Daemons of London Boxset (Books 1-3) The Bleeders, The Human Herders, The Purebloods

by Michaela Haze

  Lillian broke the kiss to throw her head back and laugh. She jabbed me in the shoulder hard, enough that I stumbled over my long legs and smacked to the ground. My cheek hit the wooden floor and the impact vibrated through my body, making my teeth rattle and white hot pain flashed behind my vision. I had gone from hot and heavy to cold and ashamed in the flip of a switch. Lillian Blaire had controlled me so easily that I couldn’t even think about trying to drain her magic and consume it. She had taken over my mind and made me want her; made me want nothing else.

  A tear leaked from my eye and stung my dry cheeks

  “What do you think Henry? Could I make her go further?” Lillian made no effort to temper her voice as she bragged to my daemon. I couldn’t raise my head; the impact had been harder than I had thought and I lay immobile. Body in shock.

  I heard Henry rush forward, and then the sickening thud as his limp body skidded across the herringbone floor. The fire of hope that had flared inside of my heart, died.

  Her hands were on my thighs, as she pushed my dress up over my legs. She was rough, and gleefully caused pain as she left fingerprint sized bruises on my milky skin. I reached up, feebly and tried to push her small hands away but Lillian howled with laughter and continued. I blinked and began to cry harder. My lip quivered and my throat felt like I had a tennis ball stuck inside of it.

  Her fingers dug into the skin of my hips and I felt my flesh rip beneath her fingers. I groaned and writhed as I tried to buck her off without strength. There was no comforting magic. Lillian wanted it to hurt. Lillian wanted me to be forced. Dirty. I held my mouth shut with a clenched jaw. She would get no whimpering from me. No begging. But still, silent sobs wracked my body until I started to shake, unable to move my legs. I pushed up onto my hands but my fingers were unable to find purchase on the smooth wooden floor. Lillian forced my legs apart, the movement was jarring, rough. I was vulnerable and scared. I heard Henry on the other side of the room. His anguished plea as he begged her to stop. I hadn’t realised that my mouth opened and closed as if I could will the words into existence. Henry was experiencing my emotions. It was part of his curse.

  I wondered, briefly, if Lillian was punishing him. If Lillian’s hands forcing me down and ripping me apart, was even about me. I was a powerless, useless, human. A pawn.

  Lillian cooed my name and her eyes darted to Henry, amusement sparkled behind them. I finally found enough strength to try and pull away. I concentrated on Henry’s long lashes, his deep indigo eyes. His lips. His cheeks, his jaw. Anything to take me away from what Lillian was doing. I watched the scene play out as if I hovered about it. Flickering in and out of my body.

  Henry’s eyes met mine as Lillian’s fingers reached inside of me. She broke me. Warm blood gushed between my thighs and I let out a scream. Her magic choked pleasure from my pain with a stranglehold. My orgasm was empty. Weak. Her hand thrust inside my body and a scream choked out of my mouth.

  My vision grew hazy but I saw the thick ropes of Lillian’s magic holding Henry in place on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cool wood as he faced in my direction. His hand stretched out for me as he stared in horror, unable to move.

  My skin gave way like a knife through butter. Gouges appeared on my wrists and ankles. Blood pooled and the overwhelming smell of wet metal made me gag. My lips moved; a wordless plea. His eyes moved through emotions. From anger to sorrow. Henry’s despair went so deeply that I was unsure that we would ever come back from Lillian and what she had done. The butterfly mark on my wrist that connected us, and the red haze of smoke that bound us and gave our relationship weight pulled taut. I felt everything that he felt and I knew that Henry experienced the same. I saw myself through his eyes.

  I wanted him to save me but he couldn’t. Just like he had wished that I could have saved him in the past. I understood Henry more in that second than the entire time I had known him. Resigned, my body grew slack and I gave myself over to her.

  My eyes closed, the world did not grow dark but light. White-hot shards of pain ripped my body apart and I prayed for numbness but it did not come.

  16.

