Blood and Treasure
The Half-Demon Warlock Book 3
J. A. Cipriano
Conner Kressley
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
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Cursed
Copyright © 2017 by J. A. Cipriano & Conner Kressley
All rights reserved.
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Also by J. A. Cipriano
The Thrice Cursed Mage
Cursed
Marked
Burned
Seized
Claimed
Hellbound
The Lillim Callina Chronicles
Wardbreaker
Kill it with Magic
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Fairy Tale
Pursuit
Hardboiled
Mind Games
Fatal Ties
Clans of Shadow
Heart of Gold
Feet of Clay
Fists of Iron
The Spellslinger Chronicles
Throne to the Wolves
Prince of Blood and Thunder
Found Magic
May Contain Magic
The Magic Within
World of Ruul
Soulstone: Awakening
1
I had been in this room for what seemed like a year. I couldn’t tell, of course. There were no windows, no doors, and no ambient light at all. The only thing between me and the darkness was a dim bulb hanging from a thin wire in the center of this cell.
He’d told me it was my fault, that I could leave this place if only I’d accept him and do what he wanted. He kept telling me it was in my best interest to listen to him, that I was his prisoner here and-more than that- I always would be. He loved to remind me there was no way out of here. I had thrown myself into a tear in the fabric of time and space, landing on my demon father’s doorstep, which happened to be on the rough side of a Hell dimension.
I struggled against the chains again. Still, I knew they weren’t budging. I was a half-demon warlock, for Christ’s sake. If I couldn’t break my way through chains and shackles, it meant they were either enchanted or made from the same crap they infused Wolverine with to make his claws all badass.
Still, I had been counting the hours, and it was almost time for daddy dearest to bring in my daily lunch. I didn’t want him to think I had given up, that I was soft like that, or that he was winning. So I always put on a show, always pulled and thrashed, and gnarled my teeth together. It was sort of pathetic considering I would give up the show the minute he walked out the door, but it was better than the alternative. If my father thought he'd broken me, he'd likely move on to whatever the next piece of his sadistic plan was. I didn't need that, and small victories were better than none at this point.
The door swung open, and I began my performance. Meryl Streep had nothing on me as I threw my body forward, causing the chains to pull and rattle loudly against the floor where I crouched.
At first, I hadn’t understood why I needed to be bound when the door was latched shut and when-even if I had been able to get out- I’d have only found myself stranded in some Hell dimension.
But then he’d told me. Salt and pepper hair and a jaw that was as stern as his will, my father knelt down one day and, with eyes that looked more like mine than I was comfortable with, said, “I’ve chained you like an animal to remind you of what you are without me. You’re nothing, Roy. Your mother was nothing. Her people are nothing.”
This bastard had seduced my mother, caused her death, and then used some mystical mumbo jumbo to get rare magical beings to off themselves in the hope of convincing my girlfriend (who had some sort of vague magical leanings herself) to give herself as a sacrifice to whatever spell my father was enacting on earth.
So, it wasn’t like the dude was winning any parenting awards anytime soon.
“Would you stop those theatrics,” my father said, stepping into my cell. His shoes slapped heavy against the cold stone floor and a fire rose in my chest as he stopped in front of me. “They’re not going to help you, son. Nothing is going to help you out of the mess you’re in other than to do as I ask.” He knelt down, just like he did when he called me an animal. The look of him sent spasms of sickness and nausea through my gut. I had hated a lot of people in my life. I’d hated the coven that had banished my mother. I’d hated Fulton before I realized she was just a sick friend whose mind was playing tricks on her. I’d even hated my own brother when I was younger, and I didn’t know what lengths he was willing to go to in order to prove he was on my side.
I had never hated anyone like this though. I had never wanted to straight up kill someone and dance while wearing his blood like a coat. I had never wished a person never existed, even knowing that would mean I wouldn’t exist either.
I did now though. I wished it more than anything, and he knew it.
“I’d tell you to go to Hell, but I guess I’m a little late,” I spat out, my voice weaker than it had been the day before.
It made sense. Each day, my food supply dwindled a little more. When I first got here, I was treated to a practical feast, complete with ribs, veggies, and even a dessert.
By yesterday, it had been reduced to a couple slices of bread with cold butter. From the look of him, my father hadn’t brought any food with him today. Had he finally started the process of starving me completely?
