s all we’ve got time for since Bachelor #2 over there is waiting in the wings, is that I did not take enough care with one of God’s children.”

  “A woman,” Cressida guessed. She caught the demon Zeneschiah’s movement at the edge of the dance floor, but she had no interest in cutting her time short with Stefan.

  “A woman,” he agreed. “She fell in love with me when I was a Fallen, and I ignored her entreaties to return that love. I thought her unworthy of me, and didn’t understand how fragile either she or her gift was.”

  His voice was flat, filled with long-held resignation, but Cressida frowned. “You wouldn’t be the first to reject a woman’s love. And you were an angel. How could denying one human’s love possibly lead to your damnation?”

  Stefan’s lips twisted with dark humor, but before he could respond, the music shifted, and another voice sounded over the loudspeaker. “Zeneschiah, son of darkness, welcome.” It was one of the lawgivers speaking, Cressida knew immediately. Cressida turned and saw the fire drake approaching in his blocklike human glamour, his body cloaked in white and a platinum torque at his neck, studded with rubies. He was grinning, first at his captors, then at her.

  “I like this game you play, witch,” he said.

  Cressida stepped away from Stefan, then bowed to Zeneschiah. “With your arrival, the full complement of my retinue has come to celebrate this most powerful of bonds,” she said, repeating the ancient words. “Be merry and let us dance.”

  Allowing the leering demon to sweep her away from Stefan was far more difficult than Cressida would have expected. But though Stefan let her go easily enough, he watched her as she danced first with Zeneschiah, then Boltar, then Jim Granger—and finally Marcus. By the time her prime consort claimed her for a dance, however, Stefan seemed content to stand with the ex-priest, the two of them talking as if they were long-lost friends. Goblets had been distributed among the crowd by then, and both men drank deeply. She wondered what they were talking about, but she couldn’t tell, other than whatever it was, it made them laugh.

  “You don’t need to stare at them,” Marcus informed her, sounding bored. “I can tell you precisely what they’re discussing. It isn’t you.”

  She flashed him an angry look, taking in his thin features, his perfectly brushed silvery-blond hair, and his pale skin and pale eyes. Everything about Marcus paled in comparison to Stefan, she realized abruptly. Where Stefan’s fair skin gleamed with vitality, his eyes flashing with energy and passion—Marcus simply hovered like a ghost, watching, waiting, manipulating.

  Like he was trying to manipulate Cressida, right now. “I wouldn’t expect them to be talking about me,” she said tartly. “But I also wouldn’t expect you to know what they’re—oh, the torques. You’ve bugged them.”

  “Of course,” Marcus said. “No need to waste energy on an enhanced ward when there’s a simple electronic solution.”

  She eyed the platinum torque around his own neck, studded with sapphires. “And your own? Is someone listening in on your conversations?” She kept her tone light, but her mind was already rushing over the brief words she’d exchanged with Stefan. The torques were ceremonial objects, intended only for the most formal of occasions, but she already wanted to cast them aside. Marcus had tainted them…even though she supposed it was for a very good reason. Namely, her protection.

  As if he could read her mind, Marcus smirked. “Nothing I do or say is for any reason other than your utmost security, Cressida, and solely for your highest good.”

  There was something in his tone that grated against her, and she studied his thin-lipped face more closely. “You chose Boltar and Zeneschiah. Why?”

  For the barest moment, Marcus looked almost surprised. Then his expression returned to its habitual smug assurance. “They’re strong, and strength was required to satisfy the dictates of the grimoire.”

  “The strength of three demons combined was needed to satisfy the dictates of the grimoire. These three w
ould outstrip nearly every witch in this coven save for you and me. So why? What is it about them that interested you?”

  She hadn’t given the question much thought, actually, since up to now, she’d been considering the demons as pawns. But as pawns went…these were a dangerous choice. When Marcus didn’t answer, she pressed. “Help me understand. Boltar is a walking pincushion of poison, and Zeneschiah is potentially a minion of Ahriman’s. You’re the head of coven security—why put us at such risk?”

  “Risk?” he shot back. “You’re the one who invited a Syx into our midst. What were you thinking? He could ruin everything.” As soon as he spoke this last, Marcus shook his head hard.

  Cressida blinked at him. She hadn’t seen him do that since he was a young boy—it was one of his earliest tells that he’d revealed something he hadn’t wanted to. But there was nothing outrageous in his comment. Though the Syx were bound to protect God’s children, they were still demons—and incredibly strong demons.

  Why had she chosen Stefan?

  Marcus glowered at Stefan across the room, looking for all the world like a jealous lover. Though she knew better than to believe that.

  “I don’t trust the Syx,” he muttered, more to himself than her.

  Cressida pressed her lips together. She knew from long experience it was better to soothe Marcus’s ruffled feathers than allow him to continue to stew. She couldn’t afford him erupting during the middle of the ceremony, tipping off the rest of the coven to the tension between them. “Well, you would be the first to tell me that you shouldn’t trust any of them. The Syx is no different from the others.”

  “Not true,” Marcus countered, and his voice turned suddenly hard. “The Syx is the most likely of the three to get you to spread your legs for him. That would have disastrous consequences.”