I didn’t want to think about the smears of blood; the stains on the plush carpeting of the solicitor’s conference room. The gore attached to the ordinary office equipment.
That mess would be hell to clean up.
The elegant receptionist, with her tight bun at the top of her head and her nude patent heels, rushed forward. She seemed unperturbed by the level of grime that covered our bodies.
William didn’t even have the energy to check out the poor woman’s long umber legs.
The nameplate on the desk read “Cara” which I hadn’t noticed before. Her long nails clasped around a chrome clipboard as she pulled a pen from her blazer pocket with ease.
“Ms Klein, if you could?” Cara shoved the pen under Trix’s nose, and a flash of anger passed over the Witchlings’ face.
“What do you expect me to do with that?” Beatrix eyed the pen with disdain.
“I need you to sign a few forms. To instate you as the new leader of the London Coven.”
Shock rippled through our group of vigilantes. Every eye roamed to Trix as shook her head vehemently.
“Fuck. No.” Trix snarled, knocking the pen out of the receptionist’s hands. She marched past us and strode out of the automatic doors, without looking back.
Drained of power, William Kain, Beatrix Klein, Henry Blaire and I (Sophia Taylor) descended the escalators of Leicester Square tube station. Covered in blood from head to toe, and a layer of dust that could only come from being thrown through a wall; I leant against the railing on autopilot.
A passer-by pointed and laughed at Henry and I. I returned the stranger’s interest with a shy smile. I hoped to convince him that it was just a costume and not real blood, via my facial expressions but I didn’t know if it worked or not. William and Trix left for their separate stations without a word.
William Kain went back to his penthouse in the Shard and Trix back to her tattoo equipment in the Camden Flat.
Henry took charge, as I could barely keep my head up. When we got off the Tube at Shepard’s Bush and began to walk, I quickly recognised the pastel terrace houses and the flourishing window boxes.
The sky was a bright blue, and the sun was shining as we walked through Notting Hill. Back to the house where Henry and I had first met. He took my hand and led me up the concrete steps. I blinked through the harsh sting of memories that flashed behind my eyes.
He had left me on the bottom of those steps with nothing but a cheque.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts. None of that mattered. It was done. Henry was mine, and I intended to spend as much time as possible getting to know him again.
When we were naked and spent, Henry and I laid in bed together. Basking in the peace and quiet that we hadn’t experienced in such a long time. I felt the phantom presence of a tear roll down my cheek. Which was impossible because daemons could not cry.
A throat cleared from the end of the bed, it was Asmodeus. As I jolted in shock, Henry did not move but continued to allow his hands to roam across my naked back. Memorising the contours of my skin and every blemish and imperfection.
Henry could not see the Queen of Hell.
Asmodeus was nude, although covered by a writhing mass of souls that sheltered her identity. I saw flashes through the gaps in the winged creatures, enough to know it was her. Plush crimson lips, like pillows and wide pink tinged eyes. Fear settled in my stomach. Was it time already? Was she coming to collect me? That was a new development.
I looked between Henry and the Queen of the Seventh Circle.
“Come, child.” Her husky voice beckoned. I found my body moving under compulsion as if I had no control.
“Are you going somewhere?” Henry said, lazily, when he noticed my movements.
I nodded but couldn’t speak around the Hell magic that gagged me. It was the same power that made me feel vital and alive. Connected to everything. It had turned on me at the behest of its rightful owner.
The alarm on my phone began to chime, indicating that it was six pm. My time in my own body was over for the day. Sadness crested over his face, but he quickly smothered his expression and gave me a weak smile. I knew how much it killed him to have to give me away at sunset like some demented orgy-driven Cinderella.
Asmodeus floated away from the hallway, and I followed her. I didn’t want Henry to have to see when she took over my body. Unease had settled over me as her power moved the muscles in my legs without my permission.
Still nude, I walked through the space in between worlds.
And into a knife.
It wasn’t a conventional blade. It seared and cauterised the wound as it sliced through the skin of my stomach like paper. I throbbed, and my insides sang with sharp keening pain.
I looked up, unable to scream. My voice locked in my throat.
Damian Cross’s eyes met mine, his was the hand that held the knife to my stomach.