  A shower of warmth hit my face in droplets and my tongue darted out to wet my lips. The familiar tang of metallic blood exploded in my mouth.

  Lillian lay on the other end of the room; her skull had caved in on one side and I watched the flesh and bone knit together before my eyes. Lillian had been beaten, badly. Her eyes flashed ice blue, a daemonic lens.

  Move, move, move! I reached inside of myself and was unable to coordinate my arms or legs; I was going to die. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe but my breaths were shallow and painful. Lillian screamed, shrill and loud, but it was as if she was underwater and I was unable to hear her correctly.

  I had been… She had… I’m dirty now…

  I wanted it all to go away.

  Fucking rapist.

  My eyes rolled back into my head as another shard of pain shot through my body when I tried to move. Someone blocked my vision as they knelt in front of me. They tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and stroked my bloody face. His thumb darted out and traced my lower lip. I whimpered in pain and tried to push him away. There was an intimacy that hadn’t been earned in every gesture. I tilted my head back to get away and grunted in pain. My eyes shot across the room to Henry Blaire. My gaze was pleading but he was on his knees. Sobbing without tears.

  Was I the reason for that pain?

  The figure hovered over me, and grabbed my jaw. He twisted my face until I was forced to look at him. Damian had been the one to save me from Lillian.

  But it was too late.

  I’m Dirty now.

  Damian was darkness with no end and no beginning. An abyss. His irises were wider than a normal humans and it made the effect of his eye contact more disconcerting. A sound of horror died in my throat as instinct urged my body to shrink back and hide. I was unable to move. The familiar pressure that came from being in Damian’s presence was all too powerful. It pressed against my skin like a weight and held my body prone on the concrete altar. I had been moved and I couldn’t remember when. I couldn’t turn my head, but out of the corner of my eyes I noted a circle of Elite Daemons. Some I recognised, like Lillian and Vincent and others I didn’t.

  All I wanted was to cut my skin into ribbons, to scrub until I was clean. The emotions roared over me, crashing like the surf as they threatened to take me under. I hated myself so fervently. I was disgusted that for a second the thought of death, of an escape, began to look appealing.

  I had always feared death. My sister’s death had left a scar of my psyche. Cemeteries gave me panic attacks. It had been a long time since I had felt the need to turn my emotional pain into a physical one. I needed something to take away from the bitter emotions that roiled inside of me. I wanted to watch my blood pebble from shallow cuts. I wanted to be in control again. Lillian Blaire had stolen that from me.

  Damian stroked my forehead; his touch soothed my racing heart and blackened thoughts. I found myself unable to look away from his eyes. His face was too perfect, he had no pores, no imperfections or blemishes on his golden skin. I shivered.

  I used to think that about Henry too, that he was ‘perfect’. Although Henry’s beauty had been more palatable when I had thought that he had once been human. Pureblood shapeshifting abilities had crafted their faces, and whilst I could appreciate them, it didn’t make me comfortable.

  “You got what you wanted.” Me. I croaked, my voice barely made a sound. “Will it hurt?” I asked weakly.

  “You will never hurt again.”

  I looked across the atrium, over to Henry. Everything was on its side as I lay on the altar like a broken doll. Henry may have been my soulmate but he was also the reason for all my pain. His eyes pleaded with mine; his hand stretched as if begging for my own. The tendons on his knuckles were white with strain as he reached for me. But he couldn't push past Lillian’s hold on his body. She was too powerful.

  Dam
ian’s arms dipped around my body, cradling me like a newborn. His fingers twisted around the nape of my neck as he heaved my body into his arms as if I was a feather pillow. I couldn’t bring my arms up to hold on; I was too weak.

  Damian brushed his lips against mine. I opened my mouth to protest but there was no sexuality in the kiss. It was the same kind of kiss that my body begged for. The buzzing hum of magic, just begging to be devoured. I felt the last jagged remnants of my soul rip from my throat and my emotions leeched away.

  I was at peace.