Relief flooded me curiously as my body relaxed. Starvation meant death, and death meant I wouldn’t have to go through this anymore. The demon, the warlock—they would all be gone.
It’s funny the things a mind thinks when it’s pushed past its breaking point.
“A little late for both of us, I’d say,” my father said and stood up. Looking down at me, his eyes glowed the same red mine did whenever I got upset, whenever I let the demon out. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you, Roy? I’d like to say you got that from me, but it stinks of your mother.” He shook his head. “She never did know when to get on her knees.”
“I didn’t get
anything from you,” I said, my voice in a near growl. The way he talked about my mother, the way he threw her away like I had been thrown away caused my muscles to clench in anger.
“Tell that to the poor South African boy you ingested before you came here.” He chuckled. “Oh, you can’t. You killed him.”
“That was different,” I said, remembering Bandhal, and the way I ended his life to save us all. It was horrible, one of the worst moments of my existence, but it was also an evil that needed to be perpetrated, and hopefully one day, I could make my peace with that. “I did that because I had to.”
“And yet, you have to do this, but you do not. You refuse to act in a way which would free you. I found it baffling before, but then I remembered your mother. I remembered the way she behaved when she knew she was with child.” He shook his head. “She knew what it would mean, that those damned witches would disown and punish her. She knew it would be in everyone’s best interest to end the problem, to end you. And yet, she did not.”
“Guess she wasn’t a pro-choice kind of gal,” I answered, breathing heavy as I strained against the chains.
“And neither are you,” he said, a sly smile spreading across his lips. The look of it sent uneasy sparks through my body. He had something up his sleeve. “You’ve got the same selfless streak in you that she did. You’d let yourself be roasted alive if it meant saving the people you care about from pain. That’s why you’re here in the first place, after all.” My father said it like it was a bad thing, like a willingness to throw myself into certain death for the people I loved made me weak. No wonder he was so twisted. He shook his head. “I didn’t expect that. It was the great flaw in my plan. And it’s your great flaw too, son.”
The muscles in my face tightened angrily and a bit of mirth flickered through his eyes in response.
“You don’t think so?” he asked, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “You will soon enough. You’ll see why that pesky bleeding heart is a chink in your armor.”
I scoffed, just lightly, but the sound of it brought a sick smile to his face.
He batted the light bulb, and it swing back and forth, sending shadows dancing around the room. There, in the fluctuating light, my father looked impossibly young. He should have been at least fifty. He didn’t look old enough to have a kid my age though. I shook my head, banishing that useless thought from my head. I needed to focus on what was going on in front of me. Mindless observations wouldn’t help…if anything would.
“What do you want from me, you bastard?” I asked, glaring up at him. The demon inside of me was stirring. And I knew he could sense it, just as I could sense the rampaging beast inside of him. Letting it loose might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t get me out of here. And I sure as hell didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting him think he was right. There might have been a piece of me that reflected him, but I wasn’t about to unleash it.
“I want you to understand, Royce,” he said, using my given name, the name my mother had given me before she died. “I want you to understand why you’re so important, and what I’m willing to do for you.”
He looked back, motioning to someone. There were other people here? I hadn’t seen anyone other than my father since I’d gotten here. I’d assumed we were all alone. Guess I was wrong.
“Stand him up, clean him up, and bring him to my office,” my father said curtly. “I’m ready to show him exactly what he sacrificed himself for.”
2
The light was still swaying when my father's underling came into view. I wasn’t sure what to expect as my father looked over, nodded tightly and headed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him, and as I turned toward the sound of it, I saw the person he had addressed standing in the center of the room.
She was beautiful. With flowing red hair that swung in a braid over her left shoulder and spilled down the front of her, she was a dainty thing. Five foot two, maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet. She had pale, white skin and eyes so bright and green, they glowed brighter than the swinging bulb ever had.
She wore a pastel purple dress that swept the floor with a slit down the front ran dangerously low, revealing her ample breasts. Her blood-red lips were plump, and her long fingers were painted to match.
“Who are you?” I choked out, my heart speeding up faster than it had any right to. This was the first person I’d seen outside of my father since coming here. It had to mean something. A fog seemed to drape over me. The walls lost focus, the light dimmed. Even the cold floor lost its edge. Everything was fuzzy, everything but her.
“My name is Sadie. Now free yourself of those chains and stand for me.” Her voice was a song, soft and sweet. It pulled at me with enough force to make me yearn for it, but not quite enough to be classified as harsh or rough.
