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

by Michaela Haze

  Henry’s eyes flicked to the movement in the corner. His eyes dimmed, but his face was a mask.

  I recognised the scent immediately. He was autumn. Warm fires and cloves; and most importantly, he was insanity personified.

  “How is my favourite Vessel?” Vincent Rose cooed. He strode into the bar with his arms wide, clothed in a well-fitted designer suit. The material hugged his every line. If I had seen him on the street, I would have thought that he was an eccentric billionaire. I knew the truth, however. He was bat-shit crazy.

  Vincent swept in, with a flurry of wild red hair. He leant down and kissed both of my cheeks with an exaggerated smacking sound.

  My brow was furrowed, and I stayed stock-still. “The last time you saw me, I am fairly sure that I was in chains.”

  Vincent giggled like a school child and took Henry’s shot off the bar and downed it in one. “Well, yes. I do like my chains.” Vincent smacked his lips together and placed the crystal glass down on the bar surface with a clink.

  Henry’s eyes were alight with barely contained rage. When I looked at his fist, which Henry had placed on his knee, his knuckles were white.

  “Vincent Rose? I presume?” Henry said in a voice that radiated power. I had never heard him speak like that before. It was the same multi-layered effect that I had heard come out of my own mouth when Amore took over.

  The air became stale. Stifling, like the wasn’t enough oxygen to go around.

  Henry cocked his head to the side. I heard Vincent’s shoes scuff across the floor as he took an abrupt step back.

  Vincent’s lips gaped for a second, before relaxing into a bashful smile. “You caught me.” He shrugged. “Hands in the cookie jar.” He wiggled his fingers in a mocking salute to Jazz-hands.

  A rumble started inside of Henry’s chest. It was a territorial growl, and God help me, I kind of liked it. It sent tingles from my stomach to my core. It made me remember the times that Henry had proclaimed that I was his. When he was inside of me.

  Damn. Being inhabited with the embodiment of Lust was not good for my libido. I needed cold showers and some Valium.

  “Haage, I presume?” Vincent said in a sweet voice. “My Dearest Pet, you did not mention that Haage was in London, last we spoke?”

  I slid off my barstool to put some distance between Vincent and myself. I allowed my fingers to weave into Henry’s. I draped my body over his shoulders as if I had no shame.

  Something about Vincent told me that if I showed even a modicum of weakness, that he would strip the flesh from my bones and eat me alive.

  Henry and I were chameleons, it seemed. Our personalities moulded to fit the situation. Taking in our surroundings and changing ourselves to fit.

  Henry bared his teeth in a snarl, and I smiled lazily. We coiled together, perfectly in synch.

  “It was hard to give you an update whilst you hog-tied and delivered me to Damian.”

  Henry cocked his head to the side, facing Vincent Rose. His eyes remained on the side of my face. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured. “You dared to put my Consort in chains?”

  Vincent’s expression faltered, insecurity slid over his face like a flickering lightbulb. “Yes…?”

  I wiggled my finger. “Be nice for now.” I reminded them both. I wanted nothing more than to rip Vincent Rose to pieces but I knew that it was wrong. You can’t reason with crazy. In some sick and twisted way, I understood why he had thrown me under the bus.

  “I had thought that Damian would have completed the ritual by now?” Vincent probed. His forest green eyes were full of schemes.

  “He did.” I picked up the bottle of whisky and took another casual slug of the dregs. I was still draped over Henry like a fox shawl. In some way, I felt more like a daemon than ever, using feather touches to pull and push energy between Henry and me. He was my comfort blanket. From the warmth that I felt through our bond, I knew that he felt the same.

  “You’re… her?” Vincent said slowly.

  “Ding Ding Ding! We have a winner.” Henry said without humour. He tapped his fingers on the bar, one by one. His expression was cavalier, but I saw the tightness on his shoulders.

  “I still get to party during the day though,” I whispered happily as if I was letting Vincent in on a secret. Vincent made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. I was confident that it sounded like a cat dying. His face lost all its mirth, and he began to back away from the bar.