The soulmate bond that connected me to Henry Blaire shattered into a thousand pieces, and what was left of my soul went with it. Numbness spread through my body.
As darkness crept over my vision, Damian mouthed the words,
‘I’m Sorry’
24.
Henry Blaire
Daemons did not sleep, but Henry Blaire wished that he could.
He remembered the way that Sophia Taylor used to feel in his arms as she had slept. Back when she was human. That night before he had left the first time.
Henry remembered the way that he had felt the disgusting tug in his gut that day and the trembling that wracked through his body. It had been Lillian’s call; it was the only force strong enough to pull him away from his soulmate after she had given herself to him for the first time.
Henry Blaire had never told her about his curse. He had hoped to spare Sophia Taylor any more pain.
From Equinox to Solstice, his body belonged to Lillian. The bitch would never have his soul though; of that he was certain. Only one person had that; Henry had given everything to Sophia that night. When they had laid together.
Henry spread his fingers out in the bed, a sated smile lit up his face. He pressed his hand to his lips. He could still feel the prickle of her touch. Every inch of Sophia had been made for him.
He did not want to admit to himself that he didn’t have Sophia Taylor back, not completely, not yet. Sophia was beholden to the Queen of Hell.
Something that could not be remedied with ease.
His Sophia, she was a survivor. A hidden gem inside of a gruff and violent exterior.
Every word hinted that she had no emotions. That she would cut him down. But he knew what was behind the façade.
The innocent, desperate girl that had begged him to kill for her.
Sophia Taylor was pure. Whether she knew it or not.
A presence appeared at the end of the bed, the energy reminded him of his love, but it was different. Tainted. A shadow made entirely of a writhing mass of souls. Ravens. Butterflies. Anything winged amassed to form the Demon’s squirming hair.
Two curled horns poked out over her ears, large and tinged with pink. Her eyes were pastel white. Her smirk was a knife wound on her face, her plush lips were too full for her face.
Haage recognised her. She was his Queen. He both abhorred and loved her. Asmodeus was not inside of Sophia’s body.
“Haage,” She cooed.
Henry sat up in bed and pushed the silk sheets to the side. His body tense with anger.
“Leave this place. You cannot be in this reality for long. Do not waste your time taunting me when you could be with Damian.”
“Jealous?”
Henry laughed, “I’m not jealous of your perverted affections.”
Asmodeus crossed her hands over her chest and pouted. “You seem unaware that your dearest Sophia made a bargain with me.”
If Henry had any colour in his face, it would have paled. “No.” He whispered.
Asmodeus stretched out her arms as if embracing the world.
“Say hel
lo to your queen, Haage. Your dearest Sophia is dead!” She trilled a laugh.
Henry was up within a second and blinked behind her, desperate to grab her and tear her limb from limb. Amore was too powerful; she had seen the future before he had ever sat up. Her hand pressed on his chest, her jagged fingernails dug into the skin of his torso.
“The golden seals of Hell have broken.” Amore shrieked happily. “I am unconditionally free!”
_
The story continues in The Forgotten
Spring 2018
Coming soon: Spring 2018
The Forgotten
Daemons of London – Book 4
Henry Blaire still searches for his lost love.
Half mad and alone.
There's a place between Hell and Here.
It's called Soul City, and only the damned inhabit it.
All she knows is a name, and she isn't sure if it's her own.
Melanie.
More from Michaela Haze:
Coming Fall 2017
She Wolf
There are two types of shifters. Sents and Feras.
Sents are in control of their inner animal, Feras are not.
All Wren wanted was to be accepted by her pack. Instead, she became the target of a killer.
She Wolf by Michaela Haze
PREVIEW
I’m perilously close to losing it and punching him in the face. I want to flip the table, a la meme style. I want to stamp my feet like a child and scream in his face.
But I don’t.
I smile.
It’s a reflex. The tilted-up lips and the flash of teeth. It doesn’t reach my eyes, but who cares. Jack certainly doesn’t. Not anymore. He folds his napkin across his lap. Trying to be all sophisticated. I don’t know why. He’s an AB. Pure and typical Jock.
Huh? I never noticed that the word Joke and Jock were so similar.
Jack the Joke of a Jock. Try saying that five times fast!