  My head rolled from side to side, nausea washed over me and my cheek pressed against the cool surface of the concrete altar. I took a shallow breath and the smell of stale blood assaulted me. I did not want to think about what had happened on the platform in the past. I couldn’t stop the overwhelming feeling that I was about to become a human sacrifice.

  The Hell Sigil, which I recognised from Sarah-Belle’s childish scrawl, was drawn in inky black blood and chalk around the altar. The only person inside of the circle with me, was Damian. My wrists stung. I rolled my hand over to look at the cause of my pain and saw crescent marks gouged into my skin. Flesh was missing as my blood oozed thick droplets onto the platform. A name floated to the forefront of my mind. Lillian. But it disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

  I searched for the memories and emotions that were attached to the wounds but found nothing. I was filled with a sense of detachment as if my body did not belong to me anymore.

  The feeling was familiar but I found no sense of comfort. I could only feel my senses and my body. Not my mind, or my emotions. I could sense my blood, dried and crusted on my skin but it didn’t make me feel anything.

  I looked out to the crowd of daemons that had gathered around and a flash of recognition lit up behind my eyes. Trix was in the crowd. I had seen her earlier. But with different hair. I squinted and noticed that although the person looked like Trix, and they had Trix’s face, she had no tattoos and dark hair instead of pale peach.

  Henry knelt by Lillian’s side like a dog on his knees. His face was empty of emotion but his eyes glittered with concealed rage as they burned a hole in the floor. Damian and Henry were opposites. Damian had the same expression that I had seen on boys when they played video games, killing people for the fun of it. He was like water; nothing could affect him as he stood on the platform and waxed lyrically about the new age and the queen of Hell’s reign. Not one person in the crowd of daemons, of which there must have been more than a hundred, cared that it meant the end of my life. Apart from Henry.

  Henry was ice. As his knees pressed against the floor with Lillian’s hand around his neck, he was held in place to watch my pain.

  I thought of the Henry I knew and loved. The many facets of the man, from the broken submissive with a hundred years of torture under his belt to the cool and calm man I knew better. The serious mask. The man that was hard to understand but when he allowed you in, it was worth it. He was worth it all.

  Damian’s words became a dull gurgle in my ears as I felt my body slip under from blood loss. The words began to die and black curled around the edges of my visions. I felt myself leave my body and float back down into the dark water of the abyss.

  “Come to me, child.”

  It was the voice that had haunted my mind for the past year. When I had ran from my demons in the forest, away from the voice of Satan, it was that voice I heard. I knew it. It was seared into my bones.

  Asmodeus.

  My veins burned. Hellfire raced through my body and left nothing but charred remains.

  And then the gunshot rang out.

  The Witchings had arrived.

  Part 3

  “I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free.”

  - Nikos Kazantzakis

  18.

  I’d never heard a gunshot before. I’d seen plenty on TV, but as guns were illegal in the UK and not even law enforcement carried them, I’d never seen one in real life. The bang was loud, a harsh crack that cut through the air like a jagged wound. I flinched but found the shock of the noise had caused me to slip from my body as if I were stepping out of a coat.

  I felt the same as I did in purgatory, weightless and without physical sensation.

  Damian crossed his arms over his chest, a relaxed smile showed off his pearly white teeth as he surveyed the crowd for the source of the sound. He was aloof as the gaggle of panicked daemons caused whispers to hum on the air.

  I was split between two worlds. The dull grey scale of limbo versus the full roar of the human world. I was over the threshold with one foot out the door.

  My gaze caught on the woman in the corner, dressed entirely in red. No one else could see her, so she must have been in Limbo with me. She had pulled up a chair from one of the circular dining tables and was folding a napkin with precise motions. She was the only one in colour. I tried to look at her face but every time I did it shifted and blurred and my eyes began to sting. Her hair rippled, made of onyx butterflies like the ones I had seen floating about before, like flickering embers of a dying fire. I knew that they were souls.

