Matched With A Demon

by Ripley Proserpina

  Armaros could see Lucia fight the demon possessing her, and he roared. Windows shattered and the roof collapsed, covering both his and Lucia’s bodies with a mass of shingles and timber. He’d grabbed her, covering her with his body, because while the demon could give her the strength to survive being buried alive, he was not sure it would. This thing inside her was enjoying its possession too much, and he couldn’t help but wonder which Hell beast had been unable to resist the temptation of stealing Lucia from him.

  He should have thought about the implications of his relationship earlier. Humans who were touched by Fallen became infinitely more appealing to demons. A miasma of the Fallen’s power attached to the human’s soul. It was a light in the fog, a beacon to a ship adrift. It was irresistibly tempting.

  Most Fallen wouldn’t care if their cast-off human was possessed by a demon. It wasn’t as if his kind formed attachments. His refusal to share Lucia, to accept the demon’s domination of her body, made the game so much more exciting. And immortality, as he could attest, could be boring.

  In the darkness of the destroyed structure, Lucia’s eyes shone up at his. His own reflected the light in a similar way, like a wild animal caught in a flashlight’s beam. Further proof the being was overwhelming her, crushing her.

  He stood, rubble and debris rolling off his back until the rain pelted his body and Lucia’s face. She moved, standing and tilting her head back to stare at him. Each movement she made was a violation of her natural grace. It was clear from the way her mouth twisted and her eyes roved along his body, she’d lost control to the demon.

  Roaring again, this time louder, he gathered his power, sending it into Lucia. At once, he wanted to destroy and save, but he didn’t know how to do one without failing at the other. He could not use his power to destroy the demon without damaging Lucia, and he could not save her without releasing the demon who would only return to take her again.

  Making the choice in a second, his power flew through her body, searching for the glow of her soul. Wildly, it raced through her mind, but she was gone. There was darkness where there should be light.

  “Give her to me,” he growled, gripping her shoulders and lifting her so they were eye to eye.

  The demon laughed delightedly as it absorbed his power and made it its own. “No.”

  Everything inside him wanted to crush this thing, but to do so would be to injure Lucia. His hands trembled as he fought not to flex and bruise her skin. He tried again, his power whipped into a frenzy as his fear increased. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t find her.

  “Give her back!” He shook her, her head whipping back and forth, curls flying around her face while her perverted laughter echoed in the gloom.

  Dropping her, he roared his pain and frustration, drowning out the debased enjoyment of the creature forcing mirth from Lucia’s throat.

  His mind raced. What could he do? His power was feeding the beast. Who else could save her?

  Family. A voice in his mind whispered, and he remembered. When he’d forced Lucia away from him, keeping her from remembering Delia and himself, she’d gone to her aunt to have her memory restored. Was it possible she could help now?

  He pulled Lucia’s body into his arms, focusing his power on searching for her family. Immediately, he found what he was looking for, and a sense of rightness overcame him.

  From across the great distance came a command. Bring her here. Bring her, now! The voice brooked no disagreement. In a wink, he’d traveled across the ocean and into the warm, slightly shabby kitchen, complete with crucifix and giant spoon and fork, of Lucia’s family.

  Two of the humans, Lucia’s mother and father, stared at him in open-mouthed shock while the third regarded him in narrow-eyed suspicion. “Took you long enough,” she said, dropping her fork on her plate. “I’ve cleared your influence from her once before, and I’m telling you right now—” she stabbed him in the chest with a long, red fingernail, “—this better not become a habit.”

  In his arms, Lucia hissed at the woman and bared her teeth. The woman tsked under her breath, “Save it,” she muttered while she reached into a cabinet and pulled out a jar of what appeared to be dried herbs. Sprinkling some into her hand, she ignored Lucia’s hisses and curses. Under her breath, the woman began to chant, and Armaros had to tighten his grip as Lucia attempted to buck from his arms. The closer she came, the more desperate Lucia’s movement became, body twisting into unnatural positions. Whispering under her breath, the woman paused. She peered once at Armaros, and then blew the concoction in Lucia’s face. Her body went slack.