  “You know that the Seventh Circle had my full support.” Vincent Rose simpered. “You know that I only want what is best for all of the daemons.”

  Henry took the bottle from my grip and placed it on the table with a light thunk. “And yet, you took my mate. My Consort.”

  I had never seen Henry angry enough to act before. He was always a white-water river, held back by a barrier of icy indifference. His emotions were a world away from ever being expressed.

  He stood up, and I slipped into his barstool with grace. Henry moved with leonine grace. His movements were slow, like a jungle cat, as he stalked forward and placed a finger on Vincent Rose’s chest.

  “You are a madman and a fool.” Henry gripped his chin and held Vincent still. “You will get what is coming to you. Mark my words.”

  Henry brushed Vincent’s shoulder of invisible lint and fixed his lapels. He smirked and patted the redhead on the shoulder as if he had just finished giving him a motivational pep-talk.

  “It’s dangerous out in St James Park,” Henry said in a low tone. “I would be mindful of the Witchlings and their vendetta.”

  A heavy warning hung in the air, but I had no idea what Henry was implying.

  “Thank you, Haage. I appreciate your knowledge” Vincent’s lips were pursed and his eyes were pensive. “Would you like to use the doorway? Perhaps a phone?”

  “Can you get a message to the Blood Scratcher and William Kain for me?” I asked.

  Vincent nodded. His madness was tapered as if he had reigned it in after Henry’s weird threats. Henry stood up and brushed the non-existent wrinkles from the front of his white shirt. He fixed his cuffs and then turned to me. With a nod, we walked to the door that we had entered from.

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Not that doorway.”

  Henry’s brow furrowed as we were led behind the bar. Vincent reached down and felt across the floor, his fingers dipped into an invisible groove, and I saw the shimmer of colour. It was like the rainbow puddle that I had seen Aoife disappear into, but different. When Vincent Rose pulled the dusty iron latch, it was evidently a trap door to a pool of water that was so dark that it looked like oil. Something inside of it called to me. It sounded like happiness. Yearning. I looked at Henry and wondered if he felt the same.

  It was Hell. But it felt like home.

  I looked down to my outfit and then at Henry. I didn’t want to ruin the yellow Chucks that I had liberated from Trix. Without a word, Henry stepped into the trapdoor and dropped down like a stone. The oily water didn’t ripple; his dissent left no movement in the water. Vincent gestured for me to follow with a tilt of his chin. I shrugged. It was safer than walking the streets at that moment, so I jumped.

  Trix was going to kill me for ruining her Converse.

  17.

  Gasping for air, out of habit rather than necessity, I surfaced from the oily pool. Stepping out of the wall as if it was a simple doorway, I saw that Henry was waiting for me. The muscles in his back were rigid as he stared off into space.

  Every surface of the room was covered in doors which were all made of different materials. We had just stepped out of was a red velvet padded door, as it swung closed with a click.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Henry looked around, surveying every door as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  “These used to be mine.” He said wistfully. “Before…” Lillian. Her name went unsaid. “They used to call me The Conjurer. The one that makes men wise.”

  “Was that wh
en you were a Pureblood?” I asked.

  Henry smiled wryly. “It seems that I am one again.”

  I stepped forward and traced my hands against the various materials of the doorways. Stretching my internal power outwards, as if it were my own fingers, was easy. I felt the threads of Hell connecting every door. The room that we stood in was a Venn-diagram of the London Folds, it seemed.

  “Do you know where we are going?” I asked.

  Henry tapped his bottom lip and closed his eyes. I didn’t need to ask what he was doing, I felt the essence inside of him. It hummed and tuned itself to the pathways that the doors held open. He blinked and pointed to a nondescript door made of pine, right in the corner.

  “The Cross Estate,” Henry whispered. “Much easier than Lacing.”

  “Why am I having so much trouble with this?” I gestured down my body with a wave of my arms. “Why can’t I hold onto the power that Asmodeus has? Why can’t I just wave my hands about and make it so?”

  Henry crooked his brow. “You have no soul now, Sophia. You are leaking. The only reason at all that the Pure blood did not kill you was because of our bond. I suspect.”