“I just think that this has run its course.” Jack reaches across the table, his palm is faced up to the ceiling as if he expected me to reach across and place my hand in his, like old times.
Old times being fifteen minutes ago.
“It’s the start of the final semester. The final trials will be soon, and I can’t afford to lose my focus,” He smiles softly, but his eyes scream that he wants to run. I almost buy his bullshit, but not quite.
“I know,” I say. I try and make my voice breezy and light. I almost succeed.
He’s breaking up with me.
“I can’t have an Omega for a mate.” Jack sighs, “I know you understand.”
So, all I’m good for is sex, and doing your homework? I want to scream. I don’t. I nod in an understanding way even though I want to bash his head in with the bread basket. We weren’t true mates but any means, but still. Jack was interested in me, and it had been nice.
He opens his mouth to hammer the final nail in the coffin, and I reach for my glass of water. My hand is trembling, and it takes all my willpower to calm it.
Smile. That’s all you’re good for. No one will ever love you if they know how bitter and twisted you really are.
Heavy footfalls stop at our table, and I look up. The scent of an Alpha hits my nostrils, and internally, I cringe. Just great. It’s the first day of the final semester at the Academy and I don’t need this shit. I don’t need a potential employer to see me when I am five seconds away from wiping away my Perma-smile and beating the shit out of Jack the Jock.
“Jack Baxter, as I live and breathe. How are you doing, young pup?” Alpha Reed is a severe man; his tone does not match his expression. He sounds jovial, but his eyes scan every threat. He’s a few generations older than I am, but that’s not saying much. I’m barely to maturity.
“Well, hello Alpha.” Jack preens. His teeth grow into an exposed smile, and I catch a flash of canine. He’s playing up his dominance. I’m not sure if Jack is an idiot, or if he’s trying to get in the Alpha’s good graces. It could be either.
Alpha Reed’s dark eyes swing to mine, and from his outward appearance, he could be my age. Barely twenty-one, in the final days of the Enforcer Academy. Only we all know differently.
“And who is this beauty? You’ve been keeping this one hidden, AB.” AB stands for Alpha-Beta, the select group of wolves at the Academy. The next generation of leaders. The Alpha’s gaze is intense, and I want to shrink back. I force my face into a pleasant, relaxed mask.
AB is a compliment, but Alpha Reed makes it sound like a threat.
Jack shoots a look at me, and his expression is sour. His eyes plead with me not to say anything, so I smile like a dumb Pack-Princess and stay silent.
“This is Wren, my tutor.” Jack shifts in his seat.
I guess that I was his tutor, once, before he started fucking me. My jaw aches from all this pointless smiling. Alpha Reed takes a chair from table opposite and pulls it over. I have no idea what is happening. I place my hands on my lap. I can smell him. His scent is like summer rain and warm campfire evenings. I find a spot at the table to look at and focus on it. I’m used to it. Pretending to be an accessory.
“What family do you come from, Princess?” Alpha Reed reaches forward and takes a lock of my hair in his fingers.
I have no idea what is happening. I have never seen the stone-cold Alpha pay attention to anything. Why would he care? Maybe he heard Jack breaking up with me and wants to have a bit of fun. Ha! Alpha Reed wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot barge pole if he knew my secret.
“When did you arrive in Hertfordshire?” Jack asked politely. His eyes shine with excitement. An Alpha’s presence means that it’s really happening. The trials.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Alpha Reed is burning a hole in my cheek, but I ignore him and take a sip of water. My eyes are trained on a blemish on the table cloth.
“I arrived yesterday. I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see any students before the beginning of the semester.” Alpha Reed leans forward and takes a piece of bread from the basket. He breaks off a piece and slowly pops it into his mouth. He has all the confidence in the world. I guess that it’s natural when you lead a pack his size.
“Oh, well, Wren stayed at the Academy over the summer,” Jack says flippantly, and I want to kick him under the table.
“What’s your Family name, Wren?” the Alpha asks delicately. “Why didn’t you spend the summer with your pack?”
I don’t know why, but I’ve had enough.
I stand up and pick up my handbag. I can’t take it anymore.
I’m not good enough to be anyone’s mate. I’m just an Omega to Jack, and I hate it. Jack said I was special, but Jack was a liar.
Just like everyone else.
The Purebloods Page 16