  “Now,” her aunt said, brushing the remains of the herbs off her hands. “Why don’t we get this demon out of her and then we can have a nice get-to-know-you chat.”

  24

  Armaros

  Armaros held Lucia’s body in his arms and followed her aunt, mother, and father out of the kitchen, into a bedroom. His gaze never left her face, which contorted from time to time in a grimace.

  Anger boiled inside him. When he got that thing out of her, he was going to blast it into nothing. Painfully. There would be no escape to Hell for this demon, no other humans to possess. No. Armaros would burn it to ash.

  Carefully, he laid Lucia onto a bed, smoothing her hair back. “Get it out of her and I’ll take care of the rest,” he growled, hazarding a glance at her aunt who snorted.

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” she muttered, digging under Lucia’s collar for something she didn’t find and snorting again. “Of course, she took it off. Idiot.”

  “What’s wrong with my daughter, Valeria,” Lucia’s father asked.

  “She’s possessed by a demon, Albert.”

  Her mother made the sign of the cross and sat on the bed, picking up Lucia’s hand, bringing it to her cheek. “She’s cold as ice.”

  “It’s banked her spark.”

  Armaros knew well what she meant. When a demon took possession of a body, it smothered the person inside, pushing them away and locking them where they couldn’t escape. If a possession lasted long enough, the soul winked out of existence, like it had never been there to begin with. It was not an irony lost on him, that what he feared most, he’d done himself a thousand times.

  “Well, fix it,” Albert demanded. “Fire her up, or whatever.”

  Laying her hand on Lucia’s chest, Valeria closed her eyes. Silence descended with Lucia’s mother holding her breath and her father clenching his fists. He caught Armaros’s eye and he read the man’s desire to hurt him.

  The Armaros who existed before Lucia would have scoffed at his presumption, but now, he understood the desire to smash into pieces anything daring to put her in danger.

  “Rosary, oil, holy water, Bible, and my candle, please,” Valeria whispered without opening her eyes.

  Springing into action, the older woman rifled through drawers and began tossing items onto the bed. “Which candle,” she asked, holding up two. “Saint Jude or Saint Anthony?”

  “Saint Jude.”

  “Jude?” Lucia’s mother whispered, her voice cracking.

  “Constanza…”

  Her mother took a deep breath and handed her the candle.

  “Start praying.”

  As Constanza and Albert’s recitation of the rosary filled the air, Armaros’s skin began to tingle. Despite his best efforts, being Fallen, he heard the prayer as a challenge and the evil inside him wanted out. His back prickled and skin heated, but he forced himself to stay in place.

  Oil was placed along Lucia’s wrists and eyes, her aunt making a crucifix on both palms. She used a combination of magic and ritual he hadn’t seen since pre-Christian days.

  Lifting a shaking hand to his head, he pushed his hair back and massaged the back of his neck, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

  “Get out,” Valeria’s voice broke his concentration.

  “I won’t leave her,” he rasped.

  “You want me to banish you, as well? Get out. I can feel what’s happ
ening. Line the threshold with salt and wait for us in the living room.”

  “I won’t leave her,” he reiterated.

  Whipping around, Lucia’s aunt pinned him with a black-eyed glare. “You want to argue with me while she lies here dying? Is that what you want?”

  Dying. Lucia was dying.

  “Can you keep the demon here?” he asked.

  “I can hold it for a moment or two, that’s all.” The woman’s face split into a grin. “You want to take care of it yourself?”

  “Yes,” Armaros replied. Everything inside him rejected the idea of abandoning Lucia here, but he knew he had no choice.

  “I’ll call to you, push it out of the room. You’ll have to move fast.”

  On the bed, Lucia suddenly opened her eyes. The blue he was used to seeing was gone. Her skin had become a sickly shade of yellow and the color had bled into her eyes. “She’s mine,” the distortion of Lucia announced.