  “You are the reason I am a Vessel?” In a roundabout way.

  “Would you rather be dead?” He asked lightly. It held no inflection, and I could tell he was serious.

  I kicked some invisible dust from the stone floor. “I just want to be happy. Normal.” I whispered.

  “Don’t we all,” Henry said, as he disappeared into the oily water.

  When Henry and I descended the spiral staircase, to the marble entranceway, it was pandemonium.

  Daemons hovered, covered in grime and dried blood, tattered running gear and the scent of Witchling magic. I looked around. I had not seen that many daemons since the Equinox festival.

  Every person turned and stared at me. Their faces were expressionless as if there were waiting for a statement or a command on what I wanted them to do.

  I opened my mouth and quickly closed it. They thought I was Asmodeus.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I looked to its owner, I was surprised to see Damian.

  “We shall hold Court.” Damian’s soft voice drifted over the crowd and commanded the attention of every person in the hall.

  I felt the authority that radiated from his bottomless brown eyes, and the spark of Ancient knowledge that laid there. It was intimidating in a way that Henry could never be. Even if I knew that Henry and Damian had the same origins.

  It took me a second to realise what Damian was saying. Without conscious effort, I felt my mind connect to his.

  “Hold Court?” My thoughts echoed and Damian’s back shot ramrod straight as if he had been electrocuted, but he kept his face carefree.

  “Yes, Ms Taylor. We need to establish authority, in case any of the daemon Families feel the need for retaliation.”

  Henry’s eyes flickered to Damian, they flared pale ice blue. “Now you to try and reign in your war?”

  “I thought the Purebloods had no Jurisdiction over the Families?” I asked.

  Damian piped in, “The Cross Estate has often been a Sanctuary in the time of war.”

  “Is that why the hallway is so crowded?” I asked with a wry smile.

  Trix and William Kain arrived in time to see the line of daemons congregating outside of Damian’s office. Unlike Lillian’s lair, Damian did not have a throne. In its stead, Damian had placed three armchairs at the back of the lounge.

  Henry sat to my left, and Damian was on my right. I still wore my grime-covered hoodie; horribly dressed compared to the two men by my side.

  They could have been models, dressed to the nines with daemonic eyes that flashed like cats' in the night. I could only imagine how intimidating they must have been to humans, considering that every time a daemon got brave and peeked their head around the open doorway, they looked like they were going to piss their pants.

  I had been given strict instructions. Even though I was sat in the centre, I was to look bored and say nothing. It would have been unwise to let the Families know that I was anything other than the Queen of Hell.

  Why that was, I had no idea. I guessed it was a power thing.

  William Kain walked in first, and from the tense nods from the queue of daemons, I imagined that the line was made up of Elites. From the curled lips and haughty looks, I would venture that they hadn’t waited in line since the day they had become daemons.

  The different between the line of daemons and the three of us was that we were Demons. Purebloods. Born of Hell.

  Daemons (Da-ye-mons) had once been human. They had been corrupted by Hell magic. There was a difference. Believe me.

  “King Kain!” Damian bellowed; his tone was amused. Damian's typically shaggy blonde hair, which was long enough to curl at the nape of his neck, was slicked back. “Bring the others in.” He clapped his hands together with a gleeful smirk.

  William’s black eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he crossed his tattooed arms over his broad chest. “You’ll have to buy me dinner before I subscribe to being your whipping boy.” He drawled.

  “Is that honour reserved for your Witchling?” Damian smiled seductively at Trix. He licked his bottom lip before blowing her a kiss. The tension was thick.

  “Are you trying to out-sass William Kain?” I asked Damian.

  Henry snorted and then tried to cover up his laugh with a cough. “An impossibility.”

  The Elite Daemons filtered into the room and formed a line in front of the three makeshift thrones. I swung my legs over the side of the leather armrest and allowed my feet to dangle. I leant back and closed my eyes as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I felt a familiar echo in my mind, voices that did not belong to me. Fear lanced my heart until I heard Trix’s voice.