  “Who fired the gun?” Damian demanded, calmly, as if the answer didn’t even matter to him. I looked down to the body I no longer inhabited and saw that someone had shot me. My prone form coughed, blood spluttered out of my lips. I watched with the same detachment that I would watch a TV show. I had been hit in the side. A burnt hole gushed deep black blood. It ran over the edge of the altar and dipped onto the floor. I placed my hand on my side, unable to feel the connection to my physical self on the concrete in front of me.

  “You’ve been shot in the liver.” The woman called from the other side of the room. I turned around and she hadn’t looked up from arranging the cutlery on the table. “You have ten minutes before your body dies.”

  I ran up the platform but found myself thrown back when I tried to touch my body. I looked down to the floor and saw the Hell Sigil that had been drawn on the floor in chalk. My inky blood spread over the circles like a lover’s caress but whatever magic Damian had put around my body prevented my soul, my essence, from returning.

  I looked back to Damian, who was surveying the crowd with a cruel sense of detachment. Someone stepped forward. It was the Trix-lookalike. I blinked to try and clear my vision but realised that I did not imagine her presence. She was not a hallucination, which was good to know.

  “It was me!” The woman screamed, her lips curled in disgust and her eyes were full with unfettered rage. The opposite of my best friend, benevolent and above such petty human emotions. “My name is Katya Klein and you have my sister. The blood scratcher.” She raised the gun with sure hands.

  Damian laughed without humour. “And you brought a human weapon here?”

  Katya’s eyes did not leave Damian’s. “The weapon wasn’t for you.” Her eyes flickered to my writhing body on the altar and Damian followed her gaze. He hadn’t realised that I was bleeding on the table. He snarled, feral, a deep sound of pure hatred radiated from his chest and his bared teeth snapped once.

  “You’ll wish you didn’t do that.” Damian uttered the words slowly as if Katya would have trouble understanding. “You have incurred Hell’s wrath!”

  “My magic doesn’t come from Hell.” Katya snarled back. “Give Beatrix back to the Coven!”

  Damian’s head turned from my body to Katya in the whip-sharp movement of a predator scenting his prey. He pointed at my body.

  “Six minutes.” The woman in red called out, and I ignored her.

  “Sophia Taylor here has willingly given her body in return for your sister’s safe return.” Damian whispered, but his voice carried over the room in the same way his power pressed down like the air pressure before a storm. “If Sophia here were to perish before her bargain is complete, perhaps you will find your dear sister does not return in the same state she came to me in.”

  Katya blanched but did not lower the gun. “Beatrix belongs to the London Coven.”

  “Rea
lly?” Damian surveyed his hand with disinterest. “She told me that she had left you long ago. But I don’t really want to discuss politics when my Vessel bleeds out on the table.”

  I shuddered and felt weakness wash over my consciousness. It was finally ending. I would finally be free. I would either die on the table or Asmodeus would take my body. Either way I wouldn’t have to feel the pain anymore.

  …the pain of…what it was, I couldn’t remember.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, which was jarring considering that physical sensation had left me behind since I had left my body. It was the woman in red. She stood by my side, shorter than me by about a head. She had to pull my ear to her mouth to whisper.

  “Do you want to live?” She asked.

  “I…don’t know.” I admitted.

  “But you don’t want to die.” The woman in red clarified.

  I shrugged and didn’t take my eyes off my body. My eyes had closed and I heard my heart beat inside of my eardrums like a clock, slowing down before it stopped.

  “My name is Asmodeus.” The woman admitted. I nodded slowly, that made sense. “I can’t stay here long. My body isn’t allowed out of Hell.”

  “That’s why I’m up there.” I pointed to the altar. “I’m your Vessel. You’re meant to take over my body.”

  Asmodeus laughed, a low husky and seductive sound and it was no wonder that she was the queen of the seventh circle. She was regal. Lust pooled and rolled off every curve of her body; even I wanted her.

  “I need to know. Do you want to live?!” Asmodeus demanded, her voice was a roar that caused the champagne flutes on the table to rattle. Her power transcended the walls between Hell, Limbo and the Human Realities.

  I stared blankly at my physical body and the dark blood that leaked out of my side. I placed my hands just below my ribs, as if I could will myself to feel the wound.