Deception (Deamhan Chronicles Book 3)

by Morrison, Isaiyan

  “Yes, I did promise you a coffee maker and hazelnut coffee.”

  “And a cigar.”

  “Yes, that too, but I had a lot on my mind. My apologies.”

  “Are you just going to stand there and watch me starve?”

  Remy tossed the bag to him. It landed on the bed and its contents spilled onto his lap. Mr. Austin ignored the orange that tumbled to the floor. Instead he searched the bag.

  “I did manage to bring some fruit, water, and bread,” Remy said.

  “Bread?” His eyes met Remy’s gaze.

  “Yes. You humans still eat bread, from what I remember.”

  Mr. Austin pulled out the loaf and threw it at him. “I don’t want bread. I want my coffee.”

  This is going to be harder than I imagined. Remy pinched his lips together in thought. Maybe coffee will relax him a bit.

  Mr. Austin sighed, grabbed the orange from the floor and began to peel it. With one hand, he struggled, and when Remy offered assistance, he huffed. “I can do it myself. I don’t want your dirty hands touching my food.”

  Remy felt his anger beginning to stir and the thought of snapping Mr. Austin’s neck briefly crossed his mind. “Good God! Don’t you ever quit with the insults?” He pushed his evil thoughts to the back of his mind, refusing to let his inner Deamhan take control of the situation. “I’m trying to be nice here, which isn’t easy. You can at least show that you appreciate my efforts.”

  “I’ll show you when you let me go, with a wooden stake in your heart.”

  “I’m sure Veronica wouldn’t approve.”

  Finished with peeling his orange, he took a bite out of it. “Leave my daughter out of his.” When he spoke, chunks exited his mouth.

  “Speaking of which, I want to save her.” When Remy stepped forward, Mr. Austin shuffled back onto the bed. “I can’t do that unless I know everything about where they’re keeping her.”

  “I’m not telling you a damn thing.” He gulped the rest of the orange. “She’s safer there than with you.” He searched through the bag and pulled out a bottle of distilled water.

  “You know that’s a lie. They don’t consider her a researcher. They haven’t since she came to Minneapolis.”

  “You don’t know anything about what it takes to be a researcher, Deamhan.” He twisted off the top. “You can’t know.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Remy lowered himself to his knees in front of him.

  “Being a researcher is a duty; a family obligation that goes back generations. The Brotherhood was created to protect people from creatures like you. We put our lives on the line to make sure that no human becomes a victim of your violent ways. And before you go comparing Deamhan to vampires, remember that they’ve done nothing compared to the countless, soulless acts that your kind have done. It’s in your nature. Your kind were created from darkness and it’s up to us to make sure that you don’t spread your disease among the masses.”

  Remy chuckled. “We aren’t all violent. You’re grouping us together. You’re—what do you humans call it? Stereotyping us.”

  “Stop with that politically correct shit. Tell that to those who’ve lost loved ones because of Deamhan. There isn’t anything you can say that’ll make me think otherwise.”

  Remy easily read the old man’s anger toward his kind being connected to what happened with his wife and Lucius. It wasn’t exactly unusual. If his lover left him for a human, he’d also have the same pent up anger toward them as Mr. Austin had toward Deamhan. But they brought it upon themselves—the humans stepped outside their boundaries, interfering into the lives of his kind. They thought they were untouchable.

  Remy made strict eye contact with Mr. Austin, who continued to keep his distance. He wanted to peer into his eyes, find the root of his insecurities against Deamhan, and rip it from its nesting place. He wished it were that easy—trying to get a human like this one to come around.

  “You think you love my daughter, but you don’t,” Mr. Austin continued. “You can never love her.”

  He stood straight up. First Lambert then Kenneth and now Mr. Austin. Had it been that obvious that he had compassion for Veronica? He hid it well from the others except for Anastasia, but she didn’t count. She always knew his mingled thoughts.

  “Over my dead body would I allow you to get close to her.”