  “Bloody Taylor! My brand-new chucks are almost black.” Trix’s internal voice brushed against my own psyche as I allowed my feet to dangle in the air. Knowing that it would annoy her further. She didn’t know that I had gleaned some demonic mind reading ability.

  “Welcome, Families,” Damian said, his voice was welcoming and false.

  A male voice replied; the timbre of his voice was smooth like bourbon. “It is not often that the Purebloods decide to fuck with the fate of all daemons.” The stranger scathed.

  I opened my eyes and looked at the owner of the voice. He was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair. Slim, with thin lips. His eyes were cunning and shrewd. He reminded me of a fox. The only lines on his face were in the corners of his eyes. The man noticed that I was surveying him with calculated precision.

  “My name is Edward Cross.” He supplied. Edward licked his bottom lip, and I narrowed my eyes at his nervous tick. His fear was thick plumes of bitter smoke. I allowed the dark tendrils of Asmodeus’s power to crawl towards him. It pressed against his skin and unnerved him.

  Part of my actions were an act. I was who Damian needed me to be to prevent more bloodshed. The other part of me, the soulless abyss, wanted to make him squirm and writhe. I had felt so powerless for so long. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

  I felt myself standing on the edge of the chasm of psychopathy. I stood up and relaxed my muscles. I pulled my shoulders back, with conscious effort. Unapologetic for my willowy frame, I sauntered to Henry, who’s expression was one of pleasant surprise. I slid onto his lap and rested my hand on the back of his neck, allowing my fingers to play with his hair.

  “I am glad your Queen act doesn’t extend to being Damian’s toy.” Henry purred inside my mind. He brought his finger to my bottom lip, and as he traced it softly, sparks raced through my veins. I felt the essence of him. Mixing together. Comforting me.

  I ignored the people in the room around us. I cocked my head to the side and took Henry’s finger in my mouth. I sucked it, slowly. I had never been a seductress, but I wore my intentions on my sleeve. I wanted him. I wanted to feed.

  But I also needed to feel him.

  Henry’s other hand rested
on my denim clad thigh. I broke from his spell in time to turn to the other daemons. Damian waved his hand lazily, and thick vines broke free from the floor. It took me a second to realise that what I was seeing was Hell magic, manifest. The thick ropes formed chairs. A needless display of power.

  There were seven Elite daemons, including William Kain. They all sat down. Trix stood by Williams side, like a sentinel. Cold and unrelenting.

  Edward cleared his throat and cooed. “Cross.”

  William spoke next: “Kain,”

  “Blaire,” A female daemon whispered. She looked young, barely older than sixteen. I kept my gaze forward, but alarm bells rang through my mind. “Blaire?”

  “We can create an Elite daemon only once every ten years. I have only done it twice.” Henry was unapologetic.

  “She’s a child.” I scoffed.

  “And I saved her life.”

  “Rose,” Both Vincent and Samuel spoke at the same time. They were mirror images of each other, apart from the indent of a scar on Samuel’s cheek. The other two daemons introduced themselves, but I was too busy in an intense stare down with Samuel Rose. His dislike of me was evident. Samuel narrowed his eyes as he surveyed Henry’s hand on my body.

  His green eyes broke from my own gaze. I smelt his lust but what I didn’t expect was the veil of jealousy that I could sense from Samuel's mind. I was thankful that he wasn’t a Pureblood because I knew that Samuel would not have taken kindly to me skimming the surface of his thoughts. If I could have blushed, I would have. Images of the last time I had seen him flitted through my mind. His semi-clothed body as he pounded in and out of a stranger. Our eyes connecting over her naked shoulder.

  I instantly felt guilty for my stray thoughts, but I blamed it on the Queen inside of my body. Henry must have sensed my racketing arousal because his hand moved sensually across my denim clad thigh and nearer to the space between my legs.

  I found myself purring like a cat. “I want you.”

  “Later.” He promised.

  “There will be no retaliation from the Families,” Damian commanded the seven daemons. His presence was overbearing, and his words were not to be argued with.