  “Now. Leave now!” Valeria commanded. Moving fast for two older women, Valeria began to chant and Constanza pushed him out the door and lined the threshold with salt. Immediately, an invisible boundary formed between him and the bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to cross it, helpless if something worse should happen to Lucia.

  The voices chanting raised louder, and on the bed, Lucia arched and shook. The demon was holding on inside her. It knew if it left her, Armaros would be waiting.

  Preparing himself, Armaros allowed his true form to emerge. His shoulders hunched under the weight of his wings until he forced himself taller. In his hand appeared a sword, formed for one purpose, destruction.

  Smiling, he waited. Anticipation curled inside him. When the thing was released, he would take it from there. He’d enjoy the pain he’d inflict.

  In the bedroom, Lucia screamed. But it was not her voice. It was the voice of the demon being torn from her.

  Armaros could sense the moment the voice changed, but the scream went on. It was hurting her. Lucia was free, but the being tormented her.

  “Now, Albert!” Valeria cried, and Lucia’s father ran to the door, kicking aside the salt boundary. Like a vacuum, the demon was pulled toward Armaros.

  He was ready.

  It was a much more powerful demon than Armaros expected. Not one of the Fallen, but one of the Dominions, a demon formed by the powers hoarded by the original Fallen. “Belias.”

  The creature took form, feet, legs, torso, arms, head. It was a perversion of the beauty of the original Fallen. If Armaros’s form was frightening, Belias’s was hideous.

  “Armaros.” Belias licked his fingers. “I can still taste her.”

  With a roar, Armaros launched himself at the demon. Wrapping his arms around its form, he winked them from the house. He didn’t have a destination, but wasn’t surprised to feel the heat of the sun and burn of sand catch him as he wrestled Belias to the ground.

  It hissed and spat, its spittle like acid where it landed on him. It burned through his blackened skin, leaving gaping wounds. Belias threw a hand up, the bright sun blinding him. Armaros sliced his sword through the air, watching in glee as it opened a gash across its stomach. Clawed hands attempted to hold in its insides, but two more slashes severed the arms.

  Screaming in agony, Belias fell to his knees, watching his guts spill from his torso onto the desert sands. “Are you going to send me to Hell, Armaros?” Black ooze poured from its lips, dribbling down its chin and chest. “I will come back. I have never tasted anything like her before. I want more.” The demon began to laugh. “You can’t keep her all to yourself.”

  In his hand, his sword began to hum as Armaros pushed more of his power into it. After he destroyed this demon, there would be nothing left to return to Hell. He smiled at the thought, and let the sword fall. It sang through the air, and when it cut through the demon, it left hellfire in its wake. Belias’s screams rose in pitch as he realized the flames engulfing him wouldn’t send him home, but consume him, leaving nothing.

  In seconds, the demon was gone. The sand blew across the desert, spraying Armaros's face and chest. Allowing himself a moment of satisfaction, he lifted his face to the sun and poofed back to Lucia.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. This was not where he meant to go.

  25

  Lucia

  How could she have no control over her body but remain in pain? The darkness was at her back, a yawning pit threatening to envelop her with one misstep.

  But she could see now, and hear. Familiar prayers surrounded her, and without meaning to, she began to repeat them.

  The thing inside her body wanted her to stop, but the prayer wasn’t spoken. There was nothing it could do to force her to do its will.

  Except hurt her.

  So, it opened the door, allowing a small slit of light into the nothing, and then yanked her into her body. But she was hobbled, her hands were not her hands, but the creature allowed her to feel them contort, wrists bending at angles so painful, she thought they’d snap off. The pain distracted her from the prayer, but as soon as it let up, giving her a respite from the torment, the chants filled her ears and her mind picked up the thread.

  So, it hurt her again. It curled inside her body, squeezing and raking her insides, twisting them so she couldn’t breath and thought she’d suffocate. And she lost the thread again.

  There was a brief reprieve, and for a second, her hands were her own, and her voice her own and she screamed for help and Armaros.

  What was inside her didn’t want to leave, but something was forcing it to. It held onto her like it was a ship’s anchor dragged across sand. When it was clear the pull was stronger than her, it shrieked in anger. Lucia fought, but it was impossible to fight something without form. It was like trying to push away air. In one last desperate move, it surrounded her, trying to shove her into the darkness to lock her away forever. Before it could, it was yanked away.

  Voices pounded in her head, against her head. Lucia could feel her eardrums absorbing each shrill blow her mother’s voice landed.

  “What was that thing, Valeria? Why is it with Lucia? Where has she been? Why isn’t she waking up?”

  “Connie, dial it down. I need a drink before the inquisition.” Zia’s wry voice soothed Lucia’s nerves. The normality of the whole thing freaked her out as much as the abyss had.

  “Inquisition? Inquisition?” Each successive word was higher pitched than the first. “This is my daughter we’re talking about!”

  If I keep my eyes closed, they won’t know I’m awake.

  A nudge in her ribs warned the jig was up, and she opened her eyes. “Mom.”

  She met her mother’s gaze and watched in horror as they filled with tears. Throwing herself on Lucia’s chest, she enfolded her in a hug. “My poor baby. My poor baby. What happened to you?” Pulling back, her mother rained kisses all over her face. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

  Apparently, everything had to be said twice now. Yet, it was nice to be hugged and fussed over. Even nicer was being in control of her body again, feeling things again. If she lived to a hundred, Lucia would never forget the nothingness which had enveloped her nor the thing inside her.

  She’d kicked and scratched and screamed, but it laughed at her. It enjoyed her terror and hurt her more.

  Then, suddenly, here she was. In her aunt’s bedroom with her mother’s soft hands smoothing her hair and her father staring at her with tears in his eyes, and her aunt biting her lip and not quite making eye contact. And Armaros…

  Where was Armaros?

  “Where is he?” Her voice sounded harsh, like her screams had broken it.

  “He took the demon away,” her aunt explained quietly, wincing when her mother screeched the word, “Demon!”

  “Was he all right?” Lucia asked, remembering Armaros’s face before the demon had taken away her vision.

  “Who?” her mother asked.

  “Armaros. He brought me here, didn’t he?”

  “The angel,” her father’s voi
ce drowned out her mother’s questions. “The angel who brought you here was fine. Scared shitless like the rest of us, but fine.”

  A smile touched her lips. “You’re sure?”

  Zia narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t correct Lucia’s father. Dad might believe Armaros was an angel, but her aunt wasn’t fooled. She knew what Armaros was, and her face promised there’d be many more questions later.

  As her mother sat back, Lucia pushed herself up to recline against the headboard. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” Her father moved into her line of sight. Arms crossed, he looked angrier than she’d ever seen him. “For not calling? For worrying your mother half to death? For dropping into our home, possessed by the devil? With an angel no less? What exactly, Lucia Maria, are you sorry for?”

  “Everything, Dad. I’m sorry for everything. Are you guys all right?”

  Throwing his arms in the air, her father sighed in exasperation. “Now, you ask?” He stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated to her aunt and mother.

  Kissing her cheek, her mother hugged her tightly. “I know. We’re okay. Your father will be fine. You’d think after thirty years with me and Zia, he’d be used to this stuff by now.”

  Snorting, Zia shook her head. “Can you imagine what he’d have thought if he’d ever seen Ma cast love spells?”

  Her mother winced and shook her head. “He couldn’t take you butchering the chickens, imagine a dove.”

  “How do I not know about this?” Lucia asked in wonder.

  “We don’t share everything with you, piccola,” Zia scolded. “Now, do you think you can make it out of bed? I want to get this place ready for your angel when he returns.”

  “What do you mean?” A sense of foreboding filled her.

  “He needs to explain himself, and so do you. I’ve been reading the cards, and everything’s going to change. You need to be prepared.”

  Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Lucia shut her eyes and nodded. “I know. I owe you all an explanation.”