She was like warm milk: sweet, calming, and perfect.
“I can’t do that,” I said, swallowing hard. “They’re spelled or something.”
“Pish,” she scoffed, waving a scarlet tipped hand at me. “Everything is spelled. You’re a demon. A warlock too if I’m not mistaken. Magic was made for your kind to do with as they see fit.” She smiled, revealing twin rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. “So see fit and unspell it.”
“I would if I could,” I answered in a tone that let her know I thought she was pretty damn stupid. If I’d have been able to free myself, I would have done it ages ago. I’d have blown this entire haystack if at all possible. Yet here she was, telling me I had the power within me all along, like she was freaking Glinda asking me to tap my ruby red heels together or something.
“Marco warned me you did not have the sufficient belief in yourself to do what is necessary.” She knelt toward me, touching my arm and sending sweet warmth through it. “Do you know what I told him in response, dear Royce? I said how could he? How could a boy without a father, without the love of a mother, ever believe he was worth more than the sum of his parts?” She leaned closer. “You were left, Royce. You have now been found. You were lost to those who saw you as an abomination, as a sickness. No longer. You, Roy Morgan, are the key to everything.”
My mother’s words to me flashed through my mind. She’d told me the same thing in that black hole. She’d called me the key to everything. A surge of energy passed through me, causing me to shake.
“I still can’t break these chains,” I answered, forcing myself to stop shaking.
“My boy,” she said sweetly, looking down. “What chains?”
Looking down, I saw that the chains holding me had disappeared completely. For the first time since I’d arrived in this Godforsaken place, my arms and legs were free.
“How did you do that?” I asked, looking at her in astonishment. “What are you?”
“I already told you. I’m Sadie, and I didn’t do that, Royce. You did.” Her answer rang against my ear with the same solid cleanness the truth always did, but I still couldn’t believe it.
“I didn’t cast a spell,” I said, sure that I wouldn’t have had the physical strength to do anything more than light the candle atop a birthday cake.
“Spells don’t always have to be cast to be effective,” Sadie answered, standing again. “If you’d have been taught by the right people, if you’d have been raised by your own kind, you’d have already known as much.”
I bristled. The Astra Coven, the people who had raised me right up until the moment they threw me out, weren’t among my favorite. Still, I’d have probably taken them above my current situation.
Her red braid hung down in my face like a strawberry rope, and as she moved, it beckoned me to my feet.
I stood, woozy and unsteady at first. Sadie offered me her arm, but I chose the wall instead. I didn’t want to touch her if I didn’t have to. I still didn’t have any idea what she was, and I could think of three different species of monster with poisonous skin right off the top of my head.
I didn’t believe she wanted to kill me though. If either Sadie or my
father wanted me dead, I’d have been dead by now. I could have been dead fifty times over in the time I’d been in this damned room. Whatever they wanted from me required me to keep drawing breath.
Still, this woman had a pull about her. Like the sun, she was bright and warm, but I didn’t want to be drawn into her orbit and for all I knew, touching her might help that process along.
“I don’t have a kind,” I spit back, still leaning against the wall. “I’m the only of my kind.”
“Is that so?” she asked, flashing me a thousand watt smile.
“I am,” I answered quickly. “That’s why the spell Marco cast worked.”
“Did it?” she asked, turning and moving toward the door. Her steps were fluid and smooth, like she was floating more than walking. Her voice dripped toward me like syrup as she neared the door. “Sometimes, what we think we know is but illusion, Royce. Just as, sometimes, illusions are the truest things in the world. Do you understand?”
“Not even a little,” I admitted, my jaw tightening and my legs solidifying under me until I was strong enough to push myself off the wall and stand steady on the floor.
Walking was more of a challenge. I was dizzy and tired. My legs were strong, but my sense of equilibrium left a lot to be desired. Still, I wasn’t going to let this lady think I was weak either. I might have been their prisoner, but I didn’t have to be their bitch.
“Whatever it is, whatever you two want from me, I’m not doing it,” I said, as defiant as any rebellious child.
The door opened without her touching it and I heard a soft giggle emanate from her.
“What makes you so sure what we want and what you want are all that different?” she asked without bothering to turn and look at me. “Have you taken the opportunity to learn anything about your father?”
Blood and Treasure: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Half-Demon Warlock Book 3) Page 1