  “And what if I did?” He played along in hopes of festering Mr. Austin’s anger until it overflowed like a clogged toilet. “Would you make a deal like you did with Kei to have me put in Limbo? Just like you did to Lucius?”

  He sipped gently from his water bottle and when finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “In a heartbeat.”

  “You’re in no position to threaten me, so why don’t you relax. Have you looked at yourself lately? You’re right hand was cut off by Selene, Kenneth took over your position in The Brotherhood, and you’re being kept alive by the species you hate the most. You should be thanking me.” He nodded as if he had just declared some kind of truth. “If you play nice, you’ll be back in your little office in that god-awful building in San Diego in no time, drinking your decaffeinated coffee.”

  In response, Mr. Austin shifted forward. “In your perfect demented world, I’m sure you get the girl.” He groaned while he stood to his feet. His legs swayed underneath him. “You think you can just hand me over and they’ll thank you? Do you think that she’ll love you for that?” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t scare me. We have things in our Archives that are more dangerous than you.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Remy reached into his pocket. “But I have one thing that’s more dangerous than whatever you think you have there.” He pulled out the amulet and to tease the old man, he swung it in front of him.

  Mr. Austin quickly noticed and reached out for it. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s my little secret.” He playfully pulled it away. “I’ll give it to you but only if you act like a good little human and tell me what I need to know.” He waited for an answer, seeing the old man’s eyes twitch from interest to anger. “Yes or no. It’s not a hard choice.”

  Mr. Austin’s mouth opened but his voice remained silent.

  “Five...four...three...two...”

  “No.”

  Fed up, Remy stuffed the amulet back into his pocket. “What is it with you researchers?” He stomped like an angry child back to the table. “I want her back, more than anyone—even you.” He wiped his forehead in exhaustion. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help? You think you have all the answers, but you really don’t know anything. Right now you have no idea what’s happening to your daughter, if she’s still alive. Why won’t you just help me?”

  “I’d rather see her dead than help you.”

  His animosity toward the old man rose to an almost uncontrollable level. Remy felt his eyes fill with murkiness—the same dark substance that signaled the Deamhan blood inside him. At that moment he wanted to rip the man to shreds. Killing a human for sport wasn’t something he liked to do (unlike Anastasia) and it sure as hell wasn’t on his bucket list. However, he was willing to do anything at that moment to get Veronica back.

  Mr. Austin showed no fear. Instead, he folded his arms and his lips pulled back into a broad smile. “You going to kill me?”

  Remy looked away. He tried to calm himself down, but the rage continued. “No, of course not.” Even he didn’t believe his reply.

  “Well, that’s what you Deamhan do. Kill when you don’t get your way. You’re monsters. Every last one of you.”

  “All monsters were human once.”

  “You aren’t human now.”

  Finally, Remy’s anger slowly subsided. No, he wasn’t human, but he believed that he still had human emotions. Still, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t have human emotions. That’s where Mr. Austin’s logic failed. He still could feel. He wasn’t a killing machine, bent only on survival. He still remembered his human life—his parents, the family servants including Doll, the on
ly human he ever loved until Veronica came into his life. He didn’t think about her much and in time, he misplaced her name. Referring to her as Doll became the only way he could think about her because she resembled just that. A porcelain doll—someone so fragile she’d break at any moment.

  He had to make Mr. Austin believe that his intentions weren’t to harm his daughter but to secure and help her. In his eyes, Remy had to make him rethink his position. He loved her! He loved Veronica and he didn’t care if the whole world knew it.

  “I love her. I love her.” He repeated it over and over again. The weight lifted off his shoulders.

  Instead of sympathy, Mr. Austin showed him his anger. “You stay away from my daughter!”

  “This monster...” Remy jabbed his finger into his chest. “...Yes! This monster loves her and you can’t change that! You won’t ever be able to change that.” In Deamhan speed he moved forward, standing just inches from him. “You can try. Oh, please do try. Just like your own wife who fell in love with a Deamhan, you’ll fail. You’ll understand that you can’t control or stop it. And when the time comes—when I do get her back, you’ll forever be alone in your misery, regretting the fact that you don’t have the power or influence to stop me. You’ll be helpless. YOU WILL BE NOTHING.”

  The old man screamed and charged him, striking Remy across the face with the nub of his right hand. Remy held up his arms to fend off the attacks. Veronica’s father continued to push violently and he turned to his legs, kicking Remy’s shins. With little effort, Remy held him at bay, hoping the old man would calm down soon before his Deamhan anger returned.

  But Mr. Austin reached for the amulet and quickly Remy grasped him by the neck. In brute force, he pushed him onto his back. “You can’t stop me.” He held him on the bed while staring into Mr. Austin’s anger-filled eyes.

  The old man’s thoughts began to pour out and Remy got a glimpse of each and every one. He saw Veronica in several of these mental images—first as a little girl then the woman he grew to know and love. He saw her in the arms of another woman, which he suspected to be her mother. Then the image of Mr. Austin watching his wife, scurrying back on a pavement in a dark alley while Kei approached her became too much. Remy felt vexed. The image dissipated, replaced with Mr. Austin’s need for revenge and a desire to end Remy’s life and his own daughter’s if she fell in love with him.

  He increased his grip in order to quench Mr. Austin’s outrageous temper tantrum. No one hurts my Veronica. But the old man started to gasp for air and his left hand scratched at Remy’s wrist. Remy heard a sharp snap like a foot crunching over a tree limb followed by Mr. Austin’s ceased movements.

  “Mr. Austin.” He released his grip and studied the old man’s opened eyes. He leaned in close to hear the air escape from his lungs. Nothing. “Mr. Austin.” He gently stepped back and, realizing what he done, he screamed.

  Anger filled him and, in Deamhan speed, he thrashed around the room, breaking and throwing anything within his reach. He flipped over the table and punched at the walls until he felt the skin break over his knuckles. He paused and glared at the corpse.

  He gave in, allowing the monstrous side of him to do what he swore he couldn’t do. How would she forgive me? How can she forgive me? It’s not my fault, he told himself. Only if Mr. Austin agreed, things would have turned out differently. With his leverage dead and gone, he didn’t know how he would be able to get her back.

  After his bruises healed, he placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “You hard-headed son of a bitch.” He grabbed onto Mr. Austin’s leg and dragged the body to the cellar steps. It’d been awhile since he’d had to rid himself of a human body. He remembered that the corpse would soon start to stink. Burying it became his only option.

  He casually ascended the stairs, hearing the loud thuds of the old man’s body hitting each and every wooden step.

  1

  DECEPTION. DEAMHAN CHRONCILES #3

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Anastasia felt the sandy dirt floor beneath her feet and smelled the dew collecting in the crevasses of the rock’s walls around her. Unlike the first time she walked into Amenirdis’ cave, there were no triplets with their pulsating robes to help with the darkness. Instead one candle, sitting on a square rock in the middle, provided enough light for her to see her environment.

  She was dreaming again and instead of blindly going along with it, she turned to run out of the cave. The once opened entryway was now blocked with boulders too heavy for her to lift. The air became thick and heavy.

  She tried to wake herself up in the only way she knew how. She screamed at her brain to snap out of the illusion. She pricked her bottom lip with the tip of her fangs, thinking that the pain would jerk her awake. Nothing worked. Realizing she couldn’t escape, Anastasia turned around to face what Amenirdis wanted to show her.

  Maris came into view, staked through both shoulders to a long and thick piece of wood embedded in the ground. Across from her, Anastasia saw Ayden, also staked and helpless. Both Deamhan peered at her with dark anger-filled eyes. Blood oozed from their wounds. How easily wood could cripple a Deamhan of any age.

  Anastasia approached them, watching the darkness around her, expecting Amenirdis to appear, stake her, and prop her up among the others. She raised her hand to feel the jagged scar on Maris’ left cheek.

  Maris closed her eyes as if she took in the remote silence around them. “You considered me beautiful once. Do you still think I am?”

  Anastasia paused. She didn’t know if this was the real Maris talking or just a figment of her imagination.

  “You should have killed me instead of siring me,” she said. “Because I’m alive, things are not balanced. We shouldn’t exist and you know I’m right.”

  “Don’t say that,” Anastasia replied.

  “I can’t change what’s inside me. There’s no turning this off. I’m the descendant. I will either bring an end to Deamhan or a beginning that won’t be good for humans. That’s what everyone wants me for.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “What good have Deamhan done since we were created? Absolutely nothing.”

  “The same can be said for vampires.”

  “They’re natural in nature. We aren’t. We were created because humans were too weak to deal with their demons. Dark magic exists in us. They don’t call it ‘dark magic’ because it’s good. They call it that because it’s bad. That means we’re bad. That means we’re dark.”

  “No, you’re different. There’s good in you,” Anastasia said as she looked over her shoulder to Ayden. “I told you to protect her with your life and you couldn’t do that?”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t fuck her over,” he barked back.

  Anastasia stopped herself from rebutting. Her Ramanga lineage was so abstract that if there were ever a title given to dysfunctional Deamhan, they were sure to win by a landslide. Yet through all in that lineage who came before her, Maris was the only one who had accomplished any ounce of good. Not her, not her sire, not Silvanus, and certainly not Kyra who was the cause of all this misery.

  “Once this is over, once the dust settles, I will make her pay.” Making promises to her offspring was much easier than following through on them. Once the dust did settle, and if Kyra survived Amenirdis’ onslaught, Anastasia wasn’t old or strong enough to fight her.

  The light’s glow increased followed by a warm gust of wind that pushed Anastasia off her feet. Amenirdis appeared, just as she did in her previous dreams. But this time the Pure One’s eyes maintained the color of blood. It swirled in the white part of her eyes, leaving her pupils and corneas black. The eye color of a Pure One was much different than the color of any other Deamhan.

  When she walked, she moved gracefully, like a sleek figurine unaffected by the terrain. “Auerelia. Welcome.”

  Anastasia moved closer to Maris, feeling the urge to protect her. “That’s not my name. Not anymore.”

  “It’
s the name I will call you.” The dark-haired beauty stood near the stone altar, in front of the candle. The light transformed her image, creating a large shadow of her body against the rock wall. “The ritual will begin.”

  “What ritual?”

  “The Dark Curse incantation.” Amenirdis held her hand out to her.

  “Like hell it will.” Anastasia allowed her ravenous nature to rise in her. Her body shook considerably. She hunched her back, at the ready. Yet Amenirdis didn’t skulk. She didn’t back away. In accelerated speed, she managed to move and press her forearm firmly against Anastasia’s trachea, forcing her to gag, retract her long canines, and transpose her black eyes to brown.

  “You made a promise the night I released Lucius.” With her right hand, Amenirdis made a small cut, just below her wrist and she placed it over Anastasia’s mouth. “Drink, my dark sister.”

  Anastasia struggled while the blood cascaded down her throat. Just like the other dreams, the blood enticed her as it coated her insides, making her body beg for more. The longer she fought against it, the stronger the pull. Her skirmish against the Pure Once ceased and without warning, she found herself speaking the chant along with the others.

  “Gods of the Old, gods of the new, dark gods of our flesh. We honor you with the blood of our brethren.” Her mouth moved on its own. “Gods of the Old, gods of the New, dark goddess of our flesh. We honor you with the blood of your children.”

  With her right index finger, Amenirdis made a long incision on Maris’ arm. This time Maris’ lips spoke the incantation. “Gods of the Old, gods of the New, dark gods of our flesh. I honor you with my blood